Selected quad for the lemma: law_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A59448
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Satyr to his muse by the author of Absalom & Achitophel.
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Author of Absalom & Achitophel.; Somers, John Somers, Baron, 1651-1716.; Shadwell, Thomas, 1642?-1692.
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1682
(1682)
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Wing S2870; ESTC R7499
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4,716
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20
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SATYR TO HIS MUSE By the Author of ABSALOM ACHITOPHEL Quo liceat libris non licet ire mihi Turpiter huc illuc Ingeniosus eat LONDON Printed for D. Green 1682. SATYR TO HIS MUSE c. HEar me dull Prostitute worse than my Wife Like her the shame and clog of my dull Life Whose first Essay was in a Tyrants praise Bawdy in Prologues Blasphemous in Plays So lewd thou mad'st me for the Church unfit And I had sterv'd but for a lucky hit When the weak Ministers implor'd my Wit Stols't me from Business where I might have made A Solid fortune to thy Barren Trade My Father wisely bad me be a Clerk Thou wisperd'st Boy be thou a Tearing Spark I from that Fatal hour new hopes Pursu'd Set up for Wit and Aukwardly was Lewd Drunk'gainst my Stomack 'gainst my Conscience Swore Against my Will I Marry d a rank W After two Children and a Third Miscarriage By Brawny Brothers hector'd into Marriage Affected Rapes and Lusts I 'd never known As if that all Gomorrah was my own Nor Love nor Wine cou'd ever see me Gay To writing bred I knew not what to Say With Scolding Wife and Starving Chits Beset When I want Mony and no Friend will Treat Cheard with one Cup of thy Castalian Spring I can Abuse the Church my Friend and King Tell him he 's jilted foold led by the Nose Then like Almanzor turn upon his Foes Libel his Mistresses and Statesemen too Then o're his Whoring life old David Throw By whom Vriah was so basely Slain But our good Monarch spares his Castle And Oates his Plots and Treasons swears in vain Defame the Men that gave me Meat and Clothes And then Deny it with a thousand Oathes Adriel to Please call Rochester a Fool Sidley a Capuchin and sharp Dorset Dull I like Borosky by the false Count hir'd On Scroop my Blunderbuss of Satyr fir'd In cool Blood call'd him Fool Knave Coward too What more to Hall or Cranborn cou'd I do Who long enjoy'd e're I began to Woe Thou l't say perhaps what is all this to thee If I a Coward Cuckold Villain be Oh but thou shouldst thy sacred aid Refuse When I Invoke it to so base an use Blunt of my Murdring Pen the killing Point And Honestly refuse the Odious Hint But thou ne're com'st so gladly to my call As when on merit unprovok't I fall Is there a Patriot to be defam'd Lady abused or Virtuous Action blam'd Thou with Officious hast rankst ev'ry word And giv'st thy Raging 〈◊〉 a sharp Sword Devils to Witches are not more at Hand Than thou when I an Helliâ—â— task Command To thee ungratful what has Monmoth don That Parson like thou cal'st him Absalon And by that Name dost Foolishly infer He from old Davids Head the Crown woud Tear Was he Ambitious he had kept his Place Stood high in Davids aâ— the Peoples Grace And warlike chief of the Praetorian Bands To the whole Nations Hearts had joynd their Hands Of Public good dissembled his deep Care With the false Iebusite a while kept Fair Then in some great decisive glorious Day Make those vile Cormorants disgorge their Prey Our Church Riligion Freedom and our Laws Those Darling-Morsels of their longing Jaws Wife Stanly thus till Bosworths fatal Day Did seeming Faith to Cruel Richard Pay But left the Tyrant in the heat of fight And brought success to Harry's drooping right Monmoth's brave mind cou'd no disguise endure Still Noble ways preferring to secure While David lavishes his Peoples love He buys the Purchase with design t' improve And like some prudent Kinsman reconvey What the wild Heir hath vainly thrown away Lest the Great Ancient Family decay Good honest David why wou'dst thou have made Of such a Son and Parliaments afraid Which whilst he Sways what Faction dares dispute Or who can say He is not Absolute Thro' them he may command the Peoples Purse And spend their Wealth and Blood without a Curse By Laws they wou'd a Popish Heir Exclude Not by Rude Force or a Tumultuous Croud Against Navarre the Factious Princes Leagu'd And the right Heir the Papal World Entrigu'd When a long War had plac'd him on the Throne The State Religion he was forc'd to own The harmless People took it in good Part The Zealous Church yet Stab'd him to the Heart Taught by all Story there was no defence But they must change their Faith or change their Prince Who wou'd not here the like extreams Prevent And settle things by aid of Parliament Thou only Court presiding at the Helm Which mak'st all others useful to the Realm Inferiour Judges Trembling to decree What may hereafter be Condemn'd by thee The Chancellors and ill Staesmens only Dread For it is thou alone can reach their Head By theefell Wolsey and false Clarend Abandon'd by their Kings but here undon Both overwhelm'd for daring to Remove Or Stem the Torrent of their Masters Love The one fair Bullen to his Prince deny'd The other made Lov'd Stuart Richmond's Bride And with the Royal Blood for ever mingled Hide To their own Ruine can men all Agree And none the precipice but Courtiers See Courtiers who Importune the Sovereign To Pardon Robbers Cut-throats for their gain Who live on Ideots Lunaticks forfeits Fines And cannot Thrive but when the Nation Pines Unhappy we if rul'd by such whose Rent Consists in Breaches of the Government Some few there are with great Estates indeed Yet Labour with Imaginary need Strange sort of Fools who for one Pension more Inslave themselves and all they had before Others with titles and new Earldoms Caught Wou'd give up all for which the Barons Fought They 're equally unfit for Government Who nothing have or nothing will Content Who bad thee in Achitophel's vile Name Old David's Errors and his Faults Proclame Or say Plots True or False are needful things To set up Common VVealths and pull down Kings That David whom thou dost with reverence name Charm'd-into ease grows careless of his Fame And brib'd with Petty sums of Forreign Gold Is grown in Bathshebas embraces Old That like the Prince of Angels from his Height He now comes downward with diminish'd Light If David once ill Language lay to Heart Who shall the Poet from the Traytor part The peoples voice of old the voice of God Thou call'st the voice of an unruly Crowd Crowds are the Fools That Flock to thine and Durfeys Loyal Plays And give Implicite Claps on your Third Days About the Stage of Mountebanck they VVait And Whoop at Cudgels or a broken Pate But have like thee no Interest in the State Rule as thou wilt the Realm of Mexico And under Iron Yokes make Indians Bow But with old England what hast thou to Do VVho from our Kings an useful Power wou'd take Nor have they Power but for the Peoples Sake Disarm themselves and Anarchy Bespeak King's may do good at their full Stretch of VVill And need not for a strain or Law