Iter Boreal 2, Poem 19
A POEM UPON THE Impriſonment OF MR. CALAMY In NEWGATE.
THis Page I ſend you Sir, your Newgate Fate
Not to condole, but to congratulate.
I envy not our Mitred men, their Places,
Their rich Preferments, nor their richer Faces:
To ſee them Steeple upon Steeple ſet,
As if they meant that way to Heaven to get.
I can behold them take into their Gills
A doſe of Churches, as men ſwallow Pills,
And never grieve at it: Let them ſwim in Wine
While others drown in tears, i'le not repine,
But my heart truly grudges (I confeſs)
That you thus loaded are with happineſs;
For ſo it is: And you more bleſſed are
In Peters Chain, than if you ſet in's Chair.
One Sermon hath preferr'd you ſo much Honour,
A man could ſcarce have had from Biſhop Bonner;
Whilſt we (your Brethren) poor Erraticks be,
You are a glorious fixed Star we ſee.
Hundreds of us turn out of Houſe and Home,
To a ſafe Habitation you are come.
What though it be a Goal? Shame and Diſgrace
Riſe only from the Crime, not from the place.
Who thinks reproach or injuries is done
By an Eclipſe to the unſpotted Sun?
He only by that black upon his brow
Allures ſpectators more; and ſo do you.
Let me find Honey, though upon a Rod,
And prize the Priſon, where my Keeper's God:
Newgate or Hell were Heav'n, if Chriſt were there,
He made the Stable ſo, and Sepulcher.
Indeed the place did for your preſence call;
Priſons do want perfuming moſt of all.
Thanks to the Biſhop, and his good Lord Mayor,
Who turn'd the Den of Thieves into a Houſe of Prayer:
And may ſome Thief by you converted be,
Like him who ſuffer'd in Chriſts company.
Now would I had ſight of your Mittimus;
Fain would I know why you are dealt with thus.
Jaylor, ſet forth your Priſoner at the Bar,
Sir, you ſhall hear what your offences are.
Firſt, It is prov'd that you being dead in Law
(As if you car'd not for that death a ſtraw)
Did walk and haunt your Church, as if you'ld ſcar…e
Away the Reader and his Common-Prayer.
Nay 'twill be prov'd you did not only walk,
But like a Puritan your Ghoſt did talk.
Dead, and yet Preach! theſe Presbyterian ſlaves
Will not give over Preaching in their Graves.
Item, You play'd the Thief, and ift be ſo,
Good reaſon (Sir) to Newgate you ſhould go:
And now you're there, ſome dare to ſwear you are
The greateſt Pick-pocket that e're came there:
Your Wife too, little better then your ſelf you make
She is th' Receiver of each Purſe you take.
But your great Theft, you act it in your Church,
(I do not mean you did your Sermon lurch,
That's crime Canonical) but you did pray
And preach, ſo that you ſtole mens hearts away.
So that good man to whom your place doth fall,
Will find they have no heart for him at all:
This Felony deſerv'd Impriſonment;
What can't you Non-conformiſts be content
Sermons to make except you preach them too;
They that your places have, this Work can do.
Thirdly, 'tis prov'd, when you pray moſt devout
For all good men, you leave the Biſhops out:
This makes Seer Sheldon by his powerful ſpel
Conjure and lay you ſafe in Newgate-hell:
Would I were there too, I ſhould like it wel.
I would you durſt ſwap puniſhment with me;
Pain makes me fitter for the company
Of roaring boys; and you may lie a bed,
Now your Name's up; pray do it in my ſtead,
And if it be deny'd us to change places,
Let us for ſympathy compare our caſes;
For if in ſuffering we both agree,
Sir, I may challenge you to pity me:
I am the older Goal-bird; my hard fate
Hath kept me twenty years in Cripple-gate;
Old Biſhop Gout, that Lordly proud diſeaſe,
Took my fat body for his Dioceſs,
Where he keeps Court, there viſits every Limb,
And makes them (Levite-like) conform to him,
Severely he doth Article each joint,
And makes enquiry into every point:
A bitter enemy to preaching; he
Hath half a year ſometimes ſuſpended me:
And if he find me painful in my ſtation,
Down I am ſure to go next Viſitation:
He binds up, looſeth; ſets up and pulls down;
Pretends he draws ill humours from the Crown:
But I am ſure he maketh ſuch ado,
His humors trouble Head and members too:
He hath me now in hand, and e're he goes,
I fear for Hereticks he'l burn my toes.
O! I would give all I am worth, a fee,
That from his juriſdiction I were free.
Now Sir, you find our ſufferitgs do agree,
One Biſhop clapt up you, another me:
But oh! the difference too is very great,
You are allow'd to walk, to drink and eat,
I want them all, and never a penny get.
And though you be debarr'd your liberty,
Yet all your Viſitors I hope are free,
Good Men, good Women, and good Angels come
And make your Priſon better then your home.
Now may it be ſo till your foes repent
They gave you ſuch a rich Impriſonment.
May for the greater comfort of your lives,
Your lying in be better then your Wives.
May you a thouſand friendly papers ſee,
And none prove empty, except this from me.
And if you ſtay may I come keep your door,
Then farewel Parſonage, I ſhall ne'r be poor.