Iter Boreal 2, Poem 1
Iter Boreale. With large Additions of ſeveral other POEMS BEING An EXACT COLLECTION of all hitherto Extant.
Never before Publiſhed together.
The Author R. Wild, D. D.
Printed for the Bookſellers in London; MDCLXVIII.
MVNIFICENTIA REGIA. 1715.
GEORGIVS D. G. MAG. BR. FR. ET HIB. REX F. D.
J. P… Sculp
Iter Boreale. Attempting ſomthing upon the Succeſsful and Matchleſs March of the LORD GENERAL George Monck, From SCOTLAND to LONDON, in the Winter, 1659.
I.
THe day is broke! Melpomene, be gone;
Hag of my Fancy, let me now alone:
Night-mare my Soul no more; Go take thy flight
Where Traitors Ghoſts keep an eternal night;
Flee to Mount Caucaſus, and bear thy part
With the black fowl that tears Prometheus heart
For his bold Sacriledg: Go fetch the groans
Of defunct Tyrants, with them croke thy Tones;
Go ſee Alecto with her flaming whip,
How ſhe fi…ks Nol, and makes old Bradſhaw skip:
Go make thy ſelf away,—Thou ſhalt no more
Choak up my Stand…ſh with the blood and gore
Of Engliſh Tragedies: I now will chuſe
The merrieſt of the nine to be my Muſe:
And come what will, …le scribble once again:
The … Sword hath cut the nobler Vein
Of racy Poetry. Our ſmall-drink-times
Muſt be contented, and take up with Rhimes.
They'r ſorry toyes from a poor Levites pack,
Whoſe Living and Aſſeſments drink no Sack.
The Subject will excuſe the Verſe (I trow)
The Ven ſon's fat, although the cruſt be dough.
II.
I He who whileom ſate and ſung in Cage
My Kings and Countries Ruines by the rage
Of a rebellious Rout; w…o weeping ſaw
Three goodly Kingdoms (drunk with fury) draw
And ſheath their Swords (like three engaged brothe…s
In one anothers ſides, ripping their Mothers
Belly, and tearing out her bleeding heart;
Then jealous that their Father fain would part
Their bloody fray, and let them fight no more,
Fell foul on Him, and ſlew Him at His dore.
I that have only dar'd to whiſper Verſes,
And drop a tear (by ſtealth) on loyal Hearſes;
I that enraged at the Times and Rump,
Had gnaw'd my Gooſe-quill to the very ſtump,
And flung that in the Fire, no more to write,
But to ſit down poor Britains Heraclite,
Now ſing the triumphs of the Men of War,
The Glorious Rayes of the bright Northern Star,
Created for the nonce by Heaven to bring
The wiſe men of three Nations to their King:
MONCK! the great Monck! that ſyllable outſhines
Plantagenet's bright Name, or Conſtantine's.
'T was at His Riſing that Our Day begun,
Be he the Morning Star to CHARLES our Sun.
He took Rebellion rampant, by the throat,
And made the Canting Quaker change his Note;
His hand it was that wrote, (we ſaw no more)
Exit Tyrannus over Lamberts dore.
Like to ſome ſubtle Lightning, ſo His Words
Diſſolved in their Scabbards Rebels Swords.
He with ſucceſs the Soveraign skill hath found
To dreſs the Weapon, and to heal the Wound.
George, and his Boyes (as Spirits do, they ſay)
Only by walking, ſcare our Foes away.
III.
OLd Holofernes was no ſooner laid,
Before the Idols Funeral Pomp was paid,
(Nor ſhall a penny ere be paid for me;
Let fools that truſted his true Mourners be.)
Richard the Fourth, juſt peeping out of Squire,
No fault ſo much, as th'old one was his Sire;
For men believ'd,—though all went in his Name,
Hee'd be but Tenant till the Landlord came:
When on a ſudden (all amaz'd) we found
The ſeven years Babel tumbled to the ground;
And he, poor heart, (thanks to his cunning Kin)
Was ſoon in Querpo honeſt Dick agen.
Exit Protector.—What comes next? I trow,
Let the State-Huntſmen beat again.—So-ho,
Cries Lambert, Maſter of the Hounds,—Here ſits
That luſty Puſs, The Good Old Cauſe,—whoſe wits
Shew'd Oliver ſuch ſport; That, that (cries Vane)
Lets put her up, and run her once again:
She'l lead our Dogs and Followers up and down,
Whilſt we match Families, and take the Crown.
Enter th'old Members: 'T was the Month of May
Theſe Maggots in the Rump began to play:
Wallingford Anglers (though they ſtunk) yet thought
They would make baits, by which Fiſh might be caught;
And ſo it prov'd, they ſoon by taxes made
More money than the Holland Fiſhing Trade.
IV.
NOw broke in Egypts Plagues (all in a day)
And one more worſe than theirs,—We muſt not pray
To be deliver'd:—Their ſcab'd folks were free
To ſcratch where it did itch;—So might not we.
That Meteor Cromwel, though he ſcar'd, gave light;
But we were now cover'd with horrid night:
Our Magiſtracy was (like Moſes Rod)
Turn'd to a Serpent by the angry God.
Poor Citizens, when Trading would not do,
Made brick without ſtraw, and were blaſted too:
Struck with the botch of Taxes and Exciſe;
Servants (our very duſt) were turn'd to Lice;
It was but turning Souldiers, and they need
Not work at all, but on their Maſters feed.
Strange Catterpillars are our pleaſant things;
And Frogs croakt in the Chambers of our Kings:
Black bloody veins did in the Rump prevail,
Like the Philiſtims Emrods in the Tayle.
Lightning, Hall, Fire, and Thunder Egypt had,
And England Guns, Shot, Powder, (thats as bad.)
And that Sea-Monſter Lawſon (if withſtood)
Threatned to turn our Rivers into Blood.
And (Plague of all theſe Plagues) all theſe Plagues fell
Not on an Egypt, but our Iſrael.
V.
SIck (as her heart can hold) the Nation lies,
Filling each corner with her hideous cries:
Somtimes Rage (like a burning Fever) hearts,
Anon Deſpair brings cold and clammy Sweats;
She cannot ſleep: or if ſhe doth ſhe dreams
Of Rapes, Thefts, Burnings, Blood, and direful theams;
Toſſes from ſide to ſide, then by and by
Her feet are laid there where the head did lie:
None can come to her but bold Empericks,
Who never meant to cure her but try tricks:
Thoſe very Doctors who ſhould give her eaſe,
(God help the Patient) was her worſt diſeaſe.
Th' Italian Mountebank Vane tells her ſure
Jeſuits Powder will effect the Cure.
If grief but makes her ſwell, Martin and Nevil
Conclude it is a ſpice of the Kings-Evil.
Bleed her again, another cries;—And Scot
Saith he could cure her, if 'twas—you know what:
But giddy Harrington a whimſey found,
To make her head (like to his brains) run round:
Her old and wiſe Phyſitians, who before
Had well nigh cur'd her, came again to th' dore,
But were kept out, which made her cry the more,
Help, help, (dear Children) Oh! ſome pity take
On her who bore you! help for mercy ſake!
Oh heart! Oh head! Oh back! Oh bones! I feel
They've poyſon'd me with giving too much ſteel:
Oh give me that for which I long and cry!
Somthing that's Soveraign, or elſe I dye.
VI.
KInd Cheſhire heard;—And like ſome ſon that ſtood
Upon the Bank, ſtraight jump'd into the flood,
Flings out his arms, & ſtrikes ſom ſtrokes to ſivim
Booth ventur'd firſt, and Middleton with him;
Stout Mackworth, Egerton, and thouſands more,
Threw themſelves in, and left the ſafer ſhore;
Maſſey (that famous Diver) and bold Brown
Forſook his Wharf,—reſolving all to drown,
Or ſave a ſinking Kingdom:—But, O ſad!
Fearing to loſe her prey, the Sea grew mad,
Rais'd all her billows, and reſolv'd her waves,
Should quickly be the bold Adventurers graves.
Out Marches Lambert, like an Eaſtern Wind,
And with him all the mighty waters joyn'd.
The Loyal Swimmers bore up heads and breaſts,
Scorning to think of Life or Intereſts;
They ply'd their Arms and Thighs, but all in vain;
The furious Main beat them to ſhore again;
At which the floating Iſland (looking back,
Spying her loyal Lovers gone to wrack)
Shriekt lowder then before,—and thus ſhe cries,
"Can you be angry heavens, and frowning skies,
"Thus countenance rebellious Mutineers,
"Who, if they durſt, would be about your ears?
"That I ſhould ſink, with Juſtice may accord,
"Who let my Pilot be thrown over-board;
"Yet 'twas not I (ye righteous Heavens do know)
"The Soldiers in me needs would have it ſo:
"And thoſe who conjur'd up theſe ſtorms themſelves,
"And firſt engag'd me 'mongſt theſe Rocks and Shelves
"Guilty of all my wo, have rais'd this weather,
"Fearing to come to Land, and chuſing rather
"To ſink me with themſelves,—O ceaſe to frown
"In tears (juſt Heavens!) behold! my ſelf I drown:
"Let not theſe proud waves do't: Prevent my fears,
"And let them fall together by the ears.
VII.
HEav'n heard, and ſtruck th'inſulting army mad
Drunk with their Cheſhire Triumphs, ſtraight they had
New Lights appear'd, and new Reſolves they take,
A Single Perſon once again to make.
Who ſhall be he? Oh! Lambert, without rub,
The fitteſt Devil to be Belzebub.
He, the fierce Fiend, caſt out o'th' Houſe before,
Return'd, and threw the Houſe now out of door:
A Legion then he rais'd of Armed Sprights,
Elves, Goblins, Faires, Quakers, and new Lights,
To be his under Devils, with this reſt
He Soul and Body (Church and State) poſſeſt:
Who tho they fil'd all countries, towns, and rooms
Yet (like that Fiend that did frequent the Tombs)
Churches, and Sacred Grounds they haunted moſt,
No Chappel was at eaſe from ſome ſuch Ghoſt.
The Prieſts ordain'd to exerciſe thoſe Elves,
Were voted Devils, and caſt out themſelves:
Bible, or Alchoran, all's one to them,
Religion ſerves but for a ſtratagem:
The holy Charms theſe Adders did not heed,
Churches themſelves did Sanctuary need.
VIII.
THe Churches Patrimony and rich Store,
Alas! was ſwallow'd many years before:
Biſhops and Deans we ſed upon before,
They were the Ribs and Surloyns of the Whore:
Now let her Legs (the Prieſts go to the Pot,
(They have the Pope's eye in them) ſpare them not:
We have fat Benefices yet to eat,
(Bell, and our Dragon-Army muſt have meat:)
Let us devour her Limb-meal, great and ſmall,
Tythe Calves, Geeſe, Pigs, the Petitoes and all:
A Vicaridg in Sippets, though it be
But ſmall, will ſerve a ſqueamiſh Sectary.
Though Univerſities we can't endure,
There's no falſe Latine in their Lands (be ſure.)
Give Oxford to our Horſe, and let the Foot
Take Cambridge for their booty, and fall too't.
Chriſt-Church ile have (cries Vane;) Disbrow ſwops
At Trinity; Kings is for Berry's chops;
Kelſey, take Corpus Chriſti; All-Souls, Packer;
Grave Creed, St. Johns; New Colledg leave to Hacker;
Fleetwood cries, Weeping Maudlin ſhall be mine,
Her tears Ile drink inſtead of Muſcadine▪
The ſmaller Halls and Houſes ſcarce are big
Enough to make one diſh for Haſilrig;
We muſt be ſure to ſtop his mouth, though wide,
Elſe all our fat will be i'th fire (they cry'd:
And when we have done theſe, we'l not be quiet,
Lordſhips and Landlords Rents ſhall be our diet.
Thus talk'd this jolly crew, but ſtill mine 'Hoſt
Lambert reſolves that he will rule the Roſt.
IX.
BUt hark! Methinks I hear old Boreas blow;
What mean the north-winds that they bluſter ſo?
More ſtorms from that black nook? Forbear (bold Scot!)
Let not Dunbar and Worc'ſter be forgot:
What? would you chaffer w'us for one Charls more
The price of Kings is fal'n, give the Trade o're.
And is the price of Kings and Kingdoms too,
Of Laws, lives, oaths, ſouls, grown ſo low with you?
Perfidious Hypocrites! Monſters of Men!
(Cries the good Monck) we'l raiſe their price agen
Heaven ſaid Amen, and breath'd upon that Spark;
That Spark (preſerv'd alive i'th cold and dark)
Firſt kindled and enflam'd the Britiſh Iſle,
And turn'd it all to Bonefires in a while:
He and his fewel was ſo ſmall, no doubt,
Proud Lambert thought to tread or piſs them out.
But George was wary;—His cauſe did require
A Pillar of a Cloud as well as Fire:
'Twas not his ſafeſt courſe to flame, but ſmoak;
His enemies he will not burn but choak;
Small Fires muſt not blaze out, leſt by their light
They ſhew their weakneſs, and their foes invite;
But Furnaces the ſtouteſt Metals melt,
(And ſo did he) by fire not ſeen, but felt;
Dark-lanthorn Language, and his peep-bo-play,
Will-E-Wiſpt Lambert's new Lights out o'th way.
George & his boys, thoſe thouſands (ô ſtrang thing)
Of Snipes and Woodcocks took by Lowbelling.
His few Scotch-Coal kindled with Engliſh Fire
Made Lamberts great Nowcaſtle heaps expire.
X.
SCotland (though poor and peeviſh) was content
To keep the Peace, and (O rare!) money lent;
But yet the bleſſing of their Kirk was more;
George had that too, and with this ſlender ſtore
He and his Mirmidons advance:—Kind Heaven
Prepar'd a Froſt to make their March more eaven
Eaſy and ſafe; it may be ſaid, That year
Of th' High-ways Heaven it ſelf was Overſeer,
And made-November ground as hard as May;
White as their Innocence, ſo was their Way:
The Clouds came down in Feather-beds, to greet
Him and his Army, and to kiſs their feet.
The froſt and foes both came and went together,
Both thaw'd away, & vaniſh'd God knows whither.
Whole Countries crowded in to ſee this friend,
Ready to caſt their bodies down to mend
His Road to Weſtminſter; and ſtill they ſhout,
Lay hold of th' Rump, and pull the Monſter out:
A new one, or a whole one (Good my Lord)
And to this cry the Iſland did accord,
The Eccho of the Iriſh hollow ground
Heard England, and her language did rebound.
XI.
PReſto-Jack Lambert, and his Sprights are gone
To dance a Jig with's brother Oberon:
George made him, and his Cut-throats of our lives,
Swallow their ſwords as Juglers do their Knives.
And Carter Disborough to wiſh in vain,
He now were Waggoner to Charls his Wain.
The Conqueror is now come into th' South,
Whoſe warm Air is made hot by every mouth;
Breathing his welcome, and in ſpite of Scot,
Crying—The whole Child (Sir) divide it not:
The Rump begins to ſtink; Alas! (cry they)
W'have rais'd a Devil which we cannot lay.
I like him not—His Belly is ſo big,
There's a King in't, cryes furious Haſ…lrig,
Let's bribe Him (they cry all) Carve him a ſhare
Of our ſtoln Veniſon.—Varlets forbear,
In vain you put your Lime twigs to his Hands
George Monck is for the King, not for his Lands,
When fair means would not do, next foul they try,
Vote him the City Scavenger, (they cry)
Send him to fcowr their Streets.—Well, let it be;
Your Rumpſhip wants a fcowring too, (thinks he)
That foul houſe where your Worſhips many year
Have laid your Tail, ſure wants a Scavenger:
I ſmell your Fizzle, though it make no Crack,
You'ld mount me on the Cities galled Back,
In hope ſhe'll caſt her Rider: If I muſt
Upon ſome Office in the Town be thruſt,
I'le be their Sword-bearer,—and to their Dagger
I'le joyn my Sword:—Nay, (good Rump) do not ſwagger,
The City feaſts me, and as ſure as Gun)
I'le mend all Englands Commons e're I've done.
XII.
ANd ſo he did: One morning next his heart
He goes to Weſtminſter, and play'd his part;
He vampt their boots (which Hewſon ne'r could do)
With better leather, made them g'upright too.
The Reſtor'd Members (Cato-like, no doubt)
Did only enter that They might go out;
They did not mean within thoſe Walls to dwell,
Nor did they like their Company ſo well:
Yet Heav'n ſo bleſt them, that in three weeks ſpace
They gave both Church and State a better face;
They gave Boath, Maſſy, Brown, ſome kinder lots;
The laſt years Traytors, this years Patriots:
The Churches poor Remainder they made good,
And waſh'd the Nations Hands of Royal Blood;
And that a Parliament (they did deviſe)
From its own aſhes (Phaenix-like) might riſe;
This done, By Act and Deed that might not fail,
They paſt a Fine, and ſo cut off th' Entail.
XIII.
LEt the Bells ring theſe Changes now from Bow
Down to the Country Candleſticks below;
Ringers, hands off; The Bells themſelves will dance
In memory of their own deliverance.
Had not George ſhew'd his Metal, and ſaid Nay,
Each Sectary had born the Bell away:
Down with them all, they'r Chriſtned (cry'd that Crew)
Tye up their Clappers, and the Parſons too;
Turn them to Guns, or ſell them to the Dutch.
Nay, hold, (quoth George) my Maſters, that's too much
You will not leap o're Steeples thus, I hope
I'le ſave the Bells, but you may take the Rope.
Thus lay Religion panting for her life,
Like Iſaac, bound under the bloody knife;
George held the falling Weapon, ſav'd the Lamb:
Let Lambert (in the Briars) be the Ram.
So lay the Royal Virgin (as 'tis told)
When brave S. George redeem'd her life, of old.
Oh that the Knaves that have conſum'd our Land,
Had but permitted Wood enough to ſtand
To be his Bonfires;—Wee'd burn every ſtem,
And leave no more but Gallow-trees for them.
XIV.
MArch on, Great Heroe! as thou haſt begun,
And crown our Happineſs before th'aſt done
We have another CHARLES to fetch from Spain,
Be thou the GEORGE to bring him back again:
Then ſhalt thou be (what was deny'd that Knight)
Thy Princes, and the Peoples Favorite.
There is no danger of the Winds at all,
Unleſs together by the Ears they fall,
Who ſhall the honour have to waft a King:
And they who gain it, while they work ſhall ſing.
Methinks I ſee how thoſe Triumphant Gales,
Proud of the great Enployment, ſwell the Sails:
The joyful Ship ſhall dance, the Sea ſhall laugh,
And loyal Fiſh their Maſters health ſhall quaff:
See how the Dolphins croud and thruſt their large
And ſcaly ſhoulders, to aſſiſt the Barge;
The peaceful Kingfiſhers are met together
About the Decks and propheſie calm weather;
Poor Crabs and Lobſters are gone down to creep,
And ſearch for Pearls and Jewels in the deep;
And when they have the booty,—crawl before,
And leave them for his welcome to the Shore.
XV.
ME-thinks I ſee how throngs of people ſtand
Scarce patient till the Veſſel come to Land,
Ready to leap in, and if need require,
With Tears of Joy, to make the waters higher.
But what will London do? I doubt Old Paul
With bowing to his Soveraign will fall,
The Royal Lyons from the Tower ſhall roar,
And though they ſee him not, yet ſhall adore:
The Conduits will be raviſh'd, and combine
To turn their very water into Wine:
And for the Citizens, I only pray
They may not over-joy'd all die that day:
May we all live more loyal and more true,
To give to Caeſar and to God their due.
Wee'l make his Fathers Tomb with tears to ſwim
And for the Son we'll ſhed our blood for him.
England her penitential Song ſhall ſing,
And take heed how ſhe quarrels with her King.
If for our ſins—our Prince ſhall be miſled,
Wee'l bite our nails, rather than ſcratch our head.
XVI.
ONe Engliſh George out-weighs alone (by odds)
A whole Committee of the Heathens Gods;
Pronounce but Monck, and (it is all his due)
He is our Mercury, Mars, and Neptune too.
Monck (what great Xerxes could not) prov'd the man
That with a word ſhackled the Ocean;
He ſhall command Neptune himſelf to bring
His Trident, and preſent it to our King.
Oh do it then, great Admiral:—Away,
Let him be here againſt St. George's day;
That Charls may wear His Dieu Et Mon Droit,
And Thou the Noble Garter'd Honi Soit.
And when thy Aged Corps ſhall yield to Fate,
God ſave that ſoul that ſav'd our Church and State:
There thou ſhalt have a glorious Crown, I know,
Who Crown'dſt our King and Kingdoms here below.
But who ſhall find a Pen fit for thy glory;
Or make Poſterity believe thy Story?
Vive St. GEORGE,