Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n
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A53525
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The poet's complaint of his muse, or, A satyr against libells a poem / by Thomas Otway.
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Otway, Thomas, 1652-1685.
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1680
(1680)
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Wing O556; ESTC R21975
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11,145
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28
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his Peace and Laws So will be ever and was call'd bless us THE GOOD OLD CAUSE 10. A Time there was a sad one too When all things wore the face of Woe When many Horrors rag'd in this our Land And a destroying Angel was sent down To scourge the Pride of this Rebellious Town He came and o're all Britain stretcht his conqu'ring hand Till in th'untrodden Streets unwholsom Grass Grew of great stalk its Colour gross And melancholick pois'nous green Like those course sickly Weeds on an old Dunghill seen Where some Murrain-murther'd Hog Poison'd Cat or strangled Dog In rottenness had long unburied laid And the cold Soil productive made Birds of ill Omen hover'd in the Air And by their Cries bade us for Graves prepare And as our Destiny they seem'd t' unfold Dropt dead of the same fate they had foretold That dire Commission ended down there came Another Angel with a Sword of Flame Desolation soon he made And our new Sodom low in Ashes laid Distractions and Distrusts then did amongst us rise When in her pious old Disguise This Witch with all her Mischief-making Train Began to shew her self again The Sons of old Rebellion strait she summon'd all Strait They were ready at her call Once more th' old Bait before their eyes she cast That and her Love they long'd to tast And to her Lust she drew them all at last So Reuben we may read of heretofore Was led astray and had pollution with his Father's Whore 11. The better to conceal her lewd intent In safety from observing eyes Th' old Strumpet did her self disguise In comely Weeds and to the City went Affected Truth much Modesty and Grace And like a worn-out-Suburb-Trull past there for a new Face Thither all her Lovers flockt And there for her support she found A Wight of whom Fame's Trumpet much does sound With all Ingredients for his bus'ness stockt Not unlike him whose Story has a place In th'Annals of Sir Hudibras Of all her bus'ness He took care And every Knave or Fool that to her did repair Had by him admittance there By his contrivance to her did resort All who had been disgusted at the Court Those whose Ambition had been crost Or by ill manners had Preferments lost Were those on whom she practis'd most her Charms Lay nearest to her Heart and oft'nest in her Arms. Int'rest in every Faction every Sect she sought And to her Lure flatt'ring their hopes she brought All those who use Religion for a Fashion All such as practise Forms and take great pains To make their Godliness their Gains And thrive by the Distractions of a Nation She by her Art ensnar'd and fetter'd in her Chains Through her the Atheist hop'd to purchase Toleration The Rebell Pow'r the beggar'd Spend thrift Lands Out of the King 's or Bishop's hands Nay to her side at last she drew in all the rude Ungovernable headlong Multitude Promis'd strange Liberties and sure Redress Of never-felt unheard-of Grievances Pamper'd their Follies and indulg'd their Hopes With May-day-Routs November Squibs and burning Past-board Popes 12. With her in common Lust did mingle all the Crew Till at the last she pregnant grew And from her womb in little time brought forth This monstrous most detested Birth Of Children born with Teeth w 'ave heard And some like Comets with a Beard Which seem'd to be fore-runners of dire Change But never hitherto was seen Born from a Wapping Drab or Shoreditch Quean A Form like this so hideous and so strange To help whose Mother in her Pains there came Many a well-known Dame The Bawd Hypocrisy was there And Madam Impudence the fair Dame Scandall with her squinting Eyes That loves to set good Neighbours at debate And raise Commotions in a jealous State Was there and Malice Queen of far-spred Lies With all their Train of Frauds and Forgeries But Midwife Mutiny that busy Drab That 's always talking always loud Was she that first took up the Babe And of the office most was proud Behold its Head of horrid form appears To spight the Pillory it had no Ears When strait the Bawd cry'd out 't was surely kin To the blest Family of Pryn. But Scandall offer'd to depose her word Or oath the Father was a Lord. The Nose was ugly long and big Broad and snowty like a Pig Which shew'd he would in Dunghills love to dig Love to cast stinking Satyrs up in ill-pil'd Rymes And live by the Corruptions of unhappy Times 13. They promis'd all turns to take him And a hopefull Youth to make him To nurse he strait was sent To a Sister-witch though of another sort One who profest no good nor any meant All day she practis'd Charms by night she hardly slept Yet in the outcasts of a Northern factious Town A little smoaky Mansion of her own Where her Familiars to her did resort A Cell she kept Hell she ador'd and Satan was her God And many an ugly loathsom Toad Crawl'd round her walls and croak'd Under her Roof all dismall black and smoak'd Harbour'd Beetles and unwholsom Bats Sprawling nests of little Cats All which were Imps she cherisht with her blood To make her Spells succeed and good Still at her rivell'd Breasts they hung when e're mankind she curst And with these Foster-brethren was our Monster nurst In little Time the Hell-bred Brat Grew plump and fat Without his Leading-strings could walk And as the Sorceress taught him talk At sev'n years old he went to School Where first he grew a foe to Rule Never would he learn as taught But still new Ways affected and new Methods sought Not that he wanted parts T' improve in Letters and proceed to Arts But as negligent as sly Of all Perverseness brutishly was full By Nature idle lov'd to shift and lie And was obstinately dull Till spight of Nature through great pains the Sot And th' Influence of th' ill Genius of our Land At last in part began to understand Some insight in the Latin Tongue he got Could smatter pretty well and write too a plain hand For which his Guardians all thought fit In Compliment to his most hopefull Wit He should be sent to learn the Laws And out of the good old to raise a damn'd new Cause 14. In which the better to improve his Mind As by nature he was bent To search in hidden paths and things long buried find A Wretche's Converse much he did frequent One who this World as that did Him disown'd And in an unfrequented Corner where Nothing was pleasant hardly healthfull found He led his hated life Needy and ev'n of Necessaries bare No Servant had he Children Friend or Wife But of a little remnant got by Fraud For all ill turns he lov'd all good detested and believ'd no God Thrice in a week he chang'd a hoarded Groat With which of Beggars Scraps he bought Then from a neighb'ring Fountain Water got Not to be clean but slake his Thirst. He never blest himself and
to get and difficult to hold Thus by the Arts of this most sly Deluder was I caught To her bewitching Bondage brought Eternall Constancy we swore A thousand times our Vows were doubled o're And as we did in our Entrancements lie I thought no Pleasure e're was wrought so high No Pair so happy as my Muse and I. 6. Ne'r was young Lover half so fond When first his Pusillage he lost Or could of half my Pleasure boast We never met but we enjoy'd Still transported never cloy'd Chambers Closets Fields and Groves Bore witness of our daily Loves And on the bark of every Tree You might the Marks of our Endearments see Distichs Posies and the pointed Bits Of Satyr written when a Poet meets His Muse in Catterwauling fits You might on every Rinde behold and swear I and my Clio had been at it there Nay by my Muse too I was blest With Off-springs of the choicest kinds Such as have pleas'd the noblest minds And been approv'd by Judgements of the best But in this most transporting height Whence I lookt down and laught at Fate All of a sudden I was alter'd grown I round me lookt and found my self alone My faithless Muse my faithless Muse was gone I try'd if I a Verse could frame Oft I in vain invok'd my Clio's name The more I strove the more I fail'd I chaf'd I bit my Pen curst my dull Scull and rail'd Resolv'd to force m'untoward Thought and at the last prevail'd A Line came forth but such a one No trav'ling Matron in her Child-birth pains Full of the joyfull Hopes to bear a Son Was more astonisht at th' unlookt-for shape Of some deform'd Baboon or Ape Then I was at the hideous Issue of my Brains I tore my Paper stabb'd my Pen And swore I 'd never write agen Resolv'd to be a doating Fool no more But when my reck'ning I began to make I found too long I 'd slept and was too late awake I found m'ungratefull Muse for whose false sake I did my self undo Had robb'd me of my dearest Store My precious Time my Friends and Reputation too And left me helpless friendless very proud and poor 7. Reason which in base Bonds my Folly had enthrall'd I strait to Council call'd Like some old faithfull Friend whom long ago I had casheer'd to please my flatt'ring Fair. To me with readiness he did repair Exprest much tender chearfulness to find Experience had restor'd him to my Mind And loyally did to me show How much himself he did abuse Who credited a flattering false destructive treacherous Muse. I askt the causes why He said 'T was never known a Muse e're staid When Fortune fled for Fortune is a Bawd To all the Nine that on Parnassus dwell Where those so fam'd delightfull Fountains swell Of Poetry which there does ever flow And where Wit 's lusty shining God Keeps his choice Seraglio So whilst our Fortune smiles our Thoughts aspire Pleasure and Fame 's our bus'ness and desire Then too if we find A promptness in the Mind The Muse is always ready always kind But if th' old Harlot Fortune once denies Her favour all our Pleasure and rich Fancy dies And then th'yong slippery Jilt the Muse too from us flies 8. To the whole Tale I gave Attention due And as right search into my self I made I found all he had said Was very honest very true Oh how I hugg'd my welcom Friend And much my Muse I could not discommend For I ne'r liv'd in Fortune's grace She always turn'd her Back and fled from me apace And never once vouchsaf'd to let me see her Face Then to confirm me more He drew the veil of Dotage from my eyes See here my Son said he the valu'd Prize Thy fulsome Muse behold be happy and be wise I lookt and saw the rampant tawdry Quean With a more horrid Train Then ever yet to Satyr lent a Tale Or haunted Chloris in the Mall The first was he who stunk of that rank Verse In which he wrote his Sodom Farce A Wretch whom old Diseases did so bite That he writ Bawdry sure in spight To ruin and disgrace it quite Philosophers of old did so express Their Art and shew'd it in their Nastiness Next him appear'd that blundring Sot Who a late Session of the Poets wrote Nature has markt him for a heavy Fool By 's flat broad Face you 'l know the Owl The other Birds have hooted him from light Much buffeting has made him love the Night And onely in the dark he strays Still Wretch enough to live with worse Fools spends his days And for old Shoes and Scraps repeats dull Plays Then next there follow'd to make up the Throng Lord Lampoon and Monsieur Song Who sought her love and promis'd for 't To make her famous at the Court The City Poet too was there In a black Sattin Cap and his own Hair And begg'd that he might have the Honour To beget a Pageant on her For the City's next Lord Mayor Her Favours she to none deny'd They took her all by turns aside Till at the last up in the rear there came The Poets Scandall and the Muses Shame A Beast of Monstrous guise and LIBELL was his name But let me pause for 't will ask time to tell How he was born how bred and where and where he now does dwell 9. He paus'd and thus renew'd his Tale. Down in an obscure Vale ' Midst Fogs and Fens whence Mists and Vapours rise Where never Sun was seen by eyes Under a desart Wood Which no man own'd but all wild Beasts were bred And kept their horrid Dens by prey far forrag'd fed An ill-pil'd Cottage stood Built of mens Bones slaughter'd in Civill War By Magick Art brought thither from a far There liv'd a widow'd Witch That us'd to mumble Curses eve and morn Like one whom Wants and Care had worn Meagre her Looks and sunk her Eyes Yet Mischiefs study'd Discords did devise Sh' appeared humble but it was her Pride Slow in her Speech in semblance sanctifi'd Still when she spoke she meant another way And when she curst she seem'd to pray Her hellish Charms had all a holy dress And bore the name of Godliness All her Familiars seem'd the Sons of Peace Honest habits they all wore In outward show most lamb-like and divine But inward of all Vices they had store Greedy as Wolves and sensuall too as Swine Like Her the Sacred Scriptures They had all by heart Most easily could quote and turn to any part Backward repeat it all as Witches Prayers do And for their turn interpret backward too Idolatry with Her was held impure Because besides Her self no Idol she 'd endure Though not to paint sh 'ad arts to change the Face And alter it in Heav'nly fashion Lewd Whining she desin'd a mark of Grace And making Ugly faces was Mortification Her late dead Pander was of well-known fame Old Preshyter Rebellion was his name She a sworn Foe to KING