Father PETERs Birth, Character, and Last Will.
Quo teneam nodo mutantem Protea vultum?
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IN cloudy times and place, where Priest-craft rul'd the State,
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And Men (as some to Vertue) to Vice seem'd born by Fate;
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Where Sinn and Error (tho in others) a meer privation was
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Of Good, and nothing but defection of habitual Grace:
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In them 'twas Vertue, and Perfection, that professed
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An Elaborate, Super-fine, and Curious Wickedness;
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Whose duty was to force, and Chymist New Discoveries;
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And Sin refine, and improve (like other Sciences.)
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Here Man and Beast, did with New Incest joyn,
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And Witch and Devil, with Lustful Reeks were lim'd,
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(as Dog and Bitch) here our Romanticque Boar
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Was bullied forth (not born) of De'l and Whore;
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He huffed, and puffed, and thrust his sweaty Loyns
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With Cyclops Force into the craving hungry Groin:
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He swinged the brawny Members with such Stroke,
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(As a young Stallion upon a Mare new broke)
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The Female Brute conceiv'd the Monster in her Wombe,
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Grows ripe in Vice, by help of Sin Original, and Sires Bumb;
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(As an Excentrique monstrous Creature takes for his Growth,)
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Full Sixteen Months his Mother groanes in's bringing forth:
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But growing fond and lustful in the Incestuous Womb,
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By sodomittical Act he fixeth his Point in his Mothers Bumb.
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The Hydra breaks forth, wracking his Mothers Loynes,
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(Looks sad as mourning Purple, or religious in lowry time)
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For national Sinns: The Beast grew under most sacred Smock,
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And blessing of his Holiness, and Prayers of Cardinal Flock:
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His Mother finding him without Grace, and grown most spract,
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At Lying, Swearing, Canting, and the lucky Knack.
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Of Calculating Births, gets the fam'd in those Doctrines,
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To instruct the forward Child, and gull him on with Necktarines,
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And plain Pulse Pottage, his first Food or Pap,
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Good to strengthen his Witt (as the learn'd of old) or brawn his Back:
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For craving Whore. The Pupil grew most Excellent,
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His Doctors Banters in Aquine and Ipnatian Cant:
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(As a second fam'd Drake he steers new Ways)
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In Vice most fine and Subtle, A new World discryes,
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And fixeth the Pillars of unpassable Iniquities:
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Knew what was what; What lucky Star did reign,
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When the young Priestling from under Cushion-pains
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Should Comet in our Sphere, By Algebra and Astronomick Rules?
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What 'tis that makes us Statesmen, Buffoons, and what Fools,
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Knew the predestinated Minute of his Birth and Father,
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Whether the Tile-man's Wife, or other sanctify'd Quean was Mother?
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Knew, after the Conjunction, on which Majestick side
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The Queen repos'd herself; foresaw the Tide
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Of our English State to a hair; or whether a young Laird,
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Or Lady should grace Jemmys Circumcis'd Yard.
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Though the Question was as difficult, and nice and wise,
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As whether Adam was Navel'd, a Crablouse has Stones, or Mole has Eyes:
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A Prince by help of prolifick Warming-pan is born,
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Portentous with Hair and Teeth (as Lewis) and his Toes with Corns,
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As Caesars Horse was Foal'd; Te Devil was sung
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At Whitehall; and Ave-Ignatius by the Pope of Rome.
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The Babe is Dipp'd and Chrism'd, and has for his Godfather
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The blessed Vicar of Rome, who sits in Peters Chair;
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'Twixt Heav'n and Hell (as Solomon in the Air)
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Our Virtuoso triumphs with fresh Lawrels crowned,
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Blesseth his Stars that fatally has Heir'd the English Crown;
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Proves by unanswerable Dilemma, that the King's a God
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On Earth, and may dispence with Law and Sin, as Heav'ns Lord;
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Proves by strict Logick and Mathematick Features,
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That a Beggar is a Prince, a Church, a Stew, or Theatre;
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But Orange cool'd the Heat, and brought in those
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That Kidnapped Jesuitism, Spaded their Religion, and their Whores:
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Yet this Hieroglyphick diversyfies and Saints it on;
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He rogues, defrauds, and buggers by Romes Commission:
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But now grown sick, he humbly requests the Queen
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In verbis Conceptis to form and observe his last Theme.
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Imprimis. I Desire that my Body may be decently Interr'd,
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With my dear Queen, under our Lady Marys Goard:
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For truly I think my Body better than my Soul;
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For the one shall perish, but the other Immortal howl
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In Flames Eternal; my Soul to God, perhaps my Maker,
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Though I much doubt it, as whether Peter was the Father
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Of our Church or Utrecht; Or whether Pope Joan was not a Mother?
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For truly my Soul, of late, I have often Mortgag'd,
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As Knaves their Land, and of Equity 'tis the Devil's Cabbage.
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Item, One Thousand Pound unto my dear fair Nun,
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Who keeps the Vestal, and my Flames in Rome.
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Item, I give Five thousand Pound unto the Pious English King,
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Because his Coffers I have drain'd, and now again
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I pay him in his own Coin: As for the Residue,
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I give not one Peters Penny to the Heretick Crew.
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Yet I had almost forgot my Holy and Dear Queen,
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Who has been kind (as by the young Prince it seems)
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To me, Groom of her Linnen Stole, and the late Tenant
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Of her fair Body, and Chastity, and Father with a Why-not.
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Item, Unto the healthy, hopefull, Idol Prince,
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In whom I claim a share, by Justice and strict Sense
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Of Sw----ing I give him a Thousand Italian Crowns,
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To be paid to him (that is, never) when He enjoys the English Crown.
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Item, One Thousand Pound to Erect my fair and goodly Tomb
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In Monumental Brass, in via sacra, in Old Rome;
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Who have done more by Fraud, and Cheats, and Lying,
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Than Famed Alexander, or Caesar by their Killing.
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In witness whereof, I Sign and Seal it in the presence
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Of Pope, Devil, and Cardinal, with a crooked Ninepence.
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