Poems by J.C. ; with additions.

The Rebell Scot.

HOw! Providence! and yet a Scottish crew! Then Madam, nature wears black patches too: What? shall our Nation be in bondage thus Unto a Land that truckles under us? Ring the bells backward; I am all on fire, Not all the buckets in a Countrey Quire Shall quench my rage. A Poet should be fear'd When angry, like a Comets flaming beard. And where's the Stoick? can his wrath appease To see his Countrey sick of Pym's disease By Scotch invasion? to be made a prey To such Pig-wiggin Myrmidons as they? But that there's charm in verse, I would not quote The name of Scot, without an Antidote; Unlesse my head were red, that I might brew Invention there that might be poyson too. Were I a drowsie Judge, whose dismall note Disgorgeth halters, as a Juglers throat Doth ribbands: could I [in Sir Emp'ricks tone] Speak Pills in phrase, and quack destruction:

Or roar like Marshall, that Genevah Bull, Hell and damnation a pulpit full: Yet to expresse a Scot, to play that prize, Not all those mouth-Granadoes can suffice. Before a Scot can properly be curst, I must (like Hocus) swallow daggers first. Come keen Iambicks, with your Badgers feet, And Badger-like, bite till your teeth do meet. Help ye tart Satyrists, to imp my rage, With all the Scorpions that should whip this age. Scots are like Witches; do but whet your pen, Scratch til the bloud come; they'l not hurt you then. Now as the Martyrs were inforc'd to take The shapes of beasts, like hypocrites, at stake, I'le bait my Scot so; yet not cheat your eyes, A Scot within a beast is no disguise. No more let Ireland brag, her harmlesse Nation Fosters no Venome, since the Scots plantation: Nor can ours feign'd Antiquity maintain; Since they came in, England hath Wolves again. The Scot that kept the Tower, might have shown (Within the grate of his own brest alone) The Leopard and the Panther; and ingrost What all those wild Collegiats had cost. The honest High-shoes, in their Termly Fees, First to the salvage Lawyer, next to these. Nature her self doth Scotch-men beasts confesse, Making their Countrey such a wildernesse:

A Land, that brings in question and suspense Gods omnipresence, but that Charles came thence: But that Montrose and Crawfords loyall Band Atton'd their sins, and christ'ned half the Land: Nor is it all the Nation hath these spots; There is a Church, as well as Kirk of Scots: As in a pict••re, where the squinting paint Shews Fiend on this side, and on that side Saint. He that saw Hell in's melancholy dream, And in the twilight of his Fancy's theam, Scar'd from his sins, repented in a fright, Had he view'd Scotland, had turn'd Proselite. A Land, where one may pray with curst intent, O may they never suffer banishment! Had Cain been Scot, God would have chang'd his doom, Not forc'd him wander, but confin'd him home. Like Jews they spread, and as Infection flie, As if the Divell had Ubiquity. Hence 'tis, they live at Rovers; and defie This or that place, Rags of Geography. They're Citizens o'th World; they're all in all, Scotland's a Nation Epidemicall. And yet they ramble not, to learn the Mode How to be drest, or how to lisp abroad, To return knowing in the Spanish shrug, Or which of the Dutch States a double Jug Resembles most, in belly, or in Beard: (The Card by which the Mariners are stear'd.)

No; the Scots-Errant fight, and fight to eat; Their Estrich-stomacks make their swords their meat: Nature with Scots as Tooth-drawers hath dealt, Who use to hang their teeth upon their Belt. Yet wonder not at this their happy choice; The Serpent's fatal still to Paradise. Sure England hath the Hemeroids, and these On the North-posture of the patient seize, Like Leeches: thus they physically thirst After our bloud, but in the cure shall burst. Let them not think to make us run o'th' score, To purchase Villanage, as once before, When an Act past, to stroak them on the head, Call them good Subjects, buy them Ginger-bread. Nor gold, nor Acts of Grace; 'tis steel must tame The stubborn Scot: A Prince that would reclame Rebells by yeelding, doth like him, (or worse) Who sadled his own back to shame his horse. Was it for this you gave your leaner soil, Thus to lard Israel with AEgypts spoil? They are the Gospels Life-guard; but for them, The Garrison of new Jerusalem, What would the Brethren do? the Cause! the cause! Sack possets, and the Fundamentall Laws! Lord! what a goodly thing is want of shirts! How a Scotch-stomack, and no meat, converts! They wanted food, and rayment; so they took Religion for their Seamstresse, and their Cook.

Unmask them well; their honours and estate, As well as conscience are sophisticate. Shrive but their Titles, and their money poize, A Laird & twenty pound pronounc'd with noise, When construed, but for a plain Yeoman go, And a good sober two-pence; and well so. Hence then you proud Impostors, get you go••e, You Picts in Gentry and Devotion: You scandall to the stock of Verse, a race Able to bring the Gibbet in disgrace. Hyperbolus by suffering did traduce The Ostracisme, and sham'd it out of use. The Indian that heaven did forswear, Because he heard the Spaniards were there, Had he but known what Scots in hell had been, He would Erasmus-like have hung between. My Muse hath done. A Voider for the nonce; I wrong the Devil, should I pick their bones▪ That dish is his: for when the Scots decease, Hell like their Nation feeds on Barnacles. A Scot, when from the Gallow-Tree got loose, Drops into Styx, and turns a Solund-Goose.