The Case is Alter'd now: OR, THE CONVERSION OF ANTHONY, King of Poland, Published for Satisfaction of the Sanctifyed Brethren.
EV'n as a
Lyon, with his Paws uprear'd,
As he would tare in pieces all the Herd:
So of late days, you
Whiggs, as Rampant were;
An honest
Tory scarce to speak did dare.
Nay, it was almost an offensive thing;
The
Bell-Man scarce dar'd cry,
God save the King!
Thou, my dear
Titus, and the
Popish Plot,
Did'st fire my Zeal, and make my Head so hot,
That then I whispered loud into the Nation,
Now, now's the nick of Time for
Reformation.
You hufft and hector'd at a lofty rate,
When
Parliaments of your own Mettle sate;
As if you had o're-grown the King and Laws.
And were beginning a New
Good Old Cause.
But Remedy in Season did appear,
And stop't the Fury of your hot Carreer.
Thus for a while I danc'd to my own Pipe.
Till I was grown
Association-ripe.
But then
Addresses from each County came,
And
Loyalty did soon put out the Flame.
Then was the time, that
Tybourn claim'd his Due;
But had it not for want of such as You:
Yet it had some small Satisfaction giv'n,
By the deserved Death of
Traitour Stephen.
Cabals, and Factious Clubs so rife were grown,
And old Rebellious Seed so thick were sown,
I hop't ere this, the Day would be my own.
In
Coffee-Houses you did domineer,
And pratled
Treason without Wit or Fear.
Reason and
Loyalty you over-rul'd;
And setled Nations, whil'st your
Coffee cool'd.
The Point you argued with a surly Face,
And he that did not yield, and give you Place,
Was term'd by you a
Tory, void of Grace.
One House, one Town, one Kingdom fearce could hold
Tory and
Whigg, Sir
Whigg was grown so bold.
For this Recital, Sirs, pray do not blame us,
We ne'r baulk't Justice by our
Ignoramus.
No, no, you meant no Harm, I oft was told;
No more did your Rebelling Sires of old.
Thus, for a while, with Factious Rage you burn'd;
But, Heav'n be thank't, the Scales at last are turn'd:
The Wheell, at length, is mov'd a little round,
And its worst Pieces lowest to the Ground.
The State has found a way to cool our Feavors,
Quench our new Lights, and curb our strong Endeavours;
And we are taught Complyance with more Ease,
To
What, and
When, and
How the
King shall please.
We to your Private Meetings now can come;
And seize your
Holder-forth, and send
You Home;
Meet
You at
Guild-Hall, or Elsewhere; and then,
Help
You make Choice of Loyal Honest Men.
The Memory and Name of
Moor be blest;
That Loyal President for all the rest.
Let
Faction cease, and
Loyalty get Ground.
T
[...]l not
[...]ore
Whigg be in the Nation found:
Then w
[...]le rejoyce, as in the Days of Yore,
And
Salamancas shall be known no more.
FINIS.
LONDON, Printed for J. P. in the Year, 1683.