Here Reader, we the Second Part begin:
Mark how the Dons rail at the Man of Sin.
We have an old true Saying of our own,
When Knaves fall out, the Truth is often known.
Dons.
Pox on his Picture, and his Cause so pure,
Between 'em both they 've ruin'd us we're sure.
Must we, like Spaniels, to the Work be bang'd
Of Mother-Church, and merit to be hang'd?
Ruine our Fortunes, hazard thus our Lives,
Nay, been so mad as wheedle in our Wives;
But they must go (they say) the Devil drives:
And after all, like common things, rejected,
Because our Projects have not been effected.
Can we the ill Luck of our Ruffians help,
When here confined Prisoners, ye Whelp?
Had they but acted what we did contrive,
There had not been an Heretick alive.
So full of Lies and Perjuries they were,
Not You your self could mend them, were you here.
But if they'r spoil'd in Executing, We
Have done our parts, as all the World may see.
Pope.
Hold, mighty Dons! me-thinks too fast ye go.
What have ye done, that ye upbraid me so?
All I have gotten by your great Projects,
Are a few Saints, with Ropes about their Necks,
So hasht and butcher'd, all my labour's vain;
Not Lucifer can set them right again.
Hell keep the rest from Justice (we call Fury)
And send them Wakeman's, or a Gascoin Jury,
Pick'd, brib'd, instructed how to murder Truth,
From Grand St. Martins Bull, and Cits Wide Mouth.
Dons.
What have we done? Fools may that Question make.
What have we not done for your cursed sake?
Here's some among us for this fifty Years
Have Traitors been; engaged by the Ears
The best of Subjects with their lawful King,
Of which blest Work the Universe did ring;
Got into Arms, then after him we run,
And never left him till he was undone.
What Seignior Con could not by Poison do,
Our Party did: His End we brought him to.
Three hundred thousand murdered at least
In England, Scotland, and the Irish Feast.
And since the Nation did his Son restore,
We have bin full as active as before;
Have hunted Counter in his Parliaments.
Got Pentioners, who Voted by Contents.
Got Bills to pass against the Common Good,
And ever yet its Happiness withstood.
By Us their Church and State is so divided,
They quarrel yet: Nor can it be decided,
(Impatient we!) until Nolls Dunkirk's sold:
'Twas got by Rebels. But the Tangier Mould,
When finished, will all the Shipping hold.
Us'd all our Skill to break the Triple League,
Made James confess to Beddingfield and Teage.
In that (by Hell) we shew'd our highest Art,
And stabb'd the Protestant Int'rest to the heart.
Imploy'd our Priests, who did the City burn,
And Heretick Churches into Ashes turn.
Beat Butter-Boxes when we could come at 'em,
Which led the way unto the Ships at Chattam,
Then all we did, was, bid the Divil rot 'em.
Conjoyn'd our Butchers with our Friend of France;
And to our Councils, Petticoats advance.
By whom he knows, as well as Heart can wish,
What ere we do, as Beggar knows his Dish.
Begun a War, then up a Peace did smother,
To break their Allies; then begin another.
To Turks and Frenchmen did the Shipping sell,
As Heretick Marvel late the World did tell.
All this we did, and ten times so much more,
To serve our Ends, and Mother-Church [that Whore]
Before we to the present Trick did fall;
And had that took, w•• had done the Devil and all.
And what that is, your Holiness can guess,
For wee'l be damn'd ere any on't confess.
Nor does it matter whether we do or not,
Since Heretick-Commons have so much on't got,
By him whose Name, and Oaten-Pipe, doth fret
Our very Guts, as on the Tenters set,
We curse our Stars he is not ruin'd yet.
But there's some hopes, by what we hear of late,
Whose Lives he sav'd, requite him with their hate.
A good reward! But had he half on't done
For Mother-Church, he had the Popedom won.
And now, dear Friends, you Jesuits, be Judg
If 'tis not hard his Holiness should grudg
A little Pleasure, which affords us trotting,
After whole days [and nights] we have bin Plotting;
Witness our Pacquets twice a week that da ce
To Rome, to Spain, to Portugal, and France,
From whence ere long we hope to have such Friend;
Shall set us free, accomplish all our Ends.
Tell us 'twas He kept Common-Foes from sitting!
'Tis known he lies: for, did we think it fitting,
We other Reasons for the same could show,
Than He (perhaps Infallible) doth know.
But let that pass: 'tis done, we think our Stars,
Those Fiery Jades that draw in Titan's Cars.
Now after all, should we be left i'th' lurch,
Our Prayer shall be, The Devil take the Church.
In troth, that's honest. To conclude, I shall
Give my Amen, The Divil take ye all,
For Plotting Villains, worse than Canibal.
England will nere be safe, nor Christendom,
Till all your Necks under the Hatchet come.