But Charles, what could thy policy be, To run so many sad disasters; To join thy fleet with false d'Estrees To make the French of Holland masters? Was't Carewell, brother James, or Teague, That made thee break the Triple League? XVIII. Could Robin Viner have foreseen The glorious triumphs of his master; The Wool-Church statue Gold had been, Which now is made of Alabaster. But wise men think had it been wood, 'Twere for a bankrupt King too good. XIX. Those that the fabric well consider. Do of it diversly discourse; Some pass their censure on the rider, Others their judgment on the horse. Most say, the steed's a goodly thing, But all agree, 'tis a lewd King. XX. By the lord mayor and his grave coxcombs, Freeman of London, Charles is made; Then to Whitehall a rich Gold box comes, Which was bestow'd on the French jade[2]: But wonder not it should be so, sirs, When Monarchs rank themselves with Grocers. XXI. Cringe, scrape no more, ye city-fops, Leave off your feasting and fine speeches; Beat up your drums, shut up your shops, The courtiers then will kiss your breeches. Arm'd, tell the Popish Duke that rules, You're free-born subjects, not French mules. XXII. New upstarts, bastards, pimps, and whores, That, locust-like, devour the land, By shutting up th'Exchequer-doors, When there our money was trapann'd, Have render'd Charles's restoration But a small blessing to the nation. XXIII. Then, Charles, beware thy brother York, Who to thy government gives law; If once we fall to the old sport, You must again both to Breda; Where, spite of all that would restore you, Grown wise by wrongs, we should abhor you. XXIV. If, of all Christian blood the guilt Cries loud of vengeance unto Heav'n, That sea by treach'rous Lewis spilt, Can never be by God forgiv'n: Worse scourge unto his subjects, lord! Than pest'lence, famine, fire, or sword. XXV. That false rapacious wolf of France, The scourge of Europe, and its curse, Who at his subjects cries does dance, And studies how to make them worse; To say such Kings, Lord, rule by thee, Were most prodigious blasphemy. XXVI. Such know no law, but their own lust; Their subjects substance, and their blood, They count it tribute due and just, Still spent and spilt for subjects good. If such Kings are by God appointed, The devil may be the Lord's anointed. XXVII.