Canidia, or, The witches a rhapsody, in five parts / by R.D.

CANIDIA, OR The Witches. A RHAPSODY. (Book 5)

THE PROLOGUE.

THO I have hunted variety of Game, My brave Brown Mare is neither Tyr'd nor Lame.

One fresh Prey, I keep in my Eye, At which I long a Veny to Try.

Huntsman make ready, So ho, So ho, Have at all Boys, t'other Turn we must go.

Every Reader that is my Friend, I'le be glad of his Company to the Worlds End.

THE WITCHES.

CANTO I.

'TIS said, We Spirits can Command, But I better things understand; This can ne're be done fairly by Book or by Wand. The Character'd Circle no Spirits may enter, Yet a poor Mouse will dare to venture, And a Cat after her into the Center. The Spirits will come and go, let 'um take their Course, But by Agreement, not by force. Let the Conjurer take it, for better for worse, The grey Mare shall prove the better Horse.

Get up and ride upon the Devils back, And he'l furnish you with what you lack. You think to make him a Jade and an Ass, To tell you all that shall come to pass.

But when your Time allow'd is past, He'l be too cunning for you at last. The Devil's too wise and strong to be hag'd, Or by violence to be drag'd.

If it be to destroy Mankind, You shall him always ready find. There needs no forcing in the case, For he was always freely Base.

See the proud Conjuring Fool, Mounts upon the footed Stool, With his holy Wand and Book; How like an Ass he does look? To catch the Devil by Hook or by Crook, And all the Devils overlook. A Cross he brings, and rare Perfume, To drive the stink out of the Room.

Why, 'tis but Reason, for who can tell, But Fiends may bring a stink from Hell? Sweet Odors therefore please 'um well. Then, and there he makes Demand Of Destinies, by Sea and Land. What Fortune shall accrue to States? Of private Men, what is their Fates? How Voyages by Sea shall speed? Who in a Family shall bleed? Their Answers are the Conjurer's Creed.

What Matches and Bargains shall thrive? Who to kill, or save alive? Who shall in War or Peace do harm? Where the Fiends and Witches swarm?

For these Responds the Devil is willing, By which I'v•• got many a Shilling. Better than to be Washer or Nurse, Such poor Trades won't fill the Purse; Yet they procure many a Curse▪

When all are pumpt dry, he sends 'um packing, 'Till new Oracles are lacking. These are the subtle Arts we drive, Yet by them we never thrive. But this is Fine, this is a Rarity, With Spirits to have Familiarity. By this means, we all Secrets find, Both future, and time out of Mind.

Apollo could do no such Feats, All his Oracles were Cheats. They did never resolve such Cases, As we that come into their Embraces. We must needs Devils understand, That get'um, nurse'um, and bring 'um up to hand. Therefore by this Black Art, Deep Mysteries they do impart: But to none they will disclose 'um, But to Friends that lye in their Bosom.

Which to Mortals we Report, Where Learned Magi come short. Upon this we make our Brags, Tho counted all damn'd ugly Hags. The wisest Dons follow our Flags, Tho we be all cloth'd in Rags. They haunt us, call us Rogues and Whores, Yet dance Attendance at our Doors.

We're well acquainted with the Moors, To open the rich Indian Stores. We are great Friends to the King of Spain, In America to find out Gain. For this of us the World does complain, To engross every Gold and Silver Vein. That Gems and Pearls lodg'd in the Deep, Unto our Shore should slily Creep. But we shall never get all their good will, Tho we should all their Treasures fill, 'Cause now and then we some Blood spill.

But that for us all would be poor, Therefore they haunt us more and more, And we Chowce them o're and o're. We perplex their Mirth and Chear, Full oft their Gold costs 'um dear; Then at the Slaves we flout and jeer.

Who first holp the Portugueses, To sayl as far as the Chineses? Who to Columbas and Vespusies, Prompted to ope the Worlds Recluses? Who the North-west-Passage discovered? Or the lost Mountains of the Moon recovered? How Alps and Tenariff the Clouds break, At the Devils Arse of Peak, Where the Devils play such Reaks? You must stay 'till the Oracle speaks.

Where the vast Oceans through doth Leak? All these Lyes my Heart can't break, No more than Aristotle's Enteleche. All this comes from a Woman weak, Half so much would make a Cat speak.

In Stangat-Hole, or the Devils Ditch, Lyes buried many a cursed Witch. I faint, I beg your pardon for the Stich, I'm forc't to sit upon my Britch.

I'm troubled with the Itch, I mean In my fingers ends, that are never clean. Yet I▪ wash Dishes and lick Trenchers, Hug close and kiss among the Wenchers, And quaff among the Sack-Possit Drenchers. When I'm troubled with more Fits, I must have a Bout with some ugly Chits, That crawl, and bawl about me, at my Diet, For Scratching and Tearing I can ne're be at quiet.

I am resolv'd, before I squat, To shew 'um a Trick, by laying them flat, And play with 'um Tit for Tat. None can handle 'um, they shall see, Without Mittins too, like me.

I intend to erect no Schemes, Nor practise Philosophick Themes. Nor invent Platonick Dreams, Nor drown 'um in Stygian Streams; But poyson 'um up with deadly Steams. That's the quickest closest Trick, To kill them down right, before they be sick.

I'le go a new way to work, Diverse from Scythian or Turk, I'le walk in unknown paths, and glide Softly, unseen, o're the World so wide. Conquering, Levelling, all along, Wise and Fools, Rich and Poor, Weak and Strong.

When I resolve to go to play, Nothing shall stand in my way.

Youl say, Whence have I this Power and Skill, Thus to say and do what I will? I say, 'Tis all without Book, And for it, for me, you may go look. I have had Masters and Tutors, That have been no less than Hells Prolocutors. Those are all my Co-adjutors, The rest are no more than Cobling Sutors.

I have had Husbands with Honesty bedeckt, Cuckolds, and damnably Hen-peckt: As for Devils, one, two and three, All of them serve for Stallions to me. So well do Witches and Devils agree, If you won't believe, Come and See. Broods of young Cubs, wrapt up in Cotton, By Incubs and Succubs are daily begotten.

Mubs, Asinego's, and African Monsters, Slyva's, Fawns, and Satyrical Youngsters: They be ugly dull Clowns; We are fairer, and wittier than Gowns, For which we have the Lawyers Frowns.

CANTO II.

A Poor man's Suit you must deny, With a Rich man's Request comply; Visit him at his sick Bed, Pray for him, and wish him dead. Send daily to know how he does do, H••ping he will ne're come too; After the Messenger throw an old Shoe. By all means you must be civil, And hold a Candle to the Devil.

Complement him while he has breath, And Caress him after Death. Carry the Pall, and wear the Black, And privately, for Joy, drink Sack, The veriest Knave in all the Pack. Entertain the Man you hate, If he be great, do it in State; Always keep a proud Gate.

But the Woman, you must know, Must be brought unto your Bow, Just as I us'd to be, With a Female Charity. The best thing a Man can give, Is to please a Woman while you live. She'l accept it from a Flale, In Fee-Simple, or Fee-Tail. For a Voyage set Sayl, Honest men never fail.

O this Rare obliging Sect, Like the Suns Beams on all Reflect.

A Dunghil they will not neglect, To Dirty Whores give your respect. Annyseed-Robin, or Pudding-Pye-Doll, You have them all in your Scroll. He that bears a Flattering Face, Obliges all the Populace.

These are the Men that prosper fair, Command in the Saddle, and Rule in the Chair. If you wont stoop to his strain, On the Dunghill complain. The Coast was clear, the World shew'd you the way, If you won't follow, behind for ever stay. Slaves in the World must be kept low, On their Dunghils the Cocks crow. But Flatterers wisely Aspire, Like Eagles, bravely to mount higher.

Fools are content to be honest and poor, Slaves to every rich Rogue and Whore: For want of a few broad Cheats and Lyes, The honest Ass pines and dyes. Is it not better to be rich and brave, (Tho a Man be, and be counted a Knave,) Than to be ragged, torn, and true, And never rise to get his Due?

They that won't the way of the World go, Must resolve to be crusht and kept low, All Affronts and Wrongs undergo: And 'tis well if they can 'scape so, Sometimes they're hang'd for't, I'le tell you but so.

I know not what I lack, tho I e're had a brazen-Face, Yet I could never endure to be base: For I came of a more generous Race. A Noble Tyrant I never knew, But scorn'd to flatter the ignoble Crew, And for this give the Devil his due. He is always a brave Fellow, That loves a brisk Bowl, and will sometimes be Mel∣low.

It is of Baseness, the lowest degree, To court the Rabble by Flattery. Like the Spaniel and the Fox, Of all Knaves they most deserve the Stocks. Or the Whip rather, and the Strap, 'Till the Pox at last gives them a Clap. Any thing for such Mongrel Curs, That pretend Conscience Demurs. And dare not by Falshood make Friends, To compass all unlawful Ends.

We sit at good Cheer, and warm Fires, Enjoy all our Lust requires; And laugh at honest hungry Fryars, That durst not bring about their Desires, For fear of being counted Knaves and Lyars, Or, if you please, Spirit Tryars.

Let 'um starve if they will, for my Part, I count my self a man of Art, When by base means I get the start. As for tender Consciences, tho by Birth And Learning, of Infinite worth. To their wilful Wills I leave 'um, They need no Witches to deceive 'um.

If these Rare men want Meat, Drink, and Clothing, As this World goes, I wonder at Nothing. They may thank their Honesty, if they be no Richer, They may thank their Folly, if they carry the Pitch∣er. Away with these dull Erra Paters, Their highest Preferment ••s to be Translators. So the World's well govern'd, as Matters do stand, When Knaves and Fools get all the Land, I shall ne're get so much by my Conjuring Wand.

The false Obliger, I shall ever know For a Rascal, as he is, and so let him go. 'Tis he, at long run, shall feel the Wo, And ne're know who 'tis gives him his Deaths blow. The Slave gets into every Dress, Is ready, and yare, in every Mess. He is always hatching Eggs, Throw him ev'ry way, he falls like a Cat, on his Legs.

In Musick he screws up all the Pegs, The Slave seldom or never begs. A Pox upon him, for a Dog Rogue, He does so palpably Collogue, That he carries away all the Vogue.

Of Obliging all, the true Constitution, Is the Conscience Prostitution, Without any least Diminution made; This must needs be a Devilish Trade. To please great Men, and for Preferments sake, Any thing of such you may make; Of such Knaves your choice you may take. Any Promise, Vow or Oath, Upon occasion break your Troth.

To spare none be loth, All Equity is but Froth.

See you there an honest Man, Strive to undo him, all you can. Such an one did but steal a Cow, Who look't o're the Hedge? Such a Rogue as you. Hang ye, Dam ye, cursed Dog, You leapt over a Frog, To take him that stole but a Hog. And now you're fallen into a Bog, You deserve a Chain and Clog.

Where there's gain or honour coming, Thither in haste ye must be running; We know this is all your cunning. Haunt their Ghosts, coming and going, Be importunately Woing, Tho it be to manys Undoing. There's no State, Warlike or Civil, But many sometimes lack help of the Devil.

Ri••le the Living, Ransack the Dead, A good Conscience is fled. Rather than not to have your ends sped, Leap over another Mans head. Then, if you can, quietly sleep in your Bed, This it is to be well Bred. Your Bed is strown with Lillies and Roses, Your Table furnished with Quelque Choses.

Rail lustily at a Thief that's poor, Because like a Rogue he got behind the door:

Or at him that got a Whore; Or a Drunkard that had not paid his Score, Tho he ne're did so since or before. You may ravish an Estate From Orphans and Widows, it is a good Bait, They were born to be poor by Fate.

He that is under a Threepeny Planet born To be a Cuckold, must wear a Horn; If by a Lord, let him not take it in scorn. Such a Slave must have no Entry, To climb up into the Gentry. Tis enough for a poor Rogue to live, To the Rich, you can't too much give. He may help you at a dead Lift, Season him well with a woundy good Gift, And he may leave you for your self to shift. And yet say, 'twas well bestown, To greaze a fat Sow, overgrown, Tho your Cause be overthrown.

For a poor Rogue to aspire, Does he think to be a Squire? Lay him over the Fire, Give him a Toss let him ne're grow higher. The way of the World I don't admire, To hinder an honest Desire. Poor Rogues must not look for their due, 'Tis in vain for them to Sue. Send 'um packing among the Crew, Starve him, beat him black and blew.

If he but offer to stand in your way, Take all he has, make him a Prey.

Send him packing to the Gang, The Poor are fit for nothing, but to hang. Stand not upon Terms of Charity, Such a Cockscomb is a Rarity; Levellers aim at a Parity. Charity and Justice begin at home, For an honest Man there can be no room, Let him not speak a word, for 'tis his Doom.

Have a care of your self, or ye deserve to be sham'd, The Rich care not if you be all hang'd and damn'd. What, tell a Rich man of his Fault? He'l not leave you worth a Groat. You're a Rogue all to Nought, 'Tis a sign you're better fed than taught. Not a word for your life, the Truth must not be spoke, The Weight's fell down, because the Jack Line broke.

Now this is your Obliging man, That will do for you all he can: He means for his own gain, 'Tis a folly to complain. If you will, he'l put you out of pain, At last come upon you fresh again. But if a poor Rogue he find you, Then be sure he never minds you, Turns you going with your hands behind you.

You that wou'd act the Dissemblers part, Must make use of the Black Art; But let not your Conscience start. You may put on a Disguise, And make a shew of Sacrifice, To hide all your Rogueries:

And wink with both Eyes; To shed Tears is Woman-wise.

He's not a Man now-a-days, That can't put on a brazen-Face. Be bold my Boy, be bold, ther'es all good feeding, Shrink not, when it comes to bleeding. To get your Ends make all the way, Put by all Rubs without stop or stay, All the poor Rogues are run away. The honest Fool is Tender-hearted, For which he deserves to be Carted.

I have seen a Fool play fast and loose, That was not able to say Boh to a Goose. A Petty-Fogger's a great Possessor, Or a Dupondio Professor, More than a famous Antecessor. A dull Mountebank▪ or Quack, Wealthy Patients never lack. To deal in mens precious Lives, for Gains, He's a sawcy Jack for his pains.

You say, I'm a bare Brazen-face-Witch, Because with my Work I go through stich. I know and believe all Truth in my Mind, But I never lov'd to practise it in kind.

I have seen a Clouted-Shun, Through thick and thin run, 'Till he hath many a Man undone. He shall haunt ye Westminster-Hall, With his Black-Box before'um all. Such a freez Thred-bare Coat, Shall leave you not worth a Groat.

He sneaks, like a simple Jack, Try him, he's Mettle to the Back.

He shall in Term time leave the Plow, To sue for a Horse or a Cow, Turn up her Tail, and her Arse kiss you. Shun him, for he's a more dangerous Knave, Than they that look big and go brave. He shall turn ye East, West, North and South, You'd think Butter wou'd not melt in his Mouth. His property is never to give out, For grubbing and rubbing he has a Hog's Snout.

This Freez-Coat, this Clouted-Shun, As very a Knave as is under the Sun. The Calling's Honest, but the Slaves Plow up honest mens Graves. At this my Satyr Frets and Raves, They follow him, with Clubs and Staves. But 'tis the sharp and false Pen, That undoes all sorts of Men. ‘ Therefore I have thus laid about, ‘ Labouring to reform the Rout, ‘ 'Till by o're heating, I've got the Gout.

Take a handsom Shee-Solliciter, She shall oblige Multipliciter. She's an admirable Visiter, You may send her to my Lord Inquisitor. She bewitches with her Looks, Men that use to write in Books. And with a Silver-Tongue besides, Every amarous Fop Rides. She constantly keeps her Tides, From Westminster-Hall to St. Brides.

Bring her to a Lawyers Bar, She opens the Case for Peace or War. If by her Tears she melt your Heart, Take her and comfort her apart. She has all her Lesson perfectly by Heart, As very a Whore as e're rode in a Cart. Nothing like her is so smart, I'le warrant your Cause shall never start, If she but offers to plead her Part.

Take a graceful comly Wench, She shall dazle all the Bench; 'Tis better than our giving a Drench. A fair-Face under a Love-black-Hood, Your Cause for her sake must be good. Her amiable looks shall win ye, Better than many a golden Guiny; Use her well, 'tis pretty Jenny. A Lawyers Heart shall quickly melt, After he has her Pulse felt; But he must be no Eunuch Gelt.

What a sly subtil Witch am I, Such new fashion Witchcrafts to spy: Which no honest Body can deny, If they will but venture to try? When the World comes once to hear it, They'l ne're be able to bear it. Go on brisk, and never fear it, Win it, brave Lads, and wear it; To be sure the Cause will bear it.

I may lye a Bed till Noon, You'd as good throw your Caps at the Moon.

The Dog-Star at the Moon does Bark. You have got Venus in the Dark. The roguing Cur smells something, Hark, He finds you are a very Shark. A Blood-Hound will ne're leave hunting; A fat Hog will ne're leave grunting.

You may be sure, all is not right, When Rogues run abroad to steal in the Night. When drunken Sots make troublesom Stirs, This causes the Barking of the Curs, Even amongst them that wear Furs. All's not well, when we ring so many a Knell, Where can we in safety dwell? The World is the worser Hell, You understand this very well, I nothing but the Truth tell. The Blood-Hounds have a very strong smell, And I like my Humor well.

I do't to find out Rogues and Whores, That turn all Honesty out a doors, Not sparing Rich or Poors. I've lost my Wits with turning and winding, Knaves and Fools in all places finding, Never Honest Folk minding. Nothing I say, or do, is binding, I shall have a time to leave off grinding.

These are your Obliging-Men, That turn about 'fore and aft, too and agen. There's nothing but Knavish shufflling, Snearing, Toping, Ranting and Scuffling. I heard one complain, Sir, Where shall I find A Man that has an honest Mind?

I clapt him o'th' Back, and said, Be of good Cheer, If you will, you may find an honest Man here. In your own Clothes, 'tis your own fault. If you don't, you need not be naught, I am sure you're better Taught.

Let Honesty be ne're so much out of fashion, 'Tis better than Interest or Obligation. You never heard me talk at this rate, The Devil rebukes Sin, it seems, but of late; 'Tis sure, by some Destiny, or Fate. The Pot the Kettle black Arse calls, The Hypocrite stands, rises or falls.

‘ As bad as I am, I am for Truth pure and neat, ‘ Or any thing that will do the Feat. ‘ Cross Rascals make me all in a Sweat, ‘ Give me something to drink and eat▪ ‘ I hate to see Religion sold by the Great. ‘ My Spirits, I think, are ready to fail, ‘ To see so many Lyes sold by Retail. ‘ I labour against it Tooth and Nail, ‘ By this Rule Knaves will never fail: ‘ And then I resolve for some other Land to set Sail, ‘ But whereever I am, ne're to turn Tail.

‘ I'm forc't to be tedious more and more, ‘ Because I see of Falshood greater store. ‘ How I can hold out, if you ask, ‘ I say, none but a Witch can perform this Task, ‘ (I wont be known, lend me my Mask.) ‘ And still a Witch is more than their Match, ‘ Let 'um lock to themselves, Harm watch, Harm catch.

‘ I'm sure, I'm quite condemn'd by the Letter, ‘ Because I do worse, and know better. ‘ And besides, I do mischief my self, ‘ More than an ordinary Elf. ‘ I never lov'd to halt before a Cripple, ‘ To kill, not cheat the Common People. ‘ Nor am I of the Priest's Trade. ‘ To ride the Hackny Vulgar to a Jade.

You may find of Knaves good store, If you go down to Gravesend or the Buoy in the Nore. And if you'l further launch out to the Main, Youl see Pirates and Pickeroons ransack for Gain. From Dunkirk, Algier, Tripoly and Sallies, To furnish Slaves to run in the Gallies.

I find there's another great Flaw, Necessity has no Law. Necessity, I say, not forc't, but made, Is now become a most damnable Trade. It hides all Villany from Whelps, That never could invent better Helps. A Complement's one thing, Necessity's another, With both these Cloaks they'l cozen their Brother, And plead, 'tis lawful to undo each other.

They could not help't, they must comply; I beg your Pardon, I tell you no Lye, I was forc't to yield to Necessity. So they Baffle among the Throng, Cheating and Lying for a Song. In case of Compliance, Correspondence I love. In case of Necessity, my Valour I prove.

Mystical Rites, Priests keep close to themselves, And send the Laity to be taught by Elves. Oracles, and Sybills Books, are conceal'd, Because all Truth, forsooth, must not be reveal'd. Prophecies and Miracles, are most of 'um Cheats, Pretended by them that would seem to do Feats.

Constantinople, Turks call the Red Apple, And for it Christians shall one day grapple: Let Naples, as well, be call'd, the Horse Dapple, The Homage of Spain, led to the Pope's Chappel, My Flying-Horse Pegasus, lacks a Snaffle. Omnia Gladii Pedissequa, It makes all Cowards run away.

CANTO III.

An old Ape has an old Eye, Cheat all you can come nigh, Do it under the Canopy. Say nothing to the Standers by, They'l make a fearful Outcry. Slip aside the Rout among, 'Tis clear gains, if you can hold your Tongue. Let 'um call you Rogue and Knave, So you but the Profit have.

Laugh at them that call you Fools, For suffering you to work with their Tools, And for it hiss 'um out of the Schools. Quod defertur, non aufertur, is a very good Clench, Claim Possession a thousand year hence, And from that time a Fool Commence. Abanadaba curat Febrim, Starve no Cause, Pone Legem.

Every day, Pro Hic & Nunc, Now and anon too, You may have a Punk; If you want Cash, your Cause is sunk. In formâ Pauperis your Suit commence, I'le warrant you the Day, a Thousand year hence.

O sweet Civility, thou'rt a meer Saint, A pure Beauty does never Paint. Alas, alas, we must be Civil, Tho we go all to the Devil. We cou'd not help it, I, nor No, Our Masters wou'd have it so. ‘ With the World I'm well acquainted, ‘ With all Vice, in my time, I've been tainted. ‘ I have been as good as ever twang'd, ‘ I have seen many an honester Body hang'd.

Steal, Rogue and Whore, in the way of Civility, Flatter and Lye in the way of Gentility. Kill all Nations in point of Honour, Be as bloody as Bishop Bonner. In a mad Mood kill all you meet, Or take the Wall in the Street. I'le tell you a Trick, if you have been to blame, And find it hard to cover the shame, Feast and Caress in the Devils Name.

Be sure put on a Brazen Face, And speak Big to the Man with a Mace. Court all you can the Populace, This will cover your Disgrace. He's a brave Man to the Poor and Rich, But he's hated worse than a Witch. They'l taste of his Cup, and lick in his Dish, And jeer him as much as his heart cou'd wish.

But this is a way to hide for a Time, The Malignity of any Crime, 'Till you come to your Prime.

Do some kindness to some poor Boys, This will stop some part of the Noise. They that you have took by the Teeth well, Won't stick to proclaim you a Fool and a Rake-hell. They that to do honesty dare be able, Will scorn to sit down at your counterfeit Table, Or set their Horses in your Stable. A wise Man will certainly try him, And an honest Man will never come nigh him, And a Man of Courage will defie him. Let 'um keep company with their own Scholars, Like to like, quoth the Devil to the Colliers.

‘ I'm got into a strange Vein, ‘ You see I have a working Brain, ‘ And how shall I get out of this strain. ‘ I have laboured a long Time, ‘ To leave this way of Vulgar Rhime. ‘ I am so crowed among the Rout, ‘ I must sweat before I can get out: ‘ And then I shall have another Bout, ‘ But still I'm resolv'd to be stout.

Courtesy, Kindness, Civility, Ingredients to make up Gentility. But to Cozen, Lye and Flatter, ‘ Makes all the Teeth of my Head chatter; ‘ What if I've none, that's no matter. Ladies virtuous and fair, Of Counterfeits have a care.

They are of a Dissembling Hue, Yet you may distinguish the False from the True.

Great Ones flatter one another, Every Interested Brother. By mean Men they must be courted, They love to hear all Lyes reported. Prefer that to be the best, Which makes for Private Interest. Have a care to fill up your Chest, That is, to feather your Nest.

There is a Grand Devil, that flyes Round about all the World in a Disguise 'Tis Beelzebub, the God of Flies, Purposely to dazle Mens Eyes. Puts a Mask of Virtue upon Vice, And circumvents you in a Trice. A perfect Crocadile, A Cockatrice to beguile. A glass-Eye, and a Silver-Tongue, Fair and foul, old and young; Above all take heed of a False Tongue.

I dare not own my Friend, if I know, He has a Great Man for his Foe. I dare not say, I, or No, I dare neither stop nor go. ‘ Rogues, I'le make you all whist, ‘ And stand still, tho you're all to be pist, ‘ I'le do with you what I list. ‘ Rogues, I have ye all at Command, ‘ If I do but wink, or wag my hand. ‘ I'le make you tremble, if I Nod, ‘ Down on your knees, if I shake my Rod.

He that complies against his will in Evil, Goes down Hill more and more to the Devil. After he has lost the right way, He finds he can neither stop nor stay. No matter for a Conscience Biter, Per scelera ad scelus tutum est Iter.

He that like a Fool shall say he's frail, Deserves to be tied to the Devil's Tail. If his Boat to ••ail be slow, The Devils may give him a Tow. 'Tis a favour he does use to bestow, And then you know whither ye must go. But what if the Devil pronounces a Curse? Stand, says the Thief, deliver your Purse, Send him to Proserpine to Nurse. He that's clothed in Scarlet and Silk, Shall suck a Witches or the Devils best Milk.

He and We, like Doves, shall be Billing, That does bad, when to do good he is willing. For this I'le help him to many a Shilling, And Pounds too, if it comes once to killing. There will be old hugging, At last it may come to tugging. ‘ I'le give him many a golden Wedge, ‘ To set his greedy Tooth on edge. ‘ And after all, I'le be his Pledge, ‘ And leave him to starve under an Hedge.

Out of a Dunghill gain smells well, Scum the Devil and rake Hell, When your Conscience you sell.

Sup it up, 'tis very good Broth, Infuse a Lye, or a damnable Oath, Such as to taste Old Nick wou'd be loth. As Good eat the Divel as his Broth, 'Tis scalding hot by my Troth.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 in their dogged dumps, Often put us to our Trumps. But we return them as many Frumps, And sett close upon all their Rumps. Logarithus, Algebra, Cossa Frighted Frederick Barbarossa. Systole and Diastole (put a good face on) Strike like a double Diapason. Find me a Green for my Goose to graze on.

If a Knave, of some small good by chance, be an Actor, He's cry'd up, by Fools, for a great Benefactor. He's forc'd to choose best, and leave the worse. For which he's branded with no less curse. Trust him not twice, for once well doing, A Suiter's forc'd to go oft a Woing, And perhaps to his own undoing. After many repulses are past, 'Tis hazard if he speed not at last, Who dares build upon the Lord's Waste?

He's ever charitably kind, To the man that's going down the wind. The meaning is, when all is set down, To turn him out of house and home. He feeds the Spendthrift Gallant with Coyn, The reason is, his Estate to undermine. He patches him up, in City and Town, On purpose at once to throw him down.

Master Scrivener, this is your drift, To get all he has, and leave him to shift, By this way you give Debtors a Lift.

He's never counted a right honest man, That do's not, at all times, do all the good he can. The Divel somtimes is good when he's pleas'd, He that has an Intermission, is still diseas'd. From him that ruffles in storms of Anger, In a Calm expect the greatest Danger, For still there sleeps a Dog in the Manger.

The man that is rarely in a distemper, Is call'd the man of an even temper, Have a care o'th the man that is passionate semper. Night and day you must watch and ward, Continually stand upon your Guard, Plead ne're so much reason, you can't be heard,

The man of good Principles, never fear him, You may oblige him and endear him: To himself and his Friend he's always true, That gives to every one his due. The man that eats another mans Bread, Devours the Living and the Dead. That Friend will ne're keep you from sorrow, That lends Money to day, demands it to morrow.

He that re-enters upon a day, Or takes a Forfeiture is a Knave, I say. Your Pawn is lost, for it is a crime, You did not exactly keep your time. To sell you the worst of my Wares I am willing, But trust, I must gain a Groat in the Shilling.

Ile break on purpose to compound With my Creditors, for Five Shillings in the Pound.

A Soph, a Poet, or a Rhetor, Slubbers a Cause, so don't a Praetor. To colour over a rotten Post, Over a Pot and a Tost. Folly, Prejudice, Hatred, Power, Disjoynts true Reason every hour, After Extortions to scape Hell; Build a School, creep to a Cell.

When Sin has left ye, Fast and Pray, Let Creditors for ever stay. In a Goal Drink, Roar and Whore, Let Tenants be for ever poor. Give no Satisfaction, make no Restitution, To your Honours Diminution. Undo Families never cry Peccavi, till you die.

Then let them their hearts out curse, But never open your Purse. No matter for Conscience or Good Name, Be sure to play your own Game. Pay nothing tho you be ne're so able, When the Steed's stoln, shut the Stable, Let your undone Creditors come to your Table. When you have got your Ends, Drunk 'em, Punk 'em, make 'em Friends.

You are feasting they are pining, You are rejoycing, they are whining. Deal a dole of Bread to the Poor, when Corn's dear, And cheat them of their Means by the year. Mumble your Mattins, Jumble your Beads, When you have chopt off innocent Heads.

Religon is a very good Paint. All's well, if you can but go for a Saint.

You are safe among Friars and Nuns, A Cloyster secures from all Duns. A Court a Camp will do the Feat, An ill Conscience is spruce and neat. When y' have done this, you 'r a Cock of the Game, The poor Rogues will all be tame. If they black you they are to blame, You are still a man of Fame.

If you grumble in the Gizard, Ne're trouble a Witch or a Wizard. But keep on a sanctified Vizard. Reason shan't be understood In Passion, be it ne're so good. Plead Mercy and Equity, They'l mock, 'Tis all one, as to speak to a Rock. Ne're trust the man in a Frock, Ne're take a woman in her Smock.

By your leave and good favour, I say, something has some savour, I won't be meal-mouth'd, the Truth to smother, Let a Bride Bring her Meat, drink and Cloth along with her, If you be a Cuckold, She's just such another.

Invite Debtors to Christmas Cheer, And then all's discharg'd, all's clear. Their mouths are stopt, their Clamours cease, Depopulation is call'd a very good Peace, When all your Vassals are at ease; And the Lords may do what they please.

The Indians Countrey is invaded, To live Slaves they are perswaded, So the Greeks by the Turks are Jaded. Poor conquer'd Slaves must not thrive, 'Tis well if they be sav'd alive. The whole World runs upon Wheels, Every one oppression feels,

But every one that feels wrong or pain, Must not be so sawcy as to complain. If he do, he's held down by Might and Main, And gag'd by the Inquisition of Spain. Sent to the Gallies, or the Mines, If he cannot pay his Fines. I don't like this dealing underhand, When men above board may fairly command.

Get to bed to a Citizens Wife, The Husband leads a Cuckold's life. She shall enrich the Cuckold-maker, Be he Ranter or Quaker. The Merchant deals in Forreign Wares, But understands not his Home-Affairs, 'Tis no part of his cares. He trusts abroad, and he trusts at Home, Rich Goods and Bastards take up Room. Alas, saies the Bawd, it was his doom, Poor man, let him hang out the Broom.

If it were not so, you must understand, He should have none to inherit his Land. The Wife at home, and the Husband abroad, Both drive a subtile trade, So you may ride your Horse to a Jade.

Alas, his head never akes, For all the care his Wife takes, A horned Pate sound sleep ne're breaks. 'Tis ever a contented life, To be a Cuckold without strife.

Fellows of Houses take the least care, When they lack, they may borrow a Townsmans Mare; The best in the Stable to a Friend they can spare, And are beholden to them for their care. Their Pupils custom shall make them amends, So Scholars and Townsmen are very good Friends, And both serve for their own Ends.

He that drinks hard, and Whores, 'tis an even lay, If he don't shortly break and run away. A Mis, a Lacquay, a Countrey House, and a Coach, Are the fore-runners of a Broach. He is gone to run his Range, Proclaim'd Bankrupt upon the Change. It may be this man was a Teacher, Or a Bankrupt overeacher.

The Brotherhood, while he's in Spain, Joyn to make him whole again. This course every Sanctified Brother Takes, by compounding for one another. The Sisters will do many a Job, 'Tis no Sin the Wicked to rob. The Egyptians, most odly, Are bound to enrich the Godly.

All is theirs to inherit, Because they have the true Merit, And do all by the Spirit.

If the Wicked be saved from Slaughter, Dub them Slaves to the Godly ever after. Weak Rogues are fit to live no longer, Then they can be drudges to the stronger. But specially the Godly Breed, Must be enriched by Prophane Seed.

If an honest good Fellow break his Crupper, He may as soon behang'd as get his Supper. If a Lady of pleasure fall in two pieces, Her Gallants present her with Golden pieces. There's Nurses and Midwifes provided ready. For She kept her reckoning steddy. Poor Whores, when old, rott and die, You need not ask the reason why. Rich Whores, when old, Stallions Maintain, The Moon lacks help when she's in the Wain.

Letchery in Fratribus & Sororibus Lippis notum est, & Tonsoribus. Mariners are Nervosum genus, For the Seas sake, Friends to Venus. With Vulcan therefore She, Like Fire and Water can't agree.

The Fucus of vain Eloquence, To solid Laws gives great Offence. A Golden Tongue shivers a Cause, Baffles all Equity and Laws. When Lives and Fortunes lie at stake, It makes the Peoples hearts ake. What Brain's left in the Judges skull, Whom the Advocate shall gull.

Daunts Witnesses, like Boys, By the Horror of a thundring Noise. By the fair Tongues Froth and Foam, A Golden Plaister to a Wall of Loam. By Fraud was taken Bergen ap Soam. Bars of Gules, Azure, Or and Argent, Stab a fair Text by a foul Gloss in Margent. So the Conqueror comes off rident, As did the Pope in the Council of Trident.

Mahomet is for an Armed Law, As fittest to keep the World in Aw. Justinian aim'd at Right, and Ease, The better to keep the World in Peace: But the Sword gets the Golden Fleece. Justice counts her self ne're the worse, Defended by the Sword and Purse, Of these Religion should be the Nurse.

When Oratory shall be banish'd, Controversies will soon be vanish'd. This Harlot has advanced Gowns, And overwhelmed Righteous Crowns. 'Tis the Tongue and the Pen, Than the Sword has kill'd more men.

The Court of rare Venetian Sages, For pure Justice most engages. They scorn to stoop to Flattery or Fears, To be took by the Teeth or Ears. This Case Vegelius to them applied, For Reformation, and was not denied.

Venice is no Witch, I dare swear; for 'tis said, A thousand Years she has continued a Maid.

She's plaguy cunning in all her work, To save from being ravish'd by the Turk. If I had had a thousand Maidenheads, long before I should have lost them, and found them, o're and o're, As they do, that so oft get behind the door.

'Tis a cursed thing to be an old Maid, Patience upon force, and yet never decaid, The men are hard hearted, I am afraid, 'Tis not for want of Will in the least, To have a good Stomach, and want a Feast. I would not wish more ill luck to a Beast, This Veniat is the Phoenix Nest. She may Well bear a Phoenix in her Crest. The Arabian Phoenix is but a Jest.

I have heard it often said, Very few good Workmen of a Trade. The Vintners art, as now we see, Quere if Poysning it may not be? A man that hath of Honour tasted, His Name is on a sudden blasted. The Tallest Cedars have the Luck, And sturdy Oakes to be Planet struck.

In private Interest the Business lies, To do good to our Families. But in publick the greatest health, Is to promote the Common-Wealth, And to do nothing at all by stealth. A Publick Spirit is the Queen of all Dames, Her Subjects get everlasting Names. So a Laurel fresh and green, Burnt, Red and Withered I have seen.

Schools, Hospitals, Castles, Bridges, Merit honourable Priviledges. In all these nothing but honesty's included, And all base selfishness excluded. Divels what have you to do here? By Right you ought not to come nere, Where there's no Wine, nor strong Beer, Nor a Bit of good Cheer. Where you come, you make all clear. Dogs run away with whole Joynts, As you do with Pottles and Pints.

There's a young Divel, Opportunity, Much acquainted with Importunity, That takes Time by the Forelock, To give his Enemy a sore knock. Not like old Time, who runs on a main, But never, like him, returns again.

Cupid, the blind Archer shoots poyson'd Darts, 'Tis his luck to hit the wisest Hearts; His Bow and Quiver disturb more People, Than all the Guns above Paul's Steeple. He puts the Scholar to his Trumps, And makes him study nothing but upon Rumps, And try to dance without Pumps. Bona Terra, mala Gens, Your Question, when ever you Doctor commence. Who can deny a Prety Wench?

Sirrah, watch well your Masters Eye. Do as he does, laugh or cry, And if he bid you, live or die. In company frown or smile, As your Lord does, all the while.

Parasite you may be bold, With your Master to rail or scold, For a good Dinner, hot or cold.

Obligation and Compliance his mate, Never meddle with matters of State. Obligation takes too much upon her, In point of Honesty and Honour: Put Honesty and Civility together, Shake 'm and choose you whether, If of Honesty there be a Cessation, Within the Lines of Communication. 'Twill breed a Conscience Vastation, Which is a Knaves Demonstration.

If you can get to be Conscience proof, Steal an Ox and leave the Hoof, And believe you were honest enough; Let no Justice come under your Roof; But from Equity keep aloof. Too much Honesty as well as Civility, The Heralds say does extinguish Gentility.

By Honesty too much invaded, Nobility and Gentry are degraded. To take heed by all means of Restitution, Is a Courtiers Constitution. Never give to a Contribution, For fear of a Purses Diminution. 'Tis an Honour for the Poor to serve 'em, 'Tis a Favour for the Rich to starve 'em.

They that dissemble with Kings, Emperors and Ruling things.

Hope to avoid all deadly Stings. Of such Parasites the World Rings. Every Rebellious Combination, Endangers no less than Damnation; 'Twas never so seen among our Occupation.

Yet still, all the cry against us lies, 'Tis we are the common Sacrifice. All hate 'gainst us is directed still, 'Cause we keep Folk from having their Will, And than others we have more Skill. I'le appeal to the God of Flies, Whether we ever told so many Lyes, Only they count us for Gossips and Spies.

CANTO IV.

Pensioners to Forreign States, Undo Kingdoms, more than the Fates; That tell Lies at costly rates. They are taken for Knaves in Grain, That offer of Knaves to complain. Be content, the Song is well sung, Can't you be damn'd, and hold your Tongue? ‘ These are to me most Musical Notes, ‘ But I long to be cutting a Throats.

A Parasite loves the smell of roast Beef, Or a hot Venison Pasty in chief. He makes Post-haste through Wind and Weather, As good as e're trod upon shoe of Leather.

A Trencher-Chaplain, I hate to behold, Especially if he be Learned and Old.

T' endure to see him, I am not able, Before the second Course, to rise from the Table. To see him take away his Plate, And make a Leg to the company, I hate. Scrape to his Master, for his good Fare, And basely stand behind his Chair; And beg to borrow his old blind Mare, To ride to a Countrey Fair: Master Parson, have a care, There's a Waiting Woman sits next you, Fair, If she chance to be Coy, and you be gain-said, My Lady has a finer Chamber Maid. Court her, though She be a little demure, To win her, in time, you shall be sure.

The poor Soul waits every Evening Tide, With a Warming Pan, at your Beds side; In so doing, she takes a Pride, Hoping, one day, to be your Bride. Give her a Kiss, and a Hug, now and tan, As you are a Gentleman, She's ever willing to lye by a man.

For this kind Behaviour, You'l get your Lords and Ladies Favour. And truly something has some Savour. You shall have her by degrees, And with her, a Vicarage of the Childrens Threes. Besides a pair of Gloves next Fair, Therefore to please her, have a care, Marry her, and you'l please 'em to a Hair.

What, if she be a little crackt, or so, To London, for a new Maiden head, let her go.

Never stick at this Lock, Of being guilty of Simony, by the Smock, Marry her quickly, ne're ask what's a Clock. 'Twont be long e're the Cradle you rock; Go, fetch a dry Nurse, upon old Brock.

My Lord, and my Lady, welcome in their Charity, To eat up your Tithe Pigs, and Geese, for a Rarity. You must always provide 'em good Cheer, Nordown Ale, or strong, stale Beer. You must Present 'em now and then, With a Cock of the Game, and a good fat Hen.

At Term time, mark what I say, Coach your Patron and Matron to a Play, And wait upon 'em every day. These are Lay Patrons pitiful tricks. To eat up the poor Vicars Pigs and Chicks. But there is something more than I'le chat, If you'r presented to a Rectory Fat.

The Young Squire Gratis you must teach, Set him next the Pulpit when you preach, Take heed of making a Breach. You must go a Coursing with your young Master, Have a care he come to no Disaster. Be with him at every Running, Wait on him while he goes a gunning, And on my Lady when She a walks Sunning. To keep in with the Servants you must be Cunning, If they ow you Money, take heed of Dunning.

When your Wife lyes in, for Joy, The Lady will be Godmother to your Boy.

She'l send her many a dainty Bit, From the Oven or the Spit. All this you may do, if you have wit.

Scholars, when I perceive you muddy. And melancholy in a brown Study, I'le send you a Lass of excellent parts, Able to teach the best Master of Arts, And withall to cheer your Hearts. She shall put you all to your Trumps, And tickle you out of your Dumps. Hang the Muses, they never kiss Half so well, as young dainty Cis.

Nothing can be like such a Witch, as this is, That furnishes you with the sweetest Kisses, And at your needs She never misses; Presently leaves washing a Dishes. And makes you all drink like Fishes, To every Scholars best Wishes.

She'l furnish you with new Notions, Of the best Philosophick Motions. Metaphysical Speculations, Most Transcendent Ejaculations. Whores are Pocky, but a fair Wife, Pleases a Scholar to the life: She's at your Service all the year Gratis, Dainty Covert, and money Satis, For so you read it of old in Fatis.

When you upon Preferment pitch, Feast and Bribe the Doegna Witch, She has Patron and Patroness all at a Bay, Make sure of her, and you shall get the day.

Spend all upon 'em, and when you come to lack, I'le ingage they shall write fool on your back. To recruit all it may fall to your Lot, To marry the rich old damnable Trott.

If they give you what they can't keep, Slave, you must never cringe and creep. Be commanded at every turn, If need be, you may hang and burn. Ride and run, be call'd all the Rogues and Slaves, You and your Bratts, till you come to your Graves. Can you hold basting and railing, As well as cursing without failing.

Look to't, for your Children must inherit, The Plague of their Fathers Merit. They and you shall have enough, I tell you no Lye, And when ye will, you may all hang and die, But never ask the reason why. Are you Back, Belly, and Conscience proof, Then Rogues you may come under their Roof, If not, at your peril, stand aloof.

If a place of profit fall, You must not only go, and come at their Call, But for Gain play the Divel and all, The Timber is theirs, yours are the Chips, And this they call going Snips. O this Grease is an excellent Barter, For ever to have and hold your Charter,

There's a Son to put out, and a Daughter to marry, For fear both these should miscarry. Vassals all provide your Purses, Or else look for a Landlords Curses

It must for certain, be your Doom, To be turn'd out of house and home. Do you not understand obliging yet, To wade through thick and thin dry and wet?

There's a Duel to be sped, Provide your self to be knock'd oth' Head. Seconds or Thirds, by Foot or Horse, You must follow your Masters Course. Dam, Rob, Murder, Whore and Drab. Pimp and be drunk with your Master, you Scab. Defend him Rogue in every Quarrell, And see the last drop of every Barrel.

If you can scape with the lick of a Cane, Instead of a Rapier, you may brag of your Gain. Be sure you thank him for every Blow, Or Pot that at your Head he shall throw. Instead of Pistol, or stab of a Dagger, A thrust or so, if he begin to swagger. Dog, be sure you thank your Master, For saving your Life, for going no faster.

There are more obliging Readings, Better than Endictments or Impleadings. Respect not your Fair, Chast Wife, Whom you should love more than your Life. Prefer a Mis her far before, Tho a foul or rotten Whore. Let her be a keeper of all your Store, And turn your honest Wife out of Door, That brought you of Pounds so many a Score, I'le be hang'd if the Misses don't make ye all poor.

Be sure never be seen with Wife or Mother, Or walk with Father, Uncle or Brother, Never regard their Good or Gain, And then y' are of the right Obliging strain. Curse, swear, dam, through Steel or Brass, Carry all before ye, or else you 're an Ass, But remember to frequent Mass, So for a Saint the Devil may pass.

I hear of a Grievance every Day, Of poor Labourers, that want their pay. It makes my heart ake to hear their crying, And see for want their Children lye a dying. Masters to pay Debts take no care, Servants to ask 'em must not dare. Unjust Stewards, Clerks and Scribes, Drain poor Souls with Fees and Bribes.

These from nothing heap up Riches, Are they not far worse than Witches? The Plagues of Families and Towns, The Ruin of Miters and Crowns. Princes and Priests, look to your selves, You harbour Serpents, Vipers, Elves; Snatch your Subjects from their Paws, That consume them by the help of Laws. Deliver them out of their Jaws, That send poor Creatures to pick Straws. Burn all these Crocadiles Nests, That hurt more than Divels or Wild Beasts.

The Divels will one day crack their Crowns, Pickled Knaves, as e're wore Gowns. That can do more mischief with the dash of a Pen, Than a Thousand poor labouring men,

That steal a few Nail or Chips, And suffer the Stocks or Whips. Those that can Scribere cum Dasho, Deserve the Halter more than the Slasho; Wou'd the World were well rid of this ugly Tra∣sho.

An old decay'd Gentleman Retainer, We count him but a pitiful Gainer. He stretches his Guts, and crams his Skin, And chops the Chamber Maid under the Chin; Or the Cook Maid in a corner, he counts it no Sin: She can remember him from the Spit, Or the great Pot, with a warm Bitt; This he reckons a piece of Witt.

But the Steward takes double Fine, And the Tenant sends his Lord Venison and Wine; So they grow rich, and the Lord grows poor, Bisides his Hounds, his Hawk, and his Whore, His Ale house and his Tavern Score. 'Tis pity he should spend an Estate more. Let him sell his Coach and go a foot, He's undone between a Rogue and a Slut. For long Leases, take large Fines; Make Hay, while the Sun shines. Down with the Timber without Aspersion, Let the Heir starve, or sell his Reversion.

CANTO V.

Mortals, I have found out an Hermaphrodite Beast. The Devourer of all the rest. Interest and Obligation, The great Idol of every Nation. It never had my Approbation, All the cry hath been against us Hags, To conquer us, is all their Brags. I'le prove it by Act of Parliament, The Hollanders shall give their Consent, That all the Hounds have lost their Sent.

Willingly, willingly, I say, Really they hunt for their Prey; All their God is their Pay: There ran the Hare away. Relations all are Nothing, They aim at more than Meat, Drink and Cloathing. Not for need, so much as State, This is the true meaning of Fate, This is Witchcraft of the highest Rate.

This is the Mistress they court, For her they fight, labour and sport. To her they all in Troops flock, But not to take her in her Smock. At her rich Dowry they aim, To this they lay their chiefest claim. Oblige by all means every man, Witch, Divel or Dam,

Catch, that catch can, Though this Life be but a Span, They would live ever, every man. So all our Trade is done, To Madam Interest they all run.

The plodding Student pretends Art, But he Acts the Gaining Part. Let him profess what he will, This is his greatest Skill. Mortification, Self-Denyal, Is but a counterfeit Trial. He that most Sanctity pretends, When all comes to all, is for his own Ends,

For this he his Brain spends, This only makes him amends, All else are but seeming Freinds. The truest Friend, is Self, For Rule, Honour, Power and Pelf. How the great dissembler smiles, When his Confident he beguiles? For this he travel so many Miles, And leaps over so many Styles.

Right or Wrong, so it be but Gain, He counts all worth his Pain. Then, of Witches think no more, Worship this great whore; We'l all stand behind the Door. Rake together Golden Dirt, Of us you'r more afraid than hurt. See how they laugh in their Sleeves, Are afraid of none but Theeves, This is that my Heart grieves.

This is the only Plot, For this, all others are forgot. For this all We must go to th' Pot, Except the beastly drunken Sot. But such as are well in their wits, Will have a care of such mad Fits.

These are the Mysterious Intreagues, These are the close Bargains and Leagues. These are the Politick Colleagues, For this they drop all their Beads. All Preach and Plead for this Cause, The true Construction of all Laws; They that deny this are Jack-Daws.

Mark well how deadly Foes combine, And fall out about Mine and Thine. Caw me, and I'le Caw thee, Goes over all the World we see, Tho they ne're so much disagree. For this, Rogues hang one another, For this each others Faults smother. Feast together, drink and whore, Turn each other out a door.

No Witches, or Devils do any such things, We all Reign together, like Lords and Kings. This not Gain, but Pleasure brings. Far better than such greedy things. Certainly they can ne're be good, Whose Souls are made of Dirt and Mud, As ours are of Spirits and Blood.

I can't but laugh at the Poor Scholar, That for his Books loses many a Dollar.

Alas, poor hungry Sinner, He knows not where to get his Dinner. And when he is old, He's fain to study in the Cold. He was ne're made of my Mold, If I han't my Will, I rail and scold. He keeps neither Whore nor Mis, But his old Bed-maker Cis.

The Gentile Scholar I admire, He's fit to be a Lord or 'Squire; He's Honest, therefore he shall rise no higher. 'Tis pity, for he has a gallant Soul. Yet give him leave to trowl the Bowl. But he scorns Baseness, never grutches, If he can keep out of our Clutches. If all were of my mind, I'de spare him, But they are not able to bear him.

For he has more Honesty and Wit, Than the brave Gallants could ever hit. I know none can have a more generous Mind, Than the true Scholar in his kind; But how few of these shall you find? I don't value the Mongrel Brood, Of smattering Scepticks, they want good Blood. They ne're took enough of the Caballine Fountain, Nor climb'd to the Top of Parnassus Mountain.

The States are given to understand, That Witches deal under-hand, And get into great Command. But they regard not those that slit Cases, And force their Clients with brazen Faces, In Equity to run Ten years Races.

When they are once got into their Traces, To their Everlasting Disgraces.

When they are once got warm in their Geer, To the North Foreland they will carry you cleer. And leave you under the Great Bear, In Frost and Snow to take the Air, And yet you must say, they deal fair: But be sure of Witches ye have a Care, All the danger lies there. It makes every honest Man stare; But if ye be wise, Come no more there.

The burnt Child dreads the Fire, If you won't break your Neck, climb no higher. Leap over Steeples and Spires, And sing Anthems in the Quires, And you shall have all your desires. When you are far off from danger, come no nigher, When you're all a cold, cling close to the Fire, Save the King, and hang up the Cryer.

Never trust your Self-denyers. Tho they be Nuns, Monks or Friars. Have a care of Brambles and Briars, Especially of Spirit Triars. Sit not too long at other Folks Fires, 'Tis a Mercy we are not all Squires.

Interest, thou'rt a God to all, Thou relievest Great and Small, Every one comes and goes at thy Call. Interest, thou'rt a God to me, I am secured from Fate by thee.

Thou art that great Leviathan, That turns as quick as Cat i'th' Pan. Interest for Wealth and State, Takes Obligation for her Mate.

If Interest comes by Pains or Blood, Virtue or Friends, 'tis very good. Obligation will never fail, Continually wags his Tail: Evermore crouches and cringes, Is never clear off o'the Hinges. Looks fair upon all, and smiles, And every Mothers Son beguiles.

Obligation gets all, spends all, Keeps all, hurts all, mends all. Is, and is not of all shapes, Imitates, mocks, like Apes. Welcomes, and Curses all Visitors, Curses, and Complements the Lords Inquisitors. Dam ye Rogues, I can never be quiet, You come to consume all my Diet.

Dear Sirs, you're the last Friends I thought on, To greater Friends you hope to be brought on. Makes 'um drunk, and sends 'um going, Always fawning, always woing, And yet always undoing. Flattery smooths and grinds, Is of Ten thousand hundred Minds. Acts Villanies of every kind, All his work is to scatter and bind.

She spreads and turns her hands, if you mind her, Looks before her, and behind her.

You shall never know where to find her, Tho you set her loose, or bind her. This is your obliging Man, That loves and hates all he can. Nunquam Idem, Wild or Tame, Is never in a right Frame.

Sometimes 'tis calm and smooth weather, Then blusters, as if Heav'n and Earth came toge∣ther. Be made, or marr'd, choose you whither, Your Shoes are made of running Leather. This cannot be an honest Spirit, Disobligation and Merit, At this rate, who shall inherit? The Falsifying Art is all, We can good or evil call. Lye and swear upon the Stall, Hang out Religion's Sign for all.

Interest for a piece of Bread, Will knock the honestest Man i'th' Head. Wherever you find good Feeding, Take it, 'tis a sign of good Breeding. But wheresoever all is poor, All is nothing but Rogue and Whore. Eat 'um out of house and home, and come there no more, But wherever there is good store, Put 'um to't, sing old Rose, make the Welkin roar.

Interest leaves all in the lurch, Goes to Meetings, goes to Church. O thou great Witch, both cruel and kind! The Ludibrium of Mankind! From the Vatican to the Plow, We're beholden to such as you.

Play fast and loose, In and In, In and Out, Cut Capers when you have the Gout. Never Trust, never Doubt, Never be weary, never give out, Run all the Points of the Compass about.

Set in, and set out, as nimble as Dogs, Keep Company with Toads and Frogs, Dance over the Mountains, and over the Bogs. Such Disobligations are base, That never dare to come Face to Face. Into all Companies rush, Never be daunted, never blush, And for no man care a rush.

Brazen it out stoutly, swell, look big, Fear no man, Tory nor Whig. Cry up Honesty, cry down Lies, That man that dares say, Black's my Eyes, I'le make him Hell's Sacrifice. I'de fain see that Son of a Whore, That dares tax me less or more. The Noble Moon, that makes no stir, Hath the Fate to be barkt at, by every Cur.

Was there ever such an ugly Drab, Such a damn'd Hypocritical Scab? Have a care of a Kiss and a Stab, Just such another as Queen Mab. Therefore to your self look, She'l cheat you by hook or by crook, You shall be taken in a Nook, Either with, or without Book. For all Palats she's a rare Cook, Who such damn'd Falsities can brook?

We run or go, stop or stand, We do all at your Command; To destroy you under-hand, Except you mean to be soundly bang'd. When Interest has broke a Banker, He must kiss her Hand, and thank her. If she hath brought him to beg, Bow your Body, make a Leg.

'Tis a Favour, you must thank her, Sent her sweet, when she smells ranker, Let her drink up the Tears of the Tanker. When she smiles or frowns, you must Blink, When she betrays, you must wink. Call her Patroness and Benefactor, When you are Reus or Actor. If she make you a Cuckold, over and over, You must most of all bribe her, hug her, and love her, Present her with Salmon, Duck, Partridge and Plover.

She shall cloath you fine and gay, And she shall carry all away. Still for her you must pray, And wait upon her every day. Do what she will, you must not gain-say, Or else you must be forc't to run quite away.

Thou poor Rogue, for good and all, Must be kick'd up and down like a Tennis-Ball. Sirrah, you must collogue with all Nations, And imitate all Fashions; And bear all Brunts, And take all Affronts.

Court every Rascal and Trull, Let 'am do with you what they wull: Or else I'le swear y'have an empty Skull, And deserve to be jeer'd up and down for a Gull.

Wink, ye base Obligers, stroke one another, Call your Foe, Friend or Brother, Each others Knaveries smother. Hug your false Friends like Apes in your Arms, Ravish 'um by your canting Charms. When they do you the most harms, And rob you of all your richest Farms.

Then laugh, Slaves, in your Sleeves, But don't ye call 'um Rogues nor Thieves. That the eye ne're sees, the heart ne're grieves, The Rogues are grown all as fat as Beeves. They know they're all hated like Dogs, Men long for their Deaths, as for fatted Hogs. They'd as good be quite and clear hang'd out of the way, For there's no body can give 'um a good word I dare say.

And therefore I reckon those Verses of Homers, As good as ever I learnt at St. O••ers. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. I hate the Hypocrite to the Pit of Hell, That thinks evil, and speaks well.

A Hypocrite's of diverse Natures, He appears in different Statures. A Hypocrite's never of one mind, But is always false and kind.

A true bred Witch, rather than turn, Martyr like, will choose to burn.

When y'have done their Bus'ness they'l deny ye, Scorn ye, Plague ye, and defie ye. You must make 'um a Leg, before 'um all, When they turn you from Parlour to Hall. And farther use you like a Widgeon, Among the Skullions in the Kitchen. You must be chowst, you must be ridden, You must be coak'st, you must be chidden, And still do as you're bidden. Never question Right or Wrong, To please or profit, that's the short and the long.

'Tis the bravest Trade that e're was driven, To blend together Hell and Heaven. To make your Bread with Ists or Leavens, To leave all at Sixes and Sevens. You must be ready to come or go, speak Truth or Lye, And on every bodies Errant flye. Fools and Knaves all do so, 'Tis all for Interest you know.

You must please, and you must be crost, In a Blanket you must be Tost, You must cry, Thank ye, when all's lost. You're the Ludibrium of Nature, You change to every size and stature. In Earnest, or in Jest, Rich or Poor, what likes you best: That's the Cream of all the Jest, To be forsworn, when brought to the Test.

You must be contented to be rub'd, Can'd about, and handsomly drub'd, And when they please, to be stew'd and tub'd. In a word, you must be content to be hang'd, And after all be content to be damn'd. Thank 'um Rogues, against your will, Admire, praise, and honour 'um still. But never dare to tell Dons of their Faults, The great Commanders of the Argonauts. When y'have most reason to hate and fear 'um, By all means Caress and Endear 'um. Keep a good word for a Knave, 'tis a Charm, An honest Man shall do you no harm.

Crawl, if you can, out of your Nest, They'l worst you, you shall ne're be at rest. Set a Knave upon theirs, and your Crests, Write Knave and Fool on your own Brests, All together you'l find the Devils Nest. 'Twas for Wealth you thought to be sped, You'l be found a poor Rogue, when dead.

When ever you are pleas'd or crost, Perplexed, tumbled and tost: After all, they'l rule the Rost, And it shall be at your own cost; And make you glad to skip at a Pot and a Tost, And send you to the Whipping-Post, Even when you Caress them most. Still, for fear, do all to please 'um, Never trouble, or Disease 'um. For a good Turn, Greaz 'um, For a bad Turn, you can't Squeez 'um.

When y'have flatter'd all you can, or will, You have shown the best of your skill, You shall be a poor, or a rich Knave still. I think of Flattery you'l have your fill, There needs, for this bout, no more Grist to the Mill. The rich Rogues are the bravest Undertakers, The greatest Obligers and Interest makers, Especially such as are Ranters and Quakers.

They have the power to command 'um, And to do all Contra-Bandum, No body dares withstand 'um. Tho ne're so bad, there must be no chiding, For fear, forsooth, of Disobliging. From the South to the North Riding, Without this, there's no living nor abiding. And truly, to knock the Nail o'th' Head, This it is to be well Bred.

These Hypocrites, how they look? You may discern them without Book. How much better are we, I'de have the World know, Kill a Chick, a Pig, a Child, or so. But never falsifie a Vow, O no, Never hot and cold blow. Endure all hardship, Frost and Snow, Cocks on their own Dunghills crow.

Knaves from Beggars heap up Riches, Still then there's something worse than Witches. Something, they say, has some savour, Bind all Rogues, if you can, to their good Behavour, Good Wine has always a good flavour.

While Riches last, there's your God Mammon, When lost, you may play at Back-Gammon; Then fare well Venison, Rost Beef, and Salmon.

While health and wealth last, indulge your Pleasure, When they're gone, Repent at liesure. Mumble your Masses, and Jumble your Beads, And tumble o're one anothers Heads. Travel in Caravans to Hell, You know your Habitation well, When you're all gone, I'le ring out the Bell. I shall be right glad, when you're stow'd in hold, Where there's nothing but Fire, Snow and Cold: And then we Witches may be the more bold, In the mean while, to no purpose we scold.

One thing more I had like t' have quite forgotten, For you to remember, when I am dead and rotten, Beware of eating Herrings after they be shotten. You must believe, as He shall believe, Tho you laugh privately in your Sleeve. You must resign up your Wit and Will like a Slave, For your Patron to carry to his Grave, And then you may say, there lies a stinking Knave, This at last will be your Lot, Be content, and take t'other Pot.

On both your Tombs this Epitaph shall be set, Ʋnder this Stone, as black as Jet, A Knave and a Fool are both very well met. We'l secure you for telling more Tales, Especially your Heirs Males. Especially such as are lawfully begotten, After they be dead and forgotten.

There is a sad Curmudgeon Elf, A Raker together of Worldly Pelf. He is lately arriv'd from Delph, Call'd Don Amarado-Hurtado-Self. Near Cosin German, or married at best. To the great Witch, Lady Interest, Who hath well feather'd her Nest. Her Gentleman Usher, Obliger, Constantly attends beside her; For fear any Ill should betide her, For none of the Company can abide her.

If a Client want any relief, Of Money, Porridge, or Rost-Beef, He is her Controller in Chief. If any for Lands prefer a Petition, He answers, His Lord and Lady are in a poor con∣dition. And he can do nothing without their Commission. If they be never so poor or lame, They may go away, if they can, as well as they came.

I challenge Borough-Moots and Corporations, And all unlawful Congregations, In all Rebellious Associations. A few canting Tribune Makers, Independents and Quakers. All Factious Undertakers, That would all be Law-Makers. For dreyning the Ocean, Fountains and Streams, More than the soaking Sun Beams. Under the specious Pretences, Of self Preservations, and self Defences.

Is not this true, that I say, Did ye ever get the Day; But by Money, and foul Play? And when y'have done ye ran away. All the Devils in Hell cou'd not make you stay, This is true by Yea and Nay.

CANTO VI.

Of the Soul, what's the true Feature, Whether she be a Winged Creature? Masculine, Feminine Powers endite The Soul, for an Hermaphrodite; Is not this for pure Spite? Platonick 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, the Fancy tickles, Because the Soul hath her Vehicles.

We flee from Witches, Hees and Shees, More need for Lice, Hornets and Bees. But of true Platonick Love, We Witches yet cou'd ne're approve. Vehicles are Versatil Fires, That make strange Labyrinths and Gyres, Tripping and skipping, like Puppets on Wires.

Planets are all Worlds, but the Moon, Is the nearest 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, Terra Aetheria, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, we often see, Daemons Vehicles, and none but we. The Ape that mocks the Wit of Man, Let him encounter a Snail if he can. He runs, for fear the Worm should follow him, Often looks back, lest it should swallow him.

Cornelius, of Padua, had the full sight, At Thess••ly, of Caesar and Pompey's Fight. The Weasel that crawl'd out of the Souldiers Snout, It was his Soul, no doubt. Catochanes, lustful in their lives, When dead, crept to bed to their own, and other mens Wives.

Cuntius's Ghost made heavy Routs, 'Till Body was burnt with ragged Clouts. The Devil of Mascon, in a Bravado, Used Witches to Carbonado. When they marcht in Cavalcado, For which he deserv'd the Strapado. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, or the Fortunate Isles, Coelum Empyreum, appear like Wiles, They are both distant so many Miles.

My poor Brains I shall never more vex, If Eels or Frogs have no Sex. The Pied Piper was a Roguish Clown, For losing all the poor Boys in Hammel Town. The Maid of Saxony uttered Greek, Others from between their Legs did speak, And act many a Haggish Feat.

Who are 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 of Cabbala's, Tetrads and Decads, now-a-days? These are prety Puppet-Plays. Leliths, Sylvanus, Satyrs, Fawns, Spirits just like Crabs, Lobsters, and Prawns. Magdalena Crucia, Nun, Abbess, Prophetess of Corduba. Understood all the Worlds Transactions, How, but by Devil's strong Compactions?

Meliorina fancied her self a Queen, And her Husband a King, the like was ne're seen. Glasses and Shells, were her Cabinet Gems, Rich, as if descended from Princely S••ems. Tetrads, Pentads, Senads, Pythogorick Numbers, This puts me into Melancholy slumbers, Which my poor Brain too oft encombers.

We steal oft into Antrum Nympharum, And bring Hobgoblin Ghosts to scare 'um. We steal into the Fair Nuns Den, So the Woers cou'd not, to Ithacan Pen. How Ens Rationale Potentionale, Differs from Rationis, or Ens Reale. How many Myriads of Spirits joynt, Can sit upon a Needles Point?

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. Under the Wind, in darksom Shade, Black winged Night her first Egg laid. There an hidden Root doth lye, Which is the Tetrads Mystery. Just so did I, when I was a Maid, So does a Cock, that Venerous Blade.

Into a Milstone none can see, Without Spectacles so far as we, Tho of ne're so high Degree. Witchcraft's the deepest Mystery, Of all Arts, it best deserves a Fee. Old Father Adam may say what he can, Phoronaeus writes the first Man. If so, Eve, where is she, That would the First Woman be?

Old Aristotle I'm sure you dote on, What is his 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. That Pseudodaemon, wou'd I cou'd catch him, I don't fear but I cou'd out-match him, Where e're I meet him, I'le have at him. Pudica Arbor, I long to see, The Chastity of such a Tree, To be sure it shall ne're bear me.

When States would know good Success to come, After the beating of a Drum, We are the Finger next the Thumb. When Ambassadors are sent for Spyes, We use to prompt them many Lyes. Spains great Counsel seldom Refuse, Our cunning Stratagems to use, To learn all the Worlds News. Private Cabals and close Committees, Regulate Commonwealths and Cities.

Arcana Imperii, Publicum Jus, There in her Majesty sits Puss. They that come forth when the Moons at the Full, Are Topers and Soakers of all sorts of good Lull. They are all Cuckolds, that hap to be Born'd Unluckily, when the Moon is Horn'd.

For saying, Quies est Finis Motus, The Philosophers will promote us. But for saying, Primò Primum, Pythagoras resolves to Fine 'um. With first and second Course I shan't Dine 'um, I'de rather tye their hands behind 'um, If I knew at Dinner time when to find 'um.

O brave Purchase, Repetundarum, When Bribes come, resolve to share 'um, For my part, I cant forbear 'um.

The famous Doctrina Rhomborum, Logarithms, Algebra's, carry all afore 'em. I made Great Bellizarius Beg, How did I handle Scanderbeg? I think I took him down a Peg, What can't I do, Old Meg? Watch a Hatcht Egg at the Fortieth hour, You'l find a Heart in the Yelk, with a panting pow'r. This was the Doctrine of the Oriens, Cor est Primum Vivens, & ultimum moriens.

What's the Cause of S••intillation? Or of Stars dropping from their station? What's the World's Right or Left side, Ebbing and flowing of the Tide? Where is Lucifer in all his Pride? Who got to Venus Bed side? Whither she ever was deny'd? If Mars stole her from her Groom Bride, Why Cuckold Vulcan should not Ride?

Justices of Peace and Coram, Look to carry all afore 'um: But the Bayliffs, if you mind 'um, Use to carry all behind 'um, Specially Debtors, when they find 'um. And the Jaylor knows how to bind 'um, And if they have Money, how to grind 'um.

The Snail is safest in her Shell, So is a Monk in his Cell. Empire and Liberty were unsociable things, 'Till Nerva and Trajan made them meet in Kings. Would you think it a Goose Quill, Should give Laws to Princes against their will? To get a Kingdom, and to Hold, Is better done by Iron, than Gold.

Colours are diverse, but mark, They all agree in the dark. To fair Venus sacrifice a Hog, For soul Cerberus provide a Clog. I can do many things in my mind, Which I can never act in kind. Every one frames his own Fortune and State, But I rather think he might frame his own Wit at an easier Rate.

The Moons Beams won't ripen Plants, Learn Providence from the Ants. A Hawk can't fly, while ty'd to a Fist, 'Till the Money comes, the Lawyer is whist. In Venice and Rome, Licentiat Whores, Invite Passengers standing at their Doors. Porta Angusta, or Porta Lata, You have your choice, Ratio del Stata.

Mahomet's Tomb hangs in the Air, The Pilgrims at Mecha stare. Find me the Salick Law, 'gainst a Womans Domi∣nation, And I'le find you Constantine's Donation. Of both, I have read much of the Gloss, But for the Text, I am at a Loss.

Mooting Lawyers put blind Cases, Attorneys harrassed in their Traces, Drive the Law in all its Paces. Clients to Catch-Poles carry Maces. Find me Egyptian Hieroglyphicks, And I'le find ye Indian Specificks, You're so close, I don't like your Tricks.

You come with your Lambdacisms, I come with my Cataclysms. Come all with your Hard words, I come with Strawberries, Cream and Curds. Come you with your Cheating Tables, Play the Fox in Aesop's Fables. Play you at Chess and Back Gammon, While I eat up all the Salmon. Come you with your false Cards Fine, And I'le drink up all the Wine.

Nero, methinks, spake like an Ass, Ʋtinam nescirem Literas. Dunce he would be, and ever was, Turn a decay'd Hackney to Grass. Eternity is Nunc stans, 'Tis time that practises to Dance. Mentuz, the Month of a hundred years, Such Months wou'd turn us all out of our Fears, Live so long, till we fall together by the Ears.

Begin Demonstrations with 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, March on in state to your 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. After Priori & Posteriori, I'le rout ye all à Fortiori, I hope, in haste, I shall hear no more on ye.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 Fallacia, It is the Witches Audacia, Let 'um all be damn'd in Alsatia. Aeons abroad like Atoms fly, The dwarf Daughter of Eternity.

CANTO VII.

‘ Methinks, Reader, I have Fits, ‘ And ramble, as if not well in my Wits. ‘ (Try, if my Gorget there right sits,) ‘ Burn all the Pigs upon the Spits. ‘ 'Tis Midsomer Moon, but in the Month of October, ‘ I always used to be sober. ‘ And I very well remember, ‘ I lov'd Rost-meat and Wine in December.

‘ I was a Maid once, I can't call to mind when, ‘ Since rockt in my Cradle, and courted by Men. ‘ Since that, my Maidenhead ran too and agen, ‘ I was never so chaste, as Ithacan Pen. ‘ Ramme Boys, Damme Boys, I lack no Courting, ‘ Come who will, I'm ready for sporting, ‘ I courted Men to save 'um the trouble, ‘ Virginity is a meer Bubble, ‘ It makes their Eyes that keep it look double.

When the Moon stands at a stay, Women are ever brisk and gay. When poor Pigmallions run away, Fresh Hectors must come in and play. ‘ I remember always I have a good Will, ‘ But I could never have my fill.

‘ In Lust I delight, and also in Blood, ‘ (You cannot think me very good.) ‘ And I am constantly in a good Mood, ‘ I love both, as I do my daily Food.

‘ I have my choice of Men and Devils, ‘ Which makes me Mistress of the Revels. ‘ I give a Character of my self. ‘ I am betwixt a Woman and an Elf. ‘ Yet I can justifie my self, ‘ I was never giv'n to Worldly Pelf. Catullus and Tibullus deserve the Strapado, For Ego te Paeditabo atque Juramado. For crying Omnia Bene, When they do Hesternae occurrere Cenae. Dyeted Garsons, how fare ye, While kept Semel in Anno cacare?

Thus says the old Spanish Volpone, Neiente bestie, neiente Bugeronie. Tho he have choice of Landabrides, He hates forbidden Sexes and Degrees. To th' Italian, he counts Self a pure Saint, Of whom he justly makes complaint.

We better Principles understand, When we obey our Command. O ye learned Clerks and States, We disdain to be your Mates. We are company for Sprights, Hell, not Earth is our delights.

Would you believe how true 'tis, Senectus est Aetas Virtutis.

When the Body most decays, The Mind all goodness most obeys, So our Philosopher says. Young Men are the worst always, Especially now-a-days.

O, saying most Erroneous, Juvenis non est Ethicae Auditor Idoneus. Young men, you're naught, your naught, And most unfit then to be taught. Say you so, Stagyrite, say you so, I'le not send my Boy to your School for this, I tro. I'le come my self, cause I am Old, It seems a young Cask no Liquor can hold. Socrates and you both play'd the Knaves, To keep old men to School, when they're going to their Graves. Is this the way to Reform a Nation, To leave young men to debauch their Generation?

You say too, there are no Demonstrations, But in Mathematical Operations. This Rule has cheated Learned Nations, But now, we'l have no more Patience. Always trust to a Lye, For Apodycticks only by the Eye. When Moral Truths, who dare deny? Have more absolute Certainty. I may say Infallibility, Because they have Eternity.

‘ Crown the old Hags with Bays and Roses, ‘ Virtue her self in us discloses, ‘ So sweet, if you will, you may hold your Noses.

‘ 'Tis not so I'm sure with us, ‘ For we, th'older we grow, the worse. ‘ And every day adds Curse to Curse, ‘ But we never took a Purse.

‘ While our younger Blood was warm, ‘ We never lov'd to do much harm. ‘ Only our Beauty was our Charm, ‘ And we could let it out to Farm, ‘ And it did not take much harm. ‘ Like Novices we had then some pity, ‘ Which is that that spoils a City. ‘ But now, tho not altogether so pretty, ‘ Yet we're far more cunning and witty.

‘ Others make their Fortune in time, ‘ Gather their Rose-buds in their Prime. ‘ But we are all old, for the most part, ‘ Before we understand our Devilish Art. ‘ By this time we're hardned, softned before, ‘ All we did then, was to play the Whore. ‘ But now of Malice we have great store, ‘ To be revenged o're and o're, ‘ Every way behind and before.

‘ Still we aim at the Rich, more than the Poor, ‘ Tho we and our Brats are fed at their door. ‘ Not all so bad, as to play both Thief and Whore, ‘ As if we had never done so before. ‘ Nor never intended to do so no more, ‘ For these Trades are never to be giv'n o're. ‘ And of all this, without any Evasion, ‘ Or Mental Reservation, ‘ Or the least Equivocation.

‘ We do make a perfect Demonstration, ‘ For all Aristotles blind Protestation.

‘ If I had heard th'old Fool prate, ‘ I shou'd have giv'n him a broken Pate. ‘ Teach him so boldly to contradict, ‘ This great and more transcendent Wit. ‘ What Philosophers arrive to the pitch ‘ Of Raptures, as I that am a Witch?

Here's so many Tag-Rag Jacks flye about, 'Tis hard for us Witches to find 'um all out. After Woing comes Wedding, After Marriage comes Bedding. After full view comes choosing, After lending comes losing. Sometimes before, sometimes behind, Always sure bind, sure find, Never to us Witches be kind. Goodness ne're comes into my mind, Weather••Cocks all turn with the Wind.

All Honesty's quite laid aside, We give our selves to Blood and Pride. Pitiful Youth never begins With such stately, costly Sins, Drunkards, Swearers, Whoremongers, or so, Seem to make in the World a great show, But, alas, they truckle under us below.

‘ A thousand Tricks I have forgotten, ‘ Which will be thought on, when I'm dead and rotten. ‘ To ev'ry idle vapouring Brag, ‘ I hang out the Defiance Flag,

‘ 'Gainst Buffle-heads Tag and Rag, ‘ I'le fight, as long as I can wag. ‘ I fear no colours, nor yet no blows, ‘ Tho I may get a bloody Nose: ‘ Tho I all bewray my Hose, ‘ I keep for ev'ry one a Dose.

‘ My Nature prompts me ne're to yield, ‘ Tho I chance to lose the Field. ‘ Each Cacodaemon for us gapes, ‘ But from 'um all we make Escapes, ‘ A company of ugly Trapes. ‘ Beastly, dirty Spaterlashes, ‘ Take 'um and burn 'um all to Ashes.

‘ I think the Devil does me ride, ‘ I am so full possest with Pride, ‘ That I can scarcely be deny'd, ‘ Lucifer I can't abide. ‘ Away away, leave me alone, ‘ To sit upon my Imperial Throne. ‘ I'm the Daughter of King Priam, ‘ There's none in Hell so proud as I am.

‘ Bedlams, Beldames, Heldames all, ‘ Must go and come at my Call. ‘ I have had so many Brats, ‘ As there are swarms of Mice and Rats. ‘ They have had all sorts of Sires, ‘ They are all Ladies and Squires, ‘ They sit by other mens Fires.

‘ I begin now to be serious, ‘ All my Notions are Mysterious, ‘ As e're was Nero or Tiberius.

‘ Licentiats, Doctors, pass your Votes, ‘ At my Lectures take Notes. ‘ I long to go to cutting a Throats, ‘ Scullers and Oars bring your Boats. ‘ I must to Sea in all haste, ‘ The Weather's already overcast.

‘ I foresee Storms coming down, ‘ Old Neptune begins to frown. ‘ While I am now just a thinking, ‘ The Sailors are all a drinking, ‘ And their Ships are all a sinking, ‘ And their Breeches all a stinking. ‘ Aeolus the Bragadocean, ‘ Blusters, and scowrs the Ocean.

‘ To Shoar I go, at spare hours, ‘ To overthrow the stately Towers, ‘ And smother Ladies in their Bowers. ‘ Break up the Depths, set open Fountains, ‘ Overturn the tops of Mountains. ‘ Shake the Earth, and rent the Sky, ‘ And mount up to the Gods on high. ‘ You shall see we are no starters, ‘ I'm come to beat up all your Quarters.

‘ Therefore for me, make room, make room, ‘ I intend to hang out the bony Broom. ‘ I have a mind, this long Vacation, ‘ With you to take my Recreation. ‘ After my tedious Restrainment, ‘ I look for higher Entertainment. ‘ Make me welcom, all ye Gods, ‘ Or I'le set you all at odds.

‘ For I have power, you all know, ‘ To do, as I have done below. ‘ Nay, never mope, nor mow, ‘ I can hit you all at a blow.

‘ What do I make of my self? Stand, ‘ Be you all ready at hand, ‘ To obey my Command.

CANTO VIII.

The way of obliging all, must needs Obtain a good Report for false Deeds. For some will be obliged no other way, But by such as under them play foul Play. When by them they have gain'd their base Ends, They'l count 'um no longer Friends. They ever counted them Knaves, When they have done their work, hang 'um up Slaves.

The Devil, they say, is good, when he is pleas'd, So are Lawyers, as long as they're greas'd. If all be oblig'd, then the Devil at last. And to be sure then you're Cast. This is a very cunning Trick, To oblige all, is to oblige Old Nick.

The nearer Antiquity, the nearer the Truth, Rather the World was a Fool in her youth. Truth proves to be the Daughter of Time, Experience finds out every Crime. Errors have past for Truths of old, Antiquaries do not scold, Never deny when the Truth is told.

You took all before too much upon Trust, Now see with your own eyes, 'tis ne're the worst.

Is not this the surer way, To prove all you do or say? From their Fathers Children gain, And their Children come on amain. No disparagement to first Intentions, To find out more and better Inventions. The older the World, the wiser it grows, Wit comes by Experience every body knows.

Are not we Witches most of us old, And so grow more crafty and bold? The World grows worse, according to the Letter, But it might as well grow better and better. Galen was a pitiful Quack, Paracelsus was the Nobler Jack. Pythagoras, Aristotle, were dull Pads, Hobs, Cartez, Gassendus were nimble Lads. Of all which, the true Gainsayers, Are Augurs, Sybils, and Southsayers. Roman Fencers, and Stage-Players.

An Hypocritical Generation, Is all Interest, and all Obligation. All Complement, all Fashion, All Complicate, all Subornation. All Extortion, all Poaching, All Devouring, all Encroaching, All Saints, and all Imps, Witches are ne're so starcht in the Crimps.

When you're most guilty, Cry Whore first, Let the Accuser do his worst, All these kind of Rogues are Curst. What, Tax a Lord of Perjury? Upon his Honour, you must dye. Therefore be very shy, You know well the Reason why: Honour, Power and Riches, never sin, They need not be held up by the Chin, But poor Rogues to the Gallows bring.

None but poor Sinners go to Hell, None but rich Rogues do all well. 'Tis my Greatness must defend me, 'Tis my Honour must commend me: But my Honesty may chance to end me, When my Money can't Befriend me. I cannot be a rich Rogue till I die, I need not tell you the reason, why? Every Body's in a good mood, I dare say, For me, live or dead, the clean contrary way.

A Prince, be he ne're so good, He's a Tyrant, a shedder of Blood. But a false Court of Justice, a wrong Parliament, Always have a good Intent: Because they are Omnipotent. If the People make Outcries, If he be a King, or a Priest, he dyes, They speak Truth, all others speak Lyes. Lyes from the People, are ever believ'd, So strongly, as never to be retriev'd.

Thus the World runs all upon Wheels, Took by the Tail, as we use to catch Eels.

They that hunt her, shall ne're overtake her, Yet they that use her will never forsake her. I know this to be true, Cuds, Duds, She'l leave 'um at last all in the Suds. Oblige them all Mankind, Knaves and Fools you shall be sure to find. ‘ I ha'no more of this counterfeit Corn to grind, ‘ Verbum Sapienti, you know my mind. It us'd to be Verbum Sacerdotis, 'Tis as true, tho a Witch speaks, you know 'tis.

The Case is foul, you'l say, by Law, Hang it, 'tis not worth a Straw. A trusty Blade, if it be longer, Will make the Title the stronger, View it well, it is a Donger. By it I get, and keep my own, I'le quickly take my long Sword down, And recover without the long Gown.

That's counted ever the best Right, That conquers and maintains by Might: So, you may bid all Laws good Night, And when you're gone, play Least in sight. You know all this is very Tight, No difference 'tween black and white. If variance rise among poor Wights, The Sword is that sets all to rights.

Madona Eloquentia Canina, Sits in her Barge upon the Rivers Duina. Maze, Elve, Loir, Oder, Danow, Rhine, She's heard Bark, as far as Tyne. The Guinnyes fly beyond Charing Cross, When Actor and Reus are both at a Loss.

From Dolo malo, to Bona Fide, The Lawyer and the Devil ride ye, I care not what Ill betide ye.

‘ I fancy, I am some great Queen ‘ Of Fairies, clothed all in green. ‘ I wonder Words, Figures, and Charms, ‘ Should operate such mighty Harms, ‘ And destroy so many Farms. ‘ Thundring Spells and brazen Faces, ‘ Do nothing till we come to Maces. ‘ A Venus for a time may Charm, ‘ With a Smile, but does little harm. ‘ Note it, forthwith we feel ‘ Most virtue from Gold or Steel.

‘ I wonder why I shou'd do so, ‘ 'Tis Reason, I must, whither I will or no. Come with your gifts, and never fear, The Golden Horse is the better Mare. The way to overcome, you know, 'Tis by a Word and a Blow. For all your Tricks, for all your Plots, The Sword is the best to cut Knots.

You may Vapor o're your Pots, You are but Cowards and Sots. 'Tis the Sword that hits all the Blots, And conquers all upon the Spots, 'Tis to no purpose to cast Lots. Clodius accusat Moechos, Faith we'l Feague 'um, When we come to Catilina Cethegum.

Forfeiture destroys all Right, But I say, 'tis want of Might, The Law shall sink you out of sight. Take it for true, upon my Word, He has the best Right, that has the best Sword. Forfeiture is a meer Ass, We're are all mortal, H••y and Grass. I'le make it good, what e're it was, Your Boor was a Sow-Bass.

Tell me of Titles to House and Land, My Sword is ready at my hand. Tell me of Law, the Fool do's you ride, I have my Cutter by my side. This is Law, and this is all You can Right or Wrong call.

If to the Schools you won't yield, I'le beat you quite out of the Field. If you won't stoop, all the World knows, You shall be made to stoop by Blows, If the Sword will defend the Law, The same Sword must keep all in Awe, 'Tis just so, in a Word, All Strife is ended by the Sword.

If you'l have my Approbation, The Sword's the strength of every Nation. Therefore Princes keep your station, Of Peace and War, you are the Foundation. What are Subjects, for all their Words, If they have leave to use their Swords? Farewel to a Monarch his good skill, Money and Arms must have their will, They'l not spare Princes Blood to spill.

‘ I never knew a Witches or Madmans heart, ‘ Or Ideots with Rebels took part. ‘ I speak plainly, under Correction, ‘ I ever was for a lawful Subjection; ‘ And safety in a Kings Protection, ‘ I ever hated Rebellious Infection.

‘ In a Free State, Memento, ‘ Every Rogue cries, Mio non consento; ‘ Do their best, still 'tis Mio non contento. ‘ No thanks to the best Kings, or the best Parlia∣mento, ‘ Hamper such Slaves at the Council of Trento. ‘ There are in the World no safer Charms, ‘ Than to be embrac'd in a Princes Arms.

Scatter your golden Mice, and fat a Cause, A lusty Bribe will baffle all Laws. Else, in vain you may plead your heart out, And lose the day, be ye never so stout. With a Silver Dagger stab a good Cause, That shall get you all Applause. Knock off quick, if y' have no money to pay, That's enough for a Body to say. But if you'l come to me to Confessions, I'le teach you a thousand better Lessons.

Princes Supreme are Legislators, Pleaders are Interpretators, Judges are Arbitrators. Both are very great Translators. And of these we are no Admirators. So the Result is, the Law shall rest, In the Juries or Praetors Brest, Of Right or Wrong there lies the Nest.

And there lies the Cream of the Jest, 'Tis not in your power to choose the Best.

If your Cause be out of Socket, The Remedy is, Money in your Pocket. That's that, that fits the Docket, The richest Jewel in the Locket. Or if Rigor won't discharge ye, I cannot tell how to enlarge ye. You may have the benefit of Clergy, That's more than Hell will award ye.

‘ But we Witches to be sure are deluded, ‘ From this, and all other favours excluded. ‘ Tho we can ne're so well rehearse, ‘ We are not allowed our Neck Verse; ‘ But yet, we can allow them a Hearse. ‘ A Dram or so, let 'um look to't, ‘ Teach 'um to deny us the Book, ‘ When we need no Prompter to overlook.

‘ And which of all will prove the worse, ‘ There's for them many an endless Curse. ‘ Some of us shall be their Nurses, ‘ In vain then to draw their Purses. ‘ When they come into such Conditions, ‘ Let them come out with their Prohibitions. ‘ We can hear no Propositions, ‘ Nor make any Compositions. ‘ A H••beas Corpus shall not remove it, ‘ A Capias Animam will disprove it.

‘ A thousand ways we have to fit 'um, ‘ Hell confound 'um, Devils split 'um.

‘ The greatest safety in Law lies, ‘ The greatest dangers from them rise. ‘ 'Tis time for all to open their Eyes, ‘ Before they be made a Sacrifice; ‘ We know where the Mischief lies.

For a base Rascal's Lust, In no Mortal put your Trust. We never into Purses dive, Either to kill or save alive. And your Posterity shall never thrive, Smother all the Wasps i'th' Hive, So we our Vengeance contrive.

Now a days 'tis all the Note, Young men are wise, and Old men dote. Experience is nothing now, Old men want strength to hold the Plow. At the Stern they cannot stand, Young Wits are fittest for Command, They can do nothing, that most understand. So the World thrives backward underhand, This puts all Learning to a stand.

Judges, you know, damn all Commissions, Lords answer no Petitions. Make 'um for green Heads and hot Spurs, Not for Sages clad in Furs. Parents must not be Lords or Masters, The youngest Doctors cure all Disasters. Old Counsellers are past their Prime, Take young Dupondias at half her Time. Old Lytae, you may burn your Books, Give place to young Rooks, You shall know them by their Looks.

Mongrel Philosophers be gone, I'le have a fling at you e're long. Pety Foggers, Fidlers, Rhimers, Ye are no better than Chimers. We value not your Power or State, Give us the Devil and his Mate, Poet and Orator go prate. To work Hags, never stand still, Bring us more Grists to our Mill, We resolve to have our will.

The Watry Nymphs Primordia, Are the Universe Praecordia, These are accounted Genital, Virgins them you may not call, For they're deflowr'd, as we are all. The Nine Muses are no better, By Apollo, that true Bone-setter.

Rationes Seminales, Nunquam adhuc inveni Tales. Spermatick Forms, or Archei, Are a kind of Semi-Dei. Magnetick Particles are hurl'd, By the Spirit of Nature and Soul of the World. Vital Congruity, Plastick Parts, Puzle Philosophick Arts.

Our Spells are nothing so perplext, But Mortals have much more vext, We preach much upon that Text. Old men, lame and blind open their Lids, Caper with their legs, like Lambs or Kids.

When by a Taratantula Bit, They arrive to more strength and Wit, This is the Nail on the head to Hit. Senertus a-la-mode de France, Calls this St. Vitus his Dance.

An Iron Trevet on the Shelf, Gives as good Oracles, as the golden Tripos at Delph. Satyricus, Ʋmbilicus Veneris, Provoke to lust, utriusque Generis. Yet the Rogue Wierus, Is not afraid to Jeer us. Wallnuts bear the Signature of the Head, ('Tis time for me to go to Bed.) The green Cortex answers the Pericrane, The Kernel resembles the Brain. The Salt of both cures the Head Pain, Ye need never offer to open a Vein.

Augustus Herod prospered in Wars and Peace, At home could find but little Ease. Murd'ring Children, killing Wives, Were forc't to lend Cuckolds Lives. Quintilius Varro, and his Legions, I remember well, In Germany we're fain to lead Apes in Hell.

CANTO IX.

A Pseudo-Daemon haunts the Town. Beats poor Folk, and throws 'um down; Wou'd I could light on this cheating Lown. Wou'd I cou'd find this unlucky Sot, I'de chop him as small as Herbs to the Pot. I'de hang him, and rost him like a Dog, Or smoak him for a Bacon Hog.

Also, there's a Cant of Bitches, That pass for counterfeit Witches. Gypsies all, and Ballad Sellers, Juglers, Smuglers, Fortune-Tellers, Palmestry and Lottery Spellers. Spirits, Sharks, and Kidnappers, And such like nimble Snipper-Snappers. Of Girls and Boys, Dye-Dappers, Men and Women Entrappers.

Cutpurses, all sorts of Trepanners, Without all Honesty, Wit or Manners. Stargazers, Pedlars, Interlopers, Tinkers, Tumblers, Dancing Ropers. Rat-catchers, Relique-Mongers, Bully-Rocks, Hectorean Dongers. Figure-Flingers Circulators, Almanack Prognosticators. Nativity Calculators, Fantastick, Enthusiastick Quakers.

Canting, Pretending Bewitchers, For Beer and Porridge carry Pitchers. They ••ram good Lug into their Laps, Rake Dressers for Marrow-Bones and Scraps, With large hanging down Paps. Indeed, I'le have you by the Lugs, For selling, frothing unconscionable Jugs, To feast your hungry Imps and Pugs.

Charwomen, Whores, the House command, Filching all that comes to hand. Sharking Drabs, Kennel Rakers, Ingrossers, Forestallers, Impropriators, Insignificant Falsificators. Counterfeit Rings and Jewels shining, Gold Lace, Money clipping and coyning, Ends of Gold and Silver purloyning. All kind of Honesty resigning, And all Roguery refining. Cutpurses live by their Fingers, Hobby Horses, and Ballad Singers.

Fencers, Pipers, Horoscopers. Poachers, Broom-men, Kentstreet-Brokers. Tom a Bedlams, Jack a Dandies, Jack Puddings, Mountebanks, Merry Andr'es. Of all Trades, Jacks and Jills, That serve with, or against their wills. Madam Nurses, Madam Washers, Madam Dressers, Cutters and Slashers.

All sorts of Wet and Dry Nurses, Ladies, look to your Purses. Quarter Waiters, Quarter Rockers. Chymists, Confectionary Dockers.

Madams Gossips, Madams Tirers, Madams what you will Requirers, Madams unseasonable Desirers. Madams Skullions and Wash-dishes, Madams Kings and Queens Fishers, And all sorts of Court Well-wishers.

A Ribble Rabble of old Jades, That trade in Wenches for young Blades, And Misses for old Cuckolades. Stillers of Puppydog-Waters, Black Patches and Beauty Spot makers. Washes, Paintings, Cordial Drops, Essences, and Elixars for Fops. Proctors, Undertakers, Projectors, Bumbayliffs, Excise Collectors.

Horseleeches, Quacks, Farriers, News, Gazets, and Letter Carriers. Scurvy-Grass, Simplers, Drugsters, Monopolizers, Hucksters. Gamesters, Deer-stealers, Pickeroons. Tripo's, Jesters and Buffoons, Thievish Hostlers and Grooms. Catamits, Bardashes, Orphean Boys, Lustful Trinkets and Toys.

Amulets, Pictures, Pilgrims Ware, To be sold at every Fare. Beads, Roses, Swords, Banners, Rings, Puppets, Bells, Consecrated Things. Conjuring Praestigiators, Legerdemain Operators. Jack in a Lanthorn, Whipping Tom, Will of the Wisp, and Tom Thumb.

Women Dancers, Puppet Players, At Bartholomew and Sturbridge Fairs. Or, if you light among the Furies, They shall be Ignoramus Juries. Take in rank Casuists and Schoolmen, Resolving Cases to befool men. Pox-Curators and Red Noses, Cooks and Caterers for Quelque Choses. Secret Mysteries Disclosers, Of other mens Estates disposers.

Assurancers, Projectors, State Engagers, Dy-Coggers, Betters and Wagers. Fallacious Sophisticators, Abominable Adulterators. Pragmatical Agitators, Busie-body Innovators. Journy-men Hacknies, and Tale-Bearers. Cursers, Blasphemers, Dammers and Swearers, Ranting-Rory-Tory-Ground-Tearers.

Counterfeits of Bonds and Indentures, Sellers of Publick Faith and Debentur's, To Knaves and Fools at all a ventures. Prophets, Contingencies Revealers, Men and Women and Horse-Stealers. Parasites, Poor Robins, Carvers, Strangers, Orphans and Widow-Starvers.

‘ Pardon, Reader, this long digression, ‘ To shew th'Abuse of my Profession. ‘ By them that ne're had true Possession, ‘ Nor were never brought to Confession

Poor, pitiful Pretenders, Scrape-Trenchers and Table Tenders, All miserable Offenders.

Inconsiderable Rascalado's, That strut, and make great Bravado's, Lye perdue in Ambuscado's, Go a begging in Masquerado's. Illiterate Rogues and Whores, Creep under the Stairs and behind the Doors. Sollicitors in Camp and Court, Off'ring at Bus'ness of Import, Do mischief and make sport.

At silent Meetings Witches are Spies, For smirking Girls with rowling Eyes. To pick up young, fresh dainty Lasses, Tender and brittle as Venice Glasses, Send 'um about with Tickets and Passes. We do for our Gallants many a Job, Hungry, and ready the Spittle to rob. And truly we give them many a bob, And make the poor Fools cry and sob.

They shall play them mad Pranks, 'Till they crimple in the Shanks. Here they stand in Rank and File, She's yours, to whom you lend a Smile. She shall come to your Relief, To whom you give a Handkerchief. O Dear Sir, you're the sweetest Man, I'le do you Service the best I can, But shew your self a Gentleman.

Bedlam, Newgate, Bridewel Brats, Swear and tear like Dogs and Cats. See how these Varlets fly all in Sholes, For fear into their Skulking Holes. See how they watch and play Bo-peep, At fast and loose, at hold and keep, I'le shortly lull the Rogues asleep.

CANTO X.

There's a rich Curmudgeon, lies privately lurking In a Hole, for fear of a Satyrical Jerking. My Satyr has took a Scent, by good hap, And rowzes him up with a gentle Slap. He'l not part with a Penny, at any Rate, To ease the charge of Church or State, This Man's an Enemy to Fate. That rakes all for his own Flesh and Blood, And gives nothing to the Common Good.

If I had my wishes, this Miser's Seed, Should be all a Bastard breed. I'de set all the Whoremasters a work, To make him a Cuckold and a slave to the Turk, Or the Grand Signior, should send him a black Box, To strangle, or cut his Throat like an Ox. And seize upon all, by Law, not stealth, Because he would do no good to the Common∣wealth. A Rogue with a Vengeance, every body knows, That deserves nothing but Bangs and Blows.

He sits under Hatches, down in the Hold, Hovering o're his Bags of Gold.

Wak't out of his sleep with the noise of the Guns, To the Deck, for fear, in all haste he runs, As if it were at the coming of the Huns. There he rubs his Eyes, half waken, Asks, Do we take, or are we taken? But puts no hand to Steerage or Tacklin, Capston, Sails, Maintop or Jackline. When Boatswain cries, All hands to the Pump, He sits still upon his rotten Rump.

Every honest Saylor could afford, To heave such a Whoreson over-board. In a Vessel that will have no Command, Nor offer to put the least helping hand. 'Tis all one, let the Commons sink or swim, So it be well enough with him. He neither Cures, nor Preaches, nor Pleads, Nor Philosophy, nor History, nor Law reads, Nor much regards to use his Beads. Nor troubles himself to obey or controll, As if, indeed, he had no Soul.

A Hog in a Sty, a Lion in his Den, Both Devourers of Beasts and Men. When gone, no body wishes him here agen, So are they, that are fitter for Beasts than Men. 'Tis a lamentable thing, to have Meat, Drink, and Clothing. Plenty of all things, and be good for nothing. Others study, Plead, Preach, Heal, and Fight. Trade and work for others Profit and Delight. Do themselves and others all good and right, And this Drone, all the while, plays least in sight.

He must be a burden to the ground, In whom no publick Love is found. He that deserves no good Name, live nor dead, We may well take the Beetle and knock him i'th' Head. If he were but left to brave Sea-Boys, His business would quickly be done, without noise. That has neither parts of Body or Mind, A great Estate, and to Nothing kind.

If it were to be hang'd, let him go, If it were to be damn'd, no body will say No. Him that no body can endure, No body will oblige be sure. So he lives in the World neglected, Neither protecting, nor deserves to be protected. Of all men hated and suspected, And by all the World rejected.

He pleases himself, like a Sow in the Mud, No body can love him, bad nor good. He's not worthy of his daily Food, That is of such a Selfish Mood. His Name and his Carkass alike shall rot, And be evermore forgot. Nay more, he lives and dyes with Curses, For robbing Orphans, Strangers, and Widows Purses. Robbin the Devil's a better good Fellow, Than a dry Sullen Cur, that will never be Mellow.

There's another Busie-body, Dandiprat-Devil. Runs about, Fawns upon all Companies, good and evil. Insinuates into every mans Humors, Fetches and carries all Tales and Rumors.

One of Mercury and Ganymed's Gang, As fit as ever they were to hang, Hebe and Cupid were of the same Tribes, Of Lacquays and Pages, that live upon Bribes.

To set Lords and Ladies at strife, As far as to part Friends, tho Man and Wife, No body can lead a quiet life. Ʋlysses and Sinon were damnable Lyars, As good as e're were Spirit Tryars, Or the old Saint Self-Denyars. Look to your Tongues then, more than your Purses, Have a care of Tale-bearing-Doegna-Nurses, That do more hurt by Lyes, than Witches by Curses.

The Trojan Horse was not stufft with more Spikes and Nails, Than an old Doegna with Lyes and Tales. They carry Fire-brands in their Clags, The Instrument that ever wags, Bemoans and Howls, and makes great Brags. Families, Cities and Kingdoms flame, By the tip of a Tongue in the Devils Name. Stufft with Lyes, and false Oaths of all sizes, Enough to furnish a whole Assizes.

For Favour and Gain, he hath a plaguy Itch, To wipe every mans Tail, and kiss every mans Britch, What think ye, is he not worse than a Witch? He must be found out, and perfectly hated, And from all honest men quite separated. None but a Fool and a Knave is able to bear him, The Boys in the Streets will be ready to tear him.

He has infected all that come near him, The Coblers and Tinkers fall to Jeer him. Every one shall be Rogue, and be Jack him, When they find there is no body to back him.

These, I suppose, are most obscure men, But what think ye of the Suitors of Illustrious Pen? That eat up the Estate, whor'd the Waiting Maids, Hang'd up by their Master Ʋlysses, for Jades. What was Mercury, but a Lyar and a Thief? And Simon the Greek but a Traytor in chief? Who, like Cupid the blind Boy, Wrought by his Lyes the Destruction of Troy?

Catamites, Hebe and Ganymede, Were Parasites of a baser Breed, Yet their Lords and Ladies could make use of them for a need. Take heed of these lofty dangerous Sirs, Those Setting-Dogs and Blood••hound Curs, Those Foxes that devour in counterfeit Furs. Hyena's, Crocodiles, Allegators, Sharks, Polypragmans, Agitators. Vertumnus, Changling Translators, Intolerable Make-bates, everlasting Praters.

Keep all such Rogues and Whores, From ever coming within your doors, Or treading on your Closet Floors. 'Tis they will make your Bed and Table a Snare, Bring you to shame, want, and care. They are shameless, disguised Mummers, Trepanners of all in and out Comers. They sound Trumpets, Fifes, and Drums, Beat up your Quarters, and lick up your Crums.

Away with these Rascals to the Pit of Hell, Without them the World would do all so well. Send 'um all full and fasting, Into Torments everlasting.

These are your Jugling Lads and Lasses, That taste in all your Pots and Glasses. These drop Poyson into your Cup, Which they and their Imps must drink all up. Wise mens Wits are not decay'd, But Fools and Asses will be betray'd. But if ye have Spirits rough and enough, You shall shake them off, be they ne're so tough, And turn them going, with a Kick and a Puff.

A Crotchet comes newly into my Crown, Concerning the Bumkin Country-Clown. The Shop's a cheat, the Court's a Charmer, But no Knave's like to the Country Farmer. His Landlord and his Parson he rides, Spite of their Wealth and Wit besides. His blundering clung Pate plods, To undo both, or set them at odds.

No Reason or Religion can perswade, To drive him from his sharking Trade. He is of such tough devilish Mettal made, Mettal to th' back, a Bilbao Blade. But all won't do, he never thrives, Tho he bury ne're so many Wives. The Plow is an honest Calling. But cannot keep the Knave from falling.

He that deals in Grass and Hay, For Debt is ready to run away.

The Butcher for him is too cunning, Cheats him, for all his Dunning. The Grasiers and Plow-Joggers, Are both turn'd, Jockies, and Petyfoggers. They'l be too crafty, if they can, For the Priest, and the Gentleman.

But the rugged rough-hewn Swain, Is the greater Rogue o'th' twain, He'l sell his Soul to the Devil for Gain. He'l shave his Landlords Woods and Groves, Cut down all the Trees in his Hedge-Rows. Poach his Game, by Water and Land, Venison is at his command.

Without and beyond all Reason, Drives the fattest Land out of Season. Leaves all barren and bare, To starve a Cony, or a Hare. Ruines his Houses, Orchards and Gardens, Leaves his Children to the Churchwardens. Curses and damns all his Betters, Till the Jaylor keeps him in Fetters.

‘ Just now another Whimsy comes into my head, ‘ Not the first time I've been found with a Lord in Bed. ‘ In those days I was wo'd and courted, ‘ By as many Blades, as to Penelope resorted. ‘ Only I entertain'd all, and bid 'um stay, ‘ But she, like a Fool, sent 'um all away.

Thais and Lais, and Hellen I scorn'd, And Venus, by whom Vulcan was Horn'd.

Cleopatra had the Fame, Of a most delicate, charming Dame. ‘ But if I had come in Mark Anthony's way, ‘ I wou'd have made him more mad, I dare say, ‘ For I shou'd have giv'd him fairer Play.

‘ In those days, when I was brisk and gay, ‘ My Beauty and Wit would Caesar betray. ‘ But I have studied hard, since then, ‘ And not left to keep company with Men. ‘ And have traverst the World too and agen, ‘ And got more Experience, than Ʋlysses's ten.

‘ Mark Antony did shamefully dote, ‘ Upon a rank Tawny she Goat. ‘ Still I gave my mind to study, ‘ And held out bravely, both comly and ruddy. ‘ I have got and bred up many a Hag, ‘ And will, as long as I can wag, ‘ And for this, I have great cause to brag.

‘ By long Travel through Sea and Land, ‘ I gain to practise by Hand. ‘ And thereby it hath been my Lot, ‘ To send thousands to the Pot. ‘ Revenge is sweeter than Honey, ‘ Better than Power, Honour, or Money.

‘ To Learning this hath me invited, ‘ By which this Satyr is endited. ‘ At which Honest men must be delighted, ‘ But Rogues and Rascals may be frighted, ‘ For which by them I shall be spighted. ‘ My business is, Baseness to reveal, ‘ Not to teach men to kill or steal.

‘ In their Colours I have pourtray'd, ‘ Baseness, e're since I was a Maid. ‘ I've many Brats, as bad as my self, ‘ But, like me, none are giv'n to Pelf. ‘ The Hollander I do bewitch, ‘ The Jew is troubled with the Itch. ‘ What do the French and Spaniards all? ‘ The Italian's always wagging his Tail, ‘ The German loves a Pot of Ale. ‘ 'Tis Wine, pure Wine revives sad Souls, ‘ The Scholar loves the Cheering Bowls.

CANTO XI.

You'l say there's neither good nor bad, Then Stoick be neither merry nor sad, There is no Judgment to be had. Of any thing, therefore by the same intent, There's no Reward nor Punishment, There's no need of Parliaments. All is frolick, all is free, You may be all as bold as we.

All is secure, all is well, There's no Heaven nor Hell. There's no Lawgiver, no Command, No body can understand. There is neither Wind nor Water, Hot or Cold, no such matter, Nothing need to be lookt after.

'Tis the most damnable Proposition, That e're deserv'd a Prohibition.

The Law of all things is most crost, All Labour, all Reward is lost. There should be no hanging nor burning by right, If Vertue and Vice be extinguish'd quite. I have no more Will than a Horse or a Cow, I have no more Wit than a Dog or a Sow. Nor so much neither, for they may be taught, In their kind, what is good or naught.

By this there's neither Poverty nor Riches, By the same Reason there's no Witches. There is neither Black nor White, There is neither Day nor Night, Nothing is in, or out of sight. No pain, nor no delight, No love, nor no despight. No wrong, nor right, Sense and Reason, Good Night!

Then there can be no Accusing, No Choosing, nor no refusing. You can neither sleep nor wake, You can neither give nor take. Nor you cannot merry make, But you may your Wit forsake. When there's no sorrow nor laughter, How can good or bad luck go afore or after? Take no care for Son or Daughter.

You can wrong none, nor none can wrong you, 'Tis a fine World to live in, if we knew how. A short life and a pleasant, There can be no Damage Feasant. Burn your Books, there's no need of Reading, Cut out your Tongues, there's no cause of Pleading.

Who'l endure to the Terms to trudge? What Fools are we to suffer a Judge?

You can neither live nor dye, Tell me the reason why? I can neither affirm nor deny, I am neither True man, nor Spy. There is neither Fool nor Wise, Reality, nor False disguise. Never fear Truth nor Lyes, You shall be troubled with no Flies. You have no Friends nor Enemies, You may go in any Disguise.

There is neither Toad nor Frog, At this rate, neither Hog nor Dog. Nothing's finisht, nothing's began, Nothing's either Horse or Man. The World is utterly undone, All things fly to confusion, And there will be no conclusion. There is neither East nor West, Neither Labour nor Rest: But every thing what likes you best, And the Devil take all the rest.

Find me out the Phoenix Nest, In sober Sadness, or in Jest. You can neither fast nor feast, You are neither Man nor Beast. There is neither Sense nor Reason, Neither Felony, nor Treason, Nothing is in, or out of Season. There's no fair, nor foul Pretences, No body Master, nor Doctor commences.

There is neither Dog nor Bitch, Spirit, Hobgoblin or Witch. There is neither Scab nor Itch, Who dug the Devils Ditch? Nothing's false, nothing's true, Need never give the Devil his due. Nothing's lost, nothing's found, Nothing's above or under ground.

There is neither Plant nor Tree, Down goes all Philosophy. And the Devil take all for me, We're never likely to agree. This most damnable Position, Damns the Spanish Inquisition.

Nothing's foul, nor nothing's clean, No body knows what you mean. Joan licks up the Platter clean, Let her go, she's a nasty Quean. Any thing you may do or say, Either stop, or run away, Need neither preach nor pray. Neither Nakedness, nor Clothing, All are Shadows, all or Nothing.

We nothing see, nor nothing know, All things are above or below. Or where they can themselves bestow, They go neither too fast, nor to slow. All is bak'd, or all is dough, I feel no pain upon a blow, It is neither Frost nor Snow. All are Spectrums, all are Fictions, No Harmony nor Contradictions.

Extatick, empty Chimera's, Neither go from us, nor come near us, They neither fright nor fear us. There needs no Trade, nor Occupation, Nor Business with any Nation. None need keep or forgo his station, It was never seen in this fashion, (If there were any since the Creation.)

'Tis neither out Nettle, nor in Dock, Put on neither Shirt nor Smock. Neither wear Gown nor Frock, Keep neither Hen nor Cock, Not so much as ask me, what's a Clock? Nothing has a Wit at will. Because nothing can save or kill. No going down, nor up Hill, Eat all the Meat, and let all the Drink spill.

If all things be common, then nothing's my own, Wherefore is the Sword then, or the Gown? 'Tis very strange News that's come to Town, It won't sink into my empty Crown.

Nothing can empty or fill, Nothing can run over or spill. Bring me, I say't, no Tailor's Bill▪ Do nothing with, or against your Will. Commit nothing to Trust, Try to undo me, and do your worst, I shall be neither blest nor curst. Nothing can decay or last, Nothing's present, to come or past; All have their Doom, from first to last.

Nothing is in, or out of Date, All things are nothing, at this rate, I can't possibly an Ace abate. I can neither laugh nor cry, At this pass, I can neither live nor dye, Slaves tell me the Reason why? Or else I will you all defie.

Ye make me mad, and yet not wild, I'm neither without, or with Child. I neither conquer, nor am I foyl'd, But of all my seven senses I'm beguil'd. I'm as very an Ass as ever Bray'd, To believe all that's done or said, I may as well say, I was never a Maid.

I have neither Spouse nor Bride, Nor nothing in the 'versal World beside. I can neither commend nor chide, I can neither appear nor hide. 'Tis neither Ebb water, nor high Tide, I can scarce my self abide. Get, if you can, on the Honestest side, And stay there, 'till I come to call you aside.

You that take upon ye to be all Kings, I tell you, I know better things. Come hang't, I'le put my self out of the base fit, To strive with them that have neither Honesty nor Wit. I'le crowd through the foolish Throng, And sing over again my old Song.

‘ 'Mongst all those precious Juices, ‘ That are provided for mens uses.

‘ The principal of all is Sack, ‘ Metheglin, Usquebaugh, Pontack. ‘ At Revels stands Heidelberg's Tub, ‘ Fiends in a Circle sit down at their Club. ‘ The Slaves sing Dub-a-Dub-a-Dub, ‘ I wish some body wou'd give 'um a Rub.

They sit at it close soaking, Roaring, Yelling and croaking. 'Tis a damnable provoking, Damming, Ramming, and Toping, In the Suds vomiting and choaking. Old ghastly Hags cling by their side, Each Imp has his ugly Bride. Every one has his Jade to ride, Such ugly Tricks I can't abide.

Witches crow'd among the Fray, Turning Night into Day. Nothing the while but cheat and play, All Civility is run away. Roaring Boys from hence took Pattern, Every Gull with his Slattern. Every Jack with his Jill, All's Grist that comes to Mill. Every Rascal takes his fill, Every Varlet has his Will.

All our Gallants, Lords and Sages, Attended bravely with their Pages, According to their States and Sages. 'Till every one is paid his Wages, This is that my Heart enrages.

Witches, like Antipodes▪ walk on their Heads, Sleeping they lye cross on their Beds. Take in behind, let out before, They have all a cross Boar; Thus we make the Welkin roar. Witches backward have said their Prayers, Witches upward go down Stairs. They tune and sing all kind of Airs, Play all Tricks in Markets and Fairs.

Witches, by Flattery and Lyes, Creep into Noble Families. Do more mischief, as Scouts and Spyes, Than all their deadliest Enemies. When th•••• look out sharp, they Wink, They write without Pen and Ink.

When they're cut off close by the Stumps, They use to dance without Pumps. Play at Cross Ruff without Trumps, Cut Capers, and fall flat on their Rumps. By this they get their meat and drink, Make the Tanker and Cannikin clink, By this I feel my Pocket chink. Now I've told you all, I think, I must hasten to be gone before I stink.

Hypocrite Nimiùm Garris, nimiùm Rides, Linguae & Fronti nulla Fides. ‘ It tyres me sadly to rehearse, ‘ Steddy Matter, in capering Verse. Both ways unpleasant, Vice to oppose, In flying Meeter, or creeping Prose. 'Tis hard holding the Devil by the Nose, Besides, he will seldom bear Blows.

To deal with Atheists, that are mad, That deny Good or Bad. What Mortals or Daemons are able? That count all things but a Fable. ‘ Bring me my Mare out of the Stable, ‘ I'le sit no longer at the Council Table. ‘ When all things go thus at random, ‘ Contrà negantes Principia, non est Disputandum.

‘ I do confess I've lost my Wits, ‘ Th'have put me into Convulsion Fits. ‘ I must needs say, I've lost my labour, ‘ When there's neither good, nor bad Behavour. ‘ 'Tis better to play upon Tabor and Drum, ‘ To sing Ballads, or cry, Come Pudding, Come, ‘ Tell a Tale of Robbin Hood or Tom Thumb. ‘ My Satyr's skill and labour's lost, ‘ There are no Vices to be crost.

‘ This has made me Rhime so sadly, ‘ This causes me to Versifie so madly, ‘ I'de better sing, O brave Arthur of Bradly. ‘ Any thing rather than be serious, ‘ When Scepticks and Stoicks are so Imperious. ‘ As to call all things in question, ‘ Of any thing there can be no digestion. ‘ Then I'le set me down, and take no pains, ‘ And condemn all my idle Strains. ‘ For at this rate, no body shall lose or get gains.

‘ It seems my Wits do me beguile, ‘ I have fought with the Air all this while. ‘ I'le no more a hunting go, ‘ There's nought to be took by Spear or Bow.

‘ But must I my Witching Trade forgo? ‘ You don't hear me yet say so. ‘ I must have a bout with these All-Denyars, ‘ By making them feel my Racks and Fires.

‘ When these Rogues once have their due, ‘ They may confess something to be true, ‘ 'Til then I bid 'um all Adieu. ‘ I've been all this while at Fools Fare, ‘ I have fought with Shadows, and beat the Air, ‘ I'le take a Nap, after it, Boy, fetch me my Chair.

‘ I must confess, in this wild Canto, ‘ I have been too much upon the Ranto: ‘ And have said more than I can stand to, ‘ For lack of a good Warranto. ‘ Yet good enough may be Womens Reasons, ‘ 'Gainst those that deny Felonies or Treasons, ‘ So all things may be good in their Seasons. ‘ But I no more of this Subject will sing, ‘ I'le play upon a better string, ‘ And sing to please Old Simon the King.

CANTO XII.

If Prerogatives be measur'd by the Plough, Liberties by the Scepter, we shall have Priviledges enough. When the King and Subjects meet, The Scepter shall the Spade greet, But not jussle for the Wall in the Street. Trust a brave Princes Word. More than the Pummel of Scanderbeg's Sword.

How's this? Malum est Posse malum? Fetch a Cup of Alum Stalum, The Schoolmens Wits use to fail 'um. An Old man shall ne're be an Ass, So long as Non senescit Veritas.

The King ne're dies, that's Reason, The Crown extinguishes Treason. Nullum Tempus occurrit Regi, Omne malum contrarium Legi.

Who prompted the dull Monk with the Epithite Ve∣nerabilis, Of Bede's Epitaph, or who made first Aqua Mira∣bilis? I was cut out for a Witch ab Incunabilis, I was not born to rake Dung in Stabulis. 'Twas I that taught Bertholdus Swart, The Invention of Gunners Art. For which all Souldiers should take my part, It was by letting of a Rowzing Fart. It made the Coward Scholar start, When his Lamp was out, it frighted him to the Heart.

'Tis usual with great Wits, When they fall into Melancholy Fits, Or don't look well to their Hits. ‘ I think these were gamesom Tricks, ‘ I use to steal Wood and gather Sticks. ‘ (Oh, I am troubled with the Stitch, ‘ Alas, I cannot hold my Britch.) The Witches among Saxons and Huns, Taught this Devilish Invention of Guns. The Noise frighted all the Nuns, Put the poor Ladies to the Runs. The Fryars in a Gambol-Freak, Put them sadly to the Squeak.

The Chineses had the knack, Of Printing; (the virtue of a Cup of good Sack, Fir'd the Bush at the Man oth' Moons back.) I set the Tartars upon their backs, To put the Slaves upon the Racks, Before ever they could make up their Packs. They drowned them in the Sea in Sacks, A Company of Envious Jacks.

They kept all their Arts closely Fur'ld, From all the Learn'd People of the World. The fiery Tartars make 'um all stink, And now they complain in Pen and Ink, To solve their Spirits they shan't want drink. And now with us they are glad to Trade and Barter, That before kept their Monopoly Charter.

No Body, forsooth, might break up their Quarters, As very Rogues as ever wore Garters. We taught them at the long run to carry Coals, That till then, had lain hid in their skulking Holes.

To shew 'tis not fit for any Nation, To refuse Commerce after that fashion; A proud, unmannerly Generation.

After all this, pray and say what you wull, A Man-Witch has an empty thick Skull. I found 'um always most damnable dull, All their delights are in good Lull. To tell Tales of a Cock and a Bull, So does every drunken Gull. Women Witches tell Gossipping Stories, The high flown Blades are Tory-Rories.

An old Ape hath an old Eye, I think y'have drawn me pretty dry. If 'twere not for my Witching Trade, I should be as honest as e're I was, when I was a Maid. You may perceive I take great care, When I no kind of Baseness spare, And Above-board you see I play fair.

Therefore let Kings have a care, I hope I shall deserve the Chair. For I know more than Apollo, In the Streets after us all the Boys Hollow. I put fair for a Princess in this Case, I value not the World's Disgrace, Because I have a brazen Face. So many such Sots don't daunt me, I'le make my Party good, let 'um all haunt me.

Diogenes gave his dull Hearers a Rub, By Waking 'um to hear a Tale of a Tub.

The rare Lutenist is slighted for his pains, The scraping Fidler gets Credit and Gains. O dull Ears, O dull Understanding, No Judgment the Will commanding. Stand off, Heard among the Rout, I scorn ye, for Scholars, worse than come out.

What are ye, but Arts Superficial Scummers, No Scholars, but Learning's Ludibrious Mum∣mers, No Souldiers, but Arm's Terriferous Drummers? Good young Wits, but sad lazy Drones, If my Pupils, I'de ha'ye by the Bones. To make ye study, I would try, Or else, I'de know a Reason why, Blockheads disgrace the Ʋniversity.

'Tis the base Pot and Pipe, Makes 'um Rotten before they're Ripe. Or leave Apollo and the chaste Muses, To chuse Friars and Nuns Recluses. These Nurseries Dunces abuse, For which, my Dames their Cells refuse.

A Rusticate Parson in Habit and Mind, Is a Scorn to the Learned kind. He can Thresh, and for a need serve the Hogs, But his chiefest delight is to follow the Dogs. Harpen and Tarpen, and Teardog and Marten, Thy Dog and my Dog, there's the Game for certain. De Vau, de Vau, So ho, So ho, O're the Hills, o're the Dales, they go, they go. Plays ye at Trap-Ball, Cudgels and Leap-Frog, Now and then kills a Calf or a Hog.

'Tis impossible, but this Amphibious Wight, With Learned Men should play least in sight. Fitter in a blind Ale-House for a Game at Chess, Or All Fours with Tinkers, than a Scholar's Mess. These Partiperpale Mongrel-Shab-Scholars, Smatterers, Scepticks, have too many Followers. For Divinity, he falls aboard of Dod and Clever, For Logick, Jack Seaton gives him a Lever.

He dares look Bellarmine in the Face, And answer him in the hardest Case. Solus cum Solâ, Nudus cum Nudâ, says the Learned Glosser, Nunquam praesumuntur dicere, Pater Noster. 'Twas a wise Negative Answer in cutting a Twine, 'Tis dangerous to Define.

He's an Oracle among the Petty-Foggers, Hedgers, Ditchers, Thatchers and Plow-Joggers. Reward him but with a Half Crown Pledge, He'l marry ye a Brother and Sister, under a Hedge, A fair Bride sets his Teeth on Edge. He bears a special hatred against all Quakers, And all Rebellious Undertakers, And all Factious Parliament Makers. He's a strong Friend to the Crown, They may Preach and Pray him, but he shall drink them down.

His Religion never stands at a stay, For he will be always Vicar of Bray. What, do you think him such a Widgeon, As not to be of the Kings Religion? In all Changes, come what will, He was a Vicar before, and is a Vicar still.

A Papist or Protestant, chuse you whether, The Pot Trade and the Priest Trade with him goes together.

The Folk need not fear whatever betide, 'Tis safe to be on the Parsons side. Be he sober, or be he mad, To joyn with the Parson all are glad.

At every Puppet Play, Market and Fare, The Curate is sure to be there. At Wakes, Ale-Helps, Sessions and Sizes, There flock Black Coats of all prizes. In Term time Parsons naturally fall, Into the Chequer-Chamber, or Westminster-Hall. And all the Year long great Bus'ness, Frost and Snow, Every Week the Parson must to London go.

I observe this Mongrel Generation, The greatest Debauchees in a Nation. Play baser Tricks than Coblers and Tinkers, The most sordid Gamesters and Drinkers. Others are modest with them compar'd, By them the honest People are scar'd. They can Beg, Cheat, Rogue and Whore, Hectors and Ranters can't do more.

All Mankind they trouble and vex, Yet they chiefly fall in with the Female Sex. To them they have the nearest approaches, At home and abroad in their Closets and Coaches. They haunt them about by Sea and Land, Their Bodies and Purses they have at Command; This puts Religion to a stand.

The Stool of Repentance and Chair of Confessions, Advances the growth of all sorts of Transgressions. They can enjoyn what Penance they please, And of all men live most in Plenty and Ease. They prove the greatest Cheats in Nature, Overtop all Villains in stature. It was ever true, as men say, Corruptio optimi, est Pessima.

‘ My Invention is spacious, ‘ Short Verse confinement is vexatious. ‘ My Fancy is high and various, ‘ Scorns to borrow words Precarious. ‘ More Things and Words we all find, ‘ To Matter, Poetry is most unkind. ‘ Because thereby she's most confin'd, ‘ Liberty best suits with my vast Mind. ‘ I'm fallen upon a Subject large, ‘ Stufft with Luggage more than a Gravesend-Barge, ‘ I have not finisht my Parsons Charge.

A course Felt ne're aspires to a Bever, Raise him from the Rout you shall never. Tender Consciences he relieves, Shakes hard Cases out of his Sleeves. He's fitter to take the cure of Beeves, 'Tis well if he Believes as the Church Believes. A Pot of good Ale will better go down, Than all the Learned Books in the Town, Yet he wears the Livery, a Cloak and a Gown.

'Tis danger and charges to plow the Seas, For Learning, he'l stay at home and take his Ease.

Get into his Study, take a Catalogue there, He is drunk'ning at the Rain-Deer. Get him to his Book, to him 'tis no good Cheer, You may as soon bring a stake to the Bear. There's a Geneva Bible, and the Whole Duty of Man, Practise Piety, if he can, All won't make him an Honest man.

Yet he shall preach ye, for Life and Death, Beside the Cushion, Dagger out of the Sheath. A Concordance, a Common Place Book, For Fathers and Schoolmen you may go look. No crabbed Criticks, abstruse Annotators, Quodlibets, Postillers, Commentators, Greek nor Latin Translators. Mark him, he never took a Hint, From the Vulgar Latin or Greek Septuagint. He hates to see's Self a Fool in Print, Upon all true Scholars he looks a squint. He's a Lord among the good Dames and good Fel∣lows, His Course Wife is troubled with the Yellows.

There's Boxes, Rowls, and Pipes of Tobacco, There's Bottles of Ale, Cyder, and Sacco. There's Ovid's Red Naso, and Horatius Flacco, What more does a Country Curate Lacko? The Rustick Folk count him a great Schollard, As big as an overgrown Pollard. There's Aristotles Problems, and Cato, Upon this stock he may Preach at any Rato.

But that his Wits may be more refin'd, He reads Play-Books of the best kind: And all sorts of Romances, Leads all Jiggs and Country-Dances. At merry Meetings, O brave Garson, They're nothing without the Parson. They fuddle with him Night and Day, Still the Bonny Curate carries the Bell away.

Will these sad Wretches, think ye, overlook Libraries, or study a good Book? If they do they have good Luck, A good fat Hen you may sooner pluck. They hunt ye, and hawk ye, and course ye all day, And fuddle ye all the Night away. This is all the Care they take, Yet they shall a rare Preachment make.

He's a sound Church-man, he shall never look, All the Week long, nor Sundays on a Book. For Ten Pounds per Annum, and a Country-Pudding, He shall confute ye the Pope without studying. They say, we're Hereticks, marry Gap, how? But we say they're Hereticks, where are they now? As good Divinity as e're came from the Plough, The Man in the Moon at his Back bears a Bough, The Scholar with his Hackney falls into a Slough.

I believe he's a Conjurer, if the truth were well known, By preaching Sermons that are none of his own. And this is plainly shewn, As Cuckolds that are overgrown,

'Tis well 'tis so, if you're minded to try, He tells you, by his Troth, they're the best he could buy, And this no body can deny. He's a right Linsey-Wolsey Priest, Half one, half t'other, at the Best.

Half callow, and half fledg'd, like a Crow in a Nest, Of what I can say of him this is the best, You may go look, if you will for all the rest. While I am thus Cater-walling, I find▪ e're and anon, I am Crest falling. I'm best, while I'm dandling of my Dalling, At other times, like to be choak'd with his Spitting and Spalling, I never love to be out of my Calling. I must be took just in the Nick, I'de best leave off quickly, before I be sick.

I find these Parsons on my Stomach ride, I can't digest Ignorance, Scandal and Pride. (I was never yet deny'd, So oft as I have been seen and try'd.) But this sort of Cattel, that drink drunk and pray, I wish I could conjure 'um quite away. But they're seldom sober by night or by day, And can conjure Witches and Devils they say.

I've spent my pains upon 'um in waste, I'le ha'no more to do with these Parsons in haste. Where little's said, there's more amended, For they are soonest offended: And are too much Befriended, And so my Satyr should be ended.

But think what Humiliation and Fasting, For Strife and Hatred everlasting. Here's tedious Preaching and Praying, To usher in plund'ring, killing and slaying, Besides the plain man's Overlaying. All civil Honesty betraying, To the Churches and States decaying. But when it comes to a Feast of Thanksgiving, For Honest men there is no living. Flesh and Blood is not able to bear it, To see the Spirit thus rant and tear it.

From a Witch you may hear Truth, (Surer than from a Saint Forsooth.) 'Tis not polluted by my foul Mouth, I carry it round the World about. Are you Back, Belly and Conscience proof, Welcom then, under my Roof, Else I charge you keep aloof.

My Pupils are of all Degrees, Sexes, Ages, and Dignities, And I never take Fees. Moreover in any Feat, I never use any Deceit, But I do my work complete.

‘ Half-witted Scholars are commonly base, ‘ I loath at my heart such a Mongrel Race. ‘ Wherefore I dare defie 'um all, ‘ When upon me such Dunces fall. ‘ Teach 'um to be just and true and be hang'd, ‘ To save their Souls from being damn'd.

‘ When time was, such as they Rebellion taught, ‘ Ever since that I counted them naught, ‘ That so long Misery on us brought.

‘ When once I perceiv'd 'um play fast and loose, ‘ I resolv'd in time to take 'um all in a Noose. ‘ Tho they call me Jade and Quean, ‘ I'le devour 'um all, Rebels, fat and lean. ‘ I never rebell'd against my Prince, ‘ As they, a Pox take 'um, ha'done long since. ‘ I don't doubt but I know more than they, ‘ Tho I have gone the clean contrary way.

‘ Yet I'le be so honest I'le assure you, ‘ To chide you, tho I can't endure you, ‘ Mend, mend for shame, as fast as you're able, ‘ Or I'le post you for Rogues among all the Rabble, ‘ Amongst Whores they say you use to dabble. ‘ Gentlemen Scholars, and Gentlemen Lawyers, ‘ Gentlemen Coblars, and Gentlemen Sawyers. ‘ I'le sooner trust a Trull or a Tinker, ‘ Than a Professor and a Sack Drinker. ‘ Give me a Dose, Page-Skinker, ‘ For I ever was no Shrinker.

‘ Let us stand to't foot to foot, ‘ Wet him soundly to the Root, ‘ Here's a Health to a Scholar, a Whore and a Slut. ‘ I'le teach 'um all to be sober and chaste, ‘ And then they shall hear no more of me in haste. ‘ (I was always good over and under the waste, ‘ But 'tis no matter what is past,) ‘ If not I shall at 'um all so fast. ‘ As for Mechanicks of all Prizes, ‘ Let 'um leave Robbing, for fear of the 'Sizes.

‘ Porters and Car-men shall deride you, ‘ Billinsgate Wenches shall scold and chide you. ‘ The very Witches can't abide you, ‘ Every Hackny-Boy shall ride you. ‘ I'le set you forth in your proper Colours, ‘ Give better Examples, or else be no Scholars, ‘ And heard your selves among the Lollars. ‘ Universities and Inns of Court, ‘ The Rout shall hiss you to make sport. ‘ You never was at the Synod of Dort, ‘ I'le get 'um to piss upon you for't.

‘ The Rabble of Fish and Oyster Wenches, ‘ The Water-men shall jeer you with their Clenches. ‘ Tapsters and Drawers shall crack your Crowns, ‘ Throw Dirt on your Robes and Scarlet Gowns, ‘ You'r far more debauch'd than Country-Clowns. ‘ I don't care for your Flouts nor Frowns, ‘ I'le bast you out of honest Cities and Towns.

‘ You Philosophers, you Teachers, ‘ You Pleaders, you Judges, you Preachers, ‘ Fy for shame, you Law-makers and Law-break∣ers. ‘ Teach Honesty, and Practise Cheaters, ‘ You're worse than Cannibals or Man-Eaters. ‘ Fix your Studies, and your Conversations, ‘ To Reform all the Nations, ‘ And to bring in better Fashions. ‘ How can you think the People will e're be good, ‘ While you act Thievery, Lust and Blood?

‘ If you once mend, and all agree, ‘ None will be left so bad as we.

‘ You shall be sure to be all Ador'd, ‘ When we shall be Witched and Whor'd. ‘ Sea-men get you all Aboard, ‘ And leave your Reck'nings to be scor'd. ‘ The Gallows shall be haunted by none but us Witches, ‘ Costly Wives shan't wear the Breeches. ‘ Then in comes all Learning, Civility and Riches, ‘ And all false Knaves shall dye in Ditches.

CANTO XIII.

‘ As for us, give us over, ‘ To Conversion and Trover, ‘ Let the Law pass from Berwick to Dover. ‘ Witches and Wizards none shall Rule 'um, ‘ Fiat Justitia, Ruat Coelum. ‘ When I and my Maids are in a good Mood, ‘ We confess our selves overcome with Good. ‘ When we speak good, and practise Evil. ‘ 'Tis enough, a Conscience to convert the Devil.

‘ I wish I were in your case, ‘ I would resolve never to be so base. ‘ 'Tis time to Reform, when we shame you, ‘ 'Tis time to be better when we blame you, ‘ If you won't, we must tame you. ‘ For lack of better Mistresses and Masters, ‘ We offer to be your Tasters, ‘ If not, we come to be your Taskers.

‘ If this won't do, 'tis past my skill, ‘ You may be better, if you will.

‘ And so, you'l say, may We be? ‘ What if not, are you so dull and sleepy? ‘ You're fit to be sent to the Isles of Charybe. ‘ We must hang in Wind and Weather, ‘ And the Devils and We shall mend together. ‘ As for you, you may live in hopes, ‘ We must come to the Dancing on the Ropes, ‘ Tho pardoned by never so many Popes.

‘ We are Sinners of another kind, ‘ Scholars and Artists, you know my mind. ‘ The Devils and We are Apostates, you'l find, ‘ Then you must needs see, if you won't be blind.

‘ And now I'le get me behind the Door, ‘ To spy, if I can catch you any more. ‘ And then I'le not fail to fly in your Faces, ‘ Betray you with killing Embraces. ‘ But I would fain from us you should be gone, ‘ And leave us to despair all alone. ‘ I have Preached, as the Devil can do, ‘ For good luck, throw after me an Old Shoe. ‘ To't agen Boys, if all this won't do, ‘ But we must needs have your Company too.

‘ You may say very well, you may all thank your selves, For you have had warning enough from us Elves. I have then no more to say, For we must all return to our Play, 'Tis Night with us, and 'twill never be Day.

‘ Away ye Rascals, go to, go to, ‘ Must you needs be damn'd with us whither we will or no?

‘ If Salvation it self can't save you, ‘ 'Tis your own fault if the Devil have you▪ ‘ Damnation its self must needs damn you, ‘ When Hell it self can't fright you nor sham you.

‘ For this once, Geese, never fear Over-reaching, ‘ You shall be safe, tho the Fox be a preaching. ‘ I'le promise you this time, but if hereafter I catch you, ‘ To be sure, I shall bite and scratch you, ‘ Look to't, for we'l narrowly watch you. ‘ When Ranters and Witches rebuke Sin, ‘ Then, or never, Rogues and Whores will come in. ‘ Capons and Turkies never fat well 'till they're cram'd, ‘ Hypocrites will ne're turn 'till they are damn'd.

‘ The Reason that makes me so kind to forewarn you, ‘ Is, because I never have a mind to harm you. ‘ Because I have had oft good turns done by you, ‘ I have still a longing desire to try you. ‘ As for other old beggarly Rogues, ‘ They shall never have our good Vogues. ‘ They have always been pitiful Shrimps, ‘ And never belov'd by us, or our Imps▪ ‘ They're good for nothing, but Panders and Pimps.

‘ They might have amended long ago, ‘ 'Tis too late now for them I know. ‘ If they had ta'ne good Counsel in time, ‘ When they were all in their Prime, ‘ It might have sav'd my pains for this Rhime.

‘ Some Pardon then might have been had, ‘ Upon Repentance, tho they were never so bad, ‘ At last to be saved they would be glad. ‘ But 'tis too late, it can never be had, ‘ They're rightly serv'd, for being so mad.

‘ After they have had their full Play, ‘ Vengeance for them will no longer stay. ‘ To Hell, to rights, they must away, ‘ And there they must tormented lay, ‘ And Fry for ever and a day. ‘ One thing I'le tell you Hypocrites, ‘ You shall be put to the greatest frights: ‘ And be Rackt most of all by terrible Sprights, ‘ Because you have tasted of all Delights, ‘ And have turn'd Days into Nights, ‘ Therefore you shall behold sad Sights.

‘ Because you presum'd to make Black, White, ‘ And have put Darkness for Light, ‘ Therefore you must suffer the greatest Spight. ‘ Others, by frailty of Pleasures, ‘ Of Pain shall feel far lesser measures; ‘ But you of Grace have had the richest Treasures. ‘ The more of Mercies you had the store, ‘ The more Judgments lay at your door.

‘ 'Tis you that fram'd false Oaths and Lyes, ‘ To undo whole Families: ‘ And would never hear their Cries, ‘ Therefore you can never rise. ‘ Such heavy loads press down so low, ‘ That up to Light you cannot go. ‘ It sinks you deeper, all so well, ‘ Into the darkest Pit of Hell.

‘ If you should think all this a Fable, ‘ To dispute you we are able. ‘ You believe no Spirit, well, ‘ Consequently you believe no Hell. ‘ But we are sensible of both, ‘ Which to feel you wou'd be loth, ‘ You are right enough serv'd by my Troth. ‘ If there be bad, there must be good, ‘ If there be War, there must be Blood.

‘ We feel Sprights plainly, when they suck, ‘ How they our Teats in sunder pluck. ‘ They never bring us good luck, ‘ At last they leave us to Tuck. ‘ We see them often, as they rise ‘ Out of the Earth, with our own Eyes. ‘ To them we're glad to Sacrifice, ‘ For fear they should tear out our Eyes. ‘ As they do to others play their parts, ‘ Plucking out their very Hearts.

‘ And whether you believe, or no, ‘ I'le warrant you shall find it so, ‘ And feel what you must undergo. ‘ Then brave Gallants take your pleasure, ‘ Be Jovial, and repent at leisure, ‘ Lose all your Ill••gotten Treasure. ‘ Your wretched Clients have cause full well, ‘ To curse you to the Pit of Hell. ‘ They have already rung out your Knell, ‘ And I have giv'n you a lusty Spell.

‘ And yet you'l venture 'twill be so, ‘ Whether you believe it, or no, ‘ The more you suffer▪ for the more you know.

‘ Still you sleep, still you slumber, ‘ You do but the World encumber, ‘ For Hell you will be Fuel and Lumber. ‘ 'Cause no good Warning you will take, ‘ The Devil will you Examples make.

‘ You shall burn at the Stake, ‘ And boyl in Styx scalding Lake, ‘ And in Cocytus freeze and quake. ‘ The more weary, the more your hearts shall ake, ‘ The more Wise, the more Fools make. ‘ When the Truth of all you see, ‘ Not till then you'l remember me. ‘ To day 'tis laughter, but to morrow, ‘ It must end in endless Sorrow.

‘ You taste the Honey of the Bee, ‘ The deadly Sting you will not see. ‘ Do we not find that Nature's Law, ‘ Keeps us evermore in awe? ‘ And for every wilful Offence, ‘ Disquiets tender Conscience, ‘ Where there is a Judgment Bench.

‘ If there were not some kind of God, ‘ Whence should proceed such a Rod? ‘ And if there were no higher Numen, ‘ What should distinguish Rogues from True-men? ‘ But now we plainly do discern, ‘ The difference 'twixt Grass and Fearn. ‘ Then do but grind in this Quern, ‘ Good from Bad you shall discern.

‘ So all is very plain and clear, ‘ As 'twixt Wine, Water, and strong Beer, ‘ Betwixt bad and good Chear. ‘ To Vertue we may now draw near, ‘ And from Vice, if you will, disappear. ‘ Here you may escape a Fall, ‘ And stand upright for good and all; ‘ Not one, but one and all.

‘ So we may avoid a Frown, ‘ And so inherit a Crown. ‘ So some go up and some go down, ‘ As it is in London Town. ‘ Some Spirits clearly upwards fly, ‘ Some like Beasts descend and dye. ‘ Some happy sure in Misery, ‘ I tell you no Lye. ‘ And I tell you the Reason why, ‘ No man in his Wits can deny.

‘ Wherefore all Atheism I defy, ‘ The greater is my Villany, ‘ The greater will be my Misery. ‘ I know better, I do worse, ‘ I deserve the greater Curse. ‘ Stand Slaves, deliver your Purse, ‘ No Reason, but for better for worse, ‘ When you're sick, I'le be your Nurse.

‘ This is no pleasing Subject to me, ‘ 'Cause Happiness I ne're look to see, ‘ But everlasting Misery. ‘ From this Doom you may be free, ‘ W'have already too much Company.

‘ I know what Religion I like best, ‘ The Devil in Hell take all the rest. ‘ Mahomet, Sergius, I and the Devil were all at work, ‘ To fit a Religion for the Persian and Turk. ‘ Ease, Pleasure, Luxury, and Lust, ‘ Is all the Heaven for which they trust. ‘ By the Sword, and all manner of Lies, ‘ They hope to get such a Paradise. ‘ As for Heathen Religions, Old and New, ‘ I hold them every one untrue.

CANTO XIV.

I'le close with the Master of Obligations, Jack of all Trades and Occupations, That never keeps his Forms or Stations. He runs through every Compass Point, Is ne're in nor out of Joynt. Invents true and false Reports, With all Companies sutes and sorts. I ne're observ'd, as I can tell, Any such a Vertumnus in Hell.

A fawning Ape, a flattering Dog, A crafty Fox, a smiling Hog. A roaring Bear, a Lion ranting, A howling Wolf, a Mag-Pye canting. In all Habits to beguile, A wet and dry Saint Crockadile. He can whine, simper, cry and roar, All this while he loves a Whore, I'le ha' to do with him no more.

He sacrifices at every Altar, Cunningly scapes every Haltar, Turn him to the Straits of Gibraltar. There he hangs out all Flags, Catches every Ship that wags. In all Places he makes his Brags, Struts in Tissues, Begs in Rags.

Of Pigmy and of Giant stature, The veriest Rogue in Nature. Amongst the Tartar and Turk, Sets every Villain at work. In every Corner he does lurk. A perfect Rook, a perfect Shirk. No Roguery can suffice him, 'Till we Witches chastise him. He does all the World infect, Gets and loses all Respect, Only Hell can him correct.

This Sect is true bred, and of the right kind, That rides the Devil off his Legs, and breaks his Wind. Sea-men and Scholars, gallop, spur and switch, Till they tumble in a Ditch.

Raise a deep Dust of Dispute, Pro & Con▪ Till the clear Truth be quite gone. Then leave the Question red hot, To them that dare handle it over the Pot, And determine at last with a Why not? Jacta est Alea e're and anon, They have waded over Rubicon. Perit Judicium, secundum meum Intellectum, Cum Res transit in Affectum.

Perdit operam & Oleum, When the Bus'ness ends in Cordolium. As they do, that have read Sybillae Folium, All Trash and Trumpery, Palea & Lolium. Principium est Ʋnum, when that's divided, No Controversie can be decided. What's made Duable or Triable, Is also Malleable and Friable, By Decree of the Schools Council Table.

Majestas Imperii, the Sword doth wield, Challenges Salus Populi into the Field, But the Rebel Rout scorns to yield. Every Princely Suavamen, Shall be counted a Gravamen. To which the Vulgar Priests cry Amen, Who with the Rout are the same Men.

Indemnity and Toleration, Give Stable room and Litter for every Disputa∣tion, But hinder a true Reformation. At Baiae, Tiberius lay close in his Box, And with the whole Senate plaid Reinold the Fox. Take a Latitat about your Neck, And give every Vice a check. Lye close by the Philosopher's Stone under ground, And I'le warrant you, you shall never be found.

Trebonian, the botching Sutor, Pretended to be the Laws Co-adjutor. Whose Memory is therefore Curst, 'Cause he left the best, and kept the Worst. Those Fragments and Cento's, Hoysted the Laws upon Ten-toes.

Or, being Strait with Buckrom-Basting, Made them Crooked, Everlasting.

Justinian made a good Constitution, Forbidding Comments to prevent Confusion. But they by Glosses have perplext, The pure Simplicity of the Text. By which poor Clients are so vext, You may conjecture what is next. All that the Law doth blame, Suffer Pain, Poverty, or Shame.

The Judge of Common Law and Right, Was Praetor, or Chancelor at first sight. These were the old honest Ways, To prevent Charges and Delays. Now you must leap a Communi Banco, To Bill and Answer in Black and Blanco, To hold at least seven Tropicks in Cancro.

The good old Laws are Abrogated, The good old Lytae, Eunuchated. So, an Index Expurgatorius, In honest Authors is Notorious. Some honest Husbands are too Uxorious, Geld them that are too Laborious. To get, for their Wives to spend in waste, And make them Cuckolds and Beggars at last.

In nothing we can be secure, For nothing comes to our hands pure. By Plagiaries, ignorant false Scribes, Sollicitors that take Bribes. Corruption runs through all Tribes, By hunting after them I get Kibes.

We're abus'd, not only by Pen and Ink, But in our Clothing, Meat and Drink. In Building, Planting and Sowing, Harvesting, Threshing, Reaping and Mowing, Be we never so well careful or knowing. In Hawking, Hunting and Whoring, In Pots and Dishes, false Reck'ning and Scoring, And upon Books or Papers poaring.

Trust no Body, that's the safest Rule, Well meaning Honesty's but Ridicule. You are all either Befool'd, or Fools, Never trust to Edged Tools. The eldest Knave goes to School, The wisest Rascal turns Fool.

The Blade that struts in all his Bravery, Brings all to Beggary or Slavery. Nothing is wholsom, nothing is savoury, All smells of Folly or Knavery. At your Table Judas sits, At your Kitchin he licks the Spits. 'Twill put you out of your little Wits, Or bring you to some fainting Fits.

Behind your Chair stands a Waiter, A Parasite, or a Traytor. In your Bosom a Snake lies, In your Bed a Syren cries. Burn 'um out of your Hive like Wasps and Hornets, That buz false Tales with Musick of Cornets. These are the Dogs that fetch and carry, When all's gone they no longer tarry.

A young Rogue, by your Bounty bred, Betrays you at Board and Bed: He deserves to be knockt o'th' Head, He tells all is done or said. You're safe no where from a Knave, You shall not lye quietly in your Grave. Riches and Honour shan't defend you, Vertue be sure can ne're Befriend you, But it may perchance help to End you.

You're nearest Confidents are not secure, Trust not, tho they look so Demure. Beware most, of the most pure, Correspondents do not long endure. By Vows and Oaths turn 'um and wind 'um, By Body and Soul bind 'um. If they stir, tye their hands behind 'um, And then you may be sure to find 'um.

If any where you may be bold, Try among Witches, young or old. We are like buzzing, stinging Flies, To Revenge you of your Enemies, And be sure, Vengeance never dies. Besides, we can tell many Lyes, Make us therefore your Trusty Spies▪ Advance to us, and we'l relieve you, That none shall hurt or deceive you. If whole Armies against you fight, We can make 'um all vanish out a sight.

I'm angry at the Indian Tree, That can't endure the Sun to see. With Moon and Stars they do agree, They are no company for me.

They bud and blossom in the Nights, But wither a days all to Rights, These are to Travellers strange Sights. A Plant of a dogged sullen kind, Such another I cannot find.

To the dark, from the warm Suns, Like a blind Rogue away he runs. Wou'd I always had such Duns, I shou'd be afraid of Guns. A Grove of such Trees wou'd do well, At Delphos, or in Pluto's Cell.

A Lye, constantly deserves the Stab, Tho from King Oberon or Queen Mab. I'de rather deal with a Rogue or a Drab, Than with a drunken, quarrelling Scab. But of all things I should be loth, To encounter a false Oath. Especially from a Brother of the Cloth, In earnest I defie them both.

I ever lov'd to tell Truth, Excepting to my Sister Ruth. She Cheats, by Yea and Nay, forsooth, And she has a dainty Tooth. An Hostler robs me of my Oats, An Atturney of my Horse for Ten Groats. To trust a Tapster, I'de be loth, He cousens me with Nick and Froth.

A false Balance, Breathed Wares, Deceive Buyers in Markets and Fairs. Tumble such Knaves, say I, down Stairs, And drag them in the Dirt by the Hairs.

If you lack, I can hurl you a Curse, Rather than pick your Pocket, or take your Purse. Besides, I am an excellent Nurse, And I wish you may ne're have a worse.

Take heed by all means of a Holy Sister, Tho she shed Tears 'til she have all to be pist her. If she be sick, I never mist her, To cure her by giving her a Clyster. But of all Remedies the Truth to smother, An use of Consolation from a Holy Brother, So they edifie one another. Lambs are as innocent as day, And they have leave to sport and play.

See you a Carret-Beard, a Leering Eye, A Fleering Look, there's a Knave hard by. Be as whist as a Ghost in his Tomb, While such a Rogue is in the Room. O Pythagoras, thou wast wise, To enjoyn silence amongst Spies. Hear all, and put all in a Bag, But let not your Tongue wag.

Terrae Filius is a dull Translator, The Wits are, Tripos and Praevaricator. Take heed what you do, take heed what you say, There's an Informer in the way. You're betray'd every Mothers Son, Shut the Doors close, or you're all undone. Beware of the Man that takes Notes, In time 'twil come to cutting a Throats.

Have a care, wisely play your Game, It may cost your Life, Estate, or Fame. As much as you can, get out of Harms way, There is Lupus in Fabulâ. You cannot be free from Fears, While you hold a Wolf by th' Ears. Let Cynthius pull you by the Lugs, Take heed of false Cans, Fl••gons and Jugs.

O thou Sainted, Painted Fiend, Under the Vizor of a Friend. Remember to observe my Command, To all the World in the Dark stand. Let all the World be to you in the Light, Provided you play least in Sight, And then bid all the Rogues good Night. Answer few Questions, determine rarely, So you may come off safely and fairly.

But among us, tho our Tongues do clatter, Yet of Treason there's no such Matter. We seldom Honest men bespatter, It makes all the Teeth in my head chatter. We can keep Secrets rarely well, Sent us from the Pit of Hell; Others, like Fools, ring out the Bell. Keep a close Mouth at Board and Bed, A close Mouth makes a wise Head, The way to steal a Mayden-Head.

If you chance to get a By-blow, Let a Doctor or a Midwife know. They'l provide for you or your Brungeon, As long as there is Pond, Well, Jakes or Dungeon.

They'l promote you to be a Nurse forsooth, And you may serve for your Masters Tooth. Then comes Favour, then comes Gifts, Stifle all your Bastard Slips. Poor simple Whores are put to their Shifts, I can give such all sorts of Lifts.

A Grass-Widow, or a Brummidgam-Maid, With Midwives drive a Devilish Trade. To a stale Serving-Man-Ass, With a small Farm, for a pure Virgin you may pass. Your Master now and then may take a Turn, No fear, you shall for a Witch burn. Go Fine, and Garish, For the honestest Whore in all the Parish.

Beans and Bacon are no Meat, For a Pythagorean to eat. ‘ (I am all in a cold Sweat, ‘ Yet always ready for the Feat.) Let Eunuchs pick upon Grass, Too weak Food for a Boy or a Lass. ‘ But fetch me the t'other Glass, ‘ I am as brisk as e're I was.

‘ They that are hug'd in my sweet Arms, ‘ Ravisht and overcome with Charms. ‘ Shall be free from all other Harms, ‘ I never cheat 'um of their Farms. ‘ I am a Lady fair and bright, ‘ You must pay dear for a Lodging-Night. ‘ Lais and Thais, I don't admire ye, ‘ Non cuivis contingit Corinthum adire. ‘ Philosopher, I must Jeer ye, ‘ For Non tanti emam Penitere.

‘ You may, you say, buy Gold too dear, ‘ I can afford you better Cheer. ‘ I'le make you glad, you hungry Sophs, ‘ To swill with grunting Hogs in Troughs. ‘ Dirty Whores may serve your Chaps, ‘ 'Twil be a Favour perhaps, ‘ To snap at our Leavings and Scraps. ‘ 'Tis too sawcy to kiss us, or suck our Paps, ‘ We are too high for you to sit in our Laps.

‘ Turn out Freshmen and Sophomores, ‘ Among the louzy, pocky Whores, ‘ Such gross flesh is fit for you, and for Boors. ‘ We Ladies are Gentlemens Fare, ‘ Venison, Partridge, Plover and Hare. ‘ Venus with us may not compare, ‘ We are delicate dainty Ware. ‘ The Mutton's ours, get if you can, ‘ A greazy Sop of the Pan. ‘ If you be troubled with the Itch, ‘ Get you a Bremming Sow, or a Salt Bitch.

‘ We are all Citizens Wives, ‘ A contented Cuckold always thrives. ‘ The naked Indian for Jewels dives, ‘ These make us lead Jovial Lives. ‘ We are all for Merry-Land, ‘ That have our Husbands at Command. ‘ Whetstones-Park is a fruitful Land, ‘ And Turnbull-Street a pleasant Strand.

‘ I laid my Tail at Lilly's Entry, ‘ Where all the Blazing Stars kept Centry.

‘ The Man i'th' Moon by us was Cornuted, ‘ When we with Constellations disputed, ‘ All the Astrologers were confuted. ‘ Thy learned Rules, brave Aretine, ‘ Have stufft with Lust this Liver of mine.

‘ Base Rogues, set upon a Woman, ‘ I'de ha' you know I fear no Man. ‘ I'le answer ye, foot to foot, ‘ And dare ye to come to't. ‘ For Bed and Boord, for Bowl or Kan, ‘ I dare encounter any Man.

‘ Call for Bacchus lusty Bowls, ‘ 'Tis Wine, pure Wine revives sad Souls. ‘ Call for Mars his Sword and Rapier, ‘ Sack will make an old Woman to caper. ‘ Give me Hercules Club, ‘ To stave the vast Heydelbergh's Tub. ‘ Let the purest Wits be chose, ‘ Wits for Reparties, and singing Old Rose, ‘ And taking the Devil by the Nose.

‘ By this Curveat, by this Hop, ‘ I'm resolv'd to see the last Drop, ‘ Tho next Morn into my Grave I pop, ‘ I scorn to be outdone by any Fop. ‘ Eat Pig, Goose, Capon, Partridge and Pheasant, ‘ I'm for a short life and a pleasant.

A great Don with a long Train, In your Cottage entertain. To do him Honour, Strain a Point, And be, for ever after, out of Joint.

The Servants Curse him, 'tis hard, He gave them not a Farthing reward. Hang ye, Damn ye, Split ye, Rot ye, He has quite and clean forgot ye, Have a care next, He has over-shot ye.

O thou Son of the White Hen, Thou art the Fairest among Men. Lords and Ladies croutch to thee, While Fortune dandles on her Knee. ‘ But I hope to see the time, ‘ When thou art past thy Flowry-Prime, ‘ Upon the Gallow-Tree to climb.

‘ I Swear by all my Mayden-Head, ‘ I ne're went chaste, nor sober to Bed. ‘ I had the luck always to be well sped, ‘ 'Tis a sure sign I am well bred. ‘ Many a wet Saint has lost her Head, ‘ But I from my Colours never fled. ‘ This it is to be no Starter, ‘ As rank a Witch as e're wore Garter.

‘ At Dort, Damman was a fit Scribe, ‘ For Reprobates to take no Bribe. ‘ My Brain's entoxicated with Conundrums, ‘ Therefore I'le deal no more in Numbers. ‘ I'm straitned with Vulgar Rhimes, ‘ To correct the Vices of the Times.

That which we obliging call, Is to comply with the Devil and all. To bar my self of mine own Ease, And hurt my self, others to please.

So 'tis sometimes against my mind, That I may be civil and kind. Drink my self off my Legs and Life, Engage in other mens Strife.

You're a Coward, you're no good Companion, If you won't Fight, and Tope with a Woman. For fear of being hist or kickt, Of being basted, slasht, or prickt. Give such a pitiful Slave the Lift, That to cheat, drab, or stab, has not the gift. Hang him up for Hawks-meat, a Mongrel, Good for neither Hog, Dog, nor Dunghil, Nor hardly to draw in a Tumbrel.

Nothing angers me more than a Prelate or Peer. That eats up a poor Vicars good chear. And the Ladies Sons and Daughters, To stoop to a Vicaridge Thatcht Rafters. To come with their Coaches and Trains, To devour all the Parsons Gains.

The poor Scholar must comply, Such Guests must not be put by. He hopes by this to be a great Man, Let him come to't how he can. 'Tis honour enough for him to boast, Of his Friends at Court, o're a Pot and a Tost. Still he must provide bak't, boyl'd and rost.

My Ladies Chamber-Maid, or Dairy, Look upon her, she's monstrous Aery. Poor Fool, she's tender, nay don't fright her, If you were a Lord you may like her.

She's a prety Lass I can tell ye, As e're in your life you took by the Belly, But you'l have need of Cock-broth and Gelly.

I ghess by your Mumping what you lack, I'le warrant her Mettal to the Back. Observe well, how the Girl does toss it, I must provide ye a Cawdle and Sack-Possit. I ghess by her Looks what she lacks, I'le be bang'd If she proves not so right as e're twang'd. If you don't do her right I wish you were hang'd. Your dawb'd, patcht Froes are not half so sound, They're rotten, they're shotten, they stink above∣ground. Her Brother you may set o're your Hawks and Hounds, For her sake prefer him before other Clowns.

One Tongue for a Woman, all say, is enough, There's none of 'um but are Tail-Proof. What think ye of the Men in Steel and Buffs, Or Furs or Scarlet, or Ruffs? If it were the Crim Tartar or Turk, She could easily find 'um all work.

Queenborough Mayor shall Justice hatch, Contrive By-Laws upon the Thatch. Who shall dare look him in the Face, Under a couple of Capons with his Gown and Mace? No disparagement Mistress Maioress, Of all the Ladies is the fairest. Came not Dictators from the Plow? Why not from a Thresher on the top of a Mow, Or a Herdsman from the Hog or Cow?

We'l lay our Heads together, Tittle Tattle, Our Husbands lay their Horns together, Rattle Bladder, Rattle, We're like to fight well when we come to Battle. A poor Man, be he ne're so wise, All he says or does, despise. Upon the same Man open your Eyes, You'l like him well in a rich disguise. Farmers undo Landlords, I judge, When for Rack Rents they take a Grudge.

To disoblige I'm very loth, My Neighbour, tho I break my Oath. To be an Informer is counted a shame, Against a Customer I should be to blame. Misdemeanours I dare not Present, Out of a Charitable intent. If I be a Constable or Churchwarden, I must not weed the Parish Garden. If I do, when I and they can't agree, They'l be sure to do the like to me, Therefore, I'le take care to keep my self free.

CANTO XV.

••••at think ye of the Ornithii Winds, That drive all sorts of Birds at set Times, From Colder, into Hotter Climes▪ The Tropii Blasts come blundering amain, On purpose to retire back again. It has been counted no small Wonder, For Bells to dispel Lightning and Thunder.

What think ye, that Winds should enter the Lists, In anger, fighting as Duellists. A Whirlwind coming from Mountain Tops, Is laid, by sprinkling of Vinegar Drops, The opinion of Pliny, and such Fops. On Athos and Olympus, there lies The Ashes of many a Sacrifice. On which the Priest his Letters finds, Undispersed with the Winds.

The most famous Lepanto Scuffle, The Ottoman Family ever since did Ruffle. It was by Sixtus Quintus devis'd, For which he was never Canoniz'd, Sebastian was Sainted by Complacentia, For driving the Moors out of Valentia. What Prince, but Spains, in the World can be found, That has the Sun setting and rising in his Ground? That does so in Gold and Silver Mines abound?

Inraes cast off Idols in golden Peru, That the Golden Sun they might give his due: Indian, Goa, Malaca, Calecute, Were a spruce People, and very acute. Spaniards found the People so, In the Kingdom of Mexico.

Turks want Liberty and Arts, To entitle them Nobles, or Men of Parts. Where they come, they strike a deadly Blow, Depopulating all as they go. Where the Sultan's Horse sets his Paw, He treads down all Liberty and Law. Basha's, Viziers, Janizaries, Tartars, Mammalucks, Myrmidons, ruine all Christian Quar∣ters.

What think ye of Aristotle's Opinion, (Who is the Philosophers Minion.) Some are born Slaves, some are born to Rule, If I had said so, I had been a Fool, For that trick I'm not fond of his School. He entitled the Greeks Free Born, And all the rest call'd Barbarians in scorn.

In Bacara, the Kingdom of Assasins, Profest to murder all Kings. Munsters Anabaptists did the same things, 'Tis bad trusting to Icarus's Wings. Beasts Ferae Naturae, are the Occupants right, Not so with Men conquer'd by Might: To be made all Slaves the first Night, For Reasonable Creatures 'tis too Tight.

Look out sharp, for in Fair weather, The Holy War and the Philosophers Stone will come both together. Constantine was pleas'd to call, Trajan the Builder, the Flower of the Wall. Tortura Legum brings the most Cares, Penal Laws bring (Nemo scit) Snares. How many Dangers stand in Battalia, In the Clause, In ordine ad Spiritualia? This is the Port, this is the Gap, For all Societies to be took in a Trap.

I have now one great Case in my Hand, Puts all the Learned to a stand: Quo Jure, quâve Injuria, Did Spain conquer America? What just Causes for that War? Tell me, and I'le eat Tar. Columbus's Dove was nimble of Feather, To fetch that Land by Wind and Weather. The Pigeon was swift of Eye and Wing, To discover such an unknown Spring.

Curiosity first led, To find out that Golden Bed, How came this into his Head? Then Covetousness, then fierce Arms, I had no hand in these cruel Charms. Instead of being fairly Traded, The Natives were fouly Invaded, And by Oppressions overladed. And in digging of Mines meerly Jaded. For which Christianity is upbraided.

They drove the Trade that was not good, To rob their Treasure, and spill their Blood. Since then proud Spaniard never Thrives, For taking their Goods, and not saving their Lives. For Slaves they should not have been despis'd, But Cherished and Civiliz'd. So they might have had much Gains, Without putting the poor Creatures to such Pains. They might have been made Allies and Friends, To compass to both profitable Ends. There's room enough for both to dwell, Without making them change their Country for Hell.

Many fair Arguments, Are made to colour black Intents. Scholars take off your bloody Pens, Lions keep in your own Dens. For the harm you have done, ye can ne're make A∣mends, Ye Judge and Act for basest Ends. I leave this grand Cause to a higher Doom, I never twisted one Thred in this Loom.

Aqua Regis may be bold, (Ther's cause enough) to dissolve Gold. Aqua Fortis, for the Queen, May suffice to melt Silver clean. Within the Tropicks there's always a Breeze, So cold, as to make me Sneeze, Under the Poles it does ever Freeze. Castor and Pollux takes Turns, To live and dye in each others Ʋrns, The Sea Boils, but never Burns.

A rare Secret to be sold in the Market, I bring, 'Tis this, That the Earth was the first Cold Thing; I'de fain know who made the first Gold Ring. Fishes Scales never shine, till they stink, (I'm sick, Fetch me a little Drink.) Fracastarius with a Red hot Frying Pan, Drew life from the dead Heart and Brain of a Man, What virtue then is there in a Rowzing Kan? Hark the Virtuosi make a great clutter, An Indian Web of Feathers will melt Butter. Mezentius Torments were, to embrace the Dead, For my part, I'de rather be knockt o'th' Head.

Infant Rome was swadled by Kings, Nourisht by Consuls, and popular Things. Decemvirs, made Laws upon Laws, (False Heraldry,) sent into Greece to pick Straws.) Praetorian Edicts in Albo were wrote, Twelve Tables in Brass never to be forgot, (When my Moneys gone, who shall pay the shot?)

Caesar unsheath'd his Sword very quick, But put it up late, when 'twas just in the Nick. Sylla, for his part, had leave to Prate, Tho he knew no Letters, he might Dictate. Caesar, when wrapped up in the Gown, Made the best Laws in the Town, But could never get to wear a Crown. The same Caesar, when clad in Steel, Made all the Country Provinces reel.

Come, Sirs, I'le shew you a very fine Sight, Rotten Wood shines in the dark Night.

Ʋndulation is a furrowed Wind, May trouble my Body, but shall ne're puzzle my Mind, Every thing is true that's took in its kind. The Observation is Rare, It Rains not, but it Blows every where.

Our Ancestors did admire, To see a Childs Apron flash with Fire. With Salt and Allom that Apron was dy'd, The Scales of which round about fly'd. This Reason could never be deny'd, And so the Cause was fully try'd. A Fire licking a Childs Hair, Was to be seen at Sturbridge Fair, With a lambent Flame all over a Sweating Mare. For Answer to which▪ let whose will take care, That Head may be Bald, where there grows no Hair.

A Free hold Will shall hold in Capite, Says Cornelius a Lapide. A Will in Copy-Hold must fail, Not so, in Fee Simple or Fee Tail. The Taylor that makes Pety-Coats for the Moon, Had need to take measures every Noon, Feed the poor Baby with a Dish and a Spoon.

A Professor of Schelstat in Alsatia, Agrees with the Doctors of Dalmatia. That no Passion is so deadly base. As is the poyson of Favour and Grace; Then Out-law the Law, Crown, Scepter and Mace. Le Roy le Voult, makes Law and Jus. Provided the Seignieurs sont Assentuz.

Popular Tumults are most Nefandi, Nullum Malum pejus Libertate Errandi, Never allow Potestatem Negandi.

Drag the Traytor upon a Hirdle, Hang the Alcoran at the Devil's Girdle. All Wickedness acts Cum Privilegio, Says honest Cardinal Campegio. Why do Tribunes make such a Pudder? Tye up the Helm, pull up the Rudder. Let the Vessel ride a Drift, Cut Cables, slip Anchors, let all Shift.

The Virtuo••i, I'de ha'you know't, Say, every Beast delights in some Musical Note. A Kitt was toucht, a Fly made the Cow curveat, Ay that's it, quoth the Scholar, play that again neat. Quae Genus's Deficients and Redundants, Breed of Heteroclites Abundants. Quod Primum id Rectum est, we're all mistook, Lies came in late, by Hook or by Crook, We're all cheated, with, or without Book.

Narcissus, Nireus, Tyro, Lede, Hyacinth, Branchus, Hylos, Atys, a pure Breed, Cupid, Ixion, Laco, and Ganymede. These, and the like, pickt up for Catamits, To serve for no less than Celestial Wights. Hebe, Daphne, Moenades, Corybantes, Sober and mad Females Sycophants. Juno, Venus, in vain fret and vex, For those that came in their rooms, of the male Sex.

They must be Cup-bearers to Jove and the Gods, And Bedfellows too, tho fitter for Rods. At presenting and taking the Bowl, they are kist, While the Wives wish the Rogues worse than be∣pist, But they cannot help it, they must be whist. Tho the Boys and Girls do kick and sprall, They cannot lye without 'um at all, They are ready to come, and go at their Call.

Cupid excuses his Tricks to Venus Chiding, Because Objects of Love were of his providing. But he did only demonstrate and show, That which Fools Appetites would not let go. Hercules took it for a great Disgrace, When Jove prefer'd Aesculape to the highest Place. As Venus was Cupids, her Sons, Whipper, So Omphale bang'd Hercules with her Slipper.

Menippus, like Hercules, in a Lions Sark, Frighted poor Cerberus in the Dark, That he durst not so much as Bark. He took Mithrobarzanes the Magician, To be his Guide to the Fields Elysian, Where they two disguis'd stood, and heard all The Passages in Pluto's Judgment Hall. And having searched for their Pleasure, Unconcern'd, they return'd at leisure.

Let me commend this, Brave Menippus, For a nobler good Fellow than Aristippus. They call him a Dog, worse than come out, But he hunted himself to Hell, in, and out.

With his Lions Skin, Harp and Club, Like Hercules, he gave the Barking Cur a Drub, More than Diogenes could do with his Tub. He cheated Charon of his Fare, a Groat, After he had like to sink his Boat. Besides many a Railing Note, He was ready to cut his Throat.

He observ'd all the Ghosts, low and high, To Mino's Courts he came for a Spy. First he enquir'd after Princes and Kings, Found 'um selling of Pins, and counterfeit Rings. Singing Ballads, begging in each Corner-street, For Farthings, of every Ghost they meet. Philip of Macedon crept in a dark Hole, Was Cobling of Shoes, and picking up Cole.

Commanders and Lords of high Degree, He found teaching of A, B, C. Selling of Sallets, Salt, Custards and Toys, And all sorts of Play things for Girls and Boys.

Next he enquires for the Men of the Schools, And here they were counted the greatest Fools. Socrates, that was erst so Grave, Courts Palamedes, Ʋlysses, Nestor, and each prating Knave. Diogenes joyns with Sardanapalus the Assyrian, And with Midas the golden Phrygian. And others of the like Prodigal stamp, That hunted for Poverty, and got the Cramp. Diogenes is got among the Throngs, And pleases 'um with merry Songs. For which the Sober sort did not love him, But beg'd farther off to remove him.

There was Timon the Man Hater, That spent all by Feasting, Dice, and Cinque Cater. All sorts of Flatterers and Woers, Prov'd the rich Athenians Undoers. 'Til they brought the Rich old Blade, To the Shovel and the Spade. Then Curst he Jove and all his Mates, That had undone him, more than the Fates. Jove offer'd to put him out of his pain, Sent him to Plutus, to make him rich again. Because he had offer'd him many a Hecatomb in vain. At first he refus'd 'till he heard his Spade knock, By good luck, upon a golden Crock.

Pythagoras was so hungry in Hell, That he could eat Beans very well. So the Philosophers of every kind, After Death did change their Mind. Tyresius, a Woman was she, Turn'd Man, with the gift of Prophecy.

Hesiod, Homer, Bundles and Faggits, Of Epicks, Comicks, and Tragicks. Heroicks, Amorists and Lyricks, Fabulists all, but the Satyricks. Their Tales pleas'd his youthful Muse, Not able to judge of their great Abuse. When Riper, he learnt the Wisdom of Laws, And by them discover'd Poetical Flaws, Which cur'd him of Folly, more than the Spaws.

But in his more solid Elder Times, When best able to judge of Virtues and Crimes.

He fell into the Philosophers Snares, But could ne're understand how went the Squares. Gross Ignorance of every kind, Wholly confounded and dark'ned his Mind. They hurl'd him out, that which they call Summum Bonum, With a thousand Opinions that none could Attone 'um. Neither they, nor their Fathers before 'um, 'Tis a wonder the Boys in the Streets did not Stone 'um.

Rhadamanth••, Minos, Aeacus, Agamemnon, Sardanapalus. Diomedes, Ajax, Achilles, Ptolomy, Cyrus, Xerxes, Ʋlysses. Solon, Thales, Spensippus, Pittacus, Socrates, Aristippus. Aristotle, Euphorbus, Plato, Croesus, Crassus, Theophrastus, Cato. Are the obscurest Shades in all the Fry, Buried to all Eternity.

Timon, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, the Regrater, Was both a Man and a Woman Hater, Just betwixt Wind and Water. Berthaldus Swart, from a Pot-gun, Cast Culverings that made Armies run. Chiron the only Fool, that chose to Try, Being Immortal, how to dye.

Jupiter, Philus, Hospitalis, Sospitator, Altitonans, Nubitogens, Jusjurandus, Fulgurator. In his Youth was Frolick like a Colt, And laid about him with many a Thunderbolt.

But now in his Age he's dull and lazy, If not rather feeble and crazy. The Slavering Grey-Beard, Smacks and Busses, Tires Boys and Girls, Puppies and Pusses, A Pathick Cynedus, or Lustful Sporus, Would scorn to joyn with such an Effeminate Cho∣rus.

We purpose to call 'um all before us, Ask 'um why they Berogue and Whore us? When they all sorts of Baseness commit, Without all Honesty, Manners, or Wit. What wise Man that could but see out of his Eyes, Would ever believe them to be the Deities? Or honour them with any Sacrifice? Inventors and Practisers of all Lyes.

There he was most of all at a loss, There he found Ignorance in gross, Which made his Brains all in a toss. There was all you could possibly ghess, To make up the bundle of Happiness. Some were for Labours, Pains, and Scorns, Others for Cuckolds golden Horns. Some for all Jollity and Pleasure, Others for Gold and Silver, heapt measure, Jewels of all sorts, to make up their Treasure.

Some for Virtue joyn'd with Riches, (But I find none for Witches.) Some had so little Wits, To pick up Crums, and lick Spits. But I suppose there's not one in twenty, But had the wit to choose Pleasure and Plenty, Non datur vacuum, there's no Place empty.

Felicity therefore there must lull, Where all's in store, where all's full. Believe Philosophy you that wull, It hath been hitherto a Gull. All Atheism did once commence, From the Denial of Providence. Our Heads are full of dry Notions, Our Hearts void of Devotions, The Rack and the Wheel are our Promotions.

Every Man now will be sure of his Trull, (All his Learning, is but a Gull.) And his Bardash, for Orpheus says, 'tis no Bull. They that think 'tis, have an empty Skull, 'Twil come to Kiss-Cow at last, Come Mull, Come Mull. We find by good Laws, that Adultery and Rapes, Murders, Incests, and all sorts of Escapes; Could never be done by the Immortal Gods, But such as ought to be lasht with Infernal Rods. Old Beldam Rhea, forsooth, must run mad, For love of Atys, a prety Lad.

His last Shift was to go to the Magicians, Zoroaster's Disciples, as to the best Physicians. So, by help of a Magick Spell, He got safely in, and out of Hell, And understood all their Intrigues very well.

Alexander, and others, made their Addresses, To be install'd Egyptian Gods or Goddesses. In Egypt, it seems, 'twas counted great odds, For Rome and Greece had Gentiler Gods. Isis, and Apis, and Osyris, Anubis, Horus, and Busyris.

Besides Oxen, Dogs and Cats, Garlick and Onions, Mice and Rats. So 'twas hardly worth the while, To be worshipped, for a God, at Nile.

Bacchus got to be an Indian Numen, Who had his Thyrsus, to try Truemen. Cestus, what was it▪ but a Switch, To prove Venus to be a Witch? Tripos Oracle Undertakers, Were most likely Ranters and Quakers.

Caduceus, Mercury's Wand, Of Ghosts Infernal had Command. A winged Heel'd Herald, was he a Drudge, To sweep Rooms, and on Errands Trudge? A Thief, I have heard him often grudge.

Pelop's Race had no Shoulder Vein, Like a pure Alablaster Grain. Alexander stinks of Sulphur in Hell, That boasted of his Aromatick smell. Euphorbus told a rowzing Lye, In Hell he had no golden Thigh. Empedocles minded to try his Skill, Came half roasted from Aetna's Hill; So Fools pay dear for having their Will.

Socrates feign'd a chearful Grace, By boldly looking Death in the Face. But at sight of Hell's vast Gulf, Cry'd like a Child, and howl'd like a Wolf. All Braggadoci'os, when they come there, Like Cowards fall into a Bodiless fear.

Protesilaus wisht one Days respit, To see his new Spouse, and return at Night. Orpheus had the liberty, For his fair Wife Eurydice. Mercury jumbles all Ghosts together, Over the Stygian Lake in wind and weather. The Drink in the Lethean Bowl, Creates Forgetfulness to every Soul.

None can distinguish Royal Stems, What Necks have been adorn'd with Gems, Or Skulls with Crown or Diadems. Beggars, wise and wealthy Blades, Fare all alike among the Shades.

Beauty, is naked Bones, bald Pates, flat Noses, For them that us'd to be crown'd with Roses. Mausolus, the Prince of Car, With Thersytes writes, Par. The Mausolaeum and the Tub, Lye together of Equal Club. That Monument in Halycarnassus, Is of less Fame than the Hill Parnassus.

CANTO XVI.

The last and most Bloody Act, I come now to Transact: That is, to condemn the Fact, A Treasons National Compact. I'le prove this Rebellious Draught, To be more horrid than Witchcraft. Odi Fanaticorum Opinionem, Qui colunt Armatam Religionem.

'Tis beyond the mischief of Fates, For Dunghil Slaves to contest with Potentates. Tho I be a Mistress of all Revels, Yet I never led the Dance to Rebels. Oh Horrid! for the King's Protection, To take up Arms against Him was a Damn'd Pro∣jection. His Power against his Person to use, What call you this, but a Monstrous Abuse? You may remember very well, There was never any Rebellion in Hell, 'Tis beyond any Infernal Spell.

Eastern Subjects their Kings Adore, Europe is turn'd a Rebellious Whore. For murdering Kings, you Rebellious Slaves, I'le be the Sexton to dig all your Graves. Oh, you kill'd a King, I remember, The next Month after December. Villains you are upon Everlasting Record, No Princes for ever will take your Word, Nor suffer you to take up the Sword.

Peace, Truth, and Plenty will never stay, If you once with the Militia run away, As you did that Fatal Day. Traytors that brake all just Oaths or'e and o're, Your'e all Rotten at the Core, The Devil will never trust you more. I'le sooner trust the Devil or the Turk, For they ne're did such Black Deeds work, Radamanthus give 'um the Jerk. Minos hang 'um up all by the Chin, For basely Betraying and Selling their King.

Slash Aeacus lustily, and all the Furies, For the Ignoramus Juries. For all the Loyal Blood they have spilt, Run your Sword in their Guts up to the Hilt. Especially because the Murderers Guilt, Was cover'd with a Golden Quilt. Ne're was such a Rebellious Crew, Of such a Sanctified Hue, To all Vows and Oaths never true.

I don't like your Godly Painting, Nor your Sacrilegious Sainting. Kings, Priests, and Royal Branches, Cut down by your Swords and Lances. The worst of Murderers that ever spoke, Were they that hew'd down the Royal Oak. Ne're shew your Faces above Ground more, Hell dares trust you, no farther than the Door. Now Rail at Witches, who'l believe you? Had you more Kings to kill, 'twould never grieve you.

Your Rebellious Pates were surrounded, With Crowns and Mitres, by you confounded. Yet you in Villanies were so Fool and Knave Hearty, As to call your selves the Godly Party. I could damn you my self, with a very good Will, For all the Innocent Blood you did spill. Especially of Kings and Men the Best, You hatcht those Eggs in Hell's Nest.

I conjure you to Answer at Pluto's Bar, For Twenty years Unnatural War, Which made Three Kingdoms stand a Jar. Loath'd by all People from far and near, While you Revel'd and made good Cheer. And put all the World in fear, Since you have paid for't dear. A Curse is entail'd upon you all, In Beelzebub's Judgment Hall; The like was never since the Fall.

O sweet Princes, never more Trust Those Rebels and Murd'rers, that call themselves Just. Vizard, Hooded Saints, It is my Task, To throw off your deceitful Mask. Hell never made the like Uproar, As you did upon Heavens Score. You our-did all the Fiends of Hell, No Histories such Tragedies can parallel.

Eighty Eight, and the Powder Treasons, Of White Devils had not so many Legions, Nor gave so many Sanctified Reasons.

Therefore the Devil his Suit Commences, To such black Deeds, for making such fair Pre∣tences. Who then can trust you, Live or Dead, That in such bloody Principles are Bred?

Day and Night I'le haunt your Ghosts, Hang ye up upon Tainters and Posts. In Hell your Carkasses shall rost and fry, Wish for Death, but never dye, The Devil tells you the Reason why; Because you made him a glorious King, For this Cheat the Worm shall ever sting.

O thou Politick Mazarine, They say, this was a Plot of Thine. But I say, 'twas the Rebels own Contrivance, Not without Mazarine's Connivance. So two Mastive Dogs fight, With hateful Heart, and hurtful Will, Intending each other to kill. An Enemy to both stands by, and sets them on, Glad if both were destroy'd and gone. Thus you gave too much occasion, For a Common Foes Invasion.

Look to't Brave and Loyal Men, Never to be Trepand agen. Twice in an Age! for shame be Wise, Hatch not the Egs of a Cockatrice. I declare boldly against that black Deed, I wish there were no more of your Cursed Breed. Tho of Heaven I hope for no speed, Yet this makes my Heart bleed.

So yet, never did Yours, For resisting the Higher Powers. I understand far better Things, No Subjects have Right to Judge Kings. Leave 'um to a Higher Throne, GOD is the Judge of Kings alone. From henceforth, Rebels, I bid you be gone, Your Companions, I'le be none.

We both in our Ways shall be Crost, And both to Hell's Dungeon must be Tost. I have protested against your Generation, But you shall have the greatest Condemnation. For my part, I'le keep my Station, Leave all, but my own Abomination, And so I have finisht my Execration.

THE CLOSE.

‘ AS I'm a Witch, as I'm a Whore, ‘ I can Versifie no more. ‘ Now I'm plung'd into this kind of Trash, ‘ I've lost my Wits and all my Cash. ‘ Knock off then, for 'tis impossible to have, ‘ A deadly stroke for every Knave.

‘ I lash at nothing, but Sins that are Swingers, ‘ For the rest, I scorn to foul my Fingers. ‘ He that offers to rowze me a Stitch, ‘ Shall feel the Vengeance of a Witch, ‘ And I'le make him dye in a Ditch.

‘ I have thrown my Angry Pen away, ‘ 'Till I see, who dares Gainsay. Dixi.

Epilogue.

‘ I 'Le quite throw off my Vizor now, ‘ I'le ride no more upon a Sow. ‘ I've borrowed a Witches Phrase and Style, ‘ To damn Baseness all this while, ‘ 'Tis to me a grievous Toil. ‘ This hath been counted Brave, ‘ Set a Knave to catch a Knave.

‘ A Villain by a Villain slain, ‘ Has least cause to complain. ‘ Pardon the Figure of a Witch and a Whore, ‘ I'le prosecute this Allegory no more. ‘ I have laid on many a flash, ‘ By th'hand of as great a Witch as ever was.

‘ If Rascals won't Reform hereafter, ‘ Send 'um with a Vengeance to Tyburn's Slaughter. ‘ (I pity neither Son nor Daughter,) ‘ And let the Witches follow after. ‘ At the Gallows there will be Room, ‘ For all Base Fellows to receive their Doom.

‘ I have long seen, and suffered Evils, ‘ Of all sorts, from Men and Devils. ‘ This hath occasion'd after All, ‘ To make me dip my Pen in Gall. ‘ No man's Ruine I desire, ‘ All mens Amendment I require. ‘ All Worth and Honour I admire, ‘ Vice hath kindled my holy Ire.

‘ I'le not crush a poor Hare in her Form, ‘ Nor will I tread upon a Worm. ‘ Let my Foes charge me, if they can, ‘ I'le prove my self an Honest Man. ‘ By putting on a Witches Mask, ‘ I take the Witches Selves to Task. ‘ The Prospect of all sorts of Sin, ‘ Hath made my Honest Satyr Grin.

‘ Because he hath so often Frown'd, ‘ Nimrod's Hunters would run him a Ground. ‘ And Post him up and down the Town, ‘ Specially Men of the long Gown.

‘ In all this Personated Draught, ‘ I let fly at all that is Naught. ‘ For a Witches Expressions, to the Wise, ‘ I dare Apologize. ‘ Things contrary to all Law and Rule, ‘ Are perstringed by Ridicule. ‘ Why should not Honesty take Inspection, ‘ Of all sorts of Vices, for Correction, ‘ To save the World from further Infection?

‘ I'm tyr'd with raking in this Slough, ‘ Far more than they that hold the Plough. ‘ I fear I have been too large, ‘ Shall no more undertake such a Charge. ‘ I'le busie my Self in the Practise of Right, ‘ An Honest Heart shall be my Delight. ‘ I'le hide me close, in my Cell, all alone, ‘ All Sin and Misery to Bemoan. ‘ The World with both is Overgrown, ‘ And now, All my Seeds are Sown.