A
PANEGYRICK
Upon the ensuing SPRING.
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1.
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OH! Heavenly Calm thou merit'st praise,
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Besides thou hast lasted now nine days,
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And may I hope a longer space,
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Thunder Clashing.
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2.
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The City too is now becalm'd,
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Their Threats are unto Mourning turn'd,
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Their pointed Push is now adjourn'd,
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And kept from Lashing.
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3.
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But their Libels fly to every Shire,
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As thick as Atomes in the Air,
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To ripen all their Brethren there,
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For new Rebellion.
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4.
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This Disappointment makes them Itch,
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Their Limbs are crampt with the old Stitch,
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Like Dogs in Strings, they Snarl and Twitch,
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Then lye to Spawn.
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5.
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The Doctor's busie now at work,
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With his new Knights o'th' Post i'th' dark,
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As Noah with all the World in's Ark,
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He's Catechizing.
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6.
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The Badger's buckling up his Legs
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For the next Summer, peeps through the Hedge,
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And hopes there's Brood in all the Eggs,
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That are Baptizing.
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7.
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The Tribe compos'd of Jew and Turk,
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And Irish Tories of great worth,
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Stand like a solemn Holding forth,
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Conning their Lessons.
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8.
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The Senate swarms like cast out Bees,
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And squoils like Rooks i'th' tops of Trees,
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Their Nests as near each other lyes,
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Plotting Petitions.
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9.
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Striving still to rouze the Rout,
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With many a dangerous senceless Doubt,
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And make them ready to help out,
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When Lying fails 'um.
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10.
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Pretended Griefs they do devise,
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And Judas-like their Looks disguise,
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Beg for redress upon their knees,
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When nothing ayls 'um.
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11.
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Fears of the French they do deplore,
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The native Papists ten times more,
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Yet still to keep their Soveraign poor,
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They do endeavour.
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12.
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This shews that they no credit give
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To what they would have him believe,
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This begging's for Prerogative,
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Sir under favour.
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13.
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But when it comes, great comfort brings,
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Poor Subjects Slaves, and Members Kings,
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But Heaven, I hope, stops such damn'd things,
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Rebels be quiet.
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14.
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Or by that Loyalty I swear,
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Which to my Soveraign Prince I bear,
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I'le tell the World what Rogues you are,
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Can you deny it?
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15.
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Come never threaten to Rebel,
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Nor damn your Souls to stingy Hell,
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After your Bones are basted well,
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You must be Conquer'd.
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16.
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Think not on forty one, nor eight,
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That President gives us such light,
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Tho' few dare speak, yet all dare fight,
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Till you be hamper'd.
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17.
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Let not your guilt o'th' guiltless fall,
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Nor Loyal Prelates Papists call,
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As if all were Rebels like you all,
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But Papists.
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18.
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Trust not too much to Tonys Wit,
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Because the Devil Licens'd it,
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To draw you all into this Fit,
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Frenzy and Apish.
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19.
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If he like Luxemburg with's Art,
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Should let the Devil spoil his part,
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His Wit is all not worth a F---
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Then where's his Followers?
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20.
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Mouthe not so much against the Duke,
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Nor feed black hopes with vain dispute,
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What God decrees none can confute,
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Nor Tony Hollowers.
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