Part 2
_Old Jury_. MDCLXXXV.
THE
Tory Catch.
I.
A Friend of mine, and I did follow A Cart and Six, with Brandy fraught; We sate us down, and up did swallow Each a Gallon at a draught: The sober Sot can't drink with us, May kiss coy Wine with _Tantalus_.
II.
With Musick fit for Serenading, We did ramble to and fro; Then to Drink and Masquerading, 'Till we cannot stand nor go; One Leg by _Bacchus_ was quite lamed, 'Tother _Venus_ had defamed.
III.
At the Tavern we did whisk it, And full Pipes did empty drain: We eat Pint-Pots instead of Bisket, And piss'd 'em melted out again: We beat the Vintner, kiss'd his Wife, And kill'd three Drawers in the strife.
IV.
In the Street we found some Bullies, And to make our valour known, We call'd 'em Fops, and silly Cullies, And knock'd the foremost of 'em down: And with praise to end the Fray, We, like good Souldiers, ran away.
V.
To the Play-House we descended, For to get a grain of Wit, Our own with Wine was so defended. We sate spuing in the Pit, 'Mongst Drunken Lords and Whoring Ladies, To see such sights whose only Trade is.
A
LETTER
TO A
FRIEND.
Thanks for your Praises! were they due, I wou'd Pamper my self with Joy, and think 'em Good. Loaden with Laurels for mine unknown Art, You paint me Great, although beneath Desert. But if _Macenas_ had a lasting Fame, Because the best of Poets us'd his Name; Then Merit justly may to me belong, Because 'tis sung by your all-skilful Tongue. Oft have I blam'd my Stars, that I should be Plagu'd with this soft deluding _Poetry_: This Charming _Mistress_ that has kept my Heart, Quite from a Child, by her bewitching Art. From her glad Fountain I can always find A pleasing Philtre to make _Phillis_ kind: For tell me that coy _Maid_ could ever be Cruel, when urg'd by Charming _Poesie_? _Verse_ is the _Poet's_ Beauty, Wealth and Wit; And what soft _Virgin_ won't be won by it? But, wearied with Delight, I always try Against this Spell to find a Remedy. By good _Divinity_ I think to find A Soveraign Remedy for Soul and Mind: But then, with Holy Flame, I strait do burn, And all to _Hymns_, and _Sacred Anthems_ turn. Nay, when the Night does waking Thoughts redress, And Guardian Angels with our Souls converse, To busie Mortals is the sleeping Time; I dream and slumber all the Night in Rhyme. Then puzling _Logick_ next I take in hand; But this, Alas! can't _Poesie_ withstand. _Barbara_, _Celarent_, I with Ease express, And yoke rough _Ergo's_ into well-made _Verse_: My Faithless Lover's _Syllogism_ tries; I by stout _Logick_ find their _Fallacies_. Then _Scheibler_, _Suarez_, _Bellarmine_ I get, And sound the depth of _Metaphysick_ wit: Streight, in a fret, I damn 'em all at once, And vow they are as dull as _Zabarel_ or _Dunce_. Credit me, _Sir_, no greater plague can be, Than to be poison'd with mad _Poetrie_: Like Pocky Letchers, who have got a Clap, And paid the _Doctor_ for the dear mishap; But newly eased of their nausceous pain, Return unto their wanton Sin again. So Poets be they plague'd with naughty Verse, They never value good nor bad success: Or be they trebly damn'd, they will prefer Their next vile scribling to the _Theater_. Well might the Audience, with their hisses, damn The Bawdy Sot that late wrote _Limberham_: But yet you see, the Stage he will command, And hold the Laurel in's polluted Hand. In slothful ease, a while I took delight, And thought all Poets mad that us'd to write. So long I kept from Verse, I thought I'd lost My Versing Vein, and of my Fortune boast: But having tryal made, I quickly found My store renew'd, in numbers strong and sound With ease my happy fancies come and go, As Rivulets do from _Parnassus_ flow. Then finding that in vain I long had try'd The _Poet_ from the _Tutchin_ to divide; I charming _Poesie_ make my delight, And propagate the humor still to Write. Our new Divines do alter not one jot, From what their Tribe in older times have wrot; Except, like _Parker_, to have something new, They broach new Doctrines, either false or true: _A Publick Conscience_, which for nought does pass, But proves the Writer is a publick Ass; Who the new Philosophick world have told, Have for a new but varnish'd o're the old. But all Poetick Phancy can't draw dry, Th' unfathom'd Wells of deepest Poesie. The _Bifront Hill_ is always stout and strong; The _Muses_ still are handsome, always young. The clearest streams of Chrystal _Helicon_ Do o're the Pebles in sweet Rhymings run. Why then should you, _Dear Sir_, (that have pretence To the extreamest bounds of Wit and Sense) Lay by your Quills and hold your Tune-ful Tongue, While all the witty want your pleasing Song? Once more renew those Lays that gave delight, That chear the Day, and glad the gloomy Night: May with your dying breath your Verses end; Thus prays your constant, and
_Your truest Friend_, _J. T._
* * * * *
THE
EARTH-QUAKE
OF
JAMAICA,
Describ'd in a
Pindarick Poem.
By Mr. TUTCHIN.
_----namq; Diespiter Igni corusco nubila dividens Plerumq; per purum tonantes Egit Equos volucremq; currum, Quo bruta Tellus & vaga flumina, Quo Styx, & invisi horrida Tænari Sedes, Atlanteusq; finis Concutitur. Valet ima summis Mutare,----_
Horat. lib. I. Ode 34.
_LONDON_,
Printed, and are to be sold by _R. Baldwin_, near the
_Oxford-Arms_ in _Warwick-lane_, 1692.
THE
Earthquake of Jamaica
Describ'd in a POEM.
I.
Well may our Lives bear an uncertain date; Disturb'd with Maladies within, Without by cross Events of Fate, The worst of Plagues on Mortals wait, Pride, Ignorance and Sin. If our ancient Mother Earth, Who gave us all untimely Birth, Such strong Hysterick Passion feels; If Orbs are from their Axles torn, And Mountains into Valleys worn, All in a moments space, Can humane Race Stand on their Legs when Nature Reels? Unhappy Man! in all things cross'd, On every giddy Wave of Fortune toss'd; The only thing that aims at Sway, And yet capricious Fate must still Obey; Travels for Wealth to Foreign Lands, O're scorching Mountains, and o're desart Sands, Laden with Gold, when homeward bound, Is in one vast impetuous Billow drown'd: Or if he reaches to the Shoar, And there unlades his Oar, Builds Towns and Houses which may last and stand, Thinking no Wealth so sure as firm Land; Yet Fate the Animal does still pursue; This slides from underneath his Feet, and leaves him too.
II.
Environ'd with Ten Thousand Fears we live, For Fate do's seldom a just warning give; Quicker than Thought its dire Resolves are made, And swift as Lightning flies, Around the vast extended Skies: All things are by its Bolts in vast Confusion laid. Sometimes a Flaming Comet does appear, Whose very Visage does pronounce, Decay of Kingdoms, and the Fall of Crowns, Intestine War, or Pestilential Year; Sometimes a Hurricane of Fate, Does on some great Mans Exit wait, A murder'd _Cornish_, or some _Hercules_, When from their Trunks Almighty _Jove_, Who breaks with Thunder weighty Clouds above, To Honour these Large Pines and Oaks does Lop, And in a Whirlwind lays 'em upon _Oeta_'s Top. E're this vast Orb shall unto Chaos turn, And with Consuming Flames shall burn, An Angel Trumpeter shall come, Whose Noise shall shake the Massie Ground, In one short moment shall express, His Notes to the whole Universe; The very Dead shall hear his Sound, And from their Graves repair, To the impartial Bar, Those that have been in the deep Ocean drown'd, Shall at his Call come to receive their Doom.
III.
But here, alas! no Omens fly, No secret Whisper of their Destiny Was heard; none cou'd divine When Fate wou'd spring the Mine: Safe and secure the Mortals go, Not dreaming of a Hell below; In the dark Caverns of the gloomy Earth, Where suffocating Sulphur has its Birth, And sparkling Nitre's made, Where _Vulcan_ and his _Cyclops_ prove; The Thunderbolts they make for _Jove_; Here _Æolus_ his Winds has laid, Here is his Windy Palace, here 'tis said His Race of little puffing Gods are bred, Which serve for Bellows to blow up the Flame, The dire ingredients are in order plac'd, Which must anon lay Towns and Cities waste. Strait the black Engineer of Heaven came, His Match a Sun-beam was, He swift as Time unto the Train did pass, It soon took Fire; The Fire and Winds contend, But both concur the Vaulted Earth to rend; It upwards rose, and then it downwards fell, Aiming at Heaven, it sunk to Hell: The Neighb'ring Seas now own no more, The sturdy Bulwarks of the Shoar, The gaping Earth and greedy Sea, Are both contending for the Prey; Those whom the rav'nous Earth had ta'ne, Into her Bowels back again Are wash't from thence by the insulting Main.
IV.
The Old and Young receive alike their Doom, The Cowards and the Brave, Are buried in one Grave; For Fate allows 'em all one Common Tomb. The Aged and the Wise Lose all their Reason in the great Surprise. They know not where to go, And yet they dare not stay, There's Fire and Smoak below, And the Earth gaping to receive the Prey: If to the Houses Top they Crawl, These tumble too, and downwards fall: And if they fly into the Street, There grizly Death they meet; All in a hurry dye away, The wicked had not time to pray. The Soldier once cou'd teach grim Death to kill, In vain is all his Skill, In vain he brandisheth his Steel: No more the Art of War must teach, But lyes Fates Trophy underneath the Breach: The good Companions now no more Carouse, They share the Fate of the declining House, Healths to their Friends their Bumpers Crown'd: But while they put the Glasses round, Death steps between the Cup and lip, Nor would it let 'em take one parting Sip.
V.
The Mine is sprung, and a large Breach is made, Whereat strong Troops of Warring Seas invade; These overflow; Where Houses stood and Grass did grow, All sorts of Fish resort: They had Dominions large enough before, But now unbounded by the Shoar, They o're the Tops of Houses sport. The Watry Fry their Legions do extend, And for the new slain Prey contend; Within the Houses now they roam, Into their Foe, the very Kitchen, come. One does the Chimney-hearth assail, Another slaps the Kettle with his slimy Tail. No Image there of Death is seen, No Cook-maid does obstruct their Sway, They have entirely got the day. Those who have once devour'd been By Mankind, now on Man do Feed: Thus Fate decides, and steps between, And sometimes gives the Slave the Victors meed. The Beauteous Virgins whom the Gods might love, Cou'd not the Curse of Heav'n remove; Their goodness might for Crimes Atone, Inexorable Death spares none. Their tender Flesh lately so plump and good, Is now made Fishes and Sea-monsters Food; In vain they cry, Heav'n is grown Deaf, and no Petition hears, Their Sighs are answer'd like their Lovers Pray'rs, They in the Universal Ruin lye.
VI.
Nor is inexorable Fate content To ruine one poor Town alone; More Mischief by the Blow is done: Death's on a farther Message sent. When Fate a Garrison does Sack, The very Suburbs do partake Of Martial Law, Its Forces draw To every Mountain, Field and Wood, They Ravage all the Neighbourhood. Worse than the weak Assaults of Steel, Its Instruments of Death all places feel. They undiscover'd, like fell Poison kill, Its Warriours fierce, The Earth, the Air, and Men do pierce; And mounted, fight upon the winged Winds. Here a great Mountain in a Valley's thrown, And there a Valley to a Mountain grown. The very Breath of an incensed God, Makes even proud _Olympus_ Nod. Chang'd is the Beauty of the fruitful Isle, And its fair Woods lopp'd for its Funeral Pile. The moving Earth forms it self in Waves, And Curls its Surface like the Rowling Seas; Whilst Man (that little thing) so vainly Raves, Nothing but Heaven can its own Wrath appease.
VII.
But Fate at length thought fit to leave its Toil, And greedy Death was glutted with the Spoil. As weary Soldiers having try'd their Steel, Half drown'd with Blood, do then desist to kill. More Ruin wou'd a second Deluge make, Blot out the Name of the unhappy Isle. It fares with her as when in Martial Field, Resolv'd and Brave, and loath to yield, Two num'rous Armies do contend, And with repeated Shouts the Air do Rend. Whilst the affrighted Earth does shake, Some large Battalions are entirely lost, And Warring Squadrons from the mighty Host: Here by a Shot does fall Some Potent General; And near to him, Another loses but a Limb. Part of the Island was a Prey to Fate, And all the rest do's but prolong its date, 'Till injur'd Heav'n finds, Its Bolts a Terror strike on humane Minds; Sure we may hope the Sinners there Repent, Since it has made their lewdest Priest Relent.
FINIS.
* * * * *
A
Pindarick ODE,
IN THE
PRAISE
OF
Folly and Knavery.
By Mr. _TUTCHIN_.
_LONDON_,
Printed and Sold by _E. W._ near _Stationers-Hall_.
1696. Price 6_d._
A
Pindarick ODE
In the Praise of
Folly and Knavery.
I.
My humble Muse no Hero Sings, Nor Acts, nor Funerals of Kings: The great _Maria_ now no more, In Sable Lines she does deplore; Of mighty _William_'s growing fame, At present must forget the name, Yet she affects something that is sublime, And would in _Dytherambick_ strain } Attempt to rise, and now disdain } The Shrubs and Furzes of the Plain: } He that's afraid to fall, shou'd ne'r pretend to climb.
II.
Let others boast of potent Wit, And Summon in the awful _Nine_, With all their Aids of Fancy, Humor, Sence, Fair polish'd Learning, Eloquence, And call their gawdy works Divine: Hov'ring above my Head let _dullness_ sit, The only God that's worshipp'd by the Age; Immortal _Nonsence_ guide my Pen, The Fames of _Shakespear_ and of _Ben_, Must warp, before my nobler fire To their regardless Tombs retire. Thus Arm'd, with Nonsence, I'll engage Both _Universities_, And their Pedantick fooleries, Show the misguided World the Cheat, And let _Man_ know that _Nonsence_ makes him Great.
III.
Almighty _Folly_! How shall I thy praise To Human Understandings raise? What shall I do Thy worth to shew? The Glorious Sun, that rules the Day, Gives vital warmth and life by ev'ry Ray. His Blessings he in common grants, To Hemlock as to nobler Plants; Thy Virtue thou dost circumscribe, And dost dispence Thy influence, But to the Darlings of thy Tribe, Thou Wealth and Honour dost bestow On thy triumphant _Fools_, Whilst abject Sence do's barefoot go; So weak's the Learning of the noisie Schools.
IV.
Tell me, ye Learned Sots! who spend your time In reading Books, With thoughtful Heads and meagre Looks, To Learnings Pinacle, who climb Through the wild Briers of _Philosophy_, The Thorns of harsh _Philology_, The dirty Road where _Aristotle_ went Encumber'd with a thousand _terms_ Uncouth, Unintelligible, Not by any fancy fathomable, Bringing distracted Minds to harms; The rankest _Hellebore_ cannot prevent. Tell me, I say, ye Learn'd Sots! Did e'r the old or new Philosophy, Make a Man splendid live, or wealthy die? Tho' you may think your Notions truer, They'll ne'r advance your Lotts, To the Estate of Wise Sir _Jonathan_ the Brewer.
V.
A _Fool_! Heav'ns bless the charming Name, So much admir'd in Ages past, As long as this, and all the World shall last, Shall be the Subject of Triumphing Fame. A _Fool_! what mighty wonders has he wrought? What mighty Actions done? Obey'd by all, controul'd by none; Even _Love_ its self is to its Footstool brought. For t'other day, I met amidst the Throng A Lady wealthy, beautiful and young; _Madam_, said I, I wish you double Joy, Of a ripe Husband and a budding Boy, And with my self a sight of him you Wed, } The happy Part'ner of your Bridal Bed. } Sir, she reply'd, I him in Wedlock had; } Pointing unto an Image by her side, An odder Figure no Man e'r espy'd, Long was his Chin, and carotty his Beard, His Eyes sunk in, and high his Nose was rear'd, A nauseous ugliness possess'd the Tool, And scarce had Wit enough to be a Fool: Bless me (thought I) if Fools such fortune get, Then who (the Devil) wou'd be plagu'd with wit.
VI.
View but the Realms of _Nonsence_, see the State, The Pageant pomp attends the show, When the great God of _Dullness_ does in triumph go, How splendid and how great His num'rous Train of Blockheads do appear? Almighty _Jove_, That governs all above, Is but a puny to this Mighty God, The blustring God of War, Who with one Nod Makes the Earth tremble from afar, Guarded with puissant Champions stern and bold That breath Destruction, talk of bloody Jars, Have nought but ragged Cloaths to keep off cold, And tatter'd Ensigns relicks of the Wars. The God of _Dullness_ mounted on his Throne Beneath a Canopy Of fix'd stupidity, Prostrate his num'rous Subjects tumble down, They pay obeisance to their gloomy God, And at his Nod They act, they move, They hate, they love, They bless, they curse, they swear, For they his Creatures are, He amply does his Benefits afford, For each confirmed Blockhead is a Lord.
VII.
Then talk no more of Parts and Sence, For Riches ne'r attend the Wise, Have you to dullness no pretence, You shall to Grandeur never rise; He with a gloomy mien Divinely dull, Whose very aspect tells the World he is a Fool, Whose thicker Skull Is proof against each storm of Fate, Is Born for Glory, and he shall be Great. Who 'ere wou'd rise, Or great Preferment get, Must nere pretend to Wit, Or be that monstrous, ill shap'd Man call'd Wise; He must not boast Of Learning's Value, or its cost; But, if he wou'd Preferment have, He must be much a _Fool_, or much a _Knave_.
VIII.
A _Knave_! the finer Creature far, Tho' of the foolish Race of _Issachar_. As the unwieldy _Bear_ among her young Deform'd, and shapeless Cubs, Finds one more strong, Active and sprightly than the rest: Him she transforms and rubs, And licks into a better shape the Beast. Thus do's the gloomy God of Folly do, With the insipid Race: He do's his num'rous Offspring call, } He handles one and feels his Skull; } If it be thick, he says, Be thou a Fool. } Another, if about his Face He spies a roguish Mein, a cunning Look; If there appears The hopes of Falshood in his tender Years, Good signs of Perjury And hardn'd Villany; This for his secret Councils he do's save, Lays on his Paw, and bids him, Be a _Knave_.
IX.
A _Knave_! the elder brother to the _Fool_: His vast Dominions are no less Than the whole Universe: The Lands are bounded by the Sea: The Seas the sturdy Rocks obey: The Storms do know the Limits of their Rule: Neither the Land nor Sea this Hero bind, But unconfin'd O're both he finds a way, O're both he bears Imperial sway: His gay Attendants are the Cheat, That ruines Kingdoms to be Great. The fawning, flattring Fop, who creeps Just like a Spaniel at your Heels, To some illustrious Knave, who sweeps Away a Kingdoms Wealth at once, And with the Publick Coin his Treasure fills; For Kingdoms work t'enrich the _Knave_ and _Dunce_.
X.
Honesty's a Garb we're mock'd in, Only wore by _Jews_ and _Turks_. Merit is a Popish Doctrine; Men have no regard to Works. Substantial Knavery is a Vertue will Your Coffers fill; And Altars raise, Unto your Praise. Be but a Knave, you'll keep the World in awe, And fear no Law; For no Transgression is, Where all Men do amiss. But here methinks an antiquated _Hero_ starts, Surpris'd at my Discourse; He starts and boggles like a Horse, And damns our modern Knavish Arts.
XI.
Vain _Youth_, he says misguided by a _Knave_, By some dull Blockhead tempted from thy rest; The worldly Grandeur thou dost vainly crave, Is nought but Noise and Foolishness at best. What Man wou'd quit his Sense, Or, the wise Dictates of right Reason's Rule, In vain pretence To be a rich, a gawdy _Fool_? Or, quit his Honesty, so much despis'd, And basely condescend, To every little Knavish End; Run headlong into every Cheat, Attempt each Villany to make him Great. Believe me Youth, (be better now advis'd) Thy early Vertues will thy Temples spread, } With lasting Lawrels 'round thy Head. } Shall flourish when the Wearers dead. } I who have always honest been, though poor, In whom the utmost signs of Age appears, And sink beneath the Burthen of my Years, Cou'd never yet adore A Knave or Blockhead, were he ne'er so Great; Or, be like to them, to purchase an Estate.
XII.
Poor thredbare _Vertue_ ne'er admir'd in Court, But seeks its Refuge in an honest Mind, There it securely dwells, Like _Anchorets_ in Cells, Where no Ambition nor wild Lust resorts: To love our Country is indeed our Pride; We glory in an honest Action done; When the Reward is laid aside The Glory and the Action is our own, We seldom find The Good, the Just, the Brave, Have their Reward From Princes they did save From dire Destruction, or a poisoning Foe; They let them go Contemn'd, disdain'd; and most regard Those Villians sought their overthrow. As if the Just, the Brave, the Good, Were but a _Bridge_ of Wood To waft to great Preferments o'er, Those, who were our foes before, And then be tumbl'd down like useless Logs, While those, who just pass'd o'er, And the obliging Bridge shou'd thank, Do scornfully stand grinning on the Bank, To see the venerable Ruines float Adrift upon the Stream, Contemn'd by them, Who give the Childrens Bread unto the Dogs; _In vain_, says he, _we've fought_---- But at this Word He fiercely look'd, and then he grasp'd his Sword.
XIII.