Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n
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A53278
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The works of Mr. John Oldham, together with his Remains; Works. 1684
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Oldham, John, 1653-1683.; Ovid, 43 B.C.-17 or 18 A.D. Metamorphoses.
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1684
(1684)
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Wing O225; ESTC R5199
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181,282
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676
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Had I bin Man and the great Act to do H 'ad dy'd by this and bin what I am now Or what His Father is I would leap Hell To reach His Life tho in the midst I fell And deeper than before Let rabble Souls of narrow aim and reach Stoop their vile Necks and dull Obedience preach Let them with slavish aw disdain'd by me Adore the purple Rag of Majesty And think 't a sacred Relick of the Sky Well may such Fools a base Subjection own Vassals to every Ass that loads a Throne Unlike the soul with which proud I was born Who could that sneaking thing a Monarch scorn Spurn off a Crown and set my foot in sport Upon the head that wore it trod in dirt But say what is 't that binds your hands do's fear From such a glorious action you deter Or is 't Religion but you sure disclaim That frivolous pretence that empty name Meer bugbear word devis'd by Us to scare The sensless rout to slavishness and fear Ne're know to aw the brave and those that dare Such weak and feeble things may serve for checks To rein and curb base-mettled Hereticks Dull creatures whose nice bogling consciences Startle or strain at such slight crimes as these Such whom fond inbred honesty befools Or that old musty piece the Bible gulls That hated Book the bulwark of our foes Whereby they still uphold their tott'ring cause Let no such toys mislead you from the road Of glory nor infect your Souls with good Let never bold incroaching Virtue dare With her grim holy face to enter there No not in very Dream have only will Like Fiends and Me to covet and act ill Let true substantial wickedness take place Usurp and Reign let it the very trace If any yet be left of good deface If ever qualms of inward cowardice The things which some dull sots call conscience rise Let them in streams of Blood and slaughter drown Or with new weights of guilt still press 'em down Shame Faith Religion Honor Loyalty Nature it self whatever checks there be To loose and uncontrol'd impiety Be all extinct in you own no remorse But that you 've balk'd a sin have been no worse Or too much pity shewn Be diligent in Mischiefs Trade be each Performing as a Dev'l nor stick to reach At Crimes most dangerous where bold despair Mad lust and heedless blind revenge would ne're Ev'n look march you without a blush or fear Inflam'd by all the hazards that oppose And firm as burning Martyrs to your Cause Then you 're true Jesuits then you 're fit to be Disciples of great Loyola and Me Worthy to undertake worthy a Plot Like this and fit to scourge an Huguenot Plagues on that Name may swift confusion seize And utterly blot out the cursed Race Thrice damn'd be that Apostate Monk from whom Sprung first these Enemies of Us and Rome Whose pois'nous Filth dropt from ingend'ring Brain By monstrous Birth did the vile Insects spawn Which now infest each Country and defile With their o'respreading swarms this goodly I le Once it was ours and subject to our Yoke Till a late reigning Witch th' Enchantment broke It shall again Hell and I say 't have ye But courage to make good the Prophesie Not Fate it self shall hinder Too sparing was the time too mild the day When our great Mary bore the English sway Unqueen-like pity marr'd her Royal Pow'r Nor was her Purple dy'd enough in Gore Four or five hundred such like petty sum Might fall perhaps a Sacrifice to Rome Scarce worth the naming had I had the Pow'r Or been thought fit t' have been her Counsellor She shou'd have rais'd it to a nobler score Big Bonfires should have blaz'd and shone each day To tell our Triumphs and make bright our way And when 't was dark in every Lane and Street Thick flaming Hereticks should serve to light And save the needless Charge of Links by night Smithfield should still have kept a constant fire Which never should be quench'd never expire But with the lives of all the miscreant rout Till the last gasping breath had blown it out So Nero did such was the prudent course Taken by all his mighty Successors To tame like Hereticks of old by force They scorn'd dull reason and pedantick rules To conquer and reduce the harden'd Fools Racks Gibbets Halters were their arguments Which did most undeniably convince Grave bearded Lions manag'd the dispute And reverend Bears their Doctrines did consute And all who would stand out in stiff defence They gently claw'd and worried into sense Better than all our Sorbon dotards now Who would by dint of words our Foes subdue This was the rigid Discipline of old Which modern sots for Persecution hold Of which dull Annalists in story tell Strange Legends and huge bulky Volumes swell With Martyr'd Fools that lost their way to Hell From these our Church's glorious Ancestors We 've learnt our arts and made their Methods ours Nor have we come behind the least degree In acts of rough and manly cruelty Converting Faggots and the pow'rful stake And Sword resistless our Apostles make This heretofore Bohemia felt and thus Were all the num'rous Proselytes of Huss Crush'd with their head So Waldo's cursed rout And those of Wickliff here were rooted out Their names scarce left Sure were the means we chose And wrought prevailingly Fire purg'd the dross Of those foul Heresies and sovereign Steel Lopt off th' infected Limbs the Church to heal Renown'd was that French Brave renown'd his deed A deed for which the day deserves its red Far more than for a paltry Saint that died How goodly was the Sight how fine the Show When Paris saw through all its Channels flow The blood of Huguenots when the full Sein Swell'd with the flood its Banks with joy o're-ran He scorn'd like common Murderers to deal By parcels and piecemeal he scorn'd Retail I' th' Traâ—…e of Death whole Myriads died by th' great Soon as one single life so quick their Fate Their very Pray'rs and Wishes came too late This a King did and great and mighty ' t was Worthy his high Degree and Pow'r and Place And worthy our Religion and our Cause Unmatch'd ' thad been had not Mac-quire arose The bold Mac-quire who read in modern Fame Can be a Stranger to his Worth and Name Born to out-sin a Monarch born to Reign In Guilt and all Competitors disdain Dread memory whose each mention still can make Pale Hereticks with trembling Horror quake T' undo a Kingdom to atchieve a crime Like his who would not fall and die like him Never had Rome a nobler service done Never had Hell each day came thronging down Vast shoals of Ghosts and mine was pleas'd glad And smil'd when it the brave revenge survey'd Nor do I mention these great Instances For bounds and limits to your wickedness Dare you beyond something out of the road Of all example where none yet have trod Nor shall
pow'rful Art To take a feeble Maids ill-guarded Heart Too long I 've struggled with my Bliss in vain Too long oppos'd what Ioft wish'd to gain Loath to consent yet loather to deny At once I court and shun Felicity I cannot will not yield and yet I must Lest to my own Desires I prove unjust Sweet Ravisher what Love commands thee do Tho I 'm displeas'd I shall forgive thee too Too well thou know'st and there my hand she press'd And said no more but blush'd and smil'd the rest Ravish'd at the new grant fierce eager I Leap'd furious on and seiz'd my trembling Prey With guarding Arms she first my Force repell'd Shrunk and drew back and would not seem to yield Unwilling to o'recome she faintly strove One hand pull'd to what t'other did remove So feeble are the struglings and so weak In sleep we seem and only seem to make Forbear she said ah gentle Youth forbear and still she hug'd and clasp'd me still more near Ah! will you will you force my Ruiâ—… so Ah? do not do not do not let me go What follow'd was above the pow'r of Verse Above the reach of Fancy to rehearse Not dying Saints enjoy such Extasies When they in Vision antedate their Bliss Not Dreams of a young Prophet are so bless'd When holy Trances first inspire his Breast And the God enters there to be a Guest Let duller Mortals other Pleasures prize Pleasures which enter at the waking Eyes Might I each Night such sweet Enjoyments find I 'd wink for ever be for ever blind A SATYR TOUCHING NOBILITY Out of Monsieur BOILEAU 'T IS granted that Nobility in Man Is no wild flutt'ring Notion of the Brain Where he descended of an ancient Race Which a long train of numerous Worthies grace By Virtues Rules guiding his steddy Course Traces the steps of his bright Ancestors But Yet I can't endure an haughty Ass Debauch'd with Luxury and slothful Ease Who besides empty Titles of high Birth Has no pretence to any thing of Worth Should proudly wear the Fame which others sought And boast of Honour which himself ne'er got I grant the Acts which his Fore-fathers did Have furnish'd matter for old Hollinshead For which their Scutcheon by the Conqu'ror grac'd Still bears a Lion Rampant for its Crest But what does this vain mass of Glory boot To be the branch of such a noble Root If he of all the Heroes of his Line Which in the Registers of Story shine Can offer nothing to the World's regard But mouldy Parchments which the Worms have spar'd If sprung as he pretends of noble Race He does his own Original disgrace And swoln with selfish Vanity and Pride To greatness has no other claim beside But squanders life and sleeps away his days Dissolv'd in Sloth and steep'd in sensual ease Mean while to see how much the Arrogant Boasts the false Lustre of his high Descent You 'd fancy him Comptroller of the Sky And fram'd by Heav'n of other Clay than me Tell me great Hero you that would be thought So much above the mean and humble Rout. Of all the Creatures which do men esteem And which would you your self the noblest deem Put case of Horse No doubt you 'l answer strait The Racer which has often'st won the Plate Who full of mettle and of sprightly Fire Is never distanc'd in the sleet Career Him all the Rivals of New-market dread And crowds of Vent'rers stake upon his Head But if the Breed of Dragon often cast Degenerate and prove a Jade at last Nothing of Honour or respect we see Is had of his high Birth and Pedigree But maugre all his great Progenitors The worthless Brute is banish'd from the Course Condemn'd for Life to ply the dirty Road To drag some Cart or bear some Carrier's Load Then how can you with any sense expect That I should be so silly to respect The ghost of Honour perish'd long ago That 's quite extinct and lives no more in you Such gaudy Trifles with the Fools may pass Caught with mere shew and vain Appearances Virtue 's the certain Mark by Heav'n design'd That 's always stamp'd upon a noble mind If you from such illustrious Worthies came By copying them your high Extract proclaim Shew us those generous Heats of Gallantry Which Ages past did in those Worthies see That zeal for Honour and that brave Disdain Which scorn'd to do an Action base or mean Do you apply your Interest aright Not to oppress the Poor with wrongful Might Would you make Conscience to pervert the Laws Tho brib'd to do 't or urg'd by your own Cause Dare you when justly call'd expend your Bloud In service for your King's and Countrys good Can you in open Field in Armour sleep And there meet danger in the ghastliest shape By such illustrious Marks as these I find You 're truly issued of a noble kind Then fetch your Line from Albanact or Knute Or if these are too fresh from older Brute At leisure search all History to find Some great and glorious Warriour to your mind Take Caesar Alexander which you please To be the mighty Founder of your Race In vain the World your Parentage bely That was or should have been your Pedegree But if you could with ease derive your Kin From Hercules himself in a right Line If yet there nothing in your Actions be Worthy the name of your high Progeny All these great Ancestors which you disgrace Against you are a cloud of Witnesses And all the Lustre of their tarnish'd Fame Serves but to light and manifest your Shame In vain you urge the merit of your Race And boast that Bloud which you your selves debase In vain you borrow to adorn your Name The Spoils and Plunder of another's Fame If where I look'd for something Great and Brave I meet with nothing but a Fool or Knave A Traitor Villain Sycophant or Slave A freakish Madman fit to be confin'd Whom Bedlam only can to order bind Or to speak all at once a barren Limb And rotten Branch of an illustrious Stem But I am too severe perhaps you 'l think And mix too much of Satyr with my Ink We speak to men of Birth and Honour here And those nice Subjects must be touch'd with care Cry mercy Sirs Your Race we grant is known But how far backwards can you trace it down You answer For at least a thousand year And some odd hundreds you can make 't appear 'T is much But yet in short the proofs are clear All Books with your Fore-fathers Titles shine Whose names have scap'd the general wreck of Time But who is there so bold that dares engage His Honour that in this long Tract of Age No one of all his Ancestors deceas'd Had e're the fate to find a Bride unchast That they have all along Lucretia's been And nothing e're of spurious Bloud crept in To mingle and defile the Sacred Line Curss'd be the day when first this vanity Did primitive simplicity