From Samuel Butler’s Posthumous Works.
OF all the factions in the town
Moved by French springs or Flemish wheels,
None turns religion upside down,
Or tears pretences out at heels,
Like _Splaymouth_ with his brace of caps,
Whose conscience might be scann’d perhaps
By the dimensions of his chaps;
He whom the sisters do adore,
Counting his actions all divine,
Who when the spirit hints can roar,
And, if occasion serves, can whine;
Nay, he can bellow, bray, or bark;
Was ever _sike a Beauk-learn’d_ clerk
That speaks all linguas of the ark?
To draw the hornets in like bees,
With pleasing twangs he tones his prose;
He gives his handkerchief a squeeze,
And draws John Calvin thro’ his nose;
Motive on motive he obtrudes,
With slip-stocking similitudes,
Eight uses more, and so concludes.
When monarchy began to bleed,
And treason had a fine new name;
When Thames was balderdash’d with Tweed,
And pulpits did like beacons flame;
When Jeroboam’s calves were rear’d,
And Laud was neither loved nor fear’d,
This gospel-comet first appear’d.
Soon his unhallow’d fingers stript
His sovereign-liege of power and land;
And, having smote his master, slipt
His sword into his fellow’s hand;
But he that wears his eyes may note
Oft-times the butcher binds a goat,
And leaves his boy to cut her throat.
Poor England felt his fury then
Outweigh’d Queen Mary’s many grains;
His very preaching slew more men
Than Bonnar’s faggots, stakes, and chains:
With dog-star zeal, and lungs like Boreas,
He fought, and taught, and, what’s notorious,
Destroy’d his Lord to make him glorious.
Yet drew for King and Parliament,
As if the wind could stand north-south;
Broke Moses’ law with blest intent,
Murther’d, and then he wiped his mouth:
Oblivion alters not his case,
Nor clemency nor acts of grace
Can blanch an Ethiopian’s face.
Ripe for rebellion, he begins
To rally up the saints in swarms;
He bawls aloud, Sir, leave your sins,
But whispers, Boys, stand to your arms:
Thus he’s grown insolently rude,
Thinking his gods can’t be subdued—
_Money_, I mean, and _multitude_.
Magistrates he regards no more
Than St George or the King of Colon,
Vowing he’ll not conform before
The old wives wind their dead in woollen:
He calls the bishop gray-hair’d coff,
And makes his power as mere a scoff
As Dagon when his hands were off.
Hark! how he opens with full cry,
Halloo, my hearts, beware of Rome!
Cowards that are afraid to die
Thus make domestic brawls at home.
How quietly great Charles might reign,
Would all these Hotspurs cross the main
And preach down Popery in Spain.
The starry rule of Heaven is fixt,
There’s no dissension in the sky;
And can there be a mean betwixt,
Confusion and conformity?
A place divided never thrives,
’Tis bad when hornets dwell in hives,
But worse when children play with knives.
I would as soon turn back to mass,
Or change my praise to _Thee_ and _Thou_;
Let the Pope ride me like an ass,
And his priests milk me like a cow!
As buckle to Smectymnian laws,
The bad effects o’ th’ Good old Cause,
That have dove’s plumes, but vulture’s claws.
For ’twas the holy Kirk that nursed,
The Brownists and the ranters’ crew;
Foul error’s motley vesture first
Was oaded {98} in a northern blue;
And what’s th’ enthusiastick breed,
Or men of Knipperdolin’s creed,
But Cov’nanters run up to seed!
Yet they all cry they love the King,
And make boast of their innocence:
There cannot be so vile a thing
But may be cover’d with pretence;
Yet when all’s said, one thing I’ll swear,
No subject like th’ old Cavalier,
No traytor like _Jack-Presbyter_.
THE DEVIL’S PROGRESS ON EARTH,
OR
HUGGLE DUGGLE.
From Durfey’s “Pills to Purge Melancholy.”
_Frier Bacon_ walks again,
And Doctor _Forster_ {99} too;
_Prosperine_ and _Pluto_,
And many a goblin crew:
With that a merry devil,
To make the _Airing_, vow’d;
Huggle Duggle, Ha! ha! ha!
The Devil laugh’d aloud.
Why think you that he laugh’d?
Forsooth he came from court;
And there amongst the gallants
Had spy’d such pretty sport;
There was such cunning jugling,
And ladys gon so proud;
Huggle Duggle, etc.
With that into the city
Away the Devil went;
To view the merchants’ dealings
It was his full intent:
And there along the brave Exchange
He crept into the croud.
Huggle Duggle, etc.
He went into the city
To see all there was well;
Their scales were false, their weights were light,
Their conscience fit for hell;
And _Panders_ chosen magistrates,
And _Puritans_ allow’d.
Huggle Duggle, etc.
With that unto the country
Away the Devil goeth;
For there is all plain dealing,
For that the Devil knoweth:
But the rich man reaps the gains
For which the poor man plough’d.
Huggle Duggle, etc.
With that the Devil in haste
Took post away to hell,
And call’d his fellow furies,
And told them all on earth was well:
That falsehood there did flourish,
Plain dealing was in a cloud.
Huggle Duggle, Ha! ha! ha!
The devils laugh’d aloud.