Chapter XVII: Part II (1)

The breed’s described: Now, Satire, if you can, Their temper show, for manners make the man. Fierce, as the Briton; as the Roman, brave; And less inclined to conquer than to save; Eager to fight, and lavish of their blood, And equally of fear and forecast void. The Pict has made ’em sour, the Dane morose; False from the Scot, and from the Norman worse. What honesty they have, the Saxons gave them, And that, now they grow old, begins to leave them. The climate makes them terrible and bold, And English beef their courage does uphold; No danger can their daring spirit pall, Always provided that their belly’s full. In close intrigues their faculty’s but weak, For generally what e’er they know they speak, And often their own counsels undermine By their infirmity, and not design; From whence the learned say it does proceed, That English 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 spite of double pay, Are saucy, mutinous, and beggarly, 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, But drink their youth away, and hurry on old age. 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-natured, but in drink. In English ale their dear enjoyment lies, For which they’ll starve themselves and families. An Englishman will fairly drink as much As will maintain two families of Dutch: Subjecting all their labour to their pots; The greatest artists are the greatest sots. The country poor do by example live; The gentry lead them, and the clergy drive: What may we not from such examples hope? The landlord is their god, the priest their pope. A drunken clergy and a swearing bench Has given the Reformation such a drench, As wise men think there is some cause to doubt Will purge good manners and religion out. Nor do the poor alone their liquor prize; The sages join in this great sacrifice; The learned men who study Aristotle, Correct him with an explanation bottle; Praise Epicurus rather than Lysander, And Aristippus[20] more than Alexander. The doctors, too, their Galen here resign, And generally prescribe specific wine; The graduate’s study’s grown an easier task, While for the urinal they toss the flask; The surgeon’s art grows plainer every hour, And wine’s the balm which into wounds they pour. Poets long since Parnassus have forsaken, And say the ancient bards were all mistaken. Apollo’s lately abdicate and fled, And good King Bacchus governs in his stead; He does the chaos of the head refine, And atom-thoughts jump into words by wine: The inspirations of a finer nature, As wine must needs excel Parnassus’ water. Statesmen their weighty politics refine, And soldiers raise their courages by wine; Cecilia gives her choristers their choice, And lets them all drink wine to clear their voice. Some think the clergy first found out the way, And wine’s the only spirit by which they pray; But others, less profane 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 would be very glad to know Whether our Asgilites may drink or no; Th’ enlight’ning fumes of wine would certainly Assist them much when they begin to fly; Or if a fiery chariot should appear, Inflamed by wine, they’d have the less to fear. Even the gods themselves, as mortals say, Were they on earth, would be as drunk as they; Nectar would be no more celestial drink, They’d all take wine, to teach them how to think. But English drunkards gods and men outdo, Drink their estates away, and money too. Colon’s in debt, and if his friends should fail To help him out, must die at at last in gaol; His wealthy uncle sent a hundred nobles To pay his trifles off, and rid him of his troubles; But Colon, like a true-born Englishman, Drank all the money out in bright champagne, And Colon does in custody remain. Drunk’ness has been the darling of this realm E’er since a drunken pilot had the helm. In their religion they are so uneven, That each man goes his own by-way to Heaven, Tenacious of mistakes to that degree That ev’ry man pursues it separately, And fancies none can find the way but he: So shy of one another they are grown, As if they strove to get to Heaven alone. Rigid and zealous, positive and grave, And ev’ry grace but Charity they have. This makes them so ill-natured and uncivil, That all men think an Englishman the devil. Surly to strangers, froward to their friend; Submit to love with a reluctant mind. Resolved to be ungrateful and unkind, If by necessity reduced to ask, The giver has the difficultest task; For what’s bestowed they awkwardly receive, And always take less freely than they give. The obligation is their highest grief, And never love where they accept relief. So sullen in their sorrow, that ’tis known They’ll rather die than their afflictions own; And if relieved, it is too often true That they’ll abuse their benefactors too; For in distress, their haughty stomach’s such, They hate to see themselves obliged too much. Seldom contented, often in the wrong, Hard to be pleased at all, and never long. 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 condensed before the flame returns; The fermentation’s of so weak a matter, The humid damps the fume, and runs it all to water. So, though the inclination may be strong, They’re pleased by fits, and never angry long. Then, if good-nature shows some slender proof, They never think they have reward enough, But, like our modern Quakers of the town, Expect your manners, and return you none. Friendship, 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 panegyric needs their praise record; An Englishman ne’er wants his own good word. His long discourses generally appear Prologued with his own wond’rous character. But first 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 pleased to tattle, he delights to rail, To satisfy the lech’ry of a tale. His own dear praises close the ample speech; Tells you how wise he is—that is, how rich: For wealth is wisdom; he that’s rich is wise; And all men learned poverty despise. His generosity comes next, and then Concludes that he’s a true-born Englishman; And they, ’tis known, are generous and free, Forgetting and forgiving injury: Which may be true, thus rightly understood, Forgiving ill turns, and forgetting good. Cheerful 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 phlegmatic, but never dull: And if a bottle does their brains refine, It makes their wit as sparkling as their wine. As for the general vices which we find They’re guilty of, in common with mankind, Satire, forbear, and silently endure; We must conceal the crimes we cannot cure. Nor shall my verse the brighter sex defame, For English 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. In general, this only is allowed, They’re something noisy, and a little proud. An Englishman is gentlest in command, Obedience is a stranger in the land: Hardly subjected to the magistrate, For Englishmen do all subjection hate; Humblest when rich, but peevish when they’re poor, And think, what e’er they have, they merit more. The meanest English ploughman studies law, And keeps thereby the magistrates in awe; Will boldly tell them what they have to do, And sometimes punish their omissions too. Their liberty and property’s so dear, They scorn their laws or governors to fear: So bugbeared with the name of slavery, They can’t submit to their own liberty. Restraint from ill is freedom to the wise; But Englishmen do all restraint despise. Slaves to their liquor, drudges to the pots, The mob are statesmen and their statesmen sots. Their governors they count such dangerous things, That ’tis their custom to affront their kings: So jealous of the power their kings possest, They suffer neither power nor king to rest. The bad with force they easily subdue: The good with constant clamours they pursue; And did King Jesus reign, they’d murmur too. A discontented nation, and by far Harder to rule in times of peace than war: Easily set together by the ears, And full of causeless jealousies and fears: Apt to revolt, and willing to rebel, And never are contented when they’re well. No Government could ever please them long, Could tie their hands, or rectify their tongue: In this to ancient Israel well compared, Eternal murmurs are among them heard. It was but lately that they were oppressed, Their rights invaded, and their laws suppressed: When nicely tender of their liberty, Lord! what a noise they made of slavery. In daily tumult showed their discontent, Lampooned the King, and mocked 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 English used to do, At foreign hands for foreign aid they sue. William, the great successor of Nassau, Their prayers heard and their oppressions saw: He saw and saved them; God and him they praised, To this their thanks, to that their trophies raised. 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, For Englishmen are ne’er contented long. The reverend clergy, too! Who would have thought That they, who had such non-resistance taught, Should e’er to arms against their prince be brought, Who up to Heaven did regal power advance, Subjecting English laws to modes of France, Twisting religion so with loyalty, As one could never live and t’other die. 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 denied; Unpreached their non-resisting cant, and prayed To Heaven for help and to the Dutch for aid. The Church chimed all her doctrines back again, And pulpit champions did the cause maintain; Flew in the face of all their former zeal, And non-resistance did at once repeal. The Rabbis say it would be too prolix To tie religion up to politics: The Church’s safety is _suprema lex_. And so, by a new figure of their own, Their former doctrines all at once disown; As laws _post facto_ in the Parliament In urgent cases have obtained assent, But are as dangerous precedents laid by, Made lawful only by necessity. The reverend fathers then in arms appear, And men of God become the men of war. The nation, fired by them, to arms apply, Assault their Antichristian monarchy; To their due channel all our laws restore, And made things what they should have been before. But when they came to fill the vacant throne, And the pale priests looked back on what they’d done; How English liberty began to thrive, And Church of England loyalty outlive; How all their persecuting days were done, And their deliverer placed upon the throne: The priests, as priests are wont to do, turned tail; They’re Englishmen, and nature will prevail. Now they deplore the ruins they have made, And murmur for the master they betrayed, Excuse those crimes they could not make him mend, And suffer for the cause they can’t defend. Pretend they’d not have carried things so high, And proto-martyrs make for Popery. Had the prince done as they designed the thing, Have set the clergy up to rule the King, Taken a donative for coming hither, And so have left their King and them together, We had, say they, been now a happy nation. No doubt we had seen a blessed reformation: For wise men say ’tis as dangerous a thing, A ruling priesthood as a priest-rid king; And of all plagues with which mankind are curst, Ecclesiastic tyranny’s the worst. If all our former grievances were feigned, King James has been abused and we trepanned; Bugbeared with Popery and power despotic, Tyrannic government and leagues exotic: The Revolution’s a fanatic plot, William a tyrant, Sunderland a sot: A factious army and a poisoned nation Unjustly forced King James’s abdication. But if he did the subjects’ rights invade, Then he was punished only, not betrayed; And punishing of kings is no such crime, But Englishmen have done it many a time. 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 tyrant and unmakes the king. If kings by foreign priests and armies reign, And lawless power against their oaths maintain, Then subjects must have reason to complain. If oaths must bind us when our kings do ill, To call in foreign aid is to rebel. 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 maladministration Could cancel the allegiance of the nation, Let all our learned sons of Levi try This ecclesiastic riddle to untie: How they could make a step to call the prince, And yet pretend to oaths and innocence? By the first address they made beyond the seas, They’re perjured in the most intense degrees; And without scruple for the time to come May swear to all the kings in Christendom. And truly did our kings consider all, They’d never let the clergy swear at all; Their politic allegiance they’d refuse, For whores and priests do never want excuse. But if the mutual contract were dissolved, The doubts explained, the difficulties solved, That kings, when they descend to tyranny, Dissolve the bond and leave the subject free, 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 choose 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 _postulatus_ 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 Nature 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 or other can undo. Nor can this right be less when national; Reason, which governs one, should govern all. Whatever the dialects of courts may tell, He that his right demands can ne’er rebel, Which right, if ’tis by governors denied, May be procured by force or foreign aid; For tyranny’s a nation’s term of grief, As folks cry “Fire” to hasten in relief; And when the hated word is heard about, All men should come to help the people out. Thus England groaned—Britannia’s voice was heard, And great Nassau to rescue her appeared, Called by the universal voice of Fate— God and the people’s legal magistrate. Ye Heavens regard! Almighty Jove look down, And view thy injured 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 ashamed to own. Britannia’s troubles fetched him from afar To court the dreadful casualties of war; But where requital never can be made, Acknowledgment’s a tribute seldom paid. He dwelt in bright Maria’s circling arms, Defended by the magic of her charms From foreign fears and from domestic harms. Ambition found no fuel to her fire; He had what God could give or man desire. Till pity roused him from his soft repose, His life to unseen hazards to expose; Till pity moved him in our cause t’appear; Pity! that word which now we hate to hear. But English gratitude is always such, To hate the hand which doth oblige too much. Britannia’s cries gave birth to his intent, And hardly gained 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. Satire, be silent! awfully prepare Britannia’s song and William’s praise to hear. Stand by, and let her cheerfully 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 can fly. To neighb’ring worlds, if such there be, relate Our hero’s fame, for theirs to imitate. To distant worlds of spirits let her rehearse: For spirits, without the help of voice, converse. May angels hear the gladsome news on high, Mixed with their everlasting symphony. And Hell itself stand in suspense to know Whether it be the fatal blast or no.

BRITANNIA

The fame of virtue ’tis for which I sound, And heroes with immortal triumphs crowned. Fame, built on solid virtue, swifter flies Than morning light can spread my eastern skies. The gathering air returns the doubling sound, And loud repeating thunders force it round; Echoes return from caverns of the deep; Old Chaos dreamt on’t in eternal sleep; Time 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 every ear and spoke by every tongue. My hero, with the sails of honour furled, Rises like the great genius of the world. By Fate and Fame wisely prepared to be The soul of war and life of victory; He spreads the wings of virtue on the throne, And every wind of glory fans them on. Immortal trophies dwell upon his brow, Fresh as the garlands he has won but now. By different steps the high ascent he gains, And differently that high ascent maintains. Princes for pride and lust of rule make war, And struggle for the name of conqueror. Some fight for fame, and some for victory; He fights to save, and conquers to set free. Then seek no phrase his titles to conceal, And hide with words what actions must reveal, No parallel from Hebrew stories take Of god-like kings my similes to make; No borrowed names conceal my living theme, But names and things directly I proclaim. ’Tis honest merit does his glory raise, Whom that exalts let no man fear to praise: Of such a subject no man need be shy, Virtue’s above the reach of flattery. He needs no character but his own fame, Nor any flattering titles but his name: William’s the name that’s spoke by every tongue, William’s the darling subject of my song. Listen, ye virgins to the charming sound, And in eternal dances hand it round: Your 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 subdued but by your charms. May your soft thoughts for him be all sublime, And every tender vow be made for him. May he be first in every morning thought, And Heaven ne’er hear a prayer when he’s left out. May every omen, every boding dream, Be fortunate by mentioning his name; May this one charm infernal power affright, And guard you from the terrors of the night; May every cheerful glass, as it goes down To William’s health, be cordials to your own. Let every song be chorused with his name, And music pay a tribute to his fame; Let every poet tune his artful verse, And in immortal strains his deeds rehearse. And may Apollo never more inspire The disobedient bard with his seraphic fire; May all my sons their graceful homage pay, His praises sing, and for his safety pray. Satire, return to our unthankful isle, Secured by Heaven’s regard and William’s toil; To both ungrateful and to both untrue, Rebels to God, and to good-nature too. If e’er this nation be distressed again, To whomsoe’er they cry, they’ll cry in vain; To Heaven they cannot have the face to look, Or, if they should, it would but Heaven provoke. To hope for help from man would be too much, Mankind would always tell them of the Dutch; How they came here our freedoms to obtain, Were paid and cursed, and hurried home again; How by their aid we first dissolved our fears, And then our helpers damned for foreigners. ’Tis not our English temper to do better, For Englishmen think every man their debtor. ’Tis worth observing that we ne’er complained Of foreigners, nor of the wealth they gained, Till all their services were at an end. Wise men affirm it is the English way Never to grumble till they come to pay, And then they always think, their temper’s such, The work too little and the pay too much. As frightened 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 Portland ne’er was bantered when he strove For us his master’s kindest thoughts to move; We ne’er lampooned his conduct when employed King James’s secret counsels to divide: Then we caressed him as the only man Which could the doubtful oracle explain; The only Hushai able to repel The dark designs of our Achitopel; Compared his master’s courage to his sense, The ablest statesman and the bravest prince. On his wise conduct we depended much, And liked him ne’er the worse for being Dutch. Nor was he valued more than he deserved, Freely he ventured, faithfully he served. In all King William’s dangers he has shared; In England’s quarrels always he appeared: The Revolution first, and then the Boyne, In both his counsels and his conduct shine; His martial valour Flanders will confess, And France regrets his managing the peace. Faithful to England’s interest and her king; The greatest reason of our murmuring. Ten years in English service he appeared, And gained his master’s and the world’s regard: But ’tis not England’s custom to reward. The wars are over, England needs him not; Now he’s a Dutchman, and the Lord knows what. Schomberg, the ablest soldier of his age, With great Nassau did in our cause engage: Both joined for England’s rescue and defence, The greatest captain and the greatest prince. With what applause, his stories did we tell! Stories which Europe’s volumes largely swell. We counted him an army in our aid: Where he commanded, no man was afraid. His actions with a constant conquest shine, From Villa-Viciosa to the Rhine. France, Flanders, Germany, his fame confess, And all the world was fond of him, but us. Our turn first served, we grudged him the command: Witness the grateful temper of the land. We blame the King that he relies too much On strangers, Germans, Hugonots, and Dutch, And seldom does his great affairs of state To English counsellors communicate. The fact might very well be answered thus: He has so often been betrayed by us, He must have been a madman to rely On English Godolphin’s fidelity. For, laying other arguments aside, This thought might mortify our English pride, That foreigners have faithfully obeyed him, And none but Englishmen have e’er betrayed him. They have our ships and merchants bought and sold, And bartered English blood for foreign gold. First to the French they sold our Turkey fleet, And injured Talmarsh next at Camaret. The King himself is sheltered from their snares, Not by his merit, but the crown he wears. Experience tells us ’tis the English way Their benefactors always to betray. And lest examples should be too remote, A modern magistrate of famous note Shall give you his own character by rote. I’ll make it out, deny it he that can, His worship is a true-born Englishman, In all the latitude of that empty word, By modern acceptations understood. The parish books his great descent record; And now he hopes ere long to be a lord. And truly, as things go, it would be pity But such as he should represent the City: While robbery for burnt-offering he brings, And gives to God what he has stole from kings: Great monuments of charity he raises, And good St. Magnus whistles out his praises. To City gaols he grants a jubilee, And hires huzzas from his own Mobilee.[21] Lately he wore the golden chain and gown, With which equipped, he thus harangued the town.

His Fine Speech, Etc.

With clouted iron shoes and sheep-skin breeches, More rags than manners, and more dirt than riches; From driving cows and calves to Leyton Market, While of my greatness there appeared no spark yet, Behold I come, to let you see the pride With which exalted beggars always ride. Born to the needful labours of the plough, The cart-whip graced me, as the chain does now. Nature and Fate, in doubt what course to take, Whether I should a lord or plough-boy make, Kindly at last resolved they would promote me, And first a knave, and then a knight, they vote me. What Fate appointed, Nature did prepare, And furnished me with an exceeding care, To fit me for what they designed to have me; And every gift, but honesty, they gave me. And thus equipped, to this proud town I came, In quest of bread, and not in quest of fame. Blind to my future fate, a humble boy, Free from the guilt and glory I enjoy, The hopes which my ambition entertained Were in the name of foot-boy all contained. The greatest heights from small beginnings rise; The gods were great on earth before they reached the skies. B—— well, the generous temper of whose mind Was ever to be bountiful inclined, Whether by his ill-fate or fancy led, First took me up, and furnished me with bread. The little services he put me to Seemed labours, rather than were truly so. But always my advancement he designed, 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 obeyed him, Till trusted with his all, and then betrayed him. All his past kindnesses I trampled on, Ruined his fortunes to erect my own. So vipers in the bosom bred, begin To hiss at that hand first which took them in. With eager treachery I his fall pursued, And my first trophies were Ingratitude. Ingratitude, the worst of human wit, The basest action mankind can commit; Which, like the sin against the Holy Ghost, Has least of honour, and of guilt the most; Distinguished from all other crimes by this, That ’tis a crime which no man will confess. That sin alone, which should not be forgiven On earth, although perhaps it may in Heaven. Thus my first benefactor I o’erthrew; And how should I be to a second true? The public trusts came next into my care, And I to use them scurvily prepare. My needy sovereign lord I played upon, And lent him many a thousand of his own; For which great interests I took care to charge, And so my ill-got wealth became so large. My predecessor, Judas, was a fool, Fitter to have been whipped and sent to school Than sell a Saviour. Had I been at hand, His Master had not been so cheap trepanned; I would have made the eager Jews have found, For forty pieces, thirty thousand pound. My cousin, Ziba, of immortal fame (Ziba and I shall never want a name), First-born of treason, nobly did advance His master’s fall for his inheritance, By whose keen arts old David first began To break his sacred oath with Jonathan: The good old king, ’tis thought, was very loth To break his word, and therefore broke his oath. Ziba’s a traitor of some quality, Yet Ziba might have been informed by me: Had I been there, he ne’er had been content With half the estate, nor have the government. In our late revolution ’twas thought strange That I, of all mankind, should like the change; But they who wondered at it never knew That in it I did my old game pursue; Nor had they heard of twenty thousand pound, Which never yet was lost, nor ne’er was 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 forgery my hand I bent, Not doubting I could gull the Government; But there was ruffled by the Parliament. And if I ’scaped the unhappy tree to climb, ’Twas want of law, and not for want of crime. But my old friend,[22] who printed in my face A needful competence of English brass, Having more business yet for me to do, And loth to lose his trusty servant so, Managed the matter with such art and skill As saved his hero and threw down the bill. And now I’m graced 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 _custos rotulorum_ of the City, And captain of the guards of their banditti. 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 myself. The King commanded me to help reform ye, And how I’ll do it, Miss shall inform ye. I keep the best seraglio in the nation, And hope in time to bring it into fashion. For this my praise is sung by every bard, For which Bridewell would be a just reward. In print my panegyrics fill the streets, And hired gaol-birds their huzzas repeat. Some charities contrived to make a show, Have taught the needy rabble to do so, Whose empty noise is a mechanic fame, Since for Sir Belzebub they’d do the same.

The Conclusion

Then let us boast of ancestors no more, Or deeds of heroes done in days of yore, In latent records of the ages past, Behind the rear of time, in long oblivion placed. For if our virtues must in lines descend, The merit with the families would end, And intermixtures would most fatal grow; For vice would be hereditary too; The tainted blood would of necessity Involuntary wickedness convey. Vice, like ill-nature, for an age or two May seem a generation to pursue; But virtue seldom does regard the breed; Fools do the wise, and wise men fools succeed. What is’t to us what ancestors we had? If good, what better? or what worse, if bad? Examples are for imitation set, Yet all men follow virtue with regret. Could but our ancestors retrieve the fate, And see their offspring thus degenerate; How we contend for birth and names unknown, And build on their past actions, not our own; They’d cancel records, and their tombs deface, And openly disown the vile degenerate race: For fame of families is all a cheat, ’Tis personal virtue only makes us great.

THE SHORTEST WAY WITH THE DISSENTERS; OR, PROPOSALS FOR THE ESTABLISHMENT OF THE CHURCH

THE SHORTEST WAY WITH THE DISSENTERS

Sir Roger L’Estrange tells us a story in his collection of fables, of the cock and the horses. The cock was gotten to roost in the stable among the horses, and there being no racks or other conveniences for him, it seems he was forced to roost upon the ground. The horses jostling about for room, and putting the cock in danger of his life, he gives them this grave advice, “Pray, gentlefolks, let us stand still, for fear we should tread upon one another.”

There are some people in the world, who now they are unperched, and reduced to an equality with other people, and under strong and very just apprehensions of being further treated as they deserve, begin, with Æsop’s cock, to preach up peace and union, and the Christian duties of moderation, for getting that, when they had the power in their hands, these graces were strangers in their gates.

It is now near fourteen years[23] that the glory and peace of the purest and most flourishing Church in the world has been eclipsed, buffeted, and disturbed by a sort of men whom God in His providence has suffered to insult over her and bring her down. These have been the days of her humiliation and tribulation. She has borne with invincible patience the reproach of the wicked, and God has at last heard her prayers, and delivered her from the oppression of the stranger.

And now they find their day is over, their power gone, and the throne of this nation possessed by a royal, English, true, and ever-constant member of, and friend to, the Church of England. Now they find that they are in danger of the Church of England’s just resentments; now they cry out peace, union, forbearance, and charity, as if the Church had not too long harboured her enemies under her wing, and nourished the viperous brood till they hiss and fly in the face of the mother that cherished them.

No, gentlemen, the time of mercy is past, your day of grace is over; you should have practised peace, and moderation, and charity, if you expected any yourselves.

We have heard none of this lesson for fourteen years past. We have been huffed and bullied with your Act of Toleration; you have told us that you are the Church established by law, as well as others; have set up your canting synagogues at our church doors, and the Church and members have been loaded with reproaches, with oaths, associations, abjurations, and what not. Where has been the mercy, the forbearance, the charity, you have shown to tender consciences of the Church of England, that could not take oaths as fast as you made them; that having sworn allegiance to their lawful and rightful King, could not dispense with that oath, their King being still alive, and swear to your new hodge-podge of a Dutch Government? These have been turned out of their livings, and they and their families left to starve; their estates double taxed to carry on a war they had no hand in, and you got nothing by. What account can you give of the multitudes you have forced to comply, against their consciences, with your new sophistical politics, who, like new converts in France, sin because they cannot starve? And now the tables are turned upon you; you must not be persecuted; it is not a Christian spirit.

You have butchered one king, deposed another king, and made a mock king of a third,[24] and yet you could have the face to expect to be employed and trusted by the fourth. Anybody that did not know the temper of your party would stand amazed at the impudence, as well as folly, to think of it.

Your management of your Dutch monarch, whom you reduced to a mere King of Clouts, is enough to give any future princes such an idea of your principles as to warn them sufficiently from coming into your clutches; and God be thanked the Queen is out of your hands, knows you, and will have a care of you.

There is no doubt but the supreme authority of a nation has in itself a power, and a right to that power, to execute the laws upon any part of that nation it governs. The execution of the known laws of the land, and that with a weak and gentle hand neither, was all this fanatical party of this land have ever called persecution; this they have magnified to a height, that the sufferings of the Huguenots in France were not to be compared with. Now, to execute the known laws of a nation upon those who transgress them, after voluntarily consenting to the making those laws, can never be called persecution, but justice. But justice is always violence to the party offending, for every man is innocent in his own eyes. The first execution of the laws against Dissenters in England was in the days of King James the First;[25] and what did it amount to truly? The worst they suffered was at their own request: to let them go to New England and erect a new colony, and give them great privileges, grants, and suitable powers, keep them under protection, and defend them against all invaders, and receive no taxes or revenue from them. This was the cruelty of the Church of England. Fatal leniency! It was the ruin of that excellent prince, King Charles the First. Had King James sent all the Puritans in England away to the West Indies, we had been a national, unmixed Church; the Church of England had been kept undivided and entire.

To requite the lenity of the father they take up arms against the son; conquer, pursue, take, imprison, and at last put to death the anointed of God, and destroy the very being and nature of government, setting up a sordid impostor, who had neither title to govern nor understanding to manage, but supplied that want with power, bloody and desperate counsels, and craft without conscience.

Had not King James the First withheld the full execution of the laws, had he given them strict justice, he had cleared the nation of them, and the consequences had been plain: his son had never been murdered by them nor the monarchy overwhelmed. It was too much mercy shown them, was the ruin of his posterity and the ruin of the nation’s peace. One would think the Dissenters should not have the face to believe that we are to be wheedled and canted into peace and toleration when they know that they have once requited us with a civil war, and once with an intolerable and unrighteous persecution for our former civility.

Nay, to encourage us to be easy with them, it is apparent that they never had the upper hand of the Church, but they treated her with all the severity, with all the reproach and contempt that was possible. What peace and what mercy did they show the loyal gentry of the Church of England in the time of their triumphant Commonwealth? How did they put all the gentry of England to ransom, whether they were actually in arms for the King or not, making people compound for their estates and starve their families? How did they treat the clergy of the Church of England, sequestered the ministers, devoured the patrimony of the Church, and divided the spoil by sharing the Church lands among their soldiers, and turning her clergy out to starve? Just such measure as they have meted should be measured them again.

Charity and love is the known doctrine of the Church of England, and it is plain she has put it in practice towards the Dissenters, even beyond what they ought, till she has been wanting to herself, and in effect unkind to her sons, particularly in the too much lenity of King James the First, mentioned before. Had he so rooted the Puritans from the face of the land, which he had an opportunity early to have done, they had not had the power to vex the Church as since they have done.

In the days of King Charles the Second, how did the Church reward their bloody doings with lenity and mercy, except the barbarous regicides of the pretended court of justice? Not a soul suffered for all the blood in an unnatural war. King Charles came in all mercy and love, cherished them, preferred them, employed them, withheld the rigour of the law, and oftentimes, even against the advice of his Parliament, gave them liberty of conscience;[26] and how did they requite him with the villainous contrivance to depose and murder him and his successor at the Rye Plot?[27]

King James, as if mercy was the inherent quality of the family, began his reign with unusual favour to them. Nor could their joining with the Duke of Monmouth against him move him to do himself justice upon them; but that mistaken prince thought to win them by gentleness and love, proclaimed an universal liberty to them, and rather discountenanced the Church of England than them.[28] How they requited him all the world knows.

The late reign is too fresh in the memory of all the world to need a comment; how, under pretence of joining with the Church in redressing some grievances, they pushed things to that extremity, in conjunction with some mistaken gentlemen, as to depose the late King, as if the grievance of the nation could not have been redressed but by the absolute ruin of the prince. Here is an instance of their temper, their peace, and charity. To what height they carried themselves during the reign of a king of their own; how they crept into all places of trust and profit; how they insinuated into the favour of the King, and were at first preferred to the highest places in the nation; how they engrossed the ministry, and above all, how pitifully they managed, is too plain to need any remarks.

But particularly their mercy and charity, the spirit of union, they tell us so much of, has been remarkable in Scotland. If any man would see the spirit of a Dissenter, let him look into Scotland. There they made entire conquest of the Church, trampled down the sacred orders, and suppressed the Episcopal government with an absolute, and, as they suppose, irretrievable victory, though it is possible they may find themselves mistaken. Now it would be a very proper question to ask their impudent advocate, the Observator, pray how much mercy and favour did the members of the Episcopal Church find in Scotland from the Scotch Presbyterian Government? and I shall undertake for the Church of England that the Dissenters shall still receive as much here, though they deserve but little.

In a small treatise of the sufferings of the Episcopal clergy in Scotland, it will appear what usage they met with; how they not only lost their livings, but in several places were plundered and abused in their persons; the ministers that could not conform turned out with numerous families and no maintenance, and hardly charity enough left to relieve them with a bit of bread. And the cruelties of the parties are innumerable, and not to be attempted in this short piece.

And now to prevent the distant cloud which they perceived to hang over their heads from England. With a true Presbyterian policy, they put in for a union of nations, that England might unite their Church with the Kirk of Scotland, and their Presbyterian members sit in our House of Commons, and their Assembly of Scotch canting long-cloaks in our Convocation. What might have been if our fanatic Whiggish statesmen continued, God only knows; but we hope we are out of fear of that now.

It is alleged by some of the faction—and they began to bully us with it—that if we won’t unite with them, they will not settle the crown with us again, but when Her Majesty dies, will choose a king for themselves.

If they won’t, we must make them, and it is not the first time we have let them know that we are able. The crowns of these kingdoms have not so far disowned the right of succession, but they may retrieve it again; and if Scotland thinks to come off from a successive to an elective state of government, England has not promised not to assist the right heir and put them into possession without any regard to their ridiculous settlements.[29]

These are the gentlemen, these their ways of treating the Church, both at home and abroad. Now let us examine the reasons they pretend to give why we should be favourable to them, why we should continue and tolerate them among us.

First, they are very numerous, they say; they are a great part of the nation, and we cannot suppress them.

To this may be answered:— 1. They are not so numerous as the Protestants in France, and yet the French King effectually cleared the nation of them at once, and we don’t find he misses them at home.[30] But I am not of the opinion they are so numerous as is pretended; their party is more numerous than their persons, and those mistaken people of the Church who are misled and deluded by their wheedling artifices to join with them, make their party the greater; but these will open their eyes when the Government shall set heartily about the work, and come off from them, as some animals which they say always desert a house when it is likely to fall.

2. The more numerous the more dangerous, and therefore the more need to suppress them; and God has suffered us to bear them as goads in our sides for not utterly extinguishing them long ago.

3. If we are to allow them only because we cannot suppress them, then it ought to be tried whether we can or not; and I am of opinion it is easy to be done, and could prescribe ways and means, if it were proper; but I doubt not the Government will find effectual methods for the rooting the contagion from the face of this land.

Another argument they use, which is this, that it is a time of war, and we have need to unite against the common enemy.

We answer, this common enemy had been no enemy if they had not made him so. He was quiet in peace, and no way disturbed or encroached upon us, and we know no reason we had to quarrel with him.

But further, we make no question but we are able to deal with this common enemy without their help; but why must we unite with them because of the enemy? Will they go over to the enemy if we do not prevent it by a union with them? We are very well contented they should, and make no question we shall be ready to deal with them and the common enemy too, and better without them than with them.

Besides, if we have a common enemy, there is the more need to be secure against our private enemies. If there is one common enemy, we have the less need to have an enemy in our bowels.

It was a great argument some people used against suppressing the old money, that it was a time of war, and it was too great a risk for the nation to run; if we should not master it, we should be undone. And yet the sequel proved the hazard was not so great but it might be mastered, and the success was answerable. The suppressing the Dissenters is not a harder work nor a work of less necessity to the public. We can never enjoy a settled, uninterrupted union and tranquillity in this nation till the spirit of Whiggism, faction, and schism is melted down like the old money.

To talk of the difficulty is to frighten ourselves with chimeras and notions of a powerful party, which are indeed a party without power. Difficulties often appear greater at a distance than when they are searched into with judgment and distinguished from the vapours and shadows that attend them.

We are not to be frightened with it; this age is wiser than that by all our own experience and theirs too. King Charles the First had early suppressed this party if he had taken more deliberate measures. In short, it is not worth arguing to talk of their arms. Their Monmouths, and Shaftesburys, and Argyles are gone; their Dutch sanctuary is at an end; Heaven has made way for their destruction, and if we do not close with the Divine occasion, we are to blame ourselves, and may remember that we had once an opportunity to serve the Church of England by extirpating her implacable enemies, and having let slip the minute that Heaven presented, may experimentally complain, _Post est occasio calva_.

Here are some popular objections in the way:—

As first, the Queen has promised them to continue them in their tolerated liberty, and has told us she will be a religious observer of her word.

What Her Majesty will do we cannot help; but what, as head of the Church, she ought to do, is another case. Her Majesty has promised to protect and defend the Church of England, and if she cannot effectually do that without the destruction of the Dissenters, she must of course dispense with one promise to comply with another. But to answer this cavil more effectually: Her Majesty did never promise to maintain the toleration to the destruction of the Church; but it is upon supposition that it may be compatible with the well-being and safety of the Church, which she had declared she would take especial care of. Now if these two interests clash, it is plain Her Majesty’s intentions are to uphold, protect, defend, and establish the Church, and this we conceive is impossible.

Perhaps it may be said that the Church is in no immediate danger from the Dissenters, and therefore it is time enough. But this is a weak answer.

For first, if a danger be real, the distance of it is no argument against, but rather a spur to quicken us to prevention, lest it be too late hereafter.

And secondly, here is the opportunity, and the only one perhaps that ever the Church had, to secure herself and destroy her enemies.

The representatives of the nation have now an opportunity; the time is come which all good men have wished for, that the gentlemen of England may serve the Church of England. Now they are protected and encouraged by a Church of England Queen.

What will you do for your sister in the day that she shall be spoken for?

If ever you will establish the best Christian Church in the world; if ever you will suppress the spirit of enthusiasm; if ever you will free the nation from the viperous brood that have so long sucked the blood of their mother; if ever you will leave your posterity free from faction and rebellion, this is the time. This is the time to pull up this heretical weed of sedition that has so long disturbed the peace of our Church and poisoned the good corn.

But, says another hot and cold objector, this is renewing fire and faggot, reviving the act _De Heretico Comburendo_; this will be cruelty in its nature, and barbarous to all the world.

I answer, it is cruelty to kill a snake or a toad in cold blood, but the poison of their nature makes it a charity to our neighbours to destroy those creatures, not for any personal injury received, but for prevention; not for the evil they have done, but the evil they may do.