A KEY (With the WHIP) To open the Mystery & Iniquity OF THE POEM CALLED, ABSALON & ACHITOPHEL: Showing its Scurrilous Reflections Upon both KING and KINGDOM.  
Published by Richard janeway, 1682.   

A KEY (With the WHIP) To open the MYSTERY and INIQUITY OF THE POEM CALLED ABSALON and ACHITOPHEL.  
THus far His Brazed faced Preface (a vile Design)  
Called for a Comment Rugged, yet Divine,  
His Book's no better, Head and Body too  
Of Polypus stinks on, to th' Realm Undo;  
As Full of Hell, as Ink, sublimely Base,  
If it th' Impartial Or 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 step by step do Trace.  
View but distinctly's jewish Allegories,  
Allusions of both's English Whigs, and Tories.  
Never were th' Harp, and th' Harrow more unlike,  
Not Even, but Odd All his Two's do strike;  
jewish and English th' vast Disparity  
Next View betwixt, but no Congruity:  
Had Plutarch made such parallels as This  
Fond Poet doth, he had deserved an Hiss;  

K. Charles.  First to begin with's Top-Comparison  
Of Holy David to our Sovereign.  
The Type of Christ he makes our Charles' Type,  
Yet draws foul Figures of the Antitype;  
As if embracing Queans o'er all his Land,  
Instead of's Royal Queen with's Royal Hand:  
'Tis true this Godly King had many Wives,  
Yet neither He, nor th' Rest leading such Lives,  
Can be excused from Sin, unless he'll prove,  
A Divine Dispensation did them move,  
But not one word; suppose God Tolerated  
This ill for good, yet not Anticipated  
Is his first Law hereby, it stands in Force  
Against all Exceptions, and all False Divorce;  
First one to one was the first blest Confinement,  
More is a Monster, and a Cursed consignment;  
Man then was bid to cleave unto his Wife, 
* Mat. 19.5.   
Not unto Wives, and this was during Life,  
If neither of the two have power over  
Their Bodies, 
* 1 Cor. 7.4.  than they can't give to another.  
Though David did excel all other Kings,  
His Virtues shone, Save only in the Things  
Of's brave Vriah, 
* 1 King. 15.5.  whose Cade lamb he took  
Unto his Flock, and so God's Law forsook▪  
This Wicked Poet, one of th' Devils Imps,  
O'er looks all th' Good, and like a Prince of Pimps  
Fixes on's Fault, propounds 't for Imitation,  
A Pattern prompt for a King's Gloriation.  
(Scarabeus like) he flies o'er fragrant Flowers;  
And falls on stinking Dung, which he Empowers  
A Prince's Precedent, like Machiavelli,  
Propounds a Pattern prompting towards Hell  
Thus fawning Sycophants do bolster up  
Their Lords in ill, their spittle they will sup.  
Those Cur Dogs, currying Kindness, suck the Blood  
While they but lick the wound, as pleasing Food,  
Kind Murderers of Souls in Court are these,  
Aiones, and Negones, what you please:  
Next is our English Queen the Poet's Scorn, 
Q Katherine.   
Because she's Barren, She must be forlorn:  
Though mocking michal's may have barren Wombs,  
Imposed as th' Curse of God to cut their Combs  
For Scorning Piety, 
* 2 Sam. 6.23.  yet Daughters of  
Sarah as well as Saul (whom he doth huff)  
May Barren be; Man is not in God's stead, 
* Gen. 30.1.   
The Key of Wombs is at God's Girdle tied:  
How dare this black-mouthed wretch blaspheme a Queen,  
To Afflict th' Afflicted base hath even been:  
Near to the King he falls on Monmouth next, 
D. of Monmouth.   
Makes th' Story of proud Absalon his Text.  
This Noble Duke he makes his Absalon,  
As if a Traitor to the King and Crown;  
Oh thou Incongruous Fool, what parallel  
That's Congruous 'twixt these two canst thou tell?  
josephus and the Scripture ●imn to life  
Thy vile Ambitionists most restless Strife  
To Rape the Crown before his Father's Death, 
* 2 Sam. 16.11.   
Sick of his life, he sought to stop his Breath.  
A Graphical Description of this Type,  
Set out in 'tis Colours, Epithets most Ripe;  
Stands upon Record with this ugly Brand,  
A complete Rogue, Ambitious, Arrogant,  
Ungrateful, Lying, a Dissembling Wretch,  
Who th' Reins of lustful Reins did lewdly stretch,  
Traitor to's Father, Rebel to his King,  
Subverter of the People, every thing  
Accomplishing a Villain Sublimate  
Without a parallel in Realm, or State:  
And must brave Monmouth be his parallel,  
By Renegado Wits of old Cromwell.  
Five hundred Guinnies makes him sell his Sense,  
His King and Country, and his Conscience:  
Oh lump of Impudence, where canst thou find  
That e'er Pride budded 
* Ezek. 7. ●0.  thus in Monmouths' mind?  
Was e'er he hammering and hatching out,  
For two full years any Rebellious Rout?  
As did thy Absalon: did e'er this Duke  
His Father's Judges Brand in open Rebuke 
* 2 Sam, 15.3. ,  

josephus. ● V ●  Affecting to be made judge in the Land;  
Soothing all Plaintiffs that their Cause would stand  
Right, or Wrong, smooth them up with gaudy words,  
To steal away their Hearts, while War and Swords  
Were in his Heart against his Father's Crown,  
Fit to be made a Chanc'lour of Renown:  
When did this Noble Duke aspire a Train  
Of Princely Port like a Successors Aim?  
When did he Court, Collogue, Crouch, Cringe to th' Rabble?  
All's true of Absalon, of th' Duke a Babble:  
Stolen hath he many Hearts, unto the King,  
But never any from him, That's the thing  
Thou dost traduce him with, as basely by  
Counterfeit Courtesy stooped to climb on high:  
A Votary when seemed he for Religion,  
Only to palliate Designed Rebellion?  
When did he send his Spies abroad the Land  
To feel the People's Pulses, bring to Hand,  
Their Hands and Hearts to his Conspiracy;  
Though some attend him in Simplicity:  
Much more Dispar'ty might be Blazoned on,  
'Twixt our Young Hero, and this Rebel Son,  
Thy Type and Antitype Concord's no better,  
In 'tis Starched Verse, and Dedicated Letter.  
More clear 'twill be in thy Achitophel, 
E. of Shaftesbury.   
Sage Shaftesbury thou makes his Parallel.  
The only hit is both were Oracles,  
All th' rest are empty sounds, and idle Kackles:  
Thy Type pernicious Counsel did infuse,  
That th' Rebel-Son a princely pomp might use  
Chariots and Horsemen, fifty Footmen, all  
The vulgar to perstringe, and them enthrall,  
Must rise up early, call the Plaintiff to him,  
Show Zeal to Right from those that would undo his▪  
Must meet all Suitors, say their Cause was good,  
Though ne'er so bad, yet none deputed stood,  
In's Courts to Right them, he must undertake,  
Promise Redress from Griefs for justice sake,  
Though never meant it, but to gain their Loan,  
From David's Carcase he might step to th' Throne.  
With many more insinuating Tricks,  
Impatient of delays, th' Mock-Sun to fix.  
In's Royal Orb before th' True Sun was set,  
Present Possession of the Crown to get:  
Did e'er our Earl Brisk Monmouth thus advise,  
For a preposterous Throne to Tantalise,  
His Father's Person, justice to Traduce,  
To th' Rabble say, His Courts were of no Use,  
To hear their cause, and to Redress their wrong,  
Such Poison 's not transfused into his Tongue:  
When did he teach this Duke to Vilify  
His Father's Magistrates for Villainy,  
To vulgar Ears, His Dote Age-Government,  
Yet th' People praise even to the firmament,  
Sordidly fawn them from their Wit and Reason,  
And deep involve them into horrid Treason;  
That Subtil-Fox, the true Achitophel,  
Was at the bottom of this Cursed Spell;  
(Though he lay lurking in his hole unseen)  
To black and blast th'Kings fame (from spiteful spleen,)  
As if he had no care to execute  
Justice himself, nor others did depute,  
To do it under him, nor did he blame  
Those that neglected it, to h's Kingdoms shame,  
A Shameless Slander of a Graceless Son,  
(justice to all (God testifies 
* 2 Sam. 8.15. ) was done)  
Which that old lurking Fox had foisted in  
To his Ambition, th' Rising Sun to win.  
The Setting Sun found him a wicked Man,  
Unconscionable POLITICIAN;  
So breaks with him, who hereupon withdraws,  
Lays close at Giloh, yet puts forth his paws,  
Paved a way by h's close persuasion,  
Prompting the simple to Rebellion.  
This crafty Ape draws Nuts out of the Fire,  
With the Cat's paw to save his own entire:  
Thus th' Coadjutor of this Damned Plot,  
Made Hellish Bolts, by fools then to be shot,  
(If not its Author) yet plays least in sight,  
Lurking at home, disguised from the Light,  
In's Country House, that it might not be known,  
His Hand did manage this Rebellious Son;  
Wherein his Head and Heart were deep engaged,  
Engaging vulgar Hands, being sore enraged,  
Against David who cashiered him from his Place;  
(When's Roguish Craft was seen with open Face)  
Revenge he'll take, though at the first behind,  
The Curtain undiscerned, but's wicked mind,  
(Twice dipped in th' Devils Dy-fat, th' Scarlet die)  
Makes him appear amongst th' Rebels publicly,  
Then gave he Absalon those damned Designs,  
First to act Incest on th' King's Concubines;  
Oh Hellish Tongue worthy to be cut out,  
And shred in Gobbets, and thrust down his Throat,  
That thus misused it, prompting his new King,  
To such Unpardonable, Villainous a Thing;  
Besides the hazard of's Immortal Soul,  
Which Flagrant Sin wise Council would control,  
This pestilent Advice was, that the Son  
Might be abhorred of h's Father, thereupon  
All Hands of th' Rebel Rout resolved would be,  
When reconcilement they no hope could see:  
This matchless Fact was done (at his Advice)  
Before the Sun, before all Israel's Eyes,  
Thus he who's called God's Oracle, this Time  
Was th' Devils to promote this Crying Crime.  
The next Design of this Arch-Rebel was  
To surprise David, ere he succour has,  
As not enough to be th' King's Principal,  
In Council, He'll be Captain-General.  
Counsel most Politic, yet Pestilent,  
To make the Rebel thrive▪ but David shent.  
Oh how he pleased himself, and th' Rebel-Son,  
Thus to contrive the Death of is Sovereign:  
But God o'er rules, that Counsel much applauded,  
(Man's mutable) becomes betimes exploded;  
Now (Wretch) review all this which God doth tell  
Of Absalon, and of Achitophel:  
Compare thy scurrilous Libel with all this,  
Thy Lines, not parallel, they run amiss.  
Here thou mayst see thy mercenary Babble,  
Thy Cento Talmud's a fond Jewish Fable:  
Mark all the parts of thy cursed Character;  
Thou dost not hit in one, all interfere:  
I read not that e'er th' jews Achitophel,  
Had modern Match, save only Machiavelli.  
That crafty Florentine, both th' Devils Slaves,  
He was their Master, taught them in his Traves.  
To bolster up great Princes in their Sin,  
That their Applause and Treasure they might win:  
In all the shop of Hell, no Anuile can  
Be found so set, as th' Matchiavillian.  
Whereon to forge some choice mischievous piece,  
No Engine Fitter to transact with Geese:  
How well this Hebrew name with sense doth sound,  
[A Fools my Brother 
* [Achilles] My Brother, and [Tophel] a Fool- Hebr. ] though in wit profound.  
Most wicked wits are th' Devils chiefest Tools,  
Which ever in the Issue God Befools:  
Can thy Compare (vile Varlet) once hold true,  
Of th' Loyal Lord, and this Disloyal jew,  
Was e'er our English Earl under Disgrace,  
And as Unconscionable put out of place?  
Hath he laid lurking in his Countryhouse,  
To plot Rebellions, as one Factious?  
Thy Bog-trot Bloodhounds Hunted have this Stagg,  
Yet cannot fasten their foul fangs, they Flagg▪  
Why didst not thou bring in thy Evidence  
(With them) to rectify th' Brave juries' sense,  
And so prevent the Ignoramus, nay  
Thou wast Cocksure he would be damned for Ay,  
Without thy presence, thou was then employed,  
To Brand him, against he came to be Destroyed:  
'Fore hand preparing him for th' Hangman's Axe,  
Had not the Witnesses been found so Lax;  
Did e'er this Earl our Duke (vain Poetaster)  
Advise to bring his Father to Disaster?  
To seek his life, and to be sick on't too,  
As being too long a life, no more ado,  
But up in Arms, proclaim himself the King,  
Banish his Father, yea ev'ry evil thing:  
Advised he Him to climb his Father's Bed,  
To Rape his Concubines on Tops of Lead?  
In view of all our English Israel?  
He hates his Acts, yet's made his Parallel:  
Would he have him to be a Graceless Son?  
A Bloody Rebel? wish his Father's Throne?  
Yea and his Death who ever had been kind?  
No, no, in none such faults canst thou him find:  
When did this Earl a Band of Men require,  
(As Captain) to cut off his Royal Sire?  
No, there's no room in th' Earl to give, in th' Duke,  
To take such pestilent Advice; they look  
At higher, and more honest things than Plots,  
Unlike th' Areh Rebel jews, thy Two Bygots:  
Mark (Fool) thy Crimes, so many as thy Themes,  
Thou Sports on Sacred Writ, and thou Blasphemes  
Both God and Men, yea Great as well as Small,  
Magnatum scandal makes no bones at all.  
Thy venomed Quill spares neither Earl nor Duke,  
Nor Queen, nor King, in thy pernicious Book:  
But how (mad Poet) cometh this to pass,  
That thy Achitophel so branded was;  
In thy wild Poem's first Impression, where  
His characters most Black, most Beastly were,  
A Fiend of Hell, Cursed to all Ages, He  
With more ●oul stuff in stigmatised by thee;  
But dost on second thoughts twelve lines rehearse,  
All to correct thy Saucy Satyr-Verse:  
Thou breaks th' Earls Head, a Plaster than thou offers,  
When for thy doing so, thou'd filled thy Coffers:  
Thou (Battus Bantling) canst blow hot and cold,  
All with one breath, like th' Roman Bird of old,  
Has [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] too  
As pleased, or displeased were 'twixt two.  
Thy Fawning or thy Faulting Talon comes,  
As Fools, or Knaves thee with their Talents Crowns  
Thy tickling, or thy scratching gift dost use,  
As Men thee pay, if not, thou'lt Best abuse;  
Thy mercenary Tongue can say, unsay  
Of th' [C.] or [O. C.] any one for pay:  
This shows, thou art of th' Cursed Jewish Race,  
hosannah's, Crucifies canst cry apace.  
As th' Tide doth turn, can praise, or th' Earl dispraise,  
Can cast him down, and up again him raise.  
First wounds him with thy scandalising Gin,  
Then salves him as a matchless Abbeth din;  
Unbribed, Unsought, the Wretched to Redress,,  
Swift of Dispatch, and easy of Access.,  
He Fame deserved, no Enemy can Grudge,  
And had clear Eyes, clean Hands, while he was Judge:  
Oh Proteus, Changeling, thus to change thy Note,  
Thy frothy Fancy flies, thy Brain's affloat.  
How comes thy Head to be vertiginous,  
In a Diameter thou drolling thus?  
Was it because the Ignoramus wind  
Whirl's th' Weathercock about thy twelve to find?  
Or was't because Apollo and his Muses  
Had Wormed thy Tongue to work off thy Abuses?  
Or was't the Oil of Crab Tree, which Anoints,  
(As in Rose-Ally once) thy nasty Joints?  
No better Antidote is found to fetch  
That plaguy poison out of th' Whiffling-Wretch;  
If this Beast's Tongue be not cut out and dried,  
Or th' Head hanged up, in Tyburn Tippit tied.  
Why dost thou not thy Parable pursue?  
Make this Earl hang himself, a Death his due;  
Were he so base as thy Achitophel,  
Not hope for Heaven, nor yet fear an Hell.  
No, no, thy afterwit in th' Earl espied,  
Instead of Sadling's Ass, (and him Bestride,)  
His Anger he could bridle, all Affronts  
He calmly puts up, never vengeance Haunts;  
Though harmless, to himself not conscious,  
Not as Judge Belknap, Self-condemn`d, said thus,  
There only wants an Hurdle, Horse, and Halter,  
To do me right, and present State to Alter.  
Had such despairing frenzy him subdued,  
Such Hony-drops thy malice had bedewed;  
Thy Romanizing mind, Romantic Eye,  
Had glutted been with this sad Tragedy.  
No less had been, had th' Jury found the Bill.  
By th' Fatal Axe his Noble Blood to Spill;  
Had th' Deed been done by Self, or by Jack Catch,  
It Canonised would be a Romish Fetch:  
But both's defeated, now's thy After Game,  
(Seeing his Sun break forth from th' Cloud of Shame)  
With twelve inserted Lines t'Insinuate,  
Whom (before this) thou didst Recriminate:  
Why dost not thou hang up thy Absalon,  
Upon some forked Oak; that Rebel-Son.  
Hung by the Head between the Earth and Heaven,  
Both scorned that Wretch, a lump of Cursed Leaven.  
The Oak's his Throne, and twisted Hair his Crown▪  
Three Darts through's Heart, his Sceptre of Renown:  
Thus art thou lame in both thy Parallels,  
Thy Absoloms, and thy Achitophel's.  
Thy Similes run not Upon four feet,  
Are foully foundered, and do lamely meet,  
What ever likeness in their Heads may be,  
Yet do their Feet most grossly disagree;  
Nor have their Bodies better Harmony.  
Nor in thy Zimri happier is thy Hit;  

D. of Buck.  Whom Buckingham thou basely makes to Fit:  
Thy Monmouths' Type is a base public pest,  
Whose foulest Soul's in a fair Body dressed,  
And an Incorrigible PARRICIDE,  
Whom Heaven and Earth a Room at last denied:  
Next, this Duke with thy Dirt must be defiled,  
As if his Grace most Graceless were and vild.  
And having lost all's love to's Israel,  
Which of th' two Zimri's He's, thou canst not tell.  
Not Cozhi's Rogue he is, nor Ela's Traitor,  
Neither of these agree in mode or matter.  
The first (that cursed Simeonite) he's not,  
(Who brought on Israel that flagrant Blot 
* Num. 25.14, 15. )  
By Balaams' Counsel) He was Young, this old,  
He hug'd Outlandish, this true English Mould:  
A Foreign Whore, and a Domestic Wife,  
Differs them much in Law as well as Life.  
He and his Whore in th'▪ flagrancy of Lust,  
By Phinehas Javelin were both thorough thrust;  
Thy Sagan Phinehas never durst show  
Such Vengeance on this Zimri, bold and true,  
To th' English Interest, no Popish chatter,  
Therefore thou dost so foully him bespatter;  
Suppose him too extravagant, and kind,  
Still hath he a right Noble English Mind:  
Thou coins fine Speeches for thy Absalon,  
For thy Achitophel, still drolling on.  
Why dost not thou as old josephus doth,  
Coin a fine Speech for thy False Zimri's, both  
Against God and Moses, palliate his Sin,  
And boldly Mann his Crime through thick and thin:  
Zimri in Hebrew [cut off] signifies  
As th' Vine's superfluous Branches pruned lies,  
This Graceful English Vine-branch stands upright,  
Still uncut off by Romish Rage and Spite;  
Though he affronteth them in Deed, and Word,  
Saying, fond Romanists do eat their Lord,  
Could they but eat the Devil too, said He,  
A Romanist with th' first i'll surely be:  
Thy wanton Zimri was old Salu's Son,  
That is, [trod under foot] in th' Hebrew Tongue;  
His Name, and Fate harmoniously agree,  
Yet on this Duke no such Fate canst thou see:  
Cozbi (his Whore) in Hebrew is [a lie]  
His Duchess to be such, all will deny.  
Cozbi [a lie] was Balaams' Tool to draw  
Israel from God, and from his Holy Law;  
But canst thou say Balaam of Rome hath used  
His Duchess, and by her his lies transfused:  
Thus no congruity collateral,  
Can correspond this Parallel at all;  
If th' Duke be not th' first Zimri, th' second less,  
(His Master's Murderer in Drunkenness 
* 1 Kin. 16.9.18.20. )  
As cruel to himself as to his Master;  
Burns th' House o'er his own Head: no such disaster,  
Befalls this Noble Duke, whom thou despises,  
And, as thy Fellow scoundrel; Scandalises:  
Blacks him with lines blacker with Hell than Ink,  
Him worse Buffoon than thee, to make Men think.  
Beggared by Fools, and to b' enriched by Knaves,  
The first are weak, the latter Wicked Slaves:  
But who's the Fool, that dare a Star so spatter,  
(For all thy Guinnies) with thy stinking blatter:  
Were't not below so great a luminary,  
To mark such Barking Curs, thy case would vary;  
There's noise in Town of a strange Whipping Tom,  
But th' greatest noise makes this true whipping john;  
The first ('tis said) doth only Women whip,  
This would make Men, yea greatest Men to skip  
Under his Lashes, but they scorn his worst,  
Wellknowing he (of all Men) is accursed.  
Right Son of Ishmael, whose Hand's against  
All Men, yea great Men ne'er so high Advanced:  

Lord Huntingdon.  Next, he falls foul on th' brave Lord Huntingdon,  
Whom he calls Well-hung Balaam in Derision,  
As if this Patriot, were th' old Priapus,  
Whom th' Poets feign vastly Venereous.  
But why a Balaam must he called be?  
I never heard him blamed for Sorcery▪  
Nor ever that my Lord a Prophet was,  
Or that he used to ride upon an Ass:  
The hit lays here, one Rhyming Ass Reproves him,  
Another railing Ass with Kicks be- Hoofs him.  
Publishing slanders, as to be believed,  
Had not three Noble Peers his truth retrieved:  
By Balaam, Balak, th' Rabbis represents,  
Rome's Church in Priestly, and in Regal Tents;  
Thou'st got thy Balaam, though not of th' right Coat,  
But where's thy Balak, Rogers Romish Goat:  

E. of Essex.  Next comes the Noble Earl of Essex, and  
Is called by thee [cold Caleb] as his Brand,  
But why? since Caleb is a name of note,  
'Tis (Hebrew) Hearty, and doth well denote  
This Hearty lover of his Liege, and Land,  
What e'er black-mouths to th' contrary him brand;  
Yet Cordial Caleb is reproached as cold,  
Is it, because for Children he's too old?  
Or is it, cause He is not in God's stead,  
To give himself an Heir on th' Marriage bed?  
Sure I am that his Zeal's not could for good,  
Both for the 
* England.  Cross, and 
* Ireland.  Harp he briskly stood,  
We will suppose him cold to Popish tricks,  
To th' damned Designs of Rome he cannot fix:  
Next comes to be traduced that Noble Lord  
Howard of Escrick, 
L. Howard,  whom he can afford  
No better name than Canting Nadab, though  
Both his Abilities, and Interest Men know.  
Yet damns he him into Oblivion's Grave,  
Who would a sinking King and Kingdom save:  
Here once again this quibbling Poet leaves  
His Reader in the dark, and subt'lly weaves  
Another slippery name, Ambiguous,  
Or Priest, or Prince, it may be taken thus:  
There was a Nadab, jeroboam Son,  
By whose lewd life old Israel was undone:  
Prince Nadab cannot be th' Lord's Parallel,  
Lamb's Wool, and Golden Calves agree not well:  
He for's contagious Sin 
* 1 Kin. ● 5.25.26. and josephus.  by's friend was Slain,  
Cast out to th' Dogs from his short sinful Reign:  
Will th' Harp and th' Harrow hang together here,  
'Twixt such a Miscreant, and our Brave Peer?  
No, 'tis Priest Nadab 
Levit. 10.1.  Aaron's Eldest Son,  
Who offered God strange Fire, when first begun  
His Priestly Office, and haply in overjoy,  
Was overwarmd with Wine at's new Employ:  
Canst thou make these together symbolise,  
Whilst thou with wicked wit doth temporize,  
No, Nadabs' Fire will lick up this Lord's Pottage,  
(Wherewith thou slanders him in thy old dotage)  
As did Elijahs Fire drink up the water,  
Concur they can't in Person, nor in matter:  
Makest thou no difference 'twixt Lords Spiritual,  
And those of th' Laity, Lords Temporal,  
Thy Nadab was a Priest, and had he lived,  
He'd been High Priest, as th' eldest Son survived:  
Lord Howard never was, nor ever hope  
To be thy Sagan, Zadock, Priest or Pope,  
Strange Fire doth slay thy Priest in's Youth and Sonless,  
This Lord doth live for all thy Porridge senseless;  
No better hits thy Bull faced jonas 
* Sir Will. jonas.  next,  
I'm sure thy comment doth confound the Text:  
Why must Sir William jones thy jonas be?  
Is it because th' Storm Raiser's only He;  
What is the Storm which makes thee thus to foam?  
Is't: 'cause the Ship will not steer right to Rome:  
As Paul's Ship, when she ran between two Sands,  
The Real, and the Sham-Plots of three Lands:  
Or jonas he's, to be cast over Board,  
Will this in th' See of Rome a calm afford?  
Without a Whale to Ship him safe to Shore,  
No, thou wouldst drown him to be seen no more:  
Nor this alone would quell thy Romish storm,  
Thou'lt find more Ionas' to drown or burn:  
What boldfaced Bard art thou that dares to call▪  
This Sage [Bull faced,] as if God made not all:  
Did he make Treason Law, well to propose  
The Habeas-corpus Bill for Friends and Foes?  

Sher. Bethel.  Thy Shimei's next on whom thou quibbles worst,  
As if his King he had most curs'dly cursed,  
Turning good Bethel to Beth-aven vile,  
The worst of Mankind by thy frothy stile;  
Did ever thy Mock Shimei call the King  
A Bloody Belialist, or some such thing,  
As mad with Malice, threw he ere a Stone,  
As well as Curses, at God's Anointed one?  
So Shimei did, venting his hellish words,  
And venturing his life to David's Swords;  
Oh how that dead Dog barked 
* 2 Sam. 16.7.  [come out, come out]  
Thou cursed King: Thus desperately stout;  
Had Bethel been▪ he had been Sound Banged,  
Yea long before this day been Roundly Hanged:  
All his rare Virtues thou turns into Vice,  
His hopeful Youth, Zeal, Piety and rise  
To Shrievalty, thou makes a Ridicule,  
Makes th' City choose a Knave, if not a Fool;  
His Juries Damns, though none were panneld more  
In Honesty, and Honour ere before:  
And though thou scoff at his frugality,  
Yet not a word, how he set Prisoners free:  
Had his Rome plaguing courage been but cold,  
His Kitchens coldness never had been told;  
This Shrieve to Babel brats gave plaguy Times,  
His Chain bound them to Tyburn, There's his Crimes:  
Corah 
* Dr. Oats.  comes last, brings up thy railing Rear,  
And suffers slashes by thy slandering Jeer;  
But why is Doctor Oats this Rebel Grand,  
Who with an Accent doth recorded stand,  
Whom thy Caduceum transformed has,  
Into Nehushtan, monumental Brass;  
Oh wonder working Mercury, can thus  
Oats into Pillars metamorphose us;  
As high as th' Dragon, on Bow-Steeple stands,  
To save from Romish Plots three Sister Lands:  
This thy Mercurial Wit can do, yet lose  
Thy Oaten Pipes thereby, that please thy Muse:  
But oh how ugly seems thy Metaphor,  
Thus to cast Dirt on England's Saviour;  
That was the name the Earl of Danby gave him,  
As th' Arch. Attestor thou (in scorn) God save him▪  
Who saved us from that Damned Popish Plot,  
For which thou scoffs, and doth his Scutcheon blot:  
Nay, all the rest that therein with him join,  
Thou makes them suborned Rogues for love or Coin.  
Though th' King, four Parliaments do all adjust  
Their Evidence, as well deserving Trust:  
Where did he with affronts the King Annoyed,  
Or threaten him his 
* Agag.  Brother to Destroy?  
As Samuel did Saul for agag's Death,  
Him thou makes Oats and Corah with one breath;  
Can th' Doctor be Corah, and Samuel,  
The last not first is a fit parallel.  
Corah (in Hebrew) signifieth [Bald]  
Thus th' Doctor Corah never's better called,  
While he was in Corahs' Conspiracy,  
With his Bald Crown 'mong Priests in Treachery:  
Now he's come off from Corahs' Tents, Rome's Lord,  
(If not at Moses, at Messias word)  
Discovers th' Grandees of th' Conspiracy,  
Styled Corah still he should not be by thee:  
Oh how far wide thou shoots in this, thy Type  
(of thy two Corahs') Jars with th' Antitype,  
They suit in nothing, save both Levites be  
A Rebel That, but Loyal This all see:  
Save he that's blind, or wilfully doth wink,  
Thus King and Parliaments did truly think:  
Corah the Jew a chief Ringleader was,  
Of black Rebellion a most sturdy Ass,  
Nor God, nor Moses will be warned by,  
But will be Captain of th' Conspiracy:  
He's not content to be a Levite bare,  
He'll have the Priesthood too, and th' Ephod wear:  
Moses and Aaron both shall stoop to me,  
I'll be both Prince, and Priest, (proudly said he)  
The meekest Man on Earth was moved much,  
To hear th' Archrebels Mouth out-belchi 〈◊〉  
Blasphemous words, proclaiming th' People 〈◊〉,  
They might turn Priests, and not be blamed for Folly.  
This Leveller dies not a common Death,  
Consuming Fire and Earthquake stops his Breath,  
When but one day he and his Company,  
(Like Children) had blown up their Bubbles high;  
No sooner are blown up, but are blown out,  
And fall on th' Eyes and Heads of th' Rebel Rout.  
Now (vain Poematist) how canst thou take  
Right measures here, and an hit happy make  
'Twixt thy two Corahs' in the Act or End,  
Vast difference in both thou mayst attend:  
How can thy Jingles jump in any one  
Of Corahs' Acts (Rammed with Rebellion)  
With this brave Doctors brisk Discovery  
Of the Rude-Romish-Rebel's Treachery:  
Hath he aspired thy Zadock to Vngrace,  
And to assume th' High-priesthood as his place?  
Where are his Priests and Princes to Conspire  
Against Meek Moses, for Iehovah's Ire?  
When did his Dathans and abiram's Rail  
At our Mild Moses, scorn his Royal Call? 
* Numb. 16.12.13, 14.   
None say, They'll not come up to Parliament,  
When Moses Royal Writs to them are sent:  
None style that Bondage House a flowing Land,  
With Honey, Milk, none for returning stand,  
If thus the Acts do miss, much more the End,  
Rome cannot Oats to Purgatory send:  
'Cause th' sturdy Rebels [they'll not come up] said,  
They did go down into the Dolesom Shade  
Of Earth, and Death▪ but th' Doctor stands his Ground,  
Though th' Hue and Cry hath made its empty Sound:  
〈…〉 whereof haply blew off his Gown,  
〈…〉 Rome's Breath from Whitehall blew to Town:  
〈…〉 Romanists have him blown up,  
In London, yet he may both Dine and Sup;  
And they have him blown down from th' Palace Royal,  
Yet th' City shelters him as Truly Loyal;  
There thou and thine must let the Doctor rest,  
Unswallowed up alive by Popish Pest,  
Conclude with this remark, the Beast of Rome,  
To a strange Surfeit now by Oats is come:  
When this (Poematist) hath doomed his whigs,  
He hands his Tories in with dainty jigs:  
Thy very front hath a most happy hit,  
Ireland was first the proper Tories Seat:  
Thy Van thou rankest Good Barzillai 
* E. of Ormond.  old,  
I wish that Earl as good, yea more, twice told:  
Thou sayest, the rising Rebels he withstood,  
But sayest not, whether those of th' Irish Brood,  
Or of the English; sure, it was his Glory,  
(H●s name will shine in everlasting Story)  
So far as he the Irish Rebels hushed,  
Who many thousand Protestants had crushed:  
But much disparity thou'lt surely find,  
'Twixt this old jew, and th' Earl of Irish kind;  
Why must this Noble Earl Barzillai be,  
Neither in Names, nor Natures they agree;  
The Name [as hard as Iron] signifies,  
But thou cries up thy Earl for Charities;  
[Large was his wealth, but larger was his Heart.]  
He's Charactered by thy own jingling Art:  
Nor doth their Nature's better here Accord,  
Barzillai passed not over Iordans Ford:  
Nor did he with his God like Prince return  
Unto jerusalem, (though he did mourn,  
With him in exile) as for Mirth, 
* 2 Sam. 19.33.35.  and Treasures,  
He judged himself unfit for Courtly Pleasures:  
His Soul was so Divine, he could not breath,  
But where, retired, 
* V. 36.  he might prepare for Death,  
And lay hold also on Eternal Life; 
* 1 Tim. 6.19.   
I would this were all Aged People's strife:  
But why's not Eldest Hope 
* E. of Ossuary.  called Chimham here,  
Whose Blood was brisk, and thought not Death was near.  
Was it'cause Chimham was not snatched away  
As He, but lived in Court all David's Day:  
But now thy wanton Wit rants over wild,  
Thou seem'st a frothy Fool, or Pagan Child;  
Profanely says, to snatch in Manhood prime,  
This Hopeful Earl, was Providence's Crime,  
And an unequal Fate: Black Blasphemy!  
Branding Gods Wisdom, and his Purity:  
He that doth all things well, must he be blamed?  
His ways are not unequal, yet defamed,  
Must Humane Folly Divine Wisdom thwart?  
Must th' Sun corrected be by th' Dial's Art?  
God of his matters never gives Account,  
His Will's a Law, as He's Lord Paramount:  
But why dost thou from grave Barzillai fly.  
Next unto Zadock so prepost'rously;  
None 'twixt that Prince, and this Priest canst thou find?  
Distressed David had one Princely Friend;  
Ittai the Gittite, 
P. Rupert.  th' King of Gath his Son,  
Stuck close to David (against Absalon)  
Who was an Exile yet tho Hebrew Faith  
Asserted, and its King (the Scripture saith 
* 2 Sam. 15.18.19.20. )  
Third part of th' Army to his Conduct was  
Committed by the King, 
* Ch. 18.2.  and Triumph has:  
Strong was his Name, my Sign, and Plowshare too,  
In th' Holy Tongue, all th' Rebels to undo:  
How cam'st thou this Brave Prince to overlook,  
(Before thy Zadock in thy pedantic Book,  
May be; 'twas wilful blindness not to trace  
A Parallel to suit Prince Rupert's case,  
Of Royal Extract, and an Exile is,  
Through By got Papists, yet he's England's Bliss,  
Stoutly asserteth the Reformed Faith  
Against Wind and Tide (with David) weathered hath:  
Third part of th' Army was his Commission,  
True hath he been to th' Father, and to th' Son:  
Nor hath he wanted Triumphs in his Days,  
God Grant he may our Faith to Triumph raise:  
Hadst thou Hit here on this Right Parallel,  
It might have qualified some Errors well:  
But thou dost leap o'er him to Zadock 
* A. B. of Canterbury.  next,  
Yet there's thy Comment shorter than the Text, 
* 2. Sam. 15. from 24. to 30.   
Neither in this, lines Parallel can run,  
Abiathar (then High Priest) had not done,  
Zadock was then but Sagan under him,  
Whom Solomon displaced, placed Zadok in:  
Whose lowly mind raised not to Grace or Place,  
'Twas 'cause descended right of Aaron's Race:  
Hadst thou thy Talmud well consulted, there  
Thou mightst have found a Law that doth declare,  
None Highpriest can be, till he's Sagan first,  
But th' English Zadock's Leap oppose who durst?  
Having a Royal Hand to help him o'er,  
All th' Bishop's Heads, though he was none before,  
Much less the Sagan, which he should have been  
Before (by th' Talmud) Metropolitene:  
Next comes thy Sagan, 
B. of London.  whom thou hop'st to see,  
Thy Zadock, that his Poet thou mayst be,  
Or better dignified, would th' old Man die,  
And leave for him his Lambeth Dignity:  
Hence 'tis, a Distich must thy Zadock starve,  
Eight lines (no less) must thy Young Sagan serve;  
Wherein thou Skews him off with motley Colours,  
Hoping to have his Crowns, if not his Dollars,  
Yea better, Angels, Guinnies, all in Sums,  
When from Annas to Caiphas he comes:  
Thy next is Adriel, 
E. of Mowgrave.  I cannot guests,  
How he suits David's Worthies more or less;  
The Jewish Adriel of Ephraim,  
In Marrying Merab was most false to Him; 
* 1 Sam. 18.19.   
Twice Saul to David had her promised,  
Yet Adriel dare take her to his Bed;  
By whom he had five Sons, 
* 2 Sam. 21.  all which were hanged;  
Whereby perfidiousness was briskly banged:  
Can this Man represent our David's Friend;  
More like he is a Foe or a Damned Fiend:  
'Tis true, he hath some Honours, lately took  
From th' Dutiful, (not Disobedient) Duke;  
The Hebrew name [the Flock of God] doth sound,  
I wish him [of it] and [in it] be found:  
Next jotham 
E. of Hallifax.  comes, who [perfect] signifies,  
Thou makes him so, 'cause he both Parties Tri's;  
jotham was one, who could declare his Mind,  
Yet so in Parables, 
* Judg. 9.7.8. etc. 2.22.  as few could find  
His meaning, till became fixed Mercury,  
'Fore e'er in motion, ne'er rest quietly:  
jotham was one who Curses could pour forth,  
(Even on the Mount of Blessing) looking North:  
jotham was one who fled away and went, 
* Judg. 9.21.   
As if affrighted with a Parliament.  
Thy Parallel may meet in these, in more,  
Yet differs it, for he was long before  
King David, so he could not be his Friend,  
Slain were his Brethren by a Bastard-Hind:  
He was but young, thine old, a Saviour's Son  
Was he, and had God's Inspiration;  
For●●lli●g Fates, that fell upon his Foes,  
He 〈◊〉 bloody Bramble to oppose:  
Quadrate these cannot in thy Parallel,  
No better hit have Hushai, Ammiel:  
Next Hushai 
* L. Hyde.  comes [Hebrew that meaning min●  
Hasting to Honours, to vain Poet's kind;  
Thy wild harangue therefore doth Varnish thus,  
[Most Frugal he's, and yet most Bounteous:]  
Thy Type is blamed for Deep Dissimulation,  
And for Equivocating Reservation;  
Pretending Service, but Intending Slips▪  
Is This 〈◊〉 Lettuce for thy ●●attering 〈◊〉?  
Or will ●his w●●● thy Ant●●●pe agree●  
Perhaps His sta●●h't Oration● thou may'st see  
That to Ambition are adapted well,  
His Friend's for a Fool's Paradise to sell:  
Thy Ammiel 
* L. Seimor.  comes the last, brings up the Rear,  
And (could he say) [God with me 
* Hebrew Ammiel. ] well it were;  
The Poet saith, that Sca● comes hindermost;  
Why wilt thou Thrust Him last on whom's thy Boast?  
As if all other Chairmen, Charioteers  
Were but fond Phaeton's to Him, none steers  
(Like this Brave Pilot) th' Ship, the Sanedrim,  
That since Run wrong, because they Question Him,  
Which of the Scripture Ammiels as He?  
But barely Named, then where's thy Harmony?  
One is Cold Caleb's Comrade, th'other is  
Achitophel's Ally, so not thy Bliss:  
Thy Wearied Muse (thou sayst) must bear the Blame  
For Hobbling thus at th'closing of the Game:  
Thy Mingles (both of Paint and Dirt) are much,  
Thy Cap'ring Jumps, and Cogging Dies are such,  
That (with thy Muse) My Muse is wearied;  
'Tis time for both now to betake to Bed,  
There Acquiesce in Hope of Parliaments  
That may chastise thy Senseless Sentiments.  
FINIS.