A Murnival of Knaves OR WHIGGISM Plainly Display'd AND If not grown shameless Burlesqu't out of Countenance Aude aliquid brevibus Gyaris carcere dignum Sivis esse aliquis Probitas laudatur alget Juv. Satyr 1. London Printed for James Norris at the Kings-Arms without Temple-bar 1683. TO THE Worshipful Mr. P. D. B. Most Worthy Patriots I Presume to Dedicate this Pamphlet to you for I can call it no more and I presume you will stile it no less considering your coupled Loyalty and withal to inform you that there is nothing contained herein against the Loyal Party of that Emporium of Christendom and Metropolis of London but only the Dissenters which I think I am in duty bound to do and requires the Pen of a Cleveland though never so Sarcastick to reduce them to Obedience I beseech you be not offended at my Endeavours because they are honest and no ways injurious and little offensive but what may pass the censure of a Scholastick tick without blame at least under the notion of a Licentia Poetica if Burlesque Rhythme may be allowed it I do not in the least question your approbation primâ facie but if you disrelish any thing herein I am so much a Stoick that I value not your Censure or Opinion yet however with permission give me leave to acquaint you that if you disapprove of it I know who will not This is all at present from Your Humble Servant PHIL ANAX POSTSCRIPT IF the Author's Name in the close of the Epistle cramps your Vnderstanding let me advise you as a friend to consult the Worshipful Dr. OATES who has been of most I had almost said all Religions and if he has not forgot his Greek and Latine as much as he has forfeited his Religion and Honesty I believe he may be your Interpreter A Murnival of Knaves c. WHen that the poor oppressed Press Groan'd under the Cacoethes Of Scribling when Baboon and Pug Skirmisht in Paper-Dialogue When Vile Tom's son did disembogue At one another Ruffian Rogue Profligate Villain Fidler Knave Buffoon and Rascal rail and rave In such foul terms as these a Pack Enuf to break a Porters back Or sham at th' sharpest scolding rate The Wastcoteers of Beline's-gate When one of these loose Pamphleteers Was very near losing his Ears And did through Wood-loop-hole survey The Market on a welcome day Nay had he not begg'd off close-keeping And Fine good faith had paid for 's peeping Then ' t was I blush in Burlesque Rhyme To think on 't but I 'le tell the time Lest that the Whiggs shou'd sneer and prate And say this story is sans Date New style to make no more ado It was i' th' year Fourscore and Two The Ape of five times eight and one And this to our stark shame was done By Pladded Blow-Cap and Bog-Trotter Whilst Resident here Haddu Ben Otter Then Whig and Tory took the Field Fought briskly but would neither yield The one of Caledonian Race T'other has an Hibernian Face True English Guelphs and Gibelines Darting their Quils like Porcupines O how the Moor and Turk will fleer At Christians when as once they hear At one another how they jeer And raunt and taunt and domineer Nay Teaze and Scold and Rail downright At Hodge and smiling Heraclite When half a quarter of their Sense Will baffle Whiggs Impertinence And all that Gang except these two Deserve to Hang had they their due Of these Dissentions what 's the Cause In truth a second Good old Cause Started by some of Vxbridge-strain May it be ne're started again Persons and Names of Men I 'le spare But blame their Vices that 's Play fair As to their Tone their Garb their Gate I 'le such a story true relate And give Jack such a Character That you 'l need no Interpreter Have you not heard a squeaking Ape Tire the Gods with shril-mouth'd gape As if the Heavens cou'd not hear Unless he rend the Hemisphere Or that the Gods are now grown old Or thick of hearing by catcht cold 'T is Prodigie all o're yet true Listen you 'l hear what he can do He can outgape bang'd unbrac'd Drums With sticks two fingers eight two Thums Thunder outnoise with 's deep-mouth'd Bass Outbray the Phlegmatick dull Ass With a strange noise laying Hens outcackle Gossips Out-chat in Prittle-prattle Whose Musick if compar'd to thee Is pretty taking Harmonie Outgrunt the Babe of Farrowing Sow Outlow little Irish Runt or Cow Outbellow too her Consort-Bull Out-scold the strong-lung'd Drab and Trull Outbay in full cry Packs of Dogs Outcroak the ugly Toads and Frogs Th' Inhabitants of Fens and Bogs Outhollow Huntsmen in full speed Outhum the Bittern in a Reed Outroar the Waves dashing 'gainst Rock Outscreak the gay-plum'd Bird Peacock Outbawl Ships Crew in Storms at Sea Without a Peripneumonie Outhowl Hell's Hound with triple sconce Outshout Routs yelping all at once Outsqwaul by help of potent Tipple The froward Infant wean'd from Nipple The Lion and great Gun outrore Through his large wide-mouth'd Cannon-bore Outscream a Holy Zealous Sister When with lips sanctifi'd has kist her And tap'd and spigoted her Bung Hole neighbour to Confines of Dung Outmew grim Malkin can this Fop Making Amours on the house top Outsqueak unoyl'd door ungreas'd Cart Wheel in Gend Balads bearing part Outsound the Cataracts of Nile Deafning all round they say a Mile Outyawn a wide Hiatus too With ease which you or I can't do Nay this Clerks bawling harsh-nos'd Tones Are far more dismal than the Grones Of Men dying o' th' Foul Disease Whose aking Bones disturb all ease The Racking Gout the Stone or Colick But this in him 's a holy Frolick Shou'd a Turk hear 't by 's Fathers Beard He 'd swear 't was the worst voice e're heard By Alla and by Mahomet He 'd not that hideous noise forget Papists by th' Mass the wandring Jew Pawns Tetragrammaton 't is true And with true Christians all conclude The Gentry Commons Multitude 'T is but an hypocritick Tone Mixt with a feigned Sigh and Grone To gain their Parties great Applause And to maintain the Good old Cause Contrary to establisht Laws And wonder too how it can be They don't who hear him constantly Lose th' otocoustick Faculty Thus you have all the various Notes Warbled through Puritanick Throats As deep-mouth'd Bass soft Mean shrill Treble And all not worth small stone call'd Peble 'T is the Dissenters new Sol Fa And every Note above Ela Or if you please 't is nothing but The Presbyterians Gamut Now Railing Rabshakeh surcease Leave off your Flouts for shame Peace Peace His Auditors it plainly appears Have all of them Sanctified ears I 've done with his Stentorian voice And glad I am out of the noise But now I 'le launch into the Seas Of his rare other Qualities His rich Endowments and his Arts His Corporal and mental parts He has Fingers Ten and eke Ten Toes A French Twang in an
English Nose If not Adonibezeckt by Just Judgment for his villany Spits forth in Pulpit Superstition Bauls out Rebellion and Sedition Belches more Flames and Fire too Than Mongibel and Strombolo A Kirk-Buffoon can wink and pray And blindfold teach to Bliss the way Heaven's Newsmonger can tell a Tale And bang't about with his Tong-flaile Strengthned by Female-Candles and Fortified with the fat o' th' Land Has good Church-vailes but yet no sense By white-apron'd Benevolence Can squeeze his Eyes close shrivle up Nose Th'Organ through which he sings in Prose Whose Canting makes some laugh some weep And some oft-times fall fast asleep His Preachments stuft with Hums and Haws And patcht up with the Good old Cause That Babe of Grace Brat of their Loins Got 'twixt Scotch and Geneva Groins With Lord in Prayer O Lord thou knowst We know nought Lord Great Lord of Hosts Thus breaking off leaves sense and Wit To be found out by th'Hearers yet Let the Prophane say what they will He makes a Moving-Sermon still And before th' end is left i' th' lurch And People all drop out o' th' Church But some awd Wives 'bout six or seven Just by the Pulpit bound for Heaven But God know's when who all things know's No body else as I suppose If they have none but such Guides blind As these to Cultivate the Mind Crying through zeal Ah Pretious Man How plain when as he first began He made the Text and Context too Both to weak me and eke poor you What work he made on 't Oh such work As might convert a Jew or Turk How he did tumble o'r the Text Tho i' th' Original perplext And mine'd it small to th' end it might Digest with th' weakest Appetite What Comforts nay what Truths Soul-Saving Flow from him worth hearing and having It pierc'd my heart and made me Grone As well as Goody Such-a-one But Aged Dames go to go to You over-do in truth you do For 't has been said b'unlucky spittle You cou'd not hear one word or tittle For you were all born or deaf grown By Sickness not fit to be known He when the Spirit moves can Pray Extrumpore three hours per day And if in all that time of Sense One word drops from him I from thence Forth to hear him will b'always bound Tho I 'd first be set quick i' th' ground He can en cuerpo Prate when Zeal Hath warm'd him throughly and then reeâ— Cross Diameter o' th' Pulpit role From th' Arctic to th' Antarctic Pole Of his Suggestum teach you th' way Unto Terra Incognita He 's th' walking Monument or Gin Of Actual and Original Sin Who with starcht Gravity and Grace Moves to a holy Cinque-a-pace Nay he can dance Geneva-Jigs To Bagpipes that outsqueak stuck Pigs Yet thinks 't is not when he does do 't The Sensuality o' th' foot If you judge so you 're much i' th' dark 'T is a Zealous Frisk before the Ark Lavalto Capriol or Kick No Mimies or Jack-Puddings Trick He 's no such Person Sir I ll vouch ye But a Religious Mammamouchie Bishop in Surplice worse him scares Than Spirits in sheets or Garden-Bears Hates Choristers with sweet Sol Fa His Tones being ten Notes 'bove Ela But twangs through th' Nose like unset Chimes Hopkins and Sternholds groveling Rhymes Th' Organ well-tun'd brings him to Fits And stare like one quite out of 's Wits Or in plain language Sir a sig For gawdy words glares like dead Pig His upper-Garment's Cap Calot Tipt with white like black Jack or Pot And lin'd with loggerheaded Sot Serjeant Divine o' th' Cois that can Outspawl outspit Asthmatic Man The outer's a black Cloak to hide Knavery Ells two long three wide Which swathes the Corps of Bigot Lad Like Mangie Scot lapt up in Plad Cloak whose base Tenant ne'r was Loyal Nor can endure Duke that 's Royal Cloak that dost all Rebellion shrowd In one that 's Spiritually Proud Cloak that doth walking Treason wrap And sometimes too a Swinging Clap Cloak whose Jack-Pudding-Tricks we know Makes Monarchie a Puppet-Show Cloak who dost hate each Ruling Thing And woud'st set up a Grand-Dogue King Cloak where all Vices crowded dwell Cloak only for the Devil of Hell Therefore I leave thee sans farewell Round Railing Throat he ever wore A Band like that 'bout neck of Moor Which by that Crew is call'd Round-Robin With Bandstrings small dangling like Bobin Wherewith he play 's all 's Pratling while Enuf to make your Worship smile Nay more wer 't not before the Altar Enuf to make Towzer break Halter The ornaments round top of Fist Which some more properly term Wrist Are Cuffs so call'd in number twain Just and no more without Lace Plain Of Sleasy Holland so deep and wide They 'd serve for Muckender hung by 's side To wipe him in 's hot fit no harm I hope and reach to keep him warm Fro' th' Carpus to the middle arm I think I need not make more stir About this Linsey-Wolsey Sir You 'l know him by this Character I think I promis'd it before And therefore I will do 't no more But now I 'm come unto the A Of this untoward Balad-Farse He shall not dye the death of Dog Sans Epitaph or Epilogue Call 't which you please I don't much matter I 'll say as Taffy does Have at her He is a Foe to Prophane people And goes to Houses yclep'd Steeple A Skittish Jade but he 'l not tire Tho as Stew Wh he swinks for hire A Pulpit-Boutefeu Church-Cracker A Fervid painful Cushion-Thwacker The Kirks Fisgig Wildfire or so The States new Cacafuego And so resolve to let him go Now that I have ranged thus far With General Particular Pardon me cause'ts a foolish Trick As well as Roman Catholick I 'l leave them quiet and be gon Resolving to assault poor Don. The first that treads this Burlesque Stage Is the State-Mimick of our Age A pretty Pigmy lank with care Like Jugler looks in Bartle-Fair Or th' Chitty-fac'd poor thing appears When Hors'd like Creature before Bears He winks to understand the Sense Of what is given in Evidence With ominously Neck awry Wou'd you know faith I know not why On whom kind Nature did engrave The true proverbial mark of Kn Who winks with one eye looks with t'other 'S not to be trusted though nown Brother All Creatures hear with Ears you lye For little Tony hears with 's eye No Treason's this nor Blasphemy A winking pinking dapper Don Sire of th' Association A Brat o' th' little Lord's cold brains Methinks th' Abhorrers of such strains At length shou'd shame this Pygmie-Elf To an Abhorrence of himself The Issue both of 's Head and Tail If weakness can beget a Male Or be so weapon'd with a Tool To make a Child I shou'd say Fool Compare and then let me prevale With you to hear me out my Tale. The Son 's Purse-proud and Fortune-fat Now Fortune favours you kno what The
Sire 's a Crafty Chit a Grave In plain unwelted Saxon Kn So that 't wou'd strangely puzzle all The Rabble Astrological To Schematize to thee or me The Son's Wit or Sire's Honesty Yet the last some accursed Fate Doth ominously praedestinate Or Haggard Witch some Daemon Vile Or the Ill Genius of this Isle Preserves this Bagatel to be The Tap'd Plague of these Kingdoms three Yet he cou'd never ha' surviv'd So long but that he is Cat-liv'd His Soul 's a Blank pardon th' Expression Apt to receive any Impression Of Maxims fetcht from Rome or Hell By Loyola or Machiavel A Charles to day to morrow Nol Nay let them Queen Quean Orange-Mol All 's one to him let the World prate-on As long as he can save his Bacon By help of Bow-dy'd Conscience dapple With all these Humours he can grapple Nay with as many more as these O thou Brave Pygmie-Hercules The spawn of him of whom 't was sed By Witty Peg of France since dead More Heretics he did create In Church than Florentine in State He has run through the Torrid Zone Of Forty eight and Forty one But here I think I err in time Onely to gratifie my Rhyme Hang 't 't is but a Poetic Trick And often us'd in Rhetoric Which we dare say tho done perforce 'T is but the Cart before the Horse And so is not a pin the worse Has seen a Cobler Lordifid ' Hath long Conversed with Count Pride And as it hath bin lately said By States-man Sage who is since dead If it seems good to powerful Fate A Dray-horse may be a Horse of State And some of them who then did Rule Had Reason less than Horse or Mule Nay he hath had the lucky fate To sit with the Council of State And Committee of Safety too Which was no easie Task to do The Jointed-Baby Bartle-Bauble Adored by the Giddy Rabble The prime Court-Puppet of the City Both wise in their conceit and witty Promoter of each Sect and Schism The Directory Catechism Made by Westminster-Sanhedrim And when with Zeal fill'd to the brim Their Orator or rather Prater Oracle Grand Associater The Hector of the Good old Cause An Enemy to wholsom Laws A Friend if any unto those Who are the Nations Public Foes None sitter is to Rule the Rost Than such a one who hath engrost All the Intrigues of Politic In Monarchie and Anarchie Where 's sleepy Conscience all the while Thou Jack o'both sides in this Isle With Conscience great or Conscience small Or Conscience sear'd that 's worst of all Or just like Conscience none at all Nay farther for I needs must tell ye He has a Commonwealth in 's Belly Which by some State-Emetics may Be violently purg'd away Or otherwise he 'll lingring lie Of this State-Tympany and die Unto that end I 'll have a bout And try to fright away his Gout Cowardly Gout for shame retreat Rack not his Petitoes with heat And Pain for he God wot's grown cold And Nature's crumbling him to Mold By thee yet let him die in peace Rather than live thus our disease No matter which way so we 're rid Of this Sham-plotting Whirlegig This little Lord but huge grand Whig The People's Dagon Demi-God The Rabbles Darling small Birch-rod Of Loyalty a Whisling Blade The Page of Honour Lancepresade Of Valour Pickaninny-Peer Who minds his Hits Fight Dog fight Bear Patron of all Dissenters and The Demogorgon of Whigland For which 't is said he must resigne His better share in Caroline Nay he shall be and 't please the Pigs The Anti-Yorkist of the Whigs Or else be Canoniz'd by me The Whigs little St. Anthony This Polish-Kingling since they say Who scarce cou'd creep is run away ' Twou'd vex a Dog to lic and peep And see a skewer'd Pudding creep To spend to 's monumental praise The ragged remnant of his days 'Till 'mongst the Boorish Belgian Rout His stinking snuff of life goes out Where he may be of Devils the worst In all their Cacarchie accurst Provided he proves moderate And with his horns push not the State I like his choice 't is very well He has the shorter cut to Hell For 't is the lowest Moorish Bog That e'er was Tenanted by Frog Now he and they can't but agree Being Rebels ab origine Yet if he c'er return again And cross the Pond which some call Main May he and 's Myrmidonian Whigs Be sows't in 't and made food for Grigs But he hath since cut such a Sham That they ha' made this nocent Lam A Burgh-Master of Amsterdam In Batrachomyomachie Whether it be by Land or Sea If Frogs and Mice once more fall out Then he wou'd be without all doubt Chosen within those Countries Low On one side Generalissimo Now we have done with little Man Zachaeus a right Publican Exit and enter on the Stage The Mighty Anak of this Age Who first appears in fur-fac'd-Gown Great Officer of London-Town Or as some please to term it City But in good sooth the more 's the Pity Of May-pole-Stature high Renown Who is so base and sordid grown That some by old Tradition dare And others positively swear He 'd craving Colon satisfie With a Six-penny-Mutton-pie Yet if he was resolv'd to Feast And to Regale that Canine Guest Th' Ordinary Club at height must be Inflam'd with sum of pence thrice three But here 's the Devil on 't good Sir What will become o' th' Caterer Poor Rogue he 'll be harrast with care For to Adjust this Bill of Fare So that this great Jolt-head of Veal Will die indebted many a Meal To his poor Carcas that will crave Bread for the Lord's sake in the Grave It might ha' prov'd a Gorgeous Prey Unto those Animalcula Who Banquet in all Tombs on dust But in his Monument Fast they must The Phrygian Fabler all agree Taught Birds and Beasts their A B C Might teach those Insects for to wish Being depriv'd of such a Dish That Mighty Jove wou'd let him be The pendent Fruit of Fatal Tree Devour'd in answer to their prayer By blood-beakt-Canibals o' th' Air. He 's fraught with nought but Plot and Sham Disgrace hoth of his Sire and Dam The Nation 's Shame and the Cities Stain Which can't be rinsed out by the Main Scorn of his Sex Nature's By-Blow The Chief of Cuckolds all a row Who has the cursed thirst of Gold As naturally as he of old Nay and withal for all your Jeers His Punishment too Asses Ears Therefore some other thing will be Invented by the Deity To make this wretched Miser feel Nemesis angry Lash of Steel The day after Simon and Jude Saint I omit to please the Rude Ill-manner'd Whigs whom Jack doth teach To use the Irreverence of their Breech I 'll say no more t' avoid Commotion I' th' highest Act of their Devotion Were he on foot he wou'd appear The Gawdiest Pageant that is there But mounted on his Palfrey Stout The onely Centaur