Brother When he 's to work you to design He first will soak you well with Wine And then to your Incestuous Eyes He 'll show again her H ss Thighs Strip her of greatness for the Cause And shew her Scut to change the Laws But this is no immodest thing To have her Humbles view'd by K She may expose on such occasion Her Popish A to the whole Nation Zeal wipes away all Impudence The greatest crimes are Innocence When for the Churches good intended And thus her H ss faults are mended And Catholick Modesty befriended This was a good attempt at first Shew'd she ne'er bashfully was nurs'd But rather liv'd 'mongst shamble Crew Brought up in some Italian Stew A Dutchess in our Country known A common Strumpet in her own From Dukes that are but little better From a Whore by Nation and by Nature From a King that Reigns by their direction From Subjects guided by the Devil's Protection From a soust Pilot at the Helm Good Lord deliver this poor Realm On the Lord Chancellor's Speech to the Parliament March 1679. This is the Time. WOuld you send K to P l Great Iames to be a Cardinal And make Prince Rupert Admiral This is the Time. Would you turn D out of Doors Banish Rebels and French Whores The worser sort of Common-shores This c. Would you unravel Popish Plots Send L le amongst the Scots And rid the Court of Irish Sots This c. Would you exalt the mighty Name Of Shaftsbury and B m And not forget Judge Sc s his Fame This c. Would you our Soveraign dis-abuse And make his Parliaments of use Not to be chang'd like dirty Shooes This c. Would you extirpate Pimps and Panders Disband the rest of our Commanders Send M after Teague to Flanders This c. Would you send Confessors to tell P s St d and A l They must prepare their Souls for Hell. This is the Time. Would you remove our Ministers The cursed cause of all our Fears Without forgetting Turn-coat M s This c. Would you hang those that take example By C and Timber T For all such Rascals merit Hemp well This c. Would you once more bless this Nation By changing of P 's Vocation And find one fit for Procreation This c. Would you let P try her chanceâ— Believe Oates Bedloe Dugdale Prance And send Berillon into France This c. Would you turn Papists from the Q Cloister up fulsome M n Once more make Charles great again This is the time An Acrostick C lose wrapt in P 's Smock his Senses are H eadlong he runs into Circe's snares A nd by her Charms is so besotted grown R ather than quit her he will lose his Throne L eave her for shame cast off those idle Charms E mploy your self like nighbouring Kings in Arms S ecure your Nation and your self from harms The Commons Address to the K. A. D. 1670. In all humility we crave Our Sovereign to be our Slave Beseeching him that he would be Betray'd by us most Loyally And if he please but once lay down His Sceptre Dignity and Crown We 'll make him for the time to come The greatest Prince in Christendom The Answer to the Acrostick A. D. 1670. C at this time having no need Thanks you as much as if he did The House of Commons are the People's God The Countrey 's Scourge the Nation 's Iron Rod The Lord's Vexation and the K by G d. On the D. of Y's Voyage into Flanders R. H. they say is gone to see The Princess of the Hague But P h's left behind to be The Nation 's whorish Plague Some say he is diverted thence And sailed into France Because the Wind at 's going hence Stood Bedloe Oates and Prance Some think he went unwillingly And others say he 's sent there But most affirm for certainty He 's gone to keep his Lent there But those that can astrologize Do swear nothing more true is The soleness of his Errand lies To fetch his Cousin Lewis And both together as they say If one may dare to speak on 't Through Hereticks Bloud will cut a way To bring in I the Second By yea and nay the Quaker cries How can we hope for better Truth 's not in him that this denies Read Edward Coleman's Letter Gar Gar the Jockey swears fou thing Man here is mickle work Deel split his Wem he 's ne'er long King Whose name does rhime to Pork The Welshman swears Cut splutter Nails God send her from her Foes Was never have a Prince of Wales That wears a Roman Nose Whate'er Pretences offered be Sure somewhat is contriving And he is blind that cannot see The Plot is still a driving Vpon a Dispute in the Choice of Sheriffs there was a Paper spread abroad directed as followeth To the worthy Citizens of London Respice Cave Gentlemen Now is the time acquit your selves like Men Else who can say you 'll ever see 't again Divide not for your lives their work is done Down must the Papists go and mouth must run Let not his Imprecations us befool He 's worse than mad that trusts a Y Tool Should he now chuse us Sheriffs and clodpate Juries We fall as Victims to their Popish Furies Oh Heaven direct us to unite we pray Old England's Fate depends upon this day And those unborn to bless or curse us may On the same occasion Lewis of France hath been the Prot'stant Scourge And Lewis of London is the Papists Drudge One plays the Tyrant to uphold his Lust And London's Villain doth betray his Trust. Tyrant and Traytor L is no less And N and Clod-pate maketh up the Mess. Close up the Poll or L by this Light Your own shall off to doe the City right Fore-warn'd Fore-arm'd M Ninny's Case looks desperate The Papists Cause the same The Traytors struggle with their Fate Then Patriots now beware their hate Look to your selves e'er 't be too late Or all is on a flame A Countrey Hodge heard Tory say As he was walking home October's three and twentieth day Began the bloudy Irish Fray And then to Edge-Hill took its way Remember Forty one This trusty Roger told for true 'T is odds he guesses right M had prepar'd his murthering Crew At unawares to murther you And by that blow the Land subdue As you sit late at Night Unless in time ye him prevent Be arm'd against those fears Ne'er trust to Rowly's Compliment When actions speak the ill intent Who never yet lov'd Parliament Whate'er he says or swears What if 't is said that M shall go The Fool the Knave may trust Stand on your guard prevent this blow No matter whether he runs or no 'T is you must Papists overthrow Let Devil doe his worst A Bill on the House of Commons Door April 15. 1680. pursuant to a former Bill Jan. 26. 1679. fix'd there Gentlemen When last you were here th' house ways to be let But now to the
Pope and the Frenchmen 't is set If you 'll club in amongst them be quickly resolv'dâ— Or else you must home again ' rog'd or dissolv'd We 'll try for another may serve our intention That England will betray for Place or Pention That 's the life of the Cause and the end of Invention We lost an old set would have done it no doubt But on ill luck Rogue Tony was out Could we get them again we 'd hug and cologue 'em Nor D nor Dutchess should e'er prorogue ' em And honest endeavour to make us all Slaves Pray which the worst evil the Cause or the Knaves Old Albion looks ill she was heard to complain Her Head O! her Head was the cause of her pain It 's all on a Lump for it cannot discover 'Twixt its Catholick Foes and the Protestant Lover Her Emp'ricks and Quacks call'd Divine and some Civil Advise her to bleed again for the King 's Evil. But better the Rogues were sent quick to the Devil What! bleed an old Woman Spring Winter and Fall Don't you know she 's too old to be practis'd withall But if you do venture once more to attempt it It 's forty to one you 're the first that repent it For your Plots and your Murthers and Treasons she 'll try you Though the Monsieur and Tories and Devils stand by you On Nell Hard by Pell-mell lives a Wench called Nell K. C the s he kept her She has got a trick to But never lays Hands on his Sceptre All matters of State from her Soul she does hate And leave to the Politick Bitches The Whore's in the right for 't is her delight To be scratching just where it itches Iustice in Masquerade A Butcher's Son's Judge Capital Poor Protestants for to enthrall And England to enslave Sirs Lose both our Laws and Lives we must When to doe Justice we entrust So known an errant Knave Sirs Some hungry Priests he did once fell With mighty strokes and 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 not enclin'd Lest Gold change Conscience and his Mind You are infallibly gone Sirs His Father once exempted was Out of all Juries Why Because He was a Man of Bloud Sirs And why the Butcherly Son forsooth Should now be Jury and Judge both Cannot be understood Sir. 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 Elfe Kneels down and worships Golden Calf And so do all the Jury Better thou'dst been at Father's Trade An honest Livelihood to have made In hampering Bulls with Collars Than to thy Countrey be 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 Grave For which we can't endure thee The one can ne'er absolve thy sins And the other though he now begins Of Knavery ne'er can cure thee But lest we all should end his life And with a keen-whet Chopping knife In a thousand pieces cleave him Let the Parliament first him undertake The 'll make the Rascal stink at stake And so like a Knave let 's leave him Pars Secunda Since Justice S P and D did bail Upon the good Cause did turn his tail For 2000 pounds to buy Tent and Ale Which no body can deny The Jury and Judge to sham the Plot Free'd the Traytours to prove it was not But old England will stand when the Rogues go to pot Which no body can deny S was at first a Man of the Blade And with his Father follow'd the Butcherly Trade But 't was the Peter-pence made him a Jade Which no body can deny He 'd stand by the Protestant's cause he said And lift up his eyes and cry'd we'er all betray'd But the Petty Fogger was then in a Maskquerade Which no body can deny When D mention'd to the King his name He said he had neither honesty nor shame And would play any sort of Game Which no body can deny He swears he 'd confound Bedlow and Oates And prove the Papist's Sheep and the Protestant's Goats And that they are all fools that on Property dotes Which no body can deny A Copy of Verses flung into Iustice S Chamber Here Lives the Woolf Justice and Butcherly Knave Who Protestants gaols but the Papist's does save He 's a bold Persecutour contrary to Laws Of all that dare write for the Protestant cause Since these were his Actions in vain was his Prate And false Imprecations he printed of late 'T will one day be Prov'd old clod pate that you Were Brib'd by the Court and Portugal too When Parliament come to Town you 'll receive such a Check Not your Speech nor your Pardon will save your Bull Neck In the Interim go on and play England's story You 'll hang at the last as Tresilian before ye For we 'll have the Plot come on 't what can be In spight of old clod Pate Y L D 'T is not Prorogations shall serve the Rogues turn We 'll dye at our doors e er in Smithfield we 'll burn The Pope's Advice with the Holiness's Benediction to his Iudge and Iury in Utopia Well done my Sons you have redeem'd my Cause Beyond my expectation from the Jaws Of my Curst foe's the Protestant's their Laws For had you not thus timely stept between They had endanger'd both my Cause and Queen And then Past all Redemption had it been From Tyburn they more Martyrs had me sent Which I had rather Quick to th' Devil went Than my designs so well contriv'd be shent Go on and Prosper never change you notes The sign o' th' Cross direct your open throats To cry not guilty so you 'll baffle Oates Forsworn no matter if you Perjur'd be You are dâ—spenc't with and ought to go free 'T is mighty service to the Court and me Who will Requite it and for certain know My Pardons and Blessings on you I bestow Besides the Gold you have receiv'd I owe Far greater Sums then e'er the Court yet gave To Pimp or Cheat to Traytor Whore or Knave Might satisfie our lust or sinking Credit save But that 's not all unless we do declare And set our mark upon our favourites fair That Hereticks may know them which they are And first dear Coggs with thee we shall begin Altho' of late thou wert a man of sin And didst abuse those for us put ye in From which we now absolve ye as we 're Pope And do allow that Butchers by the Rope Begin not end for that would mar our hope T is true at first 't was prudent witty quaint To counterâ—eit the Devil and the Saint With zealous thunder 'gainst the Jesuits complaint This gain'd
your credit with the Rabble rout Confirm'd the choice to such who wisht you out But now that 's done it's time to look about And dare to act to set my vassals free You shall receive from holy James and me A Crimson Cap at least my Legat be Provided you escape Tressilian's Triple tree Next hated Ralph thou leader of the van My Papall Power shall doe all it can To make the next Election senate Man And reason good for then my cause would thrive If all prove such the Hereticks we 'll drive Till not a soul of them be left alive They 're all right Roman H H D town And D together B these H Sworn to be true but false as Iack of Leydon Next were two Judges B D never right In rack and manger lay those Beast's delight Next three were monsters a very whale that 's white Thus being coller'd all together swore To doe such Justice ne'er was done before Prostrate their Wives to save the common Whore. For which good service most did places gain One made the Whales unto Charles's wain And Tape maker light man did obtain Three more had places to their hearts desire Which T afforded made them each Esquire And all they were to doe was set the Land on fire Informing D that 's Landlord to Sir W To save his Tenent Golden Pills did take Whose blessed guilt before did make him quake The rest had Gold dropt by the Fairy Queen Left in their shoon that she might pass unseen Which expell'd poyson as 't had never been By this my Sons ye left them in the lurch And swept the scandal of our Holy Church Which e'rst stood tott'ring on a broken Crutch Strangely reviv'd my Lordly Sons iâ—th ' Tower Who now transported laugh to scorn the power Of Lords and Commons from whom they fear'd a showre And o'er the Hereticks have ' dvantage got Who stopt the blest proceedings of my Plot No oppositions left but th' Fanatick sot For which good service debtors we remain Till we get Britain in our Fist again Then then be sure we 'll well requite your pain Till then adieu He 'll have you in it's care And ever dictate what you say or swear May make you usefull to St. Peter's Chair Rome Iuly 22 d. Stylo Novo 1679. SATYR His Holiness has three grand friends O Great Britain's Shoar That Prosecute his and their own ends A D a Judge and a Whore. The D is as true as steel To the Pope that infallib'e Else Therefore no friend to the Common-weal Nor no freind unto himself The Judge is a Butcher's Son Yet hates to shed Innocent bloud But for ten thousand Pound has done the Pope a great deal of good He that villain W clear'd Who was to have poison'd the King As it most plainly appeard For which he deserves a swing P that Pocky Bitch A damn'd Papistical Drab An ugly deform'd Witch Eaten up with the Mange and Scab This French Hag's Pockey Bum So powerfull is of late Although it 's both blind and dumb It rules both Church and State. On the Monument upon Fish-street Hill. When Hodge first spy'd the Labour in vain Grown since he pass'd by Pudding Lane To reach his Chin up as he gaz'd Till level with his Forehead rais'd With Face that Horizontal lies With gaping Mouth and staring Eyes Supporting on his staff his Jaw He lookt the hight of what he saw As one that makes-an observation Chap-fallen he stood with admiration Hodge was although to Cart confin'd A Virtuoso in his kind And long he stockt up in his Crown Whate'er he saw or heard in Town Within his musty Fancy mew'd Heated into similitude That whatsoever subject fell He bargains ready had to sell Though the similitude most pat Shew that Men say they know not whatâ— A new Spout to quench the fire Or else to draw the smoke up higher A modell of a Pepper-box Or Microscope to view an Ox Or else a Candlestick to place a Light For such as travel in the night Or Christmass Candle overgrown Not to shew Light but to be shewn Or else a Torch with gilded flames To steer the Boats that row on Thames Or else a piece of Art and Labour Of Hook out Architecting Babor When long he thus himself had guess'd Nor could the swallow'd sight digest He ask'd a Wag at the next Stall To whom belongs this House so tall The City's Monument is this In token that our Mayor did piss It seems when London's Mayor doth stale She by consent too lays her Tail Bodies so great may bear th' expence Of such a vast Sirreverence But 't is a heap which would have rent All but the City's Fundament The D. of M's Letter to the K. transvers'd Disgrac'd and one forlorn made Fortune's sport Banish'd the Kingdom first and now the Court Out of my place turn'd and out of doors And made the meanest of your Sons of Whores The scorn and laughter of the common chat Of your salt Bitches and your silly Brats Forc'd to a private life to whore and drink On my past Grandeur and my Folly think Would I had been the Brat of some mean Drab Whom fear or shame had made her choak or stab Rather than be the Issue of a King And by him made so wretched scorn'd a thing What little cause hath Mankind to be proud Of Honour Birth the Idols of the Crowd Have I abroad with Battles Honour wone To be at home dishonourably undone Mock'd wit a Star and Garter and made fine With all those gaudy trifles once call'd mine Your Hobby-horses and your toys of State And now become the object of your hate But Damn me Sir I 'll be legitimate I was your Darling but against your will Know Sir that I will be the People's still And when you 're dead I and my Friends the Rout Will with my Popish Uncle try a bout And to my trouble this one comfort bring Next after you by G I will be King. The Answer to the D. of M's Letter Ungratefull Boy I will not call thee Son Thou hast thy self ingloriously undone And thy complaints serve but to shew the more How much thou hast engag'd thy Father's Whore Resent it not shake not thy addle Head And be no more by Clubs of Rascals led Have I made thee the Darling of my Joys The prettiest and lustiest of my Boys Have I so oft sent thee to the Coast of France To take new Dresses up and learn to dance Have I given thee a Ribbon and a Star And sent thee like a Meteor to the War Have I done all that Royal Dad could doe And do you threaten me to be untrue Oh! that my P when I thy Dam did Had in some A or Cow's been stuck Then had I been when that base deed was done Sure to have got no Rebel to my Son. But say I did with thy fond Mother sport To the same kindness others did resort 'T was my good Nature and I meant her Fame To shelter thee under my royal Name Alas I never got one whelp alone My Riches are to every Fop well known And I still willing all their Brats to own I made thee once 't is true the Post of Grace And stuck upon thee every mighty Place Each glittering Office till thy heavy Brow Grew dull with Honour and my Power low I spangled thee with Favours hung thy Nose With Rings of Gold and Pearls till all grew Foes By secret envy to thy growing state I lost my safety when I made thee great There 's not the least injustice to be shown You must be ruin'd to secure my Throne Offices are but fickle Grace the Badge Bestow'd by Fits and snatch'd away in Rage And sure the Livery I give my Slaves I may take from 'em when my P raves Thou art a Creature of my own creation Then swallow this without Capitulation If you with feigned wrongs still keep a clutter And make the People for your sake to mutter For my own comfort but your trouble know by G I 'll send you to the Rout below FINIS