Never was any king endow'd
With fo much grace and gratitude.

VIII.
Blood, that wears treason in his face,

Villain compleat in parson's gown,
How much is be at court in grace,

For stealing Ormond and the crowa! Since loyalty

does no man good, Let's fteal the king, and out-do Blood.

IX.
A parliament of knaves and fots

(Members by name you must not mention) He keeps in pay, and buys their votes,

Here with a place, there with a pension : When to give money, he can't cologue 'em, He does, with scorn, prerogue, prorogue 'em,

X. But they, long fince, by too much giving,

Undid, betray'd, and sold the nation, Making their memberships a living

Better than e'er was sequestration.
God give thee, Charles, a resolution
To damn the knaves by dissolution.

XI.
Fame is not grounded on success,

Tho? victories were Cæsar's glory;
Loft battles make not Pompey less,
But left him ftiled great in story.

Malicious fate does oft devise
To beat the brave, and fool the wise

XII.
Charles, in the first Dutch war, stood fair

To have been fov'reign of the deep,
When Opdam blew up in the air,

Had not his highness gone to sleep:
Our fleet slack’d fails, fearing his waking,
The Dutch had else been in sad taking,

XIII.
The Bergen business was well laid,

Tho' we paid dear for that delign;
Had we not three days parling itay'd-

The Dutch fleet there, Charles, had bçen Tho' the false Dane agreed to fell 'em, He cheated us, and faved Skellum.

thine ;

XIV,
Had not Charles sweetly chous'd the Itates,

By Bergen-baffle grown more wise ;
And made 'em thit as ímall as rats,

By their rich Smyrna ficet's surprize:
Had haughty Holmes but calld in Spragg,
Hans had been put into a bag.

XV. Mifts

XV. Mifs, ftorms, short victuals, adverse winds,

And once the navy's wise division, Defeated Charles's belt designs,

"Till he became his foes derifion : But he had fwing’d the Dutch at Chatham, Had he had ships but to come at’em.

XVI.
Our Black-Heath hoft, without dispute,

(Rais’d, put on board, why? no man knows) Muft Charles have render'd absolute

Over his subjects, or his foes ;
Has not the French king made us fools,
By taking Maeltricht with our tools,

1

XVII.
But, Charles, what could thy policy be,
To run fo

many
fad difatters

;
To join thy feet with false d'Estrees

To make the French of Holland masters is Was't Carewell, brother James, or Teague, That made thee break the Triple League

XVIII, Could Robin Viner have foreseen

The glorius triumphs of his master, The Wool-church statue gold had been,

Which now is made of alabaster :

But

But wise men think, bad it been wood,
"I'were for a bankrupt king too good.

XIX.
Those that the fabric well consider,

Do of it diverfly discourse;
Some pass their censure on the rider,

Others their judgment on the horse:
Most say, the Aeed's a goodly thing,
But all agree, 'tis a lewd king.

XX.
By the lord-mayor and his grave coxcombs,

Freeman of London Charles is made ;
Then to Whitehall a rich gold box comes;

Which was bestow'd on the French jade * : But wonder not it should be fo, firs, When monarchs rank themselves with Grocers.

XXI.
Cringe, scrape no more, ye city-fops,

Leave off your feasting and fine speeches; Beat up your drums, fhut up your shops,

The courtiers then will kiss your breeches. Arm'd, tell the popish duke that rules, You're free-born subjects, not French mules.

# The duchess of Portsmouth.

XXI. New

XXII. New upftarts, bastards, pimps, and whores,

That, locuft-like, devour the land,
By shutting up th’ Exchequer-doors,

When there our money was trapann's,
Have render'd Charles's restoration
But a small blessing to the nation.

XXIII.
Then, Charles, beware thy brother York,

Who to thy government gives laws
I once we fall to the old sport,

You must again both to Breda ;
Where, spite of all that would restore you,
Grown wise by wrongs, we should abhor your

XXIV.
If, of all Christian blood the guilt

Cries loud of vengeance unto Heav'n,
That sea by treach'rous Lewis spilt,

Can never be by God forgiv'n: Whofe scourge unto his subjects, lord ! Than peft'lence, famine, fire, or sword.

XXV.
That false rapacious wolf of France,

The scourge of Europe, and its curse,
Who at his subjects cries does dance,

And studies how to make them worse ;