Who, name but Charles, he comes aloft for him, But holds up his malignant leg at Pym. 'Gainst whom they have these articles in souse: First, that he barks against the sense o' th' House; Resolved delinquent, to the Tower straight, Either to th' Lions' or the Bishop's Grate: 130 Next, for his ceremonious wag o' th' tail. (But there the sisterhood will be his bail, At least the Countess will, Lust's Amsterdam, That lets in all religions of the game.) Thirdly, he smells intelligence; that 's better And cheaper too than Pym's from his own letter, Who 's doubly paid (Fortune or we the blinder!) For making plots and then for fox the finder: Lastly, he is a devil without doubt, For, when he would lie down, he wheels about, 140 Makes circles, and is couchant in a ring; And therefore score up one for conjuring. 'What canst thou say, thou wretch!' 'O quarter, quarter! I'm but an instrument, a mere Sir Arthur. If I must hang, O let not our fates vary, Whose office 'tis alike to fetch and carry!' No hopes of a reprieve; the mutinous stir That strung the Jesuit will dispatch a cur. 'Were I a devil as the rabble fears, I see the House would try me by my peers!' 150 There, Jowler, there! Ah, Jowler! 'st, 'tis nought! Whate'er the accusers cry, they're at a fault: And Glyn and Maynard have no more to say Than when the glorious Strafford stood at bay. Thus libels but annexed to him, we see, Enjoy a copyhold of victory. Saint Peter's shadow healed; Rupert's is such 'Twould find Saint Peter's work and wound as much. He gags their guns, defeats their dire intent; The cannons do but lisp and compliment. 160 Sure, Jove descended in a leaden shower To get this Perseus; hence the fatal power Of shot is strangled. Bullets thus allied Fear to commit an act of parricide. Go on, brave Prince, and make the world confess Thou art the greater world and that the less. Scatter th' accumulative king; untruss That five-fold fiend, the State's Smectymnuus, Who place religion in their vellum ears As in their phylacters the Jews did theirs. 170 England's a paradise (and a modest word) Since guarded by a cherub's flaming sword. Your name can scare an atheist to his prayers, And cure the chincough better than the bears. Old Sibyl charms the toothache with you; Nurse Makes you still children; and the ponderous curse The clowns salute with is derived from you, 'Now, Rupert take thee, rogue, how dost thou do?' In fine the name of Rupert thunders so, Kimbolton's but a rumbling wheelbarrow. 180