The works of that late most excellent philosopher and astronomer, Sir George Wharton, bar. collected into one volume / by John Gadbvry ...

15. In December.

Stout k 1.1 Pitcher's Murder'd. Carew, who did praise A Servants Treachery unto his King: Lo! for reward his servant him betrays Unto the Block, a bloody-offering. What grief it was, that when he did return, It could not be, but by a shameful Urn!

And for a Conclusion to this Heroick Piece of Loyalty, he writ the following Epistle, by way of Post-script.

To the High and Mighty, the Tyrants Triumphant at Westminster.

Gentlemen

I Cannot call you, since you drench'd your Hands in His Blood, who was the Fountain of all our Earthly Honour and Happiness, the Life and Light of the Land. (Hoc scelus Abyssus, & ex Abyssu, na∣tum.) Nor Country-men, who have (so Nero-like) inhumanely ripp'd up the Bowels of your Natural Mo∣ther, and exposed her Nakedness to the view of the pitiless World (Si hi Sancti, qui Scythae? Si hi Chri∣stiani, qui Cannibales?) For certainly none of you are of the right English race, in that all of you de∣generate so far from the true English Nature.

Facta haec Anglia olim, nec Sancta, nec Ethnica novit,

Or if you be; the most Prodigious Monsters that ever the Earth groaned under: In whose proditorious breasts, the Spirits of all expired Traytors, by a kind of Pytha∣gorical T••ansmigration, are inclosed. — Let after-ages impose a Name suitable to your Merits, for surely this cannot. In the interim, it shall suffice me: You know whom I speak to; and that I speak what I know.

From Year to Year I have fore-warned you of Judg∣ments threatned and impending, for your horrible Im∣pieties. And though I had been silent, yet methinks the general Fate of all Rebellions (especially such as this is) that sums up all It••ms, in this Total [The Barbarous Murder of Gods Anoynted!] had been enough to inform what you might trust to; but that 'tis too apparent we are wheel'd about to those times, wherein Sacriledge is counted Reformation; Reb••llion,

Devotion; Murther, Justice; and Traytors Conse∣crated Saints and Martyrs.

—Vis proditoria nomine vocatur Novo, Angligena Virtus.

I have cordially wish'd, and seriously begg'd, you would have returned to your Pristine Obedience: As the surest step, to make your selves, your Children, and all of us happy. But I found your Consciences were sear'd, your Souls flatter'd with Ambitious dreams; and charms of heightned Pride had mounted you, Icarus-like, too near the Sun: which ever goeth before Destruction.

And indeed, you have not been more Turk-like tempt∣ed with success in your Actions (from which you still concluded, though very weakly, that GOD owned your Cause) than Heaven hath been Merciful (I may say) in tempting you with so large a time of Repen∣tance. But sithence you have despised the Mercy, and neglected the Opportunity, it is to be feared, the Mercy, and time of the Mercy, are both forfeited.

For, I will not search into the secret Will of God: So far as 'tis manifested either in his Word, or Works, shall satisfie me: And by their Rules (if I understand either) your Common-wealth, together with your selves, are (even now) falling to nothing. This I write in Charity to you, to the end, that (although you have no hopes to escape a Temporal, yet) your endeavours may be to avoid the Eternal punishment due to your Wickedness: And that's as much as can be desired, or pray'd for, by,

SIRS,

The Admirer of your Treason and Tyranny, George Wharton.

For the writing of this Almanack he suffered exceed∣ingly; and was, by Imprisonment, made incapable of every thing that might probably assist him through his Earthly Pilgrimage: And was now so closely looked after, that he durst not write again; neither could he be permitted that Liberty, until it pleased God to put it into the Minds of his Adversaries, to release him upon promise to live quietly. And then in his Almanack, 1651. for his Peaceable living, he most Ingenuously Apologizeth thus:

TO you, owre Criticks, that By-standers are, Viewing the Gamesters, (playing foul or fair. And by the stroaks of your defining Will, Save whom you fancy; those you do not, To you, grave Chair-men (whose attentive ear Hears all you can, believes all true you hear, And think the Roy'llists cannot real be, Until a Rope conclude their Destiny) Send I these Lines: To let you understand, I live as well b' Example, as Command: And that, what e'r you judge herein amiss, Conformable to your own Practice is. The Prelates quit their Sleeves of Lawn, and all The Hierarchy their Coats Canonical, And live disguis'd, as if they were none such, That e're laid claim to Tithes, or Christian-Church. Why may not I as well disguised be, As they, or rather their Divinity? The High-born House of Lords * 2.1 themselves, submit Their Persons, Honours, Magazines of Wit: Sure I (who am but dust and ashes) then, May do as much as those Almighty-Men.

The new-conforming Garter-Knight, that erst Hung's Watchet-Ribbon o're his amorous brest, Thinks it far better (now the King is dead) To lay't aside, than lay aside his Head. Why may not I some Crimson Lines leave out, To save my Ankles from the Prison-gout? The subtile Lawyer holds it not amiss He Paraphrase on Ambiguities; And (though he scarce the Latine understand) To write CUSTODES ••n a Texted-hand. Why might not I (though not for dirty gain) Write as he writes? Will such Ink ever stain? Prinn, when he found the Presbyters decay, Straight-leaves his scribling-humour, to obey. What if from scribling (too) I deign to cease? Do I ought more than all that live in Peace? Nay, Lilburn (that Prodigious Combatant) Held it not safe perpetually to rant: For he (once quitted from the dreadful Rope) Waves Magna Charta, falls a boyling Soap. I've scap't the Halter twice, as well as he: What if I now resolve to live as free? Compounders (some) not only Pay, but Swear; Might I not Promise that I would forbear? The brave Secluded Member, that needs must Revile the Army, doom the State to dust, Observe him but, (now he is all to bits) How Penitent, how patiently he sits! The par-boyl'd-Citizen, who ne'r would do Scarce what an Ord'nance did enjoyn him to; See how obsequiously he trots about, To find both Old and New Malignants out! The Wary-High-Shooe, who so Idoliz'd The Covenant, that equally he priz'd

It with his Bible; Lo, but how he bows Before th' Engagement, to secure his Cows! Now (Zoilus) tell me, whether 'tis more fit I Sacrifice my Folly, or submit? These Times afford few Martyrs, and those few Scant would be Martyrs, if they could eschew. The Clergy heretofore ate all the Cake, They still Usurp'd the Glory of the Stake; And should (methinks) if all be true they say, Lead us as well to suffer, as to pray. But now (alas!) their Zeal's congeal'd to Ice, Obedience they prefer to Sacrifice; And want not Scripture-texts more than enough, Which warrant them to Thrash as well as Plough. Had FOX but writ his Volumes in this Age, His Book of Martyrs had not fill'd a Page: England (I fear) would scarce have spar'd him one Old Latimer, to make a Martyr on. Indeed they tell's what New Jerusalem's, And how 'tis pav'd with Pearls, and Precious Gems; Blaming us much, we freely leave not this Course Clay, for a Coelestial Paradise. Yet when a doughty Priests unhallow'd Gums Sustain one rotten Tooths-ach, how he Fum's And Froths! and if a Fever do but strike him, What Peasant-powts, and pants, or pineth like him: O for a Doctor then! Bridle the Horse, And haste the Clerk away — He's worse and worse! Alas! the Doctor comes not! O, quoth he, Would God restore me but, then he should see — But what? Be sure no mind he has to D••ath, The Parson's Heart's fast chained to the E••rth: He blesses Heav'n for's last Nights Requiem, But has no thoughts of New J••rusalem.

Mistake me not: For I include not here, The Reverend Doctors of the Holy-Chair; Nor yet the meanest of that Sacred Quire, Whose Service at the Altar is entire: To them I bow, and willingly make their's, The Tythe (at least) of all my daily Pray'rs. No, I intend the thred-bare Motley-Coat, Which makes the Pulpit but a Juglers-throat, And can from thence (t' infatuate Mankind) Disgorge both Fire and Water at a Wind; Yet (were it to preserve the World) not dye Ought but his Stockings, prate he ne'r so high. I say, 'tis him I mean; for he I look Will be the loose-Surveyor of my Book. "Deal gently (good Sir-John) and do not Quack, "Live else the Subject of mine Almanack.

Notes

• k 1.1

  Major Pitcher shot to Death in St. Paul's Church-yard for being Loyal, Decemb. 29. 1648. Sir Alex. Carew beheaded, De∣cember 23. 1644. for the same Crime.
• * 2.1

  Some Lords, after their House was Voted useless, very contentedly turn Commone••s.