« PreviousContinue »
In all affairs of church or state
At the cabal and council-table.
Let Charles's policy no man flout,
Charles, like a Sov'reign, wife and holy, Makes young men judges of the bench, And bishops, those that love a wench.
Preferving thofe that cut off's head;
He lets them ftarve for want of bread.
Blood, that wears treafon in his face,
For ftealing Ormand and the crown!
A Parliament of knaves and fots
(Members by name you must not mention) He keeps in pay, and buys their votes, Here with a place, there with a penfion :
When to give money he can't cologue 'em,
But they long fince, by too much giving,
Better than e'er was fequeftration.
Fame is not grounded on fuccefs,
Tho' victories were Cæfar's glory; Loft battles make not Pompey lefs,
But left him filed great in ftory. Malicious fate does oft devife
To beat the brave, and fool the wife.
Charles in the firft Dutch war flood fair
Had not his Highnefs gone to fleep:
The Bergen business was well laid,
Tho' we paid dear for that defign; Had we not three days parling ftaid,
The Dutch fleet there, Charles, had been
Tho' the falfe Danc agreed to fell 'em,
Had not Charles fweetly chous'd the States,
By their rich Smyrna fleet's furprife:
Mifts, ftorms, fhort victuals, adverfe winds,
'Till he became his foes derifion:
Our Black-Heath hoft, without difpute,
(Rais'd, put on board, why? no man knows) Muft Charles have render'd abfolute
Over his fubjects, or his foes:
Has not the French King made us fools,
But Charles, what could thy policy be,
To make the French of Holland mafters ?
The glorious triumphs of his master;
But wife men think had it been wood, "Twere for a bankrupt King too good.
Thofe that the fabric well confider.
Others their judgment on the horse.
By the lord mayor and his grave coxcombs,
Which was bestow'd on the French jade §: But wonder not it should be fo, firs, When Monarchs rank themselves with Grocers.
Leave off your feafting and fine speeches;
The courtiers then will kifs your breeches. Arm'd, tell the Popish Duke that rules, You're free-born subjects, not French mules.
New upftarts, baftards, pimps, and whores,
The Duchefs of Portsmouth.
Then, Charles, beware thy brother York,
You must again both to Breda;
If, of all Christian blood the guilt
Can never be by God forgiv'n':
The fcourge of Europe, and its curse,
And ftudies how to make them worfe; To fay fuch Kings, Lord, rule by thee, Were most prodigious blafphemy.
Such know no law, but their own luft;
Still spent and fpilt for fubjects good.
Such Kings! curs'd be the pow'r and name,
And then, like flaves, fall down before 'em.