A Collection of poems on affairs of state by A.M. and other eminent wits ...

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Title
A Collection of poems on affairs of state by A.M. and other eminent wits ...
Publication
London :: [s.n.],
Printed in the year, 1689.
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Subject terms
Political poetry, English.
Political satire, English.
Great Britain -- History -- Restoration, 1660-1688 -- Poetry.
Cite this Item
"A Collection of poems on affairs of state by A.M. and other eminent wits ..." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A33850.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 18, 2024.

Pages

BRITANNIA and RALEIGH.

Brit.
AH Raleigh, when thou didst thy Breath resign To trembling Iames, would I had quitted mine. Cubs dist thou call them? Hadst thou seen this Brood Of Earls, Dukes, and Princes of the Blood; No more of Scottish Race thou wouldst complain: These would be Blessings in this spurious Reign. Awake, arise from thy long blest Repose; Once more with me partake of Morlace Woes.
Ra.
What mighty Pow'r hath forc'd me from my rest? Oh mighty Queen, why so untimely drest?
Brit.
Favour'd by Night, conceal'd in this Disguise, Whilst the lewd Court in drunken Slumber lies, I stole away, and never will return, Till England knows who did her City burn; Till Cavaliers shall Favourites be deem'd, And Loyal Sufferers by the Court esteem'd; Till Liegh and Galloway shall Bribes reject; Thus Osburn's Golden Cheat I shall detect:

Page 8

Till Atheist Lauderdale shall leave this Land, And Commons Votes shall Cut-Nose Guards disband; Till Kate a happy Mother shall become, Till Charles loves Parliaments, and Iames hates Rome.
Ral.
What fatal Crimes make you for ever sly Your once lov'd Court and Martyrs Progeny?
Brit.
A Colony of French possess the Court; Pimps, Priests, Buffoons in th' Privy Chamber sport; Such slimy Monsters ne'r approacht a Throne Since Pharaoh's Days, nor so defil'd a Crown. In sacred Ear Tyrannick Arts they croak, Pervert his Mind, and good Intentions choak; Tell him of Golden Indies, Fairy Lands, Leviathan, and absolute Commands. Thus Fairy-like the King they steal away, And in his room a Changling Lewis lay. How oft have I him to himself restor'd, In's left the Scale, in's right hand plac'd the Sword? Taught him their use, what dangers would ensue, To them who strive to separate these two? The bloody Scotish Chronicle read ore Shew'd him how many Kings in purple gore Were hurl'd to Hell by cruel Tyrant Lore. The other day fam'd Spencer I did bring, In lofty Notes Tudor's blest Race to sing; How Spain's proud Powers her Virgin-Arms controul'd, And Gold'n Days in peaceful Order roul'd; How like ripe Fruit she dropt from off her Throne, Full of grey Hairs, good Deeds, and great Renown. As the Iessean Hero did appease Saul's stormy Rage, and stopt his black Disease; So the learn'd Bard, with Artful Song supprest The swelling Passion of his canker'd Breast, And in his Heart kind Influences shed Of Country Lore by Truth and Iustice bred: Then, to perform the Cure so full begun, To him I shew'd this glorious setting Sun.

Page 9

How by her Peoples Looks pursued from far, So mounted on a bright Celestial Car, Out-shining Virgo, or the Iulian Star. Whilst in Truths Mirrour this good Scene he spy'd, Enter'd a Dame, bedeckt with spotted Pride, Fair Flower de Luce within an Azure Field, Her left Hand bears the Antient Gallick Shield, By her usurpt; her Right a bloody Sword, Inscrib'd Leviathan, our Sovereign Lord; Her towry Front a fiery Meteor bears, An Exhalation bred of Blood and Tears; Around her Iove's lewd rav'nous Curs complain, Pale Death, Lust, Tortures, fill her pompous Train. She from the easie King Truth's Mirrour took, And on the Ground in spiteful Fall it broke; Then frowning thus, with proud Disdain she spoke. Are thred-bare Virtues Ornaments for Kings? Such poor pedantick Toys teach Underlings. Do Monarchs rise by Virtue or by Sword? Who e'r grew great by keeping of his Word? Virtue's a faint Green-Sickness to brave Souls, Dastards their Hearts, their active Heat controuls: The Rival God, Monarchs of th' other World, This mortal Poyson amongst Princes hold; Fearing the mighty Projects of the great Shall drive them from their proud celestial Seat, If not o'r aw'd: This new found holy Cheat, Those pious Frauds too slight, t' insnare the brave, Are proper Acts of long-ear'd Rout t' inslave. Bribe hungry Priests to deifie your Might, To teach your Will's, your only Rule to Right; And sound Damnation to all that dare deny't. Thus Heaven designs 'gainst Heaven you should turn, And make them fear those Powers you once did scorn. When all the Gobling Interest of Mankind, By Hirelings sold to you, shall be resign'd; And by Impostures God and Man betray'd, The Church and State you safely may invade; So boundless Law in its full Power shines, Whilst your starv'd Power in Legal Fetters Pines.

Page 10

Shake off those Baby Bands from your strong Arms, Henceforth be deaf to your old Witches Charms; Tast the delicious Sweets of Sovereign Power, 'Tis Royal Game whole Kingdoms to deflow'r. Three spotless Virgins to your Bed I'le bring, A Sacrifice to you their God and King: As these grow stale we'l harras human kind, Rack Nature till new Pleasures you shall find, Strong as your Reign, and beauteous as your Mind. When she had spoke, a confus'd Murmour rose Of French, Scotch, Irish, all my mortal Foes, Some English too, O shame! disguis'd I spy'd, Led all by the wise Son-in-Law of Hyde; With Fury drunk, like Baccanels they Roar, Down with that common Magna Charta Whore: With joynt Consent on helpless Me they flew, And from my Charles to a base Goal me drew; My Reverend Age expos'd to Scorn and Shame, To Prigs, Bawds, Whores, was made the publick Game. Frequent Addresses to my Charles I send, And my sad State did to his Care commend: But his fair Soul transform'd by that French Dame, Had lost a sense of Honour, Justice, Fame. Like a tame Spinster in's Seraigl he sits, Besieg'd by Whores, Buffoons and Bastard Chits; Lull'd in Security, rowling in Lust, Resigns his Crown to Angel Cromwel's Trust. Her Creature Osborne, the Revenue steals, False F—ch, Knave Ang—ey, misguide the Seals; Mack-Iames the Irish Biggots does adore: His French and Teague commands on Sea and Shore: The Scotch Scalado of our Court two Isles, False Lauderdale with Adure all defiles. Thus the States Right marr'd by this hellish Court, And no one left these Furies to cast out: Ah Vindex come, and purge the poison'd State; Descend, Descend, e're the Cure's desperate.
Ral.
Once more great Queen thy Darling strive to save, Rescue him again from Scandal and the Crave; Present to's Thoughts his long scorn'd Parliament, The Basis of his Throne and Government:

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In his deaf Ears sound his dead Fathers name, Perhaps that Spell may his ill Soul reclaim; Who knows what good Effects from thence may spring? 'Tis God-like Good to save a falling King.
Brit.
As easily learn'd Vertuoso's may With the Dogs Blood his gentle Kind Convey Into the Wolf, and make him Guardian turn, To the bleating Flock, by him so lately torn; If this Imperial Juice once taint his Blood, 'Tis by no potent Antidote withstood. Tyrants, like Leprous Kings, for publick weal, Should be immur'd, lest the Contagion steal Over the whole. Th' Elect of the Iessean Line, To this firm Law their Scepter did resign. To the serene Venetian State I'le go, From her sage Mouth fam'd Principles to know; With her, the Prudence of the Ancients read, To teach my People in their Steps to tread; By their great Pattern such a State I'le frame, Shall eternize a glorious lasting Name. Till then, my Raleigh teach our noble Youth, To love Sobriety and holy Truth: Watch and preside over their tender Age, Lest Court Corruption should their Soul engage: Tell them how Arts and Arms in thy young Days Employ'd our Youth, not Taverns, Stews and Plays: Tell them the generous Scorn their rise does ow To Flattery, Pimping and a Gawdy Shew: Teach them to scorn the Corwells, Pembrooks, Nells, The Clevelands, Osborns, Berties, Laudtherdails, Poppea, Tegoline and Arteria's Name, Who yield to these in Lewdness, Lust and Fame. Make 'em admire the Talbots, Sidneys, Veres, Drake, Cav'ndish, Blake, Men void of slavish Fears, True Sons of Glory, Pillars of the State, On whose fam'd Deeds all Tongues and Writers wait; When with bright Ardour their bright Souls do burn, Back to my dearest Country I'le return. Tarquin's just Judge and Caesar's equal Peers, With them I'le bring, to dry my People's Tears.

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Publicola with healing Hands shall pour Balm in their Wounds, and shall their Life restore: Greek Arts and Roman Arms in her conjoyn'd, Shall England raise, relieve opprest Mankind. As Iove's great Son th' infested Globe did free From noxious Monsters, hell-bred Tyrannie; So shall my England in a Holy War, In Triumph bear slain Tyrants from afar; Her true Crusado shall at last pull down The Turkish Crescent and the Persian Sun. Freed by my Labours, Fortunate Blest Isle, The Earth shall rest, the Heaven shall on thee smile; And this kind Secret for Reward shall give, No Poysonous Serpent on the Earth shall live.
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