A satyr upon the French king written by a Non-swearing parson ...

A SATYR upon the French King , Written by a Non-Swearing Parson , and drop'd out of his Pocket at Samm's Coffee-House . Facit indignatio Versum . AND hast thou left Old JEMMY in the Lurch ? A plague confound the Doctors of ●hy Church . Then to abandon poor Italian Molly , That I' had ' the sirking of thy Bumm with Holly ! Next to discard the Virtuous Prince of Wales , How suits this with the Honour of Versailes ? Fourthly , and Lastly , to renounce the Turks , Why , this is the Devil , the Devil , and all his Works . Were I thy Confessor , who am thy Martyr , Dost think that I 'de allow thee any Quarter , No — thou shoudst find what 't is to be a Starter . Lord ! with what monstrous Lies , and senseless Shamms , Have we been cullied all a-long at Samms . Who cou'd have e're believ'd , unless in Spite , Lewis le Grand wou'd turn rank Williamite ? Thou , that hast Look'd so fierce , and Talk'd so bigg , In thy Old Age to dwindle to a Whigg , By Heaven , I see thou 'rt in thy heart a Prigg . I 'de not be for a Million in thy Jerkin , 'Fore George thy Soul 's no bigger than a Gerkin . Hast thou for this spent so much Ready Rhino ? Now , what the Plague will become of Jure Divino ? A Change so monstrous I cou'd ne're have thought , Though Partridge all his Stars to vouch it , brought , S'life , I 'le not take thy Honour for a Groat . Ev'n Oaths , with thee , are only things of Course , Thou ' Zoons , thou art a Monarch for a House . Of Kings distress'd thou art a fine Securer , ' Thou make'st me Swear , that am a known Non-Jurer . But tho' I swear thus , as I said before , Know , King , I 'le place it all upon thy Score . Were Job alive , and banter'd by such Shufflers , He 'd out-rail Oats , and Curse both thee and Boufflers . For thee I've lost , if I can rightly scann 'em , Two Livings worth full Eightscore Pounds per Annum , Bonae , & legalis Angliae Monetae , But now I 'm clearly routed by the Treaty . Then Geese and Pigs my Table ne're did fail . And Tyth-Eggs merrily flew in like hail , My Barns with Corn , my Cellars cramm'd with Ale . The Dice are chang'd , for now ; as I 'm a sinner , The Devil , for me , knows where to buy a Dinner . I might as soon , tho' I were ne're so willing , Raise a whole Troop of Horse ; as one poor Shilling . My Spouse , Alass ; must flaunt in Silks no more , Pray Heaven , for Sustenance , she turn not Whore ; And Daughter Peggy too , in time , I fear , Will learn to take a Stone up in her Ear . My Friends have basely left me with my place , What 's worse , my very Pimples bilk my face . And frankly my Condition to disclose , I most resent th' ungratitude of my Nose , On which tho' I have spent of Wine such store , It now looks paler than my Tavern score . My double Chin's dismantled , and my Coat is Past its best days , in Verbo Sacerdotis . My Bre●ches too this morning , to my wonder , I found grown Schismatics , and fallen assunder . When first I came to Town with Houshold-Clogg . Rings , Watch , and so forth , fairly went for Progg . The Ancient F●thers next , in whom I boasted , Were soon exchang'd for primitive Boil'd and Roasted . Since 't is no Sin of Books to be a Glutton , I truck'd St. Austin for a Leg of Mutton . Old Jerem's Volumes next I made a Rape on , And melted down that Father for a Capon . When these were gone , my Bowels not to balk , I trespass'd most en●rmously in Chalk . But long I had not Quarter'd upon Tick , E're Christian Faith , I found , grew monstrous sick : And now , Alass ! when my starv'd Entrails croke , At Partner How's I Dine and Sup on Smoke . In fine , the Government may do its Will , But I 'm afraid my Guts will Grumble still . Dennis , of Sicily , as Books relate , Sir , When he was tumbled from the Regal State , Sir , ( Which , by the by , I hope will be your Fate , Sir , ) And his good Subjects left him in the lurch , Turn'd Pedagogue , and Tyranniz'd in Birch : Tho' thus the Spark was taken a pegg lower , Some feeble signs of his old State he bore , And Reign'd o're Boys , that Govern'd Men before . For thee I wish some Punishment that worse is , Since then thou ' hast spoil'd my Prayers , now hear my Curses . May thy Affairs ( for so I wish by Heavens ) All the World o're at Sixes ly and Sevens . May Conti be imposs'd on by the Primate , And forc'd , in hast , to leave the Northern Climate : May he rely upon their Faith , and try it , And have his Bellyfull of the Polish Dyet . May Maintenon , tho' thou so long hast kept her , With Brand-Venereal singe thy Royal Scepter . May all the Poets , that thy Fame have scatter'd , Un-god thee now , and Damn what once they flatter'd . The Pope , and Thou , be never Cater Cosins , And Fistula's thy Arse-hole seize by Dozens . Thus far in Jest ; but now , to pin the basket , Mayst thou to England come , of Jove I ask it , Thy wretched Fortune , Lewis , there to prop , I hope thou 'lt in the Fryars take a shop . Turn Puny-Barber there , bleed lousy Carmen , Cut Corns for Chimney-Sweepers , and such Vermin , Be forc'd to Trimm ( for such I 'me sure thy Fate is , ) Thy own Hugonots , and Us Non-Jurors , gratis . May Savoy likewise with thee hither pack , And carry a Raree-Show upon his back . May all this happen , as I 've put my Pen to 't , And may all Christian People say Amen to 't .