The Lives of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland (1753) Volume II Part 25

The virtues in thee, Charles, inherent, Altho' thy count'nance be an odd piece, Prove thee as true a G.o.d's Vicegerent, As e'er was Harry with his cod-piece: For chast.i.ty, and pious deeds, His grandsire Harry Charles exceeds.

III.

Our Romish bondage-breaker Harry, Espoused half a dozen wives.

Charles only one resolv'd to marry, And other mens he never ----; Yet has he sons and daughters more Than e'er had Harry by threescore.

IV.

Never was such a faith's defender; He like a politic Prince, and pious, Gives liberty to conscience tender, And does to no religion tie us; Jews, Christians, Turks, Papists, he'll please us With Moses, Mahomet, or Jesus.

V.

In all affairs of church or state He very zealous is, and able, Devout at pray'rs, and sits up late At the cabal and council-table.

His very dog, at council-board, Sits grave and wise as any lord.

VI.

Let Charles's policy no man flout, The wisest Kings have all some folly; Nor let his piety any doubt; Charles, like a Sov'reign, wise and holy, Makes young men judges of the bench, And bishops, those that love a wench.

VII.

His father's foes he does reward, Preserving those that cut off's head; Old cavaliers, the crown's best guard, He lets them starve for want of bread.

Never was any King endow'd With so much grace and grat.i.tude.

VIII.

Blood, that wears treason in his face, Villain compleat in parson's gown, How much is he at court in grace, For stealing Ormond and the crown!

Since loyalty does no man good, Let's steal the King, and out-do Blood.

IX.

A Parliament of knaves and sots (Members by name you must not mention) He keeps in pay, and buys their votes, Here with a place, there with a pension: When to give money he can't cologue 'em, He does with scorn prorogue, prorogue 'em.

X.

But they long since, by too much giving, Undid, betray'd, and sold the nation, Making their members.h.i.+ps a living, Better than e'er was sequestration.

G.o.d give thee, Charles, a resolution To d.a.m.n the knaves by dissolution.

XI.

Fame is not grounded on success, Tho' victories were Caesar's glory; Lost battles make not Pompey less, But left him stiled great in story.

Malicious fate does oft devise To beat the brave, and fool the wise.

XII.

Charles in the first Dutch war stood fair To have been Sov'reign of the deep, When Opdam blew up in the air, Had not his Highness gone to sleep: Our fleet slack'd sails, fearing his waking, The Dutch had else been in sad taking.

XIII.

The Bergen business was well laid, Tho' we paid dear for that design; Had we not three days parling staid, The Dutch fleet there, Charles, had been thine: Tho' the false Dane agreed to fell 'em, He cheated us, and saved Skellum.

XIV.

Had not Charles sweetly chous'd the States, By Bergen-baffle grown more wise; And made 'em s.h.i.+t as small as rats, By their rich Smyrna fleet's surprise: Had haughty Holmes, but call'd in Spragg, Hans had been put into a bag.

XV.

Mists, storms, short victuals, adverse winds, And once the navy's wise division, Defeated Charles's best designs, 'Till he became his foes derision: But he had swing'd the Dutch at Chatham, Had he had s.h.i.+ps but to come at 'em.

XVI.

Our Black-Heath host, without dispute, (Rais'd, put on board, why? no man knows) Must Charles have render'd absolute Over his subjects, or his foes: Has not the French King made us fools, By taking Maestricht with our tools?

XVII.

But Charles, what could thy policy be, To run so many sad disasters; To join thy fleet with false d'Estrees To make the French of Holland masters?

Was't Carewell, brother James, or Teague, That made thee break the Triple League?

XVIII.

Could Robin Viner have foreseen The glorious triumphs of his master; The Wool-Church statue Gold had been, Which now is made of Alabaster.

But wise men think had it been wood, 'Twere for a bankrupt King too good.

XIX.

Those that the fabric well consider.

Do of it diversly discourse; Some pa.s.s their censure on the rider, Others their judgment on the horse.

Most say, the steed's a goodly thing, But all agree, 'tis a lewd King.

XX.

By the lord mayor and his grave c.o.xcombs, Freeman of London, Charles is made; Then to Whitehall a rich Gold box comes, Which was bestow'd on the French jade[2]: But wonder not it should be so, sirs, When Monarchs rank themselves with Grocers.

XXI.

Cringe, sc.r.a.pe no more, ye city-fops, Leave off your feasting and fine speeches; Beat up your drums, shut up your shops, The courtiers then will kiss your breeches.

Arm'd, tell the Popish Duke that rules, You're free-born subjects, not French mules.

XXII.

New upstarts, b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, pimps, and wh.o.r.es, That, locust-like, devour the land, By shutting up th'Exchequer-doors, When there our money was trapann'd, Have render'd Charles's restoration But a small blessing to the nation.

XXIII.

Then, Charles, beware thy brother York, Who to thy government gives law; If once we fall to the old sport, You must again both to Breda; Where, spite of all that would restore you, Grown wise by wrongs, we should abhor you.

XXIV.