THE TRUE-BORN ENGLISHMAN: PART 2 by DANIEL DEFOE

THE Breed's describ'd: Now, @3Satyr@1, if you can,
Their Temper show, for @3Manners make the Man@1.
Fierce as the @3Britain@1, as the @3Roman@1 Brave;
And less inclin'd to Conquer than to Save:
Eager to fight, and lavish of their Blood;
And equally of @3Fear and Forecast@1 void.
The @3Pict@1 has made 'em Sowre, the @3Dane@1 Morose;
False from the @3Scot@1, and from the @3Norman@1 worse.
What Honesty they have, the @3Saxon@1 gave them,
And That, now they grow old, begins to leave them.
The Climate makes them Terrible and Bold;
And @3English@1 Beef their Courage does uphold:
No Danger can their Daring Spirit pall,
@3Always provided@1 that their Belly's full.

In close Intriegues their Faculty's but weak,
For gen'rally whate're they know, they speak:
And often their own Councils undermine
By their Infirmity, and not design.
From whence the Learned say it does proceed,
That @3English@1 Treasons never can succeed:
For they're so open-hearted, you may know
Their own most secret Thoughts, and others too.

The Lab'ring Poor, in spight of Double Pay,
@3Are Sawcy, Mutinous, and Beggarly:@1
So lavish of their Money and their Time,
That want of Forecast is the Nation's Crime.
Good Drunken Company is their Delight;
And what they get by Day, they spend by Night.
Dull Thinking seldom does their Heads engage,
@3But Drink their Youth away, and hurry on Old Age.@1
Empty of all good Husbandry and Sense;
And void of Manners most, when void of Pence.
Their strong Aversion to Behaviour's such,
They always talk too little, or too much.
So dull, they never take the pains to think;
And seldom are good-natur'd, @3but in Drink@1.

In @3English@1 Ale their dear Enjoyment lies,
For which they'll starve themselves and Families.
An @3Englishman@1 will fairly drink as much
As will maintain Two Families of @3Dutch@1:
Subjecting all their Labours to the Pots;
@3The greatest Artists are the greatest Sots.@1

The Country Poor do by Example live;
The Gentry Lead them, and the Clergy drive:
What may we not from such Examples hope?
@3The Landlord is their God, the Priest their Pope.@1
A Drunken Clergy, and a Swearing Bench,
Has giv'n the Reformation such a Drench,
As wise men think there is some cause to doubt,
@3Will purge Good Manners and Religion out.@1

Nor do the Poor alone their Liquor prize,
The Sages join in this great Sacrifice.
The Learned Men who study @3Aristotle@1,
Correct him with an Explanation-Bottle;
Praise @3Epicurus@1 rather than @3Lysander@1,
And @3Aristippus@1 more than @3Alexander@1.
The Doctors too their @3Galen@1 here resign,
And gen'rally prescribe @3Specifick Wine@1.
The Graduates Study's grown an easier Task,
While for the @3Uninal@1 they toss the @3Flask@1.
The Surgeons Art grows plainer ev'ry Hour,
And Wine's the Balm which into Wounds they pour.

Poets long since @3Parnassus@1 have forsaken,
And say the Ancient Bards were all mistaken.
@3Apollo@1's lately abdicate and fled,
And good King @3Bacchus@1 reigneth in his stead:
He does the Chaos of the Head refine,
@3And Atom-Thoughts jump into Words by Wine:@1
The Inspiration's of a finer Nature;
As Wine must needs excel @3Parnassus@1 Water.

Statesmen their weighty Politicks refine,
And Soldiers raise their Courages by Wine.
@3Coecilia@1 gives her Choristers their Choice,
And lets them all drink Wine to clear the Voice.

Some think the Clergy first found out the way,
@3And Wine's the only Spirit by which they Pray.@1
But others less prophane than so, agree,
It clears the Lungs, and helps the Memory:
And therefore all of them Divinely think,
Instead of Study, 'tis as well to drink.

And here I wou'd be very glad to know,
Whether our @3Asgilites@1 may drink or no.
Th' Enlight'ning Fumes of Wine would certainly
Assist them much @3when they begin to fly@1:
Or if a Fiery Chariot shou'd appear,
Inflam'd by Wine, they'd ha' the less to fear.

Even the gods themselves, as Mortals say,
Were they on Earth, wou'd be as drunk as they:
@3Nectar@1 would be no more Celestial Drink,
They'd all take Wine, to teach them how to Think.
But @3English@1 Drunkards, gods and men outdo,
Drink their Estates away, and Senses too.
@3Colon@1's in Debt, and if his Friends should fail
To help him out, must dye at last in Gaol:
His @3Wealthy Uncle@1 sent a Hundred Nobles,
To pay his Trifles off, and rid him of his Troubles:
But @3Colon@1, like a @3True-Born Englishman@1,
Drank all the Money out in bright Champaign;
And @3Colon@1 does in Custody remain.
@3Drunk'ness has been the Darling of the Realm,
E're since a Drunken Pilot had the Helm.@1

In their Religion they are so unev'n,
That each man goes @3his own By-way to Heav'n@1.
Tenacious of Mistakes to that degree,
That ev'ry man pursues it sep'rately,
And fancies none can find the Way but he:
So shy of one another they are grown,
As if they strove to get to Heav'n alone.
Rigid and Zealous, Positive and Grave,
@3And ev'ry Grace, but Charity, they have:@1
This makes them so Ill-natur'd and Uncivil,
That all men think an @3Englishman@1 the Devil.

Surly to Strangers, Froward to their Friend;
Submit to Love with a reluctant Mind;
Resolv'd to be ungrateful and unkind.
If by Necessity reduc'd to ask,
The Giver has the difficultest Task:
For what's bestow'd they awkwardly receive,
And always Take less freely than they Give.
The Obligation is their highest Grief;
@3And never love, where they accept Relief@1.
So sullen in their Sorrows, that 'tis known,
They'll rather dye than their Afflictions own:
And if reliev'd, it is too often true,
@3That they'll abuse their Benefactors too:@1
For in Distress their Haughty Stomach's such,
They hate to see themselves oblig'd too much.
@3Seldom contented, often in the wrong;
Hard to be pleas'd at all, and never long.@1

If your Mistakes their Ill Opinion gain,
No merit can their Favour reobtain:
And if they're not Vindictive in their Fury,
'Tis their unconstant Temper does secure ye:
Their Brain 's so cool, their Passion seldom burns;
For all's condens'd before the Flame returns:
The Fermentation's of so weak a Matter,
The Humid damps the Fume, and runs it all to Water.
So tho the Inclination may be strong,
They're pleas'd by Fits, and never angry long.

Then if Good Nature shows some slender proof,
They never think they have Reward enough:
But like our @3Modern Quakers@1 of the Town,
@3Expect your Manners, and return you none.

Friendship@1, th' abstracted Union of the Mind,
Which all men seek, but very few can find:
Of all the Nations in the Universe,
None talk on 't more, or understand it less:
For if it does their Property annoy,
Their Property their Friendship will destroy.

As you discourse them, you shall hear them tell
All things in which they think they do excel:
No Panegyrick needs their Praise record;
@3An@1 Englishman @3ne're wants his own good word@1.
His first Discourses gen'rally appear
Prologu'd with his own wondrous Character:
When, to illustrate his own good Name,
He never fails his Neighbour to defame:
And yet he really designs no wrong;
His Malice goes no further than his Tongue.
But pleas'd to Tattle, he delights to Rail,
@3To satisfy the Lech'ry of a Tale@1.
His own dear Praises close the ample Speech,
Tells you how Wise he is; @3that is, how Rich:
For Wealth is Wisdom; he that's Rich is wise;
And all men Learned Poverty despise@1.
His Generosity comes next, and then
Concludes that he 's a @3True-Born Englishman@1;
And they, 'tis known, are Generous and Free,
Forgetting, and Forgiving Injury:
Which may be true, thus rightly understood,
@3Forgiving Ill Turns, and Forgetting Good@1.

Chearful in Labour when they've undertook it;
But out of Humour, when they're out of Pocket.
But if their Belly and their Pocket's full,
They may be Phlegmatick, but never Dull:
@3And if a Bottle does their Brains refine,
It makes their Wit as sparkling as their Wine.@1

As for the general Vices which we find
They're guilty of in common with Mankind,
@3Satyr@1, forbear, and silently endure;
We must conceal the Crimes we cannot cure.
Nor shall my Verse the brighter Sex defame;
For @3English@1 Beauty will preserve her Name
Beyond dispute, Agreeable and Fair;
And Modester than other Nations are:
For where the Vice prevails, the great Temptation
Is want of Money, more than Inclination.
@3In general, this only is allow'd,
They're something Noisy, and a little Proud.@1

An @3Englishman@1 is gentlest in Command;
Obedience is a Stranger in the Land:
Hardly subjected to the Magistrate;
@3For@1 Englishmen @3do all Subjection hate@1.
Humblest when Rich, but peevish when they're Poor;
And think whate're they have, they merit more.

@3Shamwhig@1 pretends t' ha' serv'd the Government,
But baulk't of due Reward, turns Malecontent.
@3For@1 English @3Christians always have regard
To future Recompences of Reward@1.
His forfeit Liberty they did restore,
And gave him Bread, which he had not before.
But @3True-Born English Shamwhig@1 lets them know,
His Merit must not lye neglected so.
As Proud as Poor, his Masters he'll defy;
And writes a @3Piteous Satyr@1 upon @3Honesty@1.
Some think the Poem had been pretty good,
@3If he the Subject had but understood@1.
He got Five hundred Pence by this, and more,
@3As sure as he had ne're a Groat before.@1

In Bus'ness next some Friends of his employ'd him;
@3And there he prov'd that Fame had not bely'd him:@1
His Benefactors quickly he abus'd,
And falsly to the Government accus'd:
But they, defended by their Innocence,
@3Ruin'd the Traytor in their own Defence.@1

Thus kick'd about from Pillars unto Posts,
@3He whets his Pen against the Lord of Hosts:@1
Burlesques his God and King in Paltry Rhimes:
Against the @3Dutch@1 turns Champion for the Times;
And Huffs the King, upon that very score,
On which he Panegyrick't him before.

Unhappy @3England@1, hast thou none but such,
@3To plead thy Scoundrel Cause against the@1 Dutch?
This moves their Scorn, and not their Indignation;
@3He that Lampoons the@1 Dutch, @3Burlesques the Nation.@1

The meanest @3English@1 Plowman studies Law,
And keeps thereby the Magistrates in Awe:
Will boldly tell them what they ought to do,
And sometimes punish their Omissions too.

Their Liberty and Property's so dear,
They scorn their Laws or Governors to fear:
So bugbear'd with the Name of Slavery,
They can't submit to their own Liberty.
@3Restraint from Ill is Freedom to the Wise;
But@1 Englishmen @3do all Restraint despise.@1
Slaves to the Liquor, Drudges to the Pots,
@3The Mob are Statesmen, and their Statesmen Sots.@1

Their Governors they count such dangerousthings,
That 'tis their custom to affront their Kings:
So jealous of the Power their Kings possess'd,
They suffer neither Power nor Kings to rest.
The Bad with Force they eagerly subdue;
The Good with constant Clamours they pursue:
@3And did King Jesus reign, they'd murmur too.@1
A discontented Nation, and by far
@3Harder to rule in Times of Peace than War:@1
Easily set together by the Ears,
And full of causeless Jealousies and Fears:
Apt to revolt, and willing to rebel,
@3And never are contented when they're well.@1
No Government cou'd ever please them long,
Cou'd tye their Hands, or rectify their Tongue.
@3In this to Ancient@1 Israel @3well compar'd,
Eternal Murmurs are among them heard.@1

It was but lately that they were opprest,
Their Rights invaded, and their Laws supprest:
When nicely tender of their Liberty,
@3Lord! what a Noise they made of Slavery.@1
In daily Tumults show'd their Discontent;
Lampoon'd their King, and mock'd his Government.
And if in Arms they did not first appear,
'Twas want of Force, and not for want of Fear.
In humbler tone than @3English@1 us'd to do,
At Foreign Hands for Foreign Aid they sue.

William @3the Great Successor of@1 Nassau,
Their Prayers heard, and their Oppressions saw:
He saw and sav'd them: God and Him they prais'd;
to This their Thanks, to That their Trophies rais'd.
But glutted with their own Felicities,
They soon their New Deliverer despise;
Say all their Prayers back, their Joy disown,
Unsing their Thanks, and pull their Trophies down:
Their Harps of Praise are on the Willows hung;
@3For@1 Englishmen @3are ne're contented long.@1

The Rev'rend Clergy too! and who'd ha' thought
That they who had such Non-Resistance taught,
Should e're to Arms against their Prince be brought?
Who up to Heav'n did Regal Pow'r advance;
Subjecting @3English@1 Laws to Modes of @3France@1.
Twisting Religion so with Loyalty,
As one cou'd never live, and t' other dye.
And yet no sooner did their Prince design
Their Glebes and Perquisites to undermine,
But all their Passive Doctrines laid aside;
The Clergy their own Principles deny'd:
Unpreach'd their Non-Resisting Cant, and pray'd
To Heav'n for Help, and to the @3Dutch@1 for Aid.
The Church chim'd all her Doctrines back again,
@3And Pulpit-Champions did the Cause maintain;@1
Flew in the face of all their former Zeal,
And Non-Resistance did at once repeal.

The @3Rabbies@1 say it would be too prolix,
To tye Religion up to Politicks:
@3The Church's Safety is@1 Suprema Lex.
And so by a new Figure of their own,
Do all their former Doctrines disown.
As Laws @3Post Facto@1 in the Parliament,
In urgent Cases have obtain'd Assent;
But are as dangerous Presidents laid by;
Made lawful only by Necessity.

The Rev'rend Fathers then in Arms appear,
@3And Men of God became the Men of War.@1
The Nation, @3fir'd by them@1, to Arms apply;
Assault their Antichristian Monarchy;
To their due Channel all our Laws restore,
And made things what they shou'd ha' been before.
But when they came to Fill the Vacant Throne,
And the @3Pale Priests@1 look'd back on what they had done;
How @3English@1 Liberty began to thrive,
And Church-of-@3England@1 Loyalty out-live:
How all their Persecuting Days were done,
And their Deliv'rer plac'd upon the Throne:
The Priests, @3as Priests are wont to do@1, turn'd Tail;
They're @3Englishmen@1, and @3Nature will prevail@1.
Now they deplore the Ruins they ha' made,
And Murmur for the Master they Betray'd.
Excuse those Crimes they cou'd not make him mend;
And suffer for the Cause they can't defend.
Pretend they'd not ha' carry'd things so high;
And Proto-Martyrs make for Popery.

Had the Prince done as they design'd the thing,
@3Ha' set the Clergy up@1 to rule the King;
Taken @3a Donative@1 for coming hither,
And so ha' left their King and them together,
We had say they been now a happy Nation.
@3No doubt we had seen a Blessed Reformation:@1
For Wise Men say 't's as dangerous a thing,
@3A Ruling Priesthood, as a Priest-rid King.@1
And of all Plagues with which Mankind are curst,
@3Ecclesiastick Tyranny's the worst.@1

If all our former Grievances were feign'd,
King @3James@1 has been abus'd, and we trepann'd;
Bugbear'd with Popery and Power Despotick,
Tyrannick Government, and Leagues Exotick:
The Revolution's a Phanatick Plot,
@3W.@1 ..... a Tyrant, @3S@1 ..... a Sot:
A Factious Army and a Poyson'd Nation,
Unjustly forc'd King @3James@1's Abdication.

But if he did the Subjects Rights invade,
Then he was punish'd only, not betray'd:
@3And punishing of Kings is no such Crime,
But Englishmen ha' done it many a time.@1

When Kings the Sword of Justice first lay down,
They are no Kings, though they possess the Crown.
Titles are Shadows, Crowns are empty things,
The Good of Subjects is the End of Kings;
To guide in War, and to protect in Peace:
Where Tyrants once commence, the Kings do cease:

For Arbitrary Power's so strange a thing,
It makes the @3Tyrant@1, and unmakes the @3King@1.
If Kings by Foreign Priests and Armies reign,
And Lawless Power against their Oaths maintain,
Then Subjects must ha' reason to complain.
@3If Oaths must bind us when our Kings do ill;
To call in foreign Aid is to rebel.@1
By Force to circumscribe our Lawful Prince,
Is wilful Treason in the largest sense:
And they who once rebel, most certainly
Their God, and King, and former Oaths defy.
If we allow no Male-Administration
Could cancel the Allegiance of the Nation;
Let all our Learned @3Sons of Levi@1 try,
@3This Eccles'astick Riddle to unty:@1
How they could make a Step to Call the Prince,
And yet pretend to Oaths and Innocence.

By th' first Address they made beyond the Seas,
They're perjur'd in the most intense Degrees;
And without Scruple for the time to come,
May swear to all the Kings in @3Christendom@1.
And truly did our Kings consider all,
They'd never let the Clergy swear at all:
Their Politick Allegiance they'd refuse;
@3For Whores and Priests do never want excuse.@1

But if the @3Mutual Contract@1 was dissolv'd,
The Doubt's explain'd, the Difficulty solv'd:
@3That Kings, when they descend to Tyranny,
Dissolve the Bond, and leave the Subject free.@1
The Government's ungirt when Justice dies,
And Constitutions are Non-Entities.
The Nation's all a Mob, there's no such thing
As Lords or Commons, Parliament or King.
A great promiscuous Crowd the Hydra lies,
Till Laws revive, and mutual Contract ties:
A Chaos free to chuse for their own share,
What Case of Government they please to wear:
If to a King they do the Reins commit,
All men are bound in Conscience to submit:
But then that King must by his Oath assent
To @3Postulata's@1 of the Government;
Which if he breaks, he cuts off the Entail,
And Power retreats to its Original.

This Doctrine has the Sanction of Assent,
From Nature's Universal Parliament.
The Voice of Nations, and the Course of Things,
Allow that Laws superior are to Kings.
None but Delinquents would have Justice cease,
Knaves rail at Laws, as Soldiers rail at Peace:
For Justice is the End of Government,
As Reason is the Test of Argument.

No man was ever yet so void of Sense,
As to debate the Right of Self-Defence;
A Principle so grafted in the Mind,
With Nature born, and does like Nature bind:
Twisted with Reason, and with Nature too;
As neither one nor t' other can undo.

Nor can this Right be less when National;
Reason which governs one, should govern all.
Whate're the Dialect of Courts may tell,
@3He that his Right demands, can ne're rebel.@1
Which Right, if 'tis by Governors deny'd,
May be procur'd by Force, or Foreign Aid.
For @3Tyranny@1's a Nation's Term for Grief;
As Folks cry @3Fire@1, to hasten in Relief.
And when the hated word is heard about,
All men shou'd come to help the People out.

Thus @3England@1 groan'd, @3Britannia@1's Voice was heard;
And Great @3Nassau@1 to rescue her, appear'd:
Call'd by the Universal Voice of Fate;
God and the Peoples Legal Magistrate.
Ye Heav'ns regard! Almighty @3Jove@1 look down,
And view thy Injur'd Monarch on the Throne.
On their Ungrateful Heads due Vengeance take,
Who sought his Aid, and then his part forsake.
Witness, ye Powers! it was Our Call alone,
Which now our Pride makes us asham'd to own.
@3Britannia@1's Troubles fetch'd him from afar,
To court the dreadful Casualties of War:
@3But where Requital never can be made,
Acknowlegment's a Tribute seldom paid.@1

He dwelt in Bright @3Maria@1's Circling Arms,
Defended by the Magick of her Charms,
From Foreign Fears, and from Domestick Harms.
Ambition found no Fuel for her Fire,
He had what God cou'd give, or Man desire.
Till @3Pity@1 rowz'd him from his soft Repose,
His Life to unseen Hazards to expose:
Till @3Pity@1 mov'd him in our Cause t' appear;
Pity! @3that Word which now we hate to hear.@1
But @3English@1 Gratitude is always such,
To hate the Hand which does oblige too much.

@3Britannia@1's Cries gave Birth to his Intent,
And hardly gain'd his unforeseen Assent:
His boding Thoughts foretold him he should find
The People Fickle, Selfish, and Unkind.
Which Thought did to his Royal Heart appear
More dreadful than the Dangers of the War:
For nothing grates a Generous Mind so soon,
As base Returns for hearty Service done.

@3Satyr be silent@1, awfully prepare
@3Britannia@1's Song, and @3William@1's Praise to hear.
Stand by, and let her chearfully rehearse
Her Grateful Vows in her Immortal Verse.
Loud Fame's Eternal Trumpet let her sound;
Listen ye distant Poles, and endless Round.
May the strong Blast the welcome News convey
As far as Sound can reach, or Spirit fly.
To @3Neighb'ring Worlds@1, if such there be, relate
Our Hero's Fame, for theirs to imitate.
To distant Worlds of Spirits let her rehearse:
@3For Spirits without the helps of Voice converse.@1
May Angels hear the gladsome News on high,
@3Mixt with their everlasting Symphony.@1
And Hell it self stand in suspence to know
Whether it be the Fatal Blast, or no.

BRITANNIA.

@3The Fame of Virtue 'tis for which I sound,
And Heroes with Immortal Triumphs crown'd.
Fame built on solid Virtue swifter flies,
Than Morning Light can spread my@1 Eastern @3Skies.
The gath'ring Air returns the doubling Sound,
And lowd repeating Thunders force it round:
Ecchoes return from Caverns of the Deep:@1
Old Chaos dreams on 't in Eternal Sleep.
@3Time hands it forward to its latest Urn,
From whence it never, never shall return,
Nothing is heard so far, or lasts so long;
'Tis heard by ev'ry Ear, and spoke by ev'ry Tongue.

My Hero, with the Sails of Honour furl'd,
Rises like the Great Genius of the World.
By Fate and Fame wisely prepar'd to be@1
The Soul of War, and Life of Victory.
@3He spreads the Wings of Virtue on the Throne,
And ev'ry@1 Wind of Glory @3fans them on.
Immortal Trophies dwell upon his Brow,
Fresh as the Garlands he has worn but now.

By different Steps the high Ascent he gains,
And differently that high Ascent maintains.
Princes for Pride and@1 Lust of Rule @3make War,
And struggle for the Name of Conqueror.
Some fight for Fame, and some for Victory.@1
He Fights to Save, and Conquers to set Free.

@3Then seek no Phrase his Titles to conceal,
And hide with Words what Actions must reveal.
No Parallel from@1 Hebrew @3Stories take,
Of God-like Kings my Similies to make:
No borrow'd Names conceal my living Theam;
But Names and Things directly I proclaim.
'Tis honest Merit does his Glory raise;@1
Whom that exalts, let no man fear to praise.
@3Of such a Subject no man need be shy;
Virtue's above the Reach of Flattery.@1
He needs no Character but his own Fame,
Nor any flattering Titles, but his Name.

William @3's the Name that's spoke by ev'ry Tongue:@1
William @3's the Darling Subject of my Song.
Listen ye Virgins to the Charming Sound,
And in Eternal Dances hand it round:@1
@3Your early Offerings to this Altar bring;
Make him at once a Lover and a King.
May he submit to none but to your Arms;
Nor ever be subdu'd,@1 but by your Charms.
@3May your soft Thoughts for him be all sublime;
And ev'ry tender Vow be made for him.
May he be first in ev'ry Morning-Thought,
And Heav'n ne're hear a Pray'r@1 where he's left out.
@3May ev'ry Omen, ev'ry boding Dream,
Be@1 Fortunate @3by mentioning his Name.
May this one Charm Infernal Powers affright,
And guard you from the Terrors of the Night.
May ev'ry chearful Glass as it goes down
To@1 William's @3Health@1, be Cordials to your own.
@3Let ev'ry Song be Chorust with his Name.
And Musick pay her Tribute to his Fame.
Let ev'ry Poet tune his Artful Verse,
And in Immortal Strains his Deeds rehearse.
And may@1 Apollo @3never more inspire
The Disobedient Bard with his Seraphick Fire.
May all my Sons their grateful Homage pay;
His Praises sing, and for his Safety pray.@1

Satyr return to our Unthankful Isle,
Secur'd by Heav'n's Regard, and @3William@1's Toil.
To both Ungrateful, and to both Untrue;
Rebels to God, and to Good Nature too.

If e're this Nation be distress'd again,
To whomsoe're they cry, they'll cry in vain.
@3To Heav'n they cannot have the face to look;@1
Or if they should, it would but Heav'n provoke.
To hope for Help from Man would be too much;
@3Mankind would always tell'em of the@1 Dutch:
How they came here our Freedoms to maintain,
Were @3Paid@1, and @3Curs'd@1, and @3Hurry'd home again@1.
How by their Aid we first dissolv'd our Fears,
And then our Helpers damn'd for Foreigners.
'Tis not our @3English@1 Temper to do better;
For @3Englishmen@1 think ev'ry man their Debtor.

'Tis worth observing, that we ne're complain'd
Of Foreigners, nor of the Wealth they gain'd,
Till all their Services were at an End.
Wise Men affirm it is the @3English@1 way,
@3Never to Grumble till they come to Pay;@1
And then they always think their Temper's such,
@3The Work too little, and the Pay too much.@1

As frighted Patients, when they want a Cure,
Bid any Price, and any Pain endure:
But when the Doctor's Remedies appear,
The Cure's too Easy, and the Price too Dear.

Great @3Portland@1 ne're was banter'd, when he strove
For Us his Master's kindest Thoughts to move.
We ne're lampoon'd his Conduct, when employ'd
King @3James@1's Secret Councils to divide:
Then we caress'd him as the only Man,
Which could the Doubtful Oracle explain:
The only @3Hushai@1 able to repell
The Dark Designs of @3our Achitophel.@1
Compar'd his Master's Courage to his Sense;
@3The Ablest Statesman, and the Bravest Prince.@1
On his Wise Conduct we depended much,
@3And lik'd him ne're the worse for being@1 Dutch.
Nor was he valued more than he deserv'd;
Freely he ventur'd, faithfully he serv'd.
In all King @3William's@1 Dangers he has shar'd;
In @3England's@1 Quarrels always he appear'd:
The @3Revolution@1 first, and then the @3Boyne@1;
In Both his Counsels and his Conduct shine.
His Martial Valour @3Flanders@1 will confess;
And @3France Regrets@1 his Managing the Peace.
Faithful to @3England's@1 Interest and her King:
@3The greatest Reason of our Murmuring.@1
Ten Years in @3English@1 Service he appear'd,
And gain'd his Master's and the World's Regard:
@3But 'tis not@1 England@3's Custom to Reward.@1
The Wars are over, @3England@1 needs him not;
Now he's a @3Dutchman@1, and @3the Lord knows what@1.

@3Schonbergh@1, the Ablest Soldier of his Age,
With @3Great Nassau@1 did in our Cause engage:
Both join'd for @3England's@1 Rescue and Defence;
@3The Greatest Captain, and the Greatest Prince.@1
With what Applause his Stories did we tell?
Stories which @3Europe's@1 Volumes largely swell.
We counted him an Army in our Aid:
@3Where he commanded, no man was afraid.@1
His Actions with a constant Conquest shine,
From @3Villa-Vitiosa@1 to the @3Rhine@1.
@3France, Flanders, Germany@1, his Fame confess;
And all the World was fond of him, but Us.
Our Turn first serv'd, we grudg'd him the Command.
@3Witness the Grateful Temper of the Land.@1

We blame the K . . . that he relies too much
On Strangers, @3Germans, Hugonots@1, and @3Dutch@1;
And seldom does his great Affairs of State,
To @3English@1 Counsellors communicate.
The Fact might very well be answered thus;
He has so often been betray'd by us,
He must have been a Madman to rely
On @3English@1 G ....... ns Fidelity.
For laying other Arguments aside,
This Thought might mortify our @3English@1 Pride,
That Foreigners have faithfully obey'd him,
And none but @3Englishmen@1 have e're betray'd him.
They have our Ships and Merchants bought and sold,
And barter'd @3English@1 Blood for Foreign Gold.
First to the @3French@1 they sold our @3Turky@1-Fleet,
And Injur'd @3Talmarsh@1 next at @3Camaret@1.
The King himself is shelter'd from their Snares,
Not by his Merit, but the Crown he wears.
Experience tells us 'tis the @3English@1 way,
Their Benefactors always to betray.

And lest Examples should be too remote,
A Modern Magistrate of Famous Note,
Shall give you his own History by Rote.
I'll make it out, deny it he that can,
His Worship is a True-born @3Englishman,
In all the Latitude that Empty Word
By Modern Acceptation's understood.@1
The Parish-Books his Great Descent record,
And now he hopes e're long to be a Lord.
And truly as things go, it wou'd be pity
But such as he bore Office in the City:
While Robb'ry for Burnt-Offering he Brings,
And gives to God what he has stole from Kings:
Great Monuments of Charity he raises,
@3And good@1 St. Magnus @3whistles out his Praises@1.
To City-Gaols he grants a Jubilee,
And hires Huzza's from his own Mobile.

Lately he wore the Golden Chain and Gown,
With which Equipt he thus harangu'd the Town.

@3Sir@1 C . . . . . s D . . . . . b'@3s Fine Speech@1, &c.

WIth Clouted Iron Shooes and Sheepskin Breeches,
More Rags than Manners, and more Dirt than Riches:
From driving Cows and Calves to @3Layton@1-Market,
While of my Greatness there appear'd no Spark yet,
@3Behold I come, to let you see the Pride
With which Exalted Beggars always ride.@1

Born to the Needful Labours of the Plow,
The Cart-Whip grace't me as the Chain does now.
Nature and Fate in doubt what course to take,
Whether I shou'd a Lord or Plough-Boy make;
Kindly at last resolv'd they wou'd promote me,
And first @3a Knave@1, and then @3a Knight@1 they vote me.
What Fate appointed, Nature did prepare,
And furnish'd me with an exceeding Care.
To fit me for what they design'd to have me;
And ev'ry Gift @3but Honesty@1 they gave me.

And thus Equipt, to this Proud Town I came,
In quest of Bread, and not in quest of Fame.
Blind to my future Fate, an humble Boy,
Free from the @3Guilt and Glory@1 I enjoy.
The Hopes which my Ambition entertain'd,
Were in the Name of @3Foot-Boy@1 all contain'd.
@3The Greatest Heights from Small Beginnings rise;
The Gods were Great on Earth, before they reach'd the Skies.@1

@3B . . . well,@1 the Generous Temper of whose Mind,
Was always to be bountiful inclin'd:
Whether by his Ill Fate or Fancy led,
First took me up, and furnish'd me with Bread.
The little Services he put me to,
Seem'd Labours rather than were truly so.
But always my Advancement he design'd;
For 'twas his very Nature to be kind.
Large was his Soul, his Temper ever Free;
The best of Masters and of Men to me.
And I who was before decreed by Fate,
To be made Infamous as well as Great,
With an obsequious Diligence obey'd him,
@3Till trusted with his All,@1 and then betray'd him.

All his past Kindnesses I trampled on,
Ruin'd his Fortunes to erect my own.
@3So Vipers in the Bosom bread, begin
To hiss at that Hand first which took them in.@1
With eager Treach'ry I his Fall pursu'd,
And my first Trophies were @3Ingratitude.@1

@3Ingratitude@1's the worst of Human Guilt,
The basest Action Mankind can commit;
Which like the Sin against the Holy Ghost,
Has least of Honour, and of Guilt the most.
Distinguish'd from all other Crimes by this,
That 'tis a Crime which no man will confess.
That Sin alone, which shou'd not be forgiv'n
On Earth, altho perhaps it may in Heav'n.

Thus my first Benefactor I o'rethrew;
And how shou'd I be to a second true?
The Publick Trust came next into my Care,
And I to use them scurvily prepare:
My Needy Sov'reign Lord I play'd upon,
And Lent him many a Thousand of his own;
For which, great Int'rests I took care to charge,
And so my Ill-got Wealth became so large.

My Predecessor @3Judas@1 was a Fool,
Fitter to ha' been whipt, and sent to School,
Than Sell a Saviour: Had I been at hand,
His Master had not been so cheap Trepann'd;
I wou'd ha' made the eager @3Jews@1 ha' found,
For Thirty Pieces, Thirty thousand Pound.

My Cousin @3Ziba,@1 of Immortal Fame,
(Ziba @3and I shall never want a Name:@1)
First-born of Treason, nobly did advance
His Master's Fall, for his Inheritance.
By whose keen Arts old @3David@1 first began
To break his Sacred Oath to @3Jonathan:@1
The Good Old King, 'tis thought, was very loth
To break his Word, and therefore broke his Oath.
@3Ziba@1's a Traytor of some Quality,
Yet @3Ziba@1 might ha' been inform'd by me:
Had I been there, he ne're had been content
With half th' Estate, nor half the Government.

In our late Revolution 'twas thought strange,
That I of all mankind shou'd like the Change:
But they who wonder'd at it, never knew,
That in it I did my Old Game pursue:
Nor had they heard of Twenty thousand Pound,
Which ne're was lost, yet never cou'd be found.

Thus all things in their turn to Sale I bring,
God and my Master first, and then the King:
Till by successful Villanies made bold,
I thought to turn the Nation into Gold;
And so to Forg . . y my Hand I bent,
Not doubting I could gull the Government;
But there was ruffl'd by the Parliament.
And if I 'scap'd th' Unhappy Tree to climb,
'Twas want of Law, and not for want of Crime.

But my @3Old Friend,@1 who printed in my Face
A needful Competence of @3English@1 Brass,
Having more business yet for me to do,
And loth to lose his Trusty Servant so,
Manag'd the matter with such Art and Skill,
As sav'd his Hero, and threw out the B . . 1.

And now I'm grac'd with unexpected Honours,
For which I'll certainly abuse the Donors:
Knighted, and made a Tribune of the People,
Whose Laws and Properties I'm like to keep well:
The @3Custos Rotulorum@1 of the City,
And Captain of the Guards of their @3Banditti@1.
Surrounded by my Catchpoles, I declare
Against the Needy Debtor open War.
I hang poor Thieves for stealing of your Pelf,
And suffer none to rob you, but my self.

The King commanded me to help Reform ye,
And how I'll do 't, Miss . . . . . shall inform ye.
I keep the best Seraglio in the Nation,
And hope in time to bring it into Fashion.
No @3Brimstone-Whore@1 need fear the Lash from me,
That part I'll leave to Brother @3Jeffery@1.
Our Gallants need not go abroad to @3Rome,@1
I'll keep a Whoring Jubilee at home.
Whoring's the Darling of my Inclination;
@3A'n't I a Magistrate for Reformation?@1
For this my Praise is sung by ev'ry Bard,
For which @3Bridewell@1 wou'd be a just Reward.
In Print my Panegyricks fill the Street,
And hir'd Gaol-birds their Huzza's repeat.
Some Charities contriv'd to make a show,
Have taught the Needy Rabble to do so:
Whose empty Noise is a Mechanick Fame,
Since for Sir @3Belzebuh@1 they'd do the same.

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