Quaint Gleanings from Ancient Poetry | Page 5

was Q. M. conceiv'd;?You great ones Converted, poor cheated Dissenters,?Grave Judges, Lords, Bishops, and Commons Consenters,
You Commissioners all?Ecclesiastical,?From _M_...[4] the Dutiful to _C_...[5] the Tall,?Pray Heav'n to strengthen Her Majesties Placket,?For if this Trick fail, beware of your Jacket.
[Footnote 3: Maria Laura d'Este.]
[Footnote 4: John, Earl of Mulgrave, Lord Chamberlain of the Household.]
[Footnote 5: William, Earl of Craven.]
THE PATRIOTS.
WRIT ABOUT THE YEAR 1700.
I.
Ye worthy Patriots, go on?To heal the Nation's Sores,?Find all Men's Faults out but your own,?Begin good Laws, but finish none,?And then shut up your Doors.
II.
Fail not our Freedom to secure,?And all our Friends disband,?And send those Men to t'other Shore?Who were such Fools as to come o'er?To help this grateful Land.
III.
And may the next that hears us pray,?And in Distress relieve us,?Go home like those without their Pay,?And with Contempt be sent away?For having once believ'd us.
IV.
And if the French should e'er attempt?This Nation to invade,?May they be damn'd that list again,?But lead the fam'd Militia on,?To be like us betray'd.
V.
As for the Crown you have bestow'd,?With all its Limitations,?The meanest Prince in Christendom?Would never stir a Mile from home?To govern three such Nations.
VI.
The King himself, whom once you call'd?Your Saviour in Distress,?You in his first Request deny'd,?And then his Royal Patience try'd?With a canting sham Address.
VII.
Ye are the Men that to be chose?Wou'd be at no Expences,?Who love no Friends, nor fear no Foes,?Have ways and means that no Man knows?To mortify your Senses.
VIII.
Ye are the Men that can condemn?By Laws made ex post facto,?Who can make Knaves of honest Men,?And married Women turn again?To be Virgo and Intacta.
IX.
Go on to purify the Court,?And damn the Men of Places?Till decently you send them home,?And get your selves put in their room,?And then you'll change your Faces.
X.
Go on for to establish Trade,?And mend our Navigation,?Let India invade,?And borrow on Funds will ne'er be paid,?And Bankrupt all the Nation.
XI.
'Tis you that calculate our Gold,?And with a senseless Tone,?Vote that you never understood,?That we might take them if we wou'd?Or let them all alone.
XII.
Your Missives you send round about?With Mr. Speaker's Letter,?To fetch Folks in, and find Folks out,?Which Fools believe without dispute,?Because they know no better.
XIII.
With borrow'd Ships, and hir'd Men,?The Irish to reduce,?Who will be paid the Lord knows when;?'Tis hop'd whene'er you want again,?You'll think of that Abuse.
XIV.
Ye laid sham Taxes on our Malt,?On Salt, on Glass, on Leather,?To wheedle Coxcombs in to lend;?And like true Cheats, you dropt that Fund,?And sunk them all altogether.
XV.
And now y'are piously enclin'd?The Needy to employ;?You'd better much your time bestow?To pay neglected Debts you owe,?Which makes them multiply.
XVI.
Against Prophaneness you declar'd,?And then the Bill rejected;?And when the Arguments appear'd,?They were the worst that e'er were heard,?And best that we expected.
XVII.
'Twas voted once that for the Sin?Of Whoring Men should die all;?But then it was wisely thought again.?The House would quickly grow so thin,?They durst not stand the Tryal.
XVIII.
King Charles the Second knew your aim,?And Places gave, and Pensions;?And had King William's Mony flown,?His Majesty would soon have known?Your Consciences Dimensions.
XIX.
But he has wisely given you up?To work your own desires,?And laying Arguments aside,?As things that have in vain been try'd,?To Fasting calls, and Prayers.
CHORUS--?Your Hours are choicely employ'd,?Your Petitions lie all on the Table,?With Funds Insufficient,?And Taxes Deficient,?And Deponents innumerable.?For shame leave this wicked Employment,?Reform both your Manners and Lives;?You were never sent out?To make such a Rout,?Go home, and look after your W----s.
JUSTICE IN MASQUERADE; OR, SCROGGS UPON SCROGGS.
A Butcher's Son's Judge Capital?Poor Protestants for to enthral,
And England to enslave, Sirs;?Lose both our Laws and Lives we must?When to do Justice we entrust
So known an arrant Knave, Sirs.
Some hungry Priests he did once fell,?With mighty Strokes sent them to Hell,
Sent presently away, Sirs;?Would you know why? The Reason's plain?They had no English_ nor _French coin
To make a longer stay, Sirs.
The Pope to Purgatory sends?Who neither Money have nor Friends,
In this he's not alone, Sirs;?For our Judge to Mercy's no inclin'd,?'Less Gold change Conscience and his Mind,
You are infallibly gone, Sirs.
His Father once exempted was?Out of all Juries [6]; why? because
He was a Man of Blood, Sirs;?And why the Butcherly Son (forsooth)?Shou'd now be Jury and Judge both
Cannot be understood, Sirs.
The good Old Man with Knife and Knocks?Made harmless Sheep and stubborn Ox
Stoop to him in his Fury;?But the brib'd Son, like greasie Oaph,?Kneels down and worships Golden Calf,
And so do's all the Jury.
Better thou'dst been at Father's Trade,?An honest Livelihood to have made,
In lamp'ring Bulls with Collars,?Than to thy Country prove unjust,?First sell, and then betray, thy Trust,
For so many hard Rix-Dollars.
Priest and Physician thou didst save?From Gallows, Fire, and from the Grave,
For which we can't endure thee;?The one can ne'er absolve thy Sins,?And th'other (tho' he now begins)
Of Knav'ry ne'er can cure thee.
But lest we all shou'd end his Life,?And with a keen-whet Chopping-Knife
In a Thousand pieces