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POPISH POLITICKS UNMASKT.
WAlking (some Ten years since) along the Park,
One Summer Eve, before it was quite dark;
I fancied 'mongst a Grove of Trees I spy'd
A man stand musing by the Water side:
I wish 'twas but a fancy, but I doubt
You'l find it none when you have heard it out.
This Person was a very tall, black man,
Above the common size almost a span,
His Face was wasted in most piteous sort
In all things else he was of Royal port:
But if grim-looks alone Majestick be,
Commend me to that Face for Majesty;
For such it had enough for two or three.
To this Tall Man join'd instantly another
Of near his Stature, whom he called Brother,
Richly encircled with a numerous Ring,
Which shew'd he wanted nought but Name of King;
Some time they silent were, till all were gon,
Then did the Taller say, Brother go on,
Which thus he did—
I shall, Great Sir, my last Discourse retrieve,
I pray you good attention to it give
Your case peculiar is, peculiar too
Must be your care, or you'l your self undo;
For Stations high, with Industry and Wit,
A second way may find, if first don't hit:
But Princes mounted on a Soveraign Throne
Nor have, nor can have other way but one
To curb the saucy vulgar, and pull down
Their Cobweb Rights that Circumscribe the Crown.
Tear off your Shackles, make the Bumkins know
There's none but you Almighty here below.
You spoil your Game, Sir, while you do thus dally,
Who follows him that standeth, shall I, shall I?
You Cow the Bold, and Keen the Cowards heart,
Whilst you, divided, Act the Doubtful part.
Had you, when London was in Flames, but run
And Cut the Citts damn'd Throats, your work you'd done,
You should have made their Blood the Fire to meet,
With Bodies fed the Flames in every Street.
To do and undo, suits well sorry things,
But 'tis beneath the Majesty of Kings:
Caesar or nothing's writ on all they do;
For Monarchs know no Medium 'twixt these two
What is't you stick at, Sir! Would you retreat?
You're now so far Engaged you must beat
Or Beaten be, Ride or be Ridden now,
He never back must look that holds the Plow.
It may be you'd not Promise break, nor Oath,
Pish! All the World well know you can do both.
With great advice the other day you said
By Parliaments and Counsels you'd be sway'd:
To day you think it good to let them know,
What e're you said, you ne're intended so:
Fools to their Word, but Princes great, like you,
To nought but their Intentions must be true.
What! Is't the Laws you tender are to break?
It's well known that's a scruple but too weak:
For Laws are nothing else but Tyes and Bands,
On purpose made to Shackle Subjects Hands.
Or, of fit Tools is't you so doubtful are?
If that be it, I'le ease you of your Care;
I Villains of intrinsick value have,
And more Obedient than a Turkish Slave:
If you but bid them thrust their bloody Knives
Into their Fathers Throats, their Childrens, Wives,
Or any but their own, they'l freely do't,
And lay them sprawling at your Sacred foot.
I have my Teagues and Tories at my beck
Will wring their Heads off like a Chickens neck;
Try'd Rogues, that never will so much as start
To tear from Mothers Belly Infants Heart,
First Rape, then rip them up, in one Half-hour
Two Lusts they'l satiate, do but give them power.
Faint Rogues will melt, and have their qualms of fear
At Fathers Groans, or at a Mothers Tear,
But mine are Monsters, fit for any Prince,
Not plagu'd with Conscience, nor yet plagu'd with Sense.
The Flames of Hell, Horror, Eternal pains,
The Clergy's Cheats to propagate their Gains,
They Ridicule and scorn to lend their Ear,
Let Knaves for Profit Preach, and Fools go hear,
The Tales of Future Bliss, not worth a Rush.
With them one Bird in Hand's worth two i'th' Bush.
Others won't serve you but on constant Pay,
My Hounds will Hunt, and live upon their Prey;
A Virgins Haunch, or well Bak'd Ladies Breast
To them is better then a Ven'son Feast;
Babes Pettitoes, cut large with Arms and Leggs
They far prefer fore Pettitoes of Piggs:
Poor Span-long Infants, that like Carps, well Stew'd
In their own Blood, their Irish Chaps have Chew'd;
And Fathers Cauls have Candles made to Light
Those black Inhumane Banquets of the Night.
What e're you'd have, what e're your wishes craves,
Nod, and 'tis done by my Obedient Slaves.
They know no Scruple, no Command dispute,
But do't as readily as Turkish Mute.
You see, Sir where you are, your Royal date
Grows out if you don't soon support your Fate.
To Shake 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Parliaments will be too great,
And put you in too violent a Sweat,
To Baffle therefore, but not cast them off,
To hold them still, but hold them still in Scoff,
Must be your work; For we are weaken'd so,
That we must drive the Nail that now will go:
And that too, we must do with gentle hand
That tho they sit, they may not understand.
When January comes, Cold and ill way
Will call it Love to put them off till May,
In May some odd Intelligence comes newly
Won't suffer you to hold them until July,