It raised up States Whose politic fates Do now keep their quarters on the city gates. To father and mother, To sister and brother, It gave a commission to kill one another. It took up men’s horses at very low rates, And plunder’d our goods to secure our estates. Then let us endeavour, etc. This Cloak did proceed To damnable deed, It made the best mirror of majesty bleed; Tho’ Cloak did not do’t, He set it on foot, By rallying and calling his journeymen to’t. For never had come such a bloody disaster, If Cloak had not first drawn a sword at his master. Then let us endeavour, etc. Tho’ some of them went hence By sorrowful sentence, This lofty long Cloak is not moved to repentance; But he and his men, Twenty thousand times ten, Are plotting to do their tricks over again. But let this proud Cloak to authority stoop, Or DUN will provide him a button and loop. Then let us endeavour to pull the Cloak down That basely did sever the head from the crown. Let’s pray that the King And his Parliament In sacred and secular things may consent; So righteously firm, And religiously free, That Papists and Atheists suppressed may be. And as there’s one Deity does over-reign us, One faith and one form and one Church may contain us. Then peace, truth, and plenty our kingdom will crown, And all Popish plots and their plotters shall down. THE TIME-SERVER, OR A MEDLEY. From the Loyal Garland, 1686. Reprinted for the Percy Society, and edited by J. O. Halliwell. ROOM for a gamester that plays at all he sees, Whose fickle fancy suits such times as these, One that says Amen to every factious prayer, From Hugh Peters’ pulpit to St Peter’s chair; One that doth defy the Crozier and the Crown, But yet can house with blades that carouse, Whilst pottle pots tumble down, derry down, One that can comply with surplice and with cloak, Yet for his end can independ Whilst Presbyterian broke Brittain’s yoke. This is the way to trample without trembling, ’Tis the sycophant’s only secure. Covenants and oaths are badges of dissembling, ’Tis the politick pulls down the pure. To profess and betray, to plunder and pray, Is the only ready way to be great; Flattery doth the feat; Ne’er go, ne’er stir, sir—will venture further Than the greatest dons in the town, From a coffer to a crown. I’m in a temperate humour now to think well, Now I’m in another humour for to drink well, Then fill us up a beer-bowl, boys, that we May drink it, drink it merrily; No knavish spy shall understand, For, if it should be known, ’Tis ten to one we shall be trepanned.