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EBBA 32102

Huntington Library - Bridgewater
Ballad XSLT Template
Dr WILDs Humble Thanks
For His MAJESTIES Gracious DECLARATION for
Liberty of Conscience, March 15. 1672.

NO, not one word, can I of this Great Deed,
In Merlin, or Old Mother Shipton read!
Old Tyburn take those Tychobrahe Imps,
As Silger, who would be accounted Pimps
To the Amorous Planets; they the Minute know,
When Jove did Cuckold old Amphitryo,
Ken Mars, and made Venus wink and glances,
Their close Conjunctions, and mid-night Dances.
When costive Saturn goes to stool, and vile
Thief Mercury doth pick his Fob the while:
When Lady Luna leaks, and makes her man
Throwt out of Window into th Ocean.
More subtle than the Excise-men here below,
Whats spent in every Sign in Heaven they know;
Cunning Intelligencers, they will not miss
To tell us next year, the success of this;
They correspond with Dutch and English Star,
As one once did with CHARLES and Oliver.
The Bankers also might have, had they gone,
What Planet governd the Exchequer, known.
Old Lilly, though he did not love to make
Any words ont, saw the English take,
Five of the Smyrna Fleet, and if the Sign
Had been Aquarius, then theyd made them Nine.
When Sagitarius took his aim to shoot
At Bishop Cosin, he spyed him no doubt;
And with such force the winged Arrow flew,
Instead of one Church Stagg he killed two;
Glocester and Durham when he espyd,
Let Lean and Fat go together he cryd.
Well Wille Lilly, thou knewst all this as well
As I, and yet wouldst not their Lordships tell.
I know thy Plea too, and must it allow,
PRELATES should know as much of Heaven as thou:
But now Friend William, since its done and past,
Pray thee, give us Phanaticks but one Cast,
What thou foresawst of March the Fifteenth Last;
When swift and sudden as the Angels flye,
Th Declaration for Conscience-Liberty;
When things of Heaven burst from the Royal Breast,
More fragrant than the Spices of the East.
I know in next years Almanack thoult write,
Thou sawst the King and Council over-night,
Before that morn, all sit in Heaven as plain
To be discernd, as if twere Charless Waine,
Great B, great L, and two great AAs were chief
Under Great CHARLES to give poor Fans relief:
Thou sawest Lord Arlington ordain the man
To be the first Lay-Metropolitan.
Thou sawst him give induction to a Spittle,
And constitute our Brother TOM-DOE-LITTLE.
In the Bears Paw, and the Bulls right Eye,
Some Detriment to Priests thou didst espye;
And though by Sol in Libra thou didst know
Which way the Scale of Policy would go;
Yet Mercury in Aries did decree,
That Wool and Lamb should still Conformists be.
But hark-you Will, Steer-poching is not fair;
Had you amongst the Steers found this March-Hare,
Bred of that lusty Puss the Good Old Cause,
Religion rescued from Informing Laws;
You should have yelpt aloud, hangings the end,
By Huntsmens Rule, of Hounds that will not spend.
Be gone thou and thy canting-Tribe, be gone;
Go tell thy destiny to followers none:
Kings Hearts and Councils are too deep for thee,
And for thy Stars and Doemons scrutinie.
King CHARLES Return was much above thy skill
To fumble out, as twas against thy will.
From him who can the Hearts of Kings inspire,
Not from the Planets, came that Sacred Fire
Of Soveraign Love, which broke into a Flame;
From God and from his King alone it came.

To the KING.

SO great, so universal, and so free!
This was too much great CHARLES, except for Thee,
For any King to give a Subject hope:
To do thus like Thee, would undo the Pope.
Yea, tho his Vassals should their wealth combine,
To buy Indulgence half so large as thine;
No, if they should not only kiss his Toe,
But Clements Podex, hed not let them goe.
Whilst Thou tos shame, Thy immortal glory,
Hast freed All-Souls from real Purgatory;
And given All-Saints in Heavn new Joys, to see
Their friends in England keep a Jubilee.
Suspect them not, Great Sir, nor think the worse;
For sudden joys, like grief, confound at first.
The splendor of your favour was so bright,
That yet it dazles and orewhelms our sight;
Drunk with her cups, my Muse did nothing mind;
And until now, her feet she could not find.
Greediness makes profaness i th first place;
Hungry men fill their bellies, then say grace.
We woud make Bonfires, but that we do fear
The name of Incendary we may hear.
We woud have Musick too, but twill not doo,
For all the Fidlers are Conformists too.
Nor can we ring, the angry Churchman swears,
(By the Kings leave) the Bells and Ropes are theirs.
And let em take em, for our tongues shall sing
Your Honour louder than their Clappers ring.
Nay, if they will not at this Grace repine,
Wel dress the Vineyard, they shall drink the Wine.
Their Church shall be the Mother, ours the Nurse.
Peter shall preach, Judas shall bear the purse.
No Bishops, Parsons, Vicars, Curates, we,
But only Ministers desire to be.
Wel preach in Sackcloth, they shall read in Silk.
Wel feed the Flock, and let them take the Milk.
Let but the Black-birds sing in bushes cold,
And may the Jack-dawes still the Steeples hold.
Wel be the Feet, the Back, and Hands, and they
Shall be the Belly, and devour the Prey,
The Tythe-pigg shall be theirs, wel turn the spit,
Wel bear the Cross, they only sign with it.
But if the Patriarchs shall envy show
To see their younger-Brother Joseph go
In Coat of divers colours, and shall fall
To rend it, cause its not Canonical:
Then may they find him turn a Dreamer too,
And live themselves to see his Dream come true.
May rather they and we together joyn
In all what each can; But they have the Coyn:
With Prayers and Tears such service much avail:
With Tears to swell your Seas, with Prayers your Sails;
And with Men too, from both our parties; such
Im sure we have, can cheat, or beat, the Dutch.
A Thousand Quakers, Sir, our side can spare;
Nay, two or three, for they great Breeders are.
The Church can match us too with Jovial Sirs,
Informers, Singing-men and Paraters.
Let the King try, set these upon the Decks
Together, they will Dutch or Devil vex.
Their Breath will mischief further than a Gun.
And if you lose them, youl not be undone.
Pardon dread Sir, nay pardon this coarse Paper,
Your License twas made this poor Poet caper.


ITER BOREAL
LONDON, Printed in the Year, 1672.

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