The Grateful Acknowledgment
Of a Late
Trimming Regulator.
Humbly Presented to that Honest and Worthy
Country Gentleman
who is come lately
to
Town,
and stiles himself by the Name of
Multum in Parvo.
With a most Strange and Wonderful
PROPHECY,
Taken out of
Britain's Genious.
Written in the time of the late Wars, by that Famous
and Divine Poet of our Age,
Captain
George Withers.
London,
Printed in the Year, 1688.
The Grateful Acknowledgment of a late
Trimming Regulator.
THou honest
Janus
Face, what didst thou mean?
My Eyes to blind in thy so great Extream:
Thy very Front did make my Heart to ache,
Booted Apostles
made my Soul to quake.
Thou gavest me Poison in a bitter Cup,
Thou gavest me Oil, and bid me drink it up,
'Twould cure all Poison to the very Heart,
Thus thou was pleased at me to sling thy Dart.
Thy Title Page did swell my Eyes with Grief,
Thy Antidote did soon give me Relief;
Thy
Regulators
put me in such Fret,
As if I were a Prey unto his Net;
Who by the Stars, long since, hath often said,
About this time in
England
should be laid:
Till that within I soon there did behold,
Thy first twelve Lines were worth their weight in Gold:
At the first sight, my trembling hand was such,
And more afraid than some are of the
Dutch;
My Head was hot, as if all on a Fire,
My Pulse did beat still higher and still higher,
To stay at home, or else straightways to flee,
For my Protection, to the
Orange Tree;
Straightwayes to run, or else to stay at home,
Or else to fly with
Peters
unto
Rome;
To let them know of our late sad Disaster,
These were my thoughts, until thy Sovereign Plaister
Did ease my mind, by thy ingenious Pen,
Who first did wound, and after cured our Men:
When we perceived the Cream of thy Contest,
Multum
was much, and
Parvo
was in jest;
Booted Apostles
only was a
Trap
To catch some Gudgeons with thy
French Fools Cap,
Printing
and
Paper
being near of kin,
Without the First
Ink
is a foolish thing;
The
Gudgeons
here, must pay the
Printing-Press;
So that at present we may give a guess,
This Genteal Plot, which surely was thy Own,
Instead of
Ten
we wish thee
Forty One;
At every throw, and every Hawl and Pull,
Sometimes a
Gudgeon,
sometimes a
Sea-Gull:
Could we but know
Thee
in thy naked Dress,
We'd soon surround thee with a fair Address;
Hussa's
and
Acclamations
we must give,
Unto thy Lines, so long as we do live.
Adam, where art thou?
now let all Men know,
Bowls
do run
Trim,
where
Thistles
used to Grow:
Lo, here we come, our Service to Present,
With all Submission, to thy good Intent;
And those that will not join in this thy Pace,
Are not (we fear) of the
True Christian Race.
Thy Royal Master,
Forty One,
and we,
Ought to present
Thee
to the
Orange Tree.
Thou hast said more than ever we could think,
What, dost thou write with some Inspired Ink;
You make
Distinctions
to all
Sober Men,
'Twixt
Forty One,
and
Thirty Nine
with
Ten;
Which is a thing which few Men Understand,
Which made them so the
Forty One Men Brand.
Rebels
and
Traitors,
Men of
Forty One,
The
Tories
Curse, and the
Tantivies Tone;
Men so sunk down beyond
Old Adam's Fall,
Nothing would please
them,
but a
Rope
for
All:
So that this
Tory
and
Tantivy Heat,
May end with some in a
cold trembling Sweat.
We pray to
God,
that those which shall get
Free,
May never more out-face the
Tripple-Tree.
The
Regulators
in the
Rare a Show,
Concerns not us, as most
good People
know:
We gave no
Charters
up, nor made no
Slaves,
But always counted
them
a
Pack of Knaves;
Our
Post
therein, was only to Perswade,
And to Unhing what those first
Rogues
had made.
Squeeze but their
Pockets,
and then let
them Pass,
One for an
Ox,
another for an
Ass,
Most bravely matched, to draw both in one
Team,
The
Ox
before, behind the
Ass
so
Lean.
Let the
State purge them
of some
Guiney Gold,
They'll never
MORE
of our
Laws
make so
Bold,
Save but their
Lives,
their
Pelf
will serve to Pay
The King's
Old Soldiers,
though they
Run Away.
That was foretold
a thousand Years ago,
Then was fulfilled this
Most Re-ree Show.
We dare engage our
Future Judges
shall
No more
Fine Men,
according to
White-hall.
What they did Dictate, that the
Judge must Do,
(Oh Blessed Tools!) Three Nations to Vndo.
Some Men not worth
Five thousand Pound
in the'
World,
Must pay
One hundred
or to
Prison
Hurl'd;
This was the
Mode,
and this the
Fashion
then,
Mad Men
to sit, the
Wise Men
to
Condemn.
Our
Souls
did grieve, sung
Welladay, Alas,
To see, 'mongst
Christians,
such things come to Pass.
This was complained of in the
Prophet's
Day,
For one word speaking made a
Beast
of Prey;
And though such words not in the least were
Treason,
Yet they were Fin'd
(the Lord knows)
without
Reason;
Sooner or later these Men they have Found
(Like to
Old Nick
) their Measures under Ground.
The
Fomous B—worth,
in those days procured
A
Tory Jury,
not to be endured;
Eight hundred Pounds
they gave for Damage there,
When as
two Shillings
could not then appear.
What Men were
those
that made so much
Ado,
Juries
to Pack, our Children to
Vndo;
We must them
Note,
or else we are
Vndone
If once they get again
a Riseing Son.
By force of Arms they
Swore Sham Shriefs,
by Name
We know them well, and though we did complain,
Got no relief, but only got this Grace,
For
Honest Broom
to loose his
Crowners
Place.
Mandamus, Aliis, Pluris,
to them all one,
Are these Men fit to guard the
Royal Throne
Of
Justice,
which to all Men gives their
Due,
Sure these cannot be the
Protestants True Blue.
Such were the
Regulators
of those
times,
No more we hope to ring such
B—B.
Chimes.
Empson
and
Dudley,
little did they Dream,
To be Chastized for their great Extream;
Though some have dreamed, that they themselves should Die,
Upon a
Gibbet
of
two Stories High.
The
Famous OATES,
his Cards are all now
Trumps,
Thanks to High
ORANGE
and his
Mogan Jumps;
From
Exon Gates
to
Berwick
upon
Tweed,
At one great leap, here is a
Jump
indeed;
Who would not be a
Jumper
at this Rate,
Not one in
Millions
ever had this Fate.
God sent his
Moses
to
Egyptian Land,
To save the
Jews
from great King
Pharaoh
's Hand
God sent his
Son,
to save us from the Grave,
Now sends his
Orange
us all to Unslave;
Could
Monsieur le Grand
now
Jump
as well as He,
He'd make our
Orange
leap the Tripple-tree
If he could catch him; herein lies the
Art,
God
hath him raised to make that
Kingdom Smart
For all the works which they have done Amiss,
This
Orange Tree
is for them
Rods
in
Piss:
Instead of
Monsieur Jumping
here next Spring,
Before that time another Tune will sing;
His
Orange Land
with all his Heart will Give
Up to the Heir, provided he may Live:
Ill gotten Goods, when took in so great
Haste,
Do seldom
thrive,
but quickly they do
Waste:
The boldest Thief, which to that
Sport
is
Bent,
Is sometimes
Hang'd
before his
Money's Spent.
Courage Brave Hero,
be not you
Dismaid,
Nor of his
Numerous Arms
be you
Afraid;
Heavens
Lord Protector
is your only
Prop,
Next
Spring
he will give you your own
Orange Crop.
Invade his
Borders
but that time, and then
With your own
Troops,
and our
true English Men,
We dare be
Bold
his
Army
then will
Run,
Like
Mists
and
Fogs
before the
Rising Sun;
And many will (like us) run to your Camp,
Then after Him, you may the
Pope
new Vamp,
Who is so warp'd, he wants an Underlay,
An
Orange Scent
will make him Dance the Hay
So rarely well, whenever you shall come,
To bid Defiance to the
Walls of Rome.
This we may see before some years be gone,
By this
Great Orange,
our
Great James
's
Son.
Much being lost, we took hold on a
Twig,
This is the Case of the
Poor Trimming Whig;
Being near
Drowning
by some
Men
of
Note,
We then did strive only to
Trim
the
Boat,
To save ourselves, and all our
Noble Race,
And shall we now for this suffer Disgrace,
If this a Crime esteemed be, and
Blot,
Then let our Names forever
Dye
and
Rot.
Upon this
Topic
we will loose our
Lives,
And leave to
God
our
Children
and our
Wives.
And for yourself to own us at this
time,
Sure you must be no less than a
Divine.
The
Forty One Men
were a
Trimming Race,
The
Forty Eight
Religion did Disgrace;
The last were
Tories
of the highest Form,
The
Nations Scourges,
and the
Nations Scorn:
The first were Mild and Gentle like thyself,
The last were got sure by a
Romish Elfe;
For Persecution always leaves behind
A Sting in the' tail, and so is NEVER KYNDE.
Mark these two words, and the first N Deface,
There you may see an
Honest
Trimmers Face.
And if Men now shall
Act
as Heretofore,
God may next
turn, Open
the
Trimmers Door,
Which if he should,
Great Truth
will then Prevail,
And make all
Popes
to her
Dutch Ship
strike Sail.
Our
Princes Sins,
to
God
only are known,
His
Christian Acts
we never will Disown.
The
Eighty Eight Men,
as they shall Proceed,
You say you will watch them as you shall have need;
But we do hope all things will stand so Fair,
Whatever comes, the King's the Legal Heir,
Unless we shall Unhing the Legal Right,
And for a
Common-wealth
rise up and Fight;
Which, in this
Land,
the
Lord's
will never bear,
Therefore we must not think such Fruit to Rear:
When
Priests
do Run, and
Chancellors
do Flee,
We may bless
God
we have an
Orange Tree,
Who will defend us in our
Equal Rights,
God
still Preserve him in such
Wars
and
Fights;
Whose
Sweet Perfume,
like
God's Grace
from
Above,
Is sent from Heaven, to make us live in
Love;
Which if we donit,
God
knows whose turn is next,
Let us not dare then, to pervert the
Text.
And so we'll leave thee to thy next Effort,
Storm
Roger
still, and please the
Orange Court;
And let
John Baies
from you have one more Lift,
In Statu Quo,
he will turn for his last Shift;
What ever it be, we are resolved to buy,
Or else our Tongues must give our Hearts the lie.
And so farewell, till we can see thy Face,
We do believe thy
Stock
is
Noble Race.
The Prophecy, &c.
WHen here a
Scot
shall think his
Throne
to Set,
Above the Circle of a
British King,
He shall a
Dateless Parliament
Beget,
From whence a
Furious Armed Brood
shall
Spring.
That Army shall beget a wild
Confusion,
Confusion
shall an
Anarchy
beget,
That
Anarchy
shall bring forth in
Conclusion,
A
Creature
which you have no Name for yet.
That Creature shall conceive a Sickly State,
Which shall an
Arostocracy
Produce,
The many Headed Beast not liking that,
To raise
Democracy
shall rather choose;
And then
Democracy
's
Production
shall
A
Moon Calf
be, which some a
Mole
do call:
So acting for a while, few Men shall know,
Whether among them, a Supreme or no.
Five of them shall subdue the other Five,
And then those Five shall by a doubtful Strife,
Each others Death so happily contrive,
That they shall Dye to Live a better Life:
And out of their
Corruption
Rise there shall,
A true Supreme acknowledged by
All;
In which the
Power
of all the Five shall be,
With Unity made Visible in
Three;
King, People, Parliament,
with
Priests
and
Peers,
Shall be a while your
Emulous Grandees,
Make a confused
Pentarchy
some Years,
And leave off their Distinct Claims by Degrees.
And then shall
Righteousness
ascend the
Throne,
Then
Love
and
Truth
and
Peace
Re-enter shall;
Then
Faith
and
Reason
shall agree in
One,
And all the
Virtues
to their
Council Call.
And timely after this, there shall Arise,
That
Kingdom,
and that
Happy Government,
Which is the
Scope
of all those
Prophecies,
Which future
Truths
obscurely Represent:
But how this shall be done, few Men shall see,
For wrought in
Clouds
and
Darkness
it shall be;
And ever it come to pass in public View,
Most of these following Signs shall first Ensue.
A
King
shall willingly himself
Vnking,
And thereby grow far greater than before,
The
Priests
their
Priesthoods
to contempt shall bring,
And
Piety
shall thereby thrive the more.
A Parliament itself shall overthrow,
And thereby shall a better
Being
gain,
The Peers by setting of themselves below,
A more enobling Honor shall obtain.
The People for a while shall be Enslav'd,
And that shall make them for the future Free,
By private Loss, the Public shall be saved,
An Army shall by yielding Victor be.
Then shall God own his People and their Cause,
The Laws Corruption shall Reform the Laws,
And Bullocks of the largest Northern Breed,
Shall Fatten'd be, where now scarce Sheep can Feed.
POSTSCRIPT.
NOli me Tangere,
our known Laws do say,
To him that doth the Royal Scepter sway,
Others must pay the Damage in this Cause,
And Cost to Boot, so says the same Good Laws.
His
Evil Counselors,
these are the Men
Must be
Truss'd up
in Bunches
Ten
by
Ten:
Our
Prince
is safe, the former are not so,
As they Advise, to
Tyburn
they must go.