A collection of 86 loyal poems all of them written upon the two late plots viz, the horrid Salamanca plot in 1687, and the present fanatical conspiracy in 1683 : to which is added, advice to the carver : written on the death of the late L. Stafford : with several poems on their majesties coronation, never before published / collected by N.T.

The Solicitous Citizen: Or Much-ado about NOTHING.

COntinual Hubbub, and the noise of Plot, Idle Suspicions of he knows not what, The Pope, the Devil, and the ••rench, five years Have (it enslav'd to Jealousies and ••ears; Nor any Prospect yet of Peace appears: Bandy'd about 'twixt Credit and Despair, Who's safe (he cries) while such Designs there are? And (what is more perplexing) can't tell where. No, though of late he to his side have got TITƲS, that Devil at cold scent of Plot; But he (poor Cur) at Oxford lost his Fame, Where he Ran counter, to's eternal shame; There the base man, Disloyal and Ʋnjust, A second time prov'd Traytor to his Trust: In vain from him Discoveries you hope; The Cur (Pox on him)'s foil'd; A Rope, a Rope.

But this to ••it no satisfaction gives; He's still uneasie, and in Fear he lives: C••ies, there are others who can find out Plots, (And Make perhaps) as well as Dr. Oats; Says, Wiser Heads than his the City Rule; (Or else said, Each Cit had been a I ovl.

Say what ye will, we will secure our Home, Be all in readiness at Beat of Drum; Who knows how soon the K. of France may come? The Guards each night, you'd split to see the Farce, (Like Rattle-Snakes, with Bandaleers at A— Ty'd to long Swords, and drest in Greasie Buff, Majestic Porters) through the City huff; Whilst Leader, Fore-horse-like, the Pageant mak••s With formal strut, and's gawdy Tassel shakes. In this brave Pomp they march to Rendesvouze, And there from Nine till Six securely bouze. In damn'd Mundungus, and as nasty Nantz, They curse the Pope, and huff the K. of France. Does but poor whore about their Quarters budge Whom undkind Stars do force till Ten to trudge; Stait brustling Myrmidon cries, Who comes there? Stand, or I'll fire; or stir a foot that dare; Raises the Guards, (for such Alarms are common) Two hundred men to seize on one poor Woman. Why here so late? (cries Leader) On what score? What are you? I'm a Woman. You're a Whore: And, Fellow Buff-Coats, a suspicious One: For ought I know, the Whore of Babylon. As you say Captain, it may be Pope Joan.

Such Feats as these our mighty Dons of war Perform, to show the world how much they dare, And then to judge what plaguy Curs they are.

But here dull Cit is out in's Policy, While he on woman does his Manhood try: Credulous Ass, there's no more gross mistake, Citizens Wives Beasts of their Husbands make. Believe me Cit, thou'dst better far neglect The Plots Abroad, and those at Home inspect: Need'st no Contriving Jesuits fear, but th'Leagues of Wife with Courtier, th' Islington Intrigues. Was it well known to each contented Sot What's done at home, how Jacky was Begot, He'd be more jealous of his Wife than th' Plot.

But of all Pates, Cit has the softest one; (The better (cries the Wife) to Graft upon;) But he by such damn'd Dulness is undone: While on him ev'ry Rascal puts a Trick, Care, Curtis, Baldwin and Seditious Dick: Such Rogues as these do still Suspicions give, And make new Plots that no man can believe: One buzzes This, one That Report in's Ear; One makes him hope, another makes him fear, Just like four Mastiff-Dogs upon one Bear. Thus curious Cit these Plaguy Rascals mawl, Who knows not which the True or False to call, But honestly (dull Soul believes 'em All. This makes 'em in the City chuse alone To vent their Libels; for there can't be shown One Treason-Writer at our end o'th' Town:

These are the Knaves who make the Cits suspect Their Prince, that he their Safety does neglect, Whose only Care (Heav'n knows) is to protect: These are the Villains who our Jars increase, Nor till they're Hang'd can we e're hope for Peace. Each Cobler's Statesman grown, and the bold Rable Convert each Ale-house-Board to Council-table; One censures this, another blames that fashion, And thus they settle the Affairs o'th' Nation: On Votes and Councils are their Judgments past, And in what form they please Affairs they cast; Thus Colledge did, but he was hang'd at last.