4

An Union that is of Importance fo high:
Nor that of our Rofes, nor Realms can out-vie.
A Victory equal to Blenbeim Success;
And justly deferving a Triumph no less.

And what from Her Reign we must hope for alone:
For She by her Sweetness muft do it, or None.
Let us hope then and pray our next Senate may be
As zealous for Peace and Agreement as She:
And that our Electors may open their Eyes;
And think it no fhame at the last to grow wife.
Or if fome of that Lift to the House should be fent;
Let us pray they may fee their Mistake, and repent:
And the powerful Charms of her Excellent Reign
May sweeten their Tempers, and fetch them again:
Until, with a Blufh, they reflect on that Vote,
As a taking three Kingdoms at once by the Throat:
And the only linkindness that ever was shown
To the Kindest of Queens, fince She fat on the
(Throne :
And may fo regret the Indignity past,
That as 'twas the Firft, fo it may be the Laft.

A Health to the Northamptonshire
SNEAKERS, 1705:

W

E'll remember the Men

That go with us again,'

To chufe Knights that can afford, Sir,
To ferve without Penfion,

Or other Pretenfion;

And Just and Right is the Word, Sir

As for those that have Pay,
We have nothing to say,

Let the Soldier live by his Sword, Sir:
We 're for Them that are known
To have Lands of their own;
And Just and Right is the Word, Sir.

If we chufe their Court-Tools,
They may well call us Fools,
Thoa Double Saint, and a Lord, Sir:
We are fure we can truft

Both our Right and our Juft; And Juft and Right is the Word, Sir.

H

The REPLY.

Ere's a Health to the Knight
Who dares Vote and dares Fight,

To maintain our Religion and Laws, Sir,
Against France and the Tack,

And every mad Jack;

And never will Sneak from the Cause, Sir.

As for those whom you feem

For their Lands to esteem,

You little can say of their Brains, Sir:

But fince nothing can taint

Our Brave Soldier and Saint;

'Tis for these Men alone we can answer.

Your dull Puns we flight

Of your Just and your Right,

The Burden of Scoundrel Song, Sir:
Cheat us not with a Name,

For Your Just Ends in Sham;

And your Cart did always go Wrong, Sir.

B 3

45

Jure

Jure Divino tofs'd in a Blanket:

OR,

Daniel De Foe's Memorial.

Nhappy State, condemn'd to worst of Things, Where Lawless Rogues do write, and rail at (Kings; All Regal Power with Rebel Notions treat, And lay the Monarch at the People's Feet: Bred from a Factious and Repining Crew, Secur'd by Mercy they would never fhew: Of the first Rebel Lucifer's black Stamp, Whom nought will e'er reform but honeft Hemp; For meaner Punishments they banter still, And laugh at Vengeance they deferve to feel : Correction's nothing to fuch Rogues as these, Whom yet the best of Kings could never please: Tho curb'd by the fame Power they difown, They'll flatter those their Mischiefs can't dethrone, Where like the Viper, when you Warmth impart, Its Poyfon fwells and ftings you to the Heart: Grown ftrong in Impudence, in Treafon bold; Some useful Tenets they from Scripture hold, Mifconftrue Texts, and with malicious Wit, Vary the Glorious Truths of Sacred Writ; Both Right Divine, and Right of Pow'r difown, And raise the People high above the Throne; Heav'n can on Monarchs no fuch Right bestow, The Gift's the Peoples, and the Power too:

That

That Prince to rule thus has a hopeful Job,
Skur'd in a Throne to please a head-strong Mobb
A hopeful Doctrine, drawn no doubt from Hell,
To teach a stubborn People to Rebel:

Which that there may be useful Rogues to prop,
Such as De Foe the Devil conjures up;
Arm'd with a Pen he fets him on to Wars,
To kindle Faction, and Inteftine Jars.
With double Zeal do's Daniel's Breast endue,
Who writes for Bread, and for Sedition too:
The Party's Champion-fit for fuch a Cause,
And the most dauntless Rogue that ever was.
Tell us then Satan-fpeak it to his Face,
Thou Guardian-Angel of the Rebel-Race,
Is there like Daniel one among the Tribes,
That half fo well the Party's Zeal defcribes?
That better tells us what they've always meant,
From Royal Anna's Reign to Martyr'd Charles the
(Saint.

Repining ever, burden'd with Complaints,
Wicked as Devils, yet wou'd pafs for Saints;
A leud, feditious, misbelieving Brood,
Perverfe, uneafy, obftinate and proud,
Revengeful to an infinite Degree,
Nurs'd up to Murders and Barbarity,
With ev'ry Peal of loud Rebellion chime,
(For that's their old Hereditary Crime)
A fecond Nature with their Milk fuck'd in,
Their free-born Principle and darling Sin;
Where feeming Piety, and Meekness grow,
Atheists in practice, but mere Saints in show:
As tho a formal Cant, and zealous Face,
Supply'd all figns of Honefty and Grace;
Who for their Int'reft, are the Churchs Friends,
And love Devotion as it ferves their Ends.

These are the Men that would reform the Age,
Whofe Zeal and Piety lie mask'd in Rage,
That down with Superftition cry; Deface
Those wicked Organs, and this painted Glass:
Down with Church Ornaments, the Pride of Nations,
Thofe worfe than Heathenifh Abominations;
With Sculptures, Surplices, and all the rest,
The fuperficial Trappings of the Beast.

When all their formal Cant and Zeal's a Cheat,
There's fcarce a Saint but is a Hypocrite;
Who while they do these ftrict Injunctions preach,
Deny in Actions what their Words do teach,
So when Alcides had the Monster flain,
He made him dreadful Armour of the Skin.
Unhappy Ifle-where Faction always reigns,
And seems supported in't by Providence ;
Satyr and Scandal Ammunition are,

And Pen and Ink declare a Paper War,

Where Scriblers, like our Daniel, fear a Peace,
Who draw their whole Subfiftence from the Prefs:
Print is their Standard, Publishers their Drums,
Feud is the Word, and Pamphlets are their Guns:
Where bufy Rafcals ferve as Voluntiers,
And help to fet the Rabble by the Ears;
While Hell and Tumult in the Front appear,
And Mischief, and the Devil compofe the Rear,
Oh Juftice! then fuch Factious Rogues restrain,
And fend us Daniel to the Lyons Den,