THE TIME-SERVERS: Or, A TOUCH OF THE TIMES.
Being a DIALOGUE between
Tory, Towzer, and Tantivee,
At the News of the Dissolution of the
Late Worthy Parliament at Oxford,
The EXPLANATION of the FIGURE.
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REader, here is presented to thy View
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The true Effigies of a Popish Crew:
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An Irish TORY, and a Popish Priest,
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And the Cur TOWZER (to make up the jest)
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All on the speed for Rome; TORY oertakes
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The Clergy, and, his Company thus bespeaks,
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Spur on (Sir Priest) Spur on, The days our own,
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If that a Papist comes tinjoy the Crown:
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The Parliaments dissolvd, the Coast is clear,
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No other Obstacles we need to fear:
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Macmarra cursed be, and Harris too,
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That lets the world know what it should not do,
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In spight of all their tricks let us but joyn,
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Our Forces, all is ours, my life for thine.
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Do you but prate and write, let me alone
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To make the way for a Succession
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By other means, and our Attempts shall be
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Rewarded both with wealth and dignity;
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Act with thy Brains, and Ill act with my Sword,
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Thou shalt a Bishop be, and I a Lord.
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When that day comes --- With that the Priest spurs on,
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Bauling (at every jog) Succession:
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Let things go how they will, better or worse,
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The Saddle should be laid on the right Horse;
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Im for the true Successors constant sway
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Oth British Scepter, let the world say Nay:
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Let Care himself, and his Fanatick Crew,
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Say what they will, Princes must have their due.
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Princes must have their rights, Religion
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Must always pay its homage to the Crown:
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Tis my belief, I know no Deity
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On Earth to be adord, but Soveraignty.
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The question lies not, how we are tObey
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Or Suffer, but whose right it is to Sway
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The Scepter, Theyrs the right, the dutys ours,
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To be obedient to the Higher Powers.
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Conscience, that silly thing, that keeps in awe
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The trembling Vulgar, must not check the Law;
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The Laws of Empire are most sacred things,
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People will have their due, and why not Kings.
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The times were glorious, and the Nation flourishd,
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When th English Church by Mother Church was nourishd.
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But since twas weaned from her Breasts, we find
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How She is wafted, languished and pind;
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Revenues gone, Promotions scarce and few,
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Not half enough for the Tantivee-Crew.
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The times must mend, we must reform the State,
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And I will dot, or sink under my Fate:
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Winged with all the haste I can, I come
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To pay my Homage to the Church of Rome;
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Towzer run on, and TORY clear the way,
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Till I a Myter get I will not stay.
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And then he humd himself, and spurd again
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A full Tantivee speed with a loose rein,
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And bended Body; Towzer trips before
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(As brisk now as he was in times of Yore)
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And whiles the other bawls Succession,
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This barks and yelps nothing but Forty-One.
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A cunning Cur to think to drown our fears
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Of future dangers with forgotten Years:
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Well thus they troop together till they come
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Unto the confines of desired Rome,
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And here the Holy-Father ready stands
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With smiling Countenance, and reared Hands
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Lift up to bless them, In the one is Gold,
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The other doth a gorgeous Myter hold,
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These (as the guerdons of their merits) he
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Allures them with; And thus betrayd are we
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Twixt our known Enemies, and feigned friends,
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Ayming by serving thus their own base ends,
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Us into Popish Slavery to bring,
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Which God in Heaven prevent --- God Save the King.
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