THE
CABAL.
|
NOw the Reformer of the Court and Stage,
|
The common Beadle of this wilful Age,
|
Has with impartial hand whipt Sovraign Sin,
|
In me it is but manners to begin.
|
To correct Vice keen Satyr may prevail,
|
Beyond the Law, when preaching Block-heads sail;
|
For Law and Satyr from one Fountain flow,
|
Were not men vicious there would be no Law:
|
And to cry up this saucy Cant a Rule
|
For lawful Satyr, proves a Wit a Fool;
|
To rail at State, and Monarchs ill intreat,
|
They cry, tis good, because the Subjects great;
|
As Man was only placd in Paradise,
|
To nibble on the Fruit for which he dies.
|
Can Owls and Woodcocks with the Eagle play,
|
And not in danger to become a prey?
|
What ist to lash a King, and Council-Table,
|
When I myself am kickd by the Town-rabble?
|
Nor do I covet, matters for my Rhimes,
|
The greatest Persons; but the greatest Crimes.
|
What ist to me who keeps a Miss, whos Wed,
|
Or who got costly Carwells Maidenhead?
|
Who got the better ont, the Peer or Knight?
|
What Lord was drunk, or Lady sw--- last night?
|
These are the crying Crimes; yet one may do
|
All these, and be an honest Subject too:
|
But to supplant the Government, and cry
|
Allegiance down, and rail at Monarchy;
|
To make Cabals, and by a bold Petition
|
Imbroil the Nation in a new Sedition;
|
To sowse Rebellion, lay up Plots in pickle,
|
And make each Tavern-bar a Conventicle:
|
This would become a Muses excellence,
|
To whip the Club into Allegiance.
|
Who would not be affected as Sir Car,
|
As proud as Mulgrave, dull as de la Ware;
|
As poor as Fish, who lost himself and Prince
|
In one Debauch, and nere was sober since:
|
Rather than that insatiate Beast of prey
|
Worries the Flock to make himself away?
|
Those harmless men find a more safe aboad,
|
Who quit unlawful paths to keep the Road.
|
Tis strange, that Humane wisdom ever shoud
|
Err most, under pretence of doing good:
|
And those wise men that would prescribe us Rules
|
For Government, prove either Knaves or Fools.
|
Witness the Catiline that left Whitehall
|
To be made President of the Cabal:
|
So hes in play, (provided theres no blows)
|
It matters not, the New, or the Old Cause:
|
Has through all points of Government run his rounds,
|
As Gore the Compass did, with Bloud and Hounds:
|
But sooner may you fix the Northern wind,
|
Than hope this Weathercock will be confind.
|
Nature made him a perverse wight, whose Nose
|
Extracts the Essence of his Gouty Toes;
|
Double with Head to Tail he crawls apart:
|
His Bodys th Emblem of his double Heart.
|
In the Court-Sun he wriggles like a Snail;
|
Touch but his Horns, he shrinks into his Shell.
|
Rould like a Hedg-hog up, he shews his Snout,
|
And at the Council-Table makes a rout,
|
Gainst Charles and the Succession domineers;
|
If ought oppose him, he has Forks and Spears:
|
Like a vile Scullar, he abjures the Realm,
|
And sinks the Bark, cause hes not chief at Helm;
|
Then cries, All hands to pump a Leakish Keel,
|
And stops it up with Julians Conger-eel,
|
That when a Ball piercd the Broad-side, evn then
|
Clapt in the hole, and savd Sir Edwards men.
|
The ways to keep him there; if he get through
|
Secure himself, he drowns the Ship and Crew.
|
If to the Ocean back again hes bent,
|
The Rabble, hes in his own Element.
|
There let him Plot, and nere behold the Sun,
|
Till he has through all Seas of Folly run,
|
Under pretext of Wit to be undone.
|
Like the late Duke, who, from a glorious Bully,
|
Retird from Court, to be the Citys Cully;
|
The Citys Minion; now, their scorn and sport,
|
There more despisd, than once adord at Court:
|
Who did his Fall so wittily contrive,
|
In quaint disguise to Riot, Rant, and Sw---;
|
And when h has lost himself in Infamy,
|
Revile the State, and rail at Monarchy;
|
The only means true Glory to pursue,
|
And must be the best way, because tis new.
|
Would any Hewson from the Court retreat
|
To th Stall, under disguise of being Great,
|
And only for to merit Vulgar praise;
|
Rather than not be popular, be base?
|
So once an Emperor, as Stories say,
|
Exchangd his Scepter for a Ferula,
|
And, only proud to prove himself a Fool,
|
Did quit the Throne, to keep a petty School;
|
Yet this was great, while only for the noise
|
Of Sovraign power, he Lords it oer the Boys:
|
Look to it, York; the Nation first shall bleed,
|
Ere the two Kings of Brainford shall succeed.
|
Put him aside, --- as he has done, Ill lay;
|
For should I more upon this Subject say,
|
It were, like his Estate, but thrown away.
|
Shall Perkin scape, whose early offering
|
Invokd the Club, ere he attond the King?
|
What though hes Banishd? yet the Rump may plead
|
Old Magna Charta, though the House be fled.
|
And though you will not make him King; yet he
|
May justly claim a Subjects liberty:
|
But this secures him from our sharpest shot,
|
He was not Oates enough to make a Plot;
|
And Satyr upon him is evn almost,
|
As well as preaching unto Armstrong, lost.
|
Hallif--- for Empire has as great an Itch,
|
As ever Dog had for his salt swoln Bitch;
|
His plumes impt with Ambition, up he flies,
|
And to be something melts evn in the Skies:
|
While th humble wretch at home lies prostrate down
|
To all the barking Beagles of the Town.
|
Young Devon too does in the Club intrude,
|
To be applauded by the Multitude:
|
With zeal to King and Country he abounds;
|
Keep with the Hare, and open with the Hounds:
|
Now of the Court, now of the City free;
|
Mistakes Prerogative for Liberty.
|
How well a Regiment would him become,
|
If the loud Commons did but beat the Drum?
|
My Masters, Vote it, Sirs; a Prohibition:
|
I cant in Conscience brook the new Commissions:
|
To levy Forces, and assign Commanders,
|
Is Treason in the King gainst France or Flanders;
|
But if the House command me, though I starve,
|
Ill quit Wine, Whores, Allegiance, to serve.
|
Gray better far might slight his Soveraigns bounty,
|
He had a Regiment within his County,
|
And power enough besides to back his Cause,
|
Would Rowley venture but a broken Nose.
|
Appease this mouthing Cerberus with a Bone,
|
Honours a dainty Crust to pick upon:
|
While his dear Doxy makes a shift to rub
|
The business out with Monmouth; he the Club:
|
And Rowlstone leads the Van, while they combine,
|
And humbly beg their Soveraign to resign.
|
How Faction, and the quenchless thirst of Rule,
|
Hurries to ruine the Ambitious Fool;
|
Whose busie Soul, puft up with popular sway,
|
Will scarce be ever humbled to obey!
|
The Earl whose Spouse had such a spacious Poop,
|
As swallowd up Ned Brabzon, and his Troop,
|
Who was lately Lord Lieutenant of the Realm,
|
Seemd a good Pilot while he sate at Helm;
|
But when he was deposd, he overthrew
|
His Masters Cause, and sided with the Crew.
|
Now Bedford found he had the worst oth lay,
|
Having more wit or honesty than they,
|
Sneakd off, and left the Club his Game to play;
|
When he had also led em to the Perch,
|
Like Buckingham, he left em in the lurch,
|
At such a juncture of a time, and odly,
|
As Peyton for his Highness left the Godly;
|
Or Escrick Howard, to become a bawler,
|
Withdrew from Court to cry up busie Waller.
|
These are the men that all the Bustle make,
|
And Empire check meerly for Empires sake:
|
They lay their Stamp on the Revolting Darling,
|
And in that Club make Treason pass for Sterling.
|
There are some other Beagles of the Pack,
|
That make a noise the Royal Chase to back:
|
As when a Mastiff opens in the dark,
|
The little Dogs will shake their tails and bark;
|
And though the foremost Hound but start the Hare,
|
The rest will mouth it as they claimd a share,
|
Who follow by the scent, and scarce have sense
|
To judge twixt Treason and Allegience.
|
As Fops meet in the Pit, to damn a Play,
|
Not what they know, but by what others say:
|
Unmeaning --- Fools, who, something to be at,
|
Follow the leading Cucko, like the Bat,
|
And justly merit, as they are despisd,
|
Rather to be rejected than chastisd.
|
So bawling Huntingdon, and Kent the mute,
|
With noise and nonsence fill up the dispute:
|
And while the Club proclaims the lawless strife,
|
One is the Drum, and th other is the Fife.
|
What shall we say of Falconbridge, Bridgwater?
|
Or Cherbury, or dull Denbigh shall I flatter?
|
Who in the Synod drudge like Gally-slaves,
|
And buy the Stock, to make a Gleek of Knaves:
|
Like Beasts, insensible of wrong, they stray,
|
And find a Pound, quitting the Kings High-way.
|
And last, behold in Triumph to their Follies,
|
In Nols own Coach of State, comes Loyal Hollis,
|
Who sold the Father by an old Commission,
|
And purchases the Son with a Petition.
|
Now whether has the better ont; the Club,
|
Or the Five Members did the Royal job?
|
This is the Bakers dozen makes the Rump,
|
And little Wallers Leaven to the lump.
|
When Bedford civilly had made his Leg,
|
The Club engenderd, and brought forth an Egg;
|
Which, like Grand Cairo, for a quick dispatch
|
Hot Monsieur Parliament must sit and hatch.
|
Rowley began to puff, and shake his Noddle,
|
And told em in plain terms their Brood was addle;
|
That to a Rump he never more would give
|
Away his Birthright, or Prerogative:
|
Then, like a God which from his voice did leap,
|
Dissolvd that Chaos and confused heap.
|
Bravely he spake, and wisely he performd,
|
While still the Club against the Council stormd:
|
Who, rather than from Faction would be free,
|
Or touch no more of the forbidden Tree,
|
Would damn themselves, and their Posterity.
|
|
|
|
|
|