The Sence of the Oxford-Junto,
Concerning the late Treaty; wherein the severall Reasons are delivered,
why they could not conclude a Peace with the Parliament: And Published
for the Satisfaction of the whole Kingdome.
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GIve eare (beloved Countrimen)
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Who long so much for Peace,
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And guesse a Treaty th' only meanes
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The Kingdome to release:
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Be not mistaken thus to thinke;
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For wee were sent so farre
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As Uxbridge, but to sweare and drinke,
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And not to end the Warre.
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Through our dissembling Impudence
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Your hearts (we know) were full
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Of Joy, and did us true beleeve,
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Whereas we mean't to Gull:
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What though the Kingdome bleeding lie,
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Yet Peace is out of season,
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And that Bug-beare we doe defie
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For many a weighty reason.
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First, I'le no Peace, sayes Rupert;
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Good Uncle, doe not thinke,
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That I can leave your Kingdome so
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While there is any chincke:
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You know for Plunder I did come
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With German tag and rag;
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And I'le have more ere I goe home
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Againe unto the Hague.
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Doe (Brother) doe, sayes Maurice,
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I like the Humour deare,
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And could contented be to have
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The Warre last many a yeare:
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Let's keep us still on English ground,
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And for ourselves create
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Possessions of as large a bound,
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As the Palatinate.
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Then from his Pen starts Digby,
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And cries 'twas Princely spoken,
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Since hope there was that France would send
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Ten thousand for a token.
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Besides, the Gallant Irish vow
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To pawne their Praying Beads,
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Rather than we should yield them now
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A Peace, to lose our Heads.
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'Tis true (my Sonne) quoth Bristoll,
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Then write a Declaration
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Of our late Treating, which wee'l send
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To cheate each forraine Nation:
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For we must make the world beleeve,
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None more for Peace requested
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Than we, or else they'l laugh in sleeve,
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And we shall be detested.
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But Brother mine, sayes Cottington,
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I am Lord Treasurer;
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Yet not one Penny can produce
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For to maintaine the War:
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And now the tottering State of Spaine
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Can spare us no reliefe,
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I live to beare the Bag in vaine,
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And may die like a Thiefe.
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Fie, fie my Lord, then Winchester
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Bids him not to despaire,
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And cheeres him with large Rodomonts,
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Much like a Wise mans Heire:
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Il'e doe my best to keep off Peace,
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And stoutly put all Care by;
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For if from Basing they me chase,
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Il'e run to my Lord of Darby.
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Darby, He will doe anything,
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So they the War prolong,
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If that his Countesse give him leave;
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For she at home's most strong:
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But if that Latham yielded be,
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And they escape well can,
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Her, and these two Wits, you may see
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Reigne in the Ile of Man.
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And I, Lord Paulet, would be glad
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To have the War still spun out,
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Because I know from Basing-house
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The Foole at length will run out:
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Then there to have Command in chiefe
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I'me sure will be my fate;
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And like a good brotherly Thiefe,
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Beg him and his Estate.
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'Tis a good Christian act (my Lord)
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I Hopton doe allow it;
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For I was once esteem'd a Saint,
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As all the World does know it:
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And for this Name more War I'le wage,
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Till I it gaine from Rome;
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So Traitours shall a Pilgrimage
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Make yearely to my Tombe.
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And I, Duke Lennox, will contend,
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As long as I doe live,
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With Papists how to raise and stretch
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The Kings Prerogative:
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Then I may rage and domineere
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Over my Countrymen,
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Or else I shall be sham'd t'appear
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In Scotland ere agen.
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A figge (my Lord) sayes Capel,
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The Scots we soon will beate;
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However, let us goe and seeme
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As if we meant to Treat:
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They cut my Woods, both Branch and Boughes,
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My Timber all is fallen,
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As if they were to roste the Cowes
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Which ever I have stollen.
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And I (quoth Kingston) am undone,
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Except we fight it out;
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Because for Bishops I did plead,
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The Vulgar will me flout:
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Besides, my Father money lent
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Unto the King great store;
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Unlesse we slave the Parliament,
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I ne're shall see it more.
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Who would not fight, cries Dunsmore,
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An Earle to be enstil'd?
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To lose a Lordship, Hatton sayes,
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Would make a Courtier wild:
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Culpepper, he growes hote i'th mouth,
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Damnes Peace, as if he meant,
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Rather than not to be a Lord,
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Fight to be King of Kent.
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Sir Nicholas, he to treat will goe,
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But sweares he shall miscarry;
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The very thought of Peace will spoyle
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Him for a Secretary.
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He with them thus conditions then,
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That if they stay the longer,
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For him to choose some other man
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Of constitution stronger.
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Then up a Bench of Lawyers stand,
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And in their Judgement gave,
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'Twas fit Sir Edward Nicholas might
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His Habeas Corpus have:
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Ned Hide, and Lane, they were the chiefe,
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I need to name no more,
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Who for their Knighthoods stood so stiffe,
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And shut Peace out of dore.
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But all to fight for the knowne Lawes,
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As Littleton maintaines;
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Who strove to steale away the Seale,
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Yet got nothing for his paines:
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For when the man to Oxford came,
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They fell to sweare and curse,
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And askt him if he did not shame
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To bring an empty Purse.
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But he at length in favour crept
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Among the Medley Rout,
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And is against the name of Peace
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As zealous and as stout:
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An't please your Majesty, sayes he,
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If wisely you will deale,
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The Ordnance still must mounted be,
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They will make good the Seale.
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And I (my Liege) sayes Heath, affirme
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None better can than these,
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Restore againe the Chancerie,
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Your Bench, or Common Pleas:
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Fight on, by Law Il'e make it good,
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Pull down the Senate's pride;
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It is not fit a Treaty should
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This difference decide.
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Then spake Armagh, if Law it be,
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I'le prove it Gospel too,
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By such a knotty Syllogisme
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As no man shall undoe:
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In Bishops breasts all truth doth rest,
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Scorne Treating then, and come;
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Wee'l give each man a hallow'd crest,
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And Consecrated drumme.
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And I (quoth Duppa) doe protest,
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That they which but begin
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To thinke of pulling Bishops downe
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Commit a heynouse sin:
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What a cursed thing then Treating is,
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How odious is Peace,
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Which envies Church-men worldly bliss,
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Great honours, pride, and ease!
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And Stewart vowes hee'l be content
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Much rather soone to die,
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Than let his Conscience witnesse beare
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Unto Presbyterie:
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What though it does appeare more right,
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I never will confesse?
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Let's Treat in shew, breake off, and fight,
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Upon advantages.
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But harke ye (Sirs) sayes Dorset,
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Doe anything you please;
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Yet for one reason I desire,
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That we might have a Peace:
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I cannot act a Souldiers part,
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Nor freezing lie in Trenches;
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But wish myselfe with all my heart
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At Chelsey with my Wenches.
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Zounds, a Sedan, cries Goring,
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To cage this piece of sloth;
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Dammee, but one word more of Peace,
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I'le stabbe him with an Oath:
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My Father was in dayes of yore
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A Monopolizing vermin,
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But now is glad to keep the dore,
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And cringe to Harry Jermin.
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That was a gallant trade at Court,
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Then said Endymion Porter,
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When Subjects pockets we could fish,
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And clip their purse strings shorter:
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But now the blocke runnes in my mind
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When I dreame of Peace in bed;
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Then 'wake, and feele, yet nothing find
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About mee but my head.
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O monstrous! then cries Windebanke,
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That dreames should prove so true;
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I feare then I shall be undone
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By Peace as well as you:
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What though I am a Jesuite,
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(God blesse our good Queene Mary)
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Yet if the Round-heads we out-fight,
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I shall still be Secretary.
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And I, Tom. Lunsford, hope to be
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Lieutenant of the Tower,
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Then I shall have the Citizens
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Againe within my power:
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And like tame Slaves, I will them teach
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An iron chaine to weare;
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The Ordnance also shall soone reach
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As farre as Westminster.
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But soft there (Tom) quoth Byron,
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Thou art yet but a Knight;
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For murthers coole, I Lorded was,
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After the end o'th' fight:
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Then I may be Lieutenant made
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Rather than thee, I hope,
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Since I more cruell am, if not
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Prevented by a Rope.
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I feare not Ropes, sayes Langdale,
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Hanging to mee's a jest;
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I'le venture necke at any time
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To th' weight of my thin chest:
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If Peace come, I will yield thus farre,
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And give them many thankes;
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Yet one thing by the way I barre,
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All pulling by the Shankes.
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O Lord, how dare you venture so,
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Sir Skellum Grenvile cries!
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The very thought of it doth make
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Blood in my face to rise:
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Peace is a sweet soft name to some,
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But to me it sounds like Thunder,
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More terrible than a Plymouth Drum,
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And will rob me of my Plunder.
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A Skiffe, a Skiffe, baules Dives,
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If ye talk more of Peace;
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Hells torments light on ev'ry wretch
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That prayes the War might cease:
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For then my Brother George, and I,
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After the Queen must dance,
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And live on Popish Charitie,
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In Italy, Spaine, or France.
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You see (beloved Countrimen)
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How Peace is out of season;
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For which you have the Junto's Sence,
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And each Commanders reason:
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Then pray you doe not take it ill
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We you deceiv'd by Treating;
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For you may have Peace, if you will
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But give us a sound Beating.
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