We have brought our Hoggs to a fair Market. OR, The IRON Age Turned into GOLD.

See they obey our Gracious Soveraigns words,
Presto they'r gone; and now these wicked Rogues
Look like the withered face of an Old Hagg,
But with three teeth, like to a triple Gagg.

Never published by any Pen before.

By J. A. A lover of his Countryes welfare.

LONDON: Printed for Thomas Mills, 1660.

We have brought our Hoggs to a fair Market: OR, The Iron Age Turned into Gold.

THeir Militia (like its Patron Mars) was the issue of the Mother, without the concourse of Royal Jupiter, yet their Law it was, if they'd Vote it; though in defiance of their Funda­mentals; much like the Old Sexton, who swore his Clock went true, though the Sun said to the contrary: But Actors must have their properties, and since the Stages were Voted down, the onely Play-house was at Westminster, suitable to their Plots wear their Informers, Skippers, and Taylors; Spaniels both fit for Land and Water; Good Consci­onable [Page 2]Intelligence; for however Scots bill might inflame the reckoning, the bonest Vermine had not so much for Li­ing as the Publick Faith.

Thus the Quixots of our late times fought with the Wind­mills of their own Heads, quail Monsters of their own ere­ation, makes Plots and then discovers them; as who fit­ter to Un-kennel the Fox then the Terrier that is part of him. In the next place march to their Adventurers, the Roundheads Legrand, the Rebells Romance, stories of a larger size then the ears of their Sects, able to strangle the belief of a Soli fidian.

Ile present them in their order, and first as a Whifler be­fore the Shew, enter one that trod the Stage with the first, traverse his ground, made a Legg, and exit: The Country People took him for one that by Order of the House was to dance a morris through the west of England. Well, he is a nim­ble Gentleman, set him but upon Banks his Horse in a Sad­dle rampant, and it is a great question which part of the Centaur shews the best tricks.

There was a Vote passing to translate him with all his E­quipage into Monumental Gingerbread, but it was crost by the Female Committee, alledging that the valour of his I­mage would bite their Children by the tongues.

This Cubit and half of Commander by the help of an In­telligencer routed his Enemies fifty miles off: It is strange you will say, and yet it is generally beleived, he would as soon do it at that distance, as near hand. Sure it was his Sword, for which weapon salve was invented, that so wounding and healing like loving Correlates, might both work at the same removes: But the Squib is run to the end of the Rope; Room for the prodigie of valour, Madam Atrops in Breeches, a valiant Knight erantry, and because every Mountebank must have his Zany, throw him in Hasilrig to set off the story: These two, like Bell and the Dragon were [Page 3]alwayes worshipped in the same Chapter; they hunt in their couples, what one doth at the Head the other scores up at the Heels. Thus they kill a man over and over, the one Chiming all in and the other strikes up the Saints bell.

I wonder for how many lives the Lord Hopton took the Lease of his body: First an Earl slue him, then W— out-killed that half a bar, and yet it was thought the sul­len Corps would scarce bleed, were both these Man slayers never so near it: The fame goes of a Dutch Headsman, that he would do his office with so much ease and dexterity, that the Head after Execution should stand still upon the shoul­ders: it was well Sir W— Knight was not Probationer for the place; thus the Artificers of Death could kill the Man without wounding the Body, like Lightning that melts the Sword and never singes the Scabord.

This is the Valiant Heroe whose Mistress was the Con­queror, this is the Cities Champion, and the Conquerours delight: Translate but the Scene to Round way-down; there Hasilrigs Lobsters were turned into Crabs and crawled back­wards; then poor Sir John ran to his Lady for a use of con­solation.

But the Conquerors were weary of the Arm of Flesh, and now begins an Hosana to Cromwel, one that beat up his Drums clean through the Old Testament; you might learn the Genealogie of our Saviour, by the names in his Regiment. The Muster-master used no other [...]st then the first Chapter in Matthew.

Come keen Traytors with your Badgers feet,
And Badger-like, bite till your feet do meet:
Help ye tart Satirists to imp my rage,
VVith all the Scorpions that should have whipt that Age.
Traytors are like Witches; do but whet you Pen.
Scratch till the blood come; they'l not hurt you then,
Now as the Martyrs were inforc't to take
The shapes of Beasts, like Hypocrites, at stake,
Ile bait my Traytor so, yet not cheat your Eyes,
A Traytor within a Beast is no Disguise.

With what face could they object to the King, the bring­ing in of Farriners, ween themselves entertained such an Army of Hebrews? The Traytor Cromwel was never so valourous as when he was making Speeches for Association, which nevertheless he did somewhat ominously with his Neck awry, holding up his Ear as if he had expected Ma­homets Pidgeon to have come and promp him. He should be a Bird of prey too by his bloody-beak; his Nose was able to try a young Eagle, whether she was lawfully begotten: but all is not Gold that glisters; what we wonder at in the rest of them was naturally in him, to kill without blood shed. For most of his Trophies were in a Church window, when a Looking-glass would have shewed him more superstition; He was so perfect a hater of Images, that he had defaced Gods in his own countenance: If he deal with men, tis when he takes them napping in an Old Monument; then down goes dust and ashes; and the stoutest Cavaliers is no better. O brave Oliver! Times voider. Subsizer to Worms, in whom death, that formerly devoured our Ancestors now [...]hew the Cud. He said Grace once, as if he would have fallen aboard with the Marquess of Newcastle, and the In­ [...]elligence gave you his bill of fare, but it proved a running banquet, as appeared by the story: Believe him as he whi­ [...]tles to his Cambridge teem of Committee-men, and he doth wonders; but Holy men (like the Holy Language) must be read backwards. They did rifle Colledges to promote Learning, and pulled down Churches for dification. But Sacriledge is intailed upon him: There must be a Cromwel [Page 5]for Cathedrals, as well as Abbeys; A secure Sinner, whose offence carries its pardon in its mouth; for how could he be hanged for Church robbery, which gives it self the bene­fit for the Clergie.

But for all Cromwels Nose did wear the Dominical Letter, compared to M— otherwise called the Brewers Copper, he was but like the Virgils to an Holy-day. This was the Man of God; so Sanctified a Thunder-bolt, that a Divine in a pro­portionably blaspheming to his Lord of Hosts, would stile him the Arch-Angel, giving Battle to the Devil.

They ageeed in nothing, but they were all Adamits in understanding: It is the signe of a Coward to wink and fight; but I wonder from whence Lambert and Harrisons purity first proceeded; it was not by tradition: If they were begotten Saints, it was by equivocal Generation; for the Devil in the Father turned Jesuites in the Sons so that their Godliness was of the same Parentage with good Laws, both extracted out of bad Manners, and would they alter the Scripture, as they attempted the Creed, they might vary the Text, and say to Corruption, Thou art our Father. Bar­barous Rebells, who will be revenged upon all Learning, because their Treason is beyond the mercy of the Book.

There were more Puppets that moved by the name of Champions as, Scot and Thurloe, two of Nols Petty-toes such sniveling Cowards, that it is a favour to call them so: had Thurloe been to fight with his Teeth, as in other things he re­sembles the Beast, he would have ods of any man at the weapon: O he's a terrible slaughter-man at a Thanks-giv­ing dinner had he been Cannibal, to have eaten those that he vanquisht, his Gut would have made him valient.

And now I speak of reformation, vous evez Fox, the Tin­ker, the liveliest Embleme of it that may be; for what did that Rump Parliament ever go about to reform, but Tin­ker-wife, in mending one hole they made three.

I will close up all thus, the Victoryes of the Rebels, were like the Magicall Combate of Apuleius, who thinking he had slain all three of his enemies, found them at last but a tri­umphirate of Bladers. Such and so empty are the impost­humated fancies, so many Bladers of their own blowing.

Like to Don Quixots Rosary of slaves
Strung on a Chain; a murnivall of knaves
Packt in a trick like Gipsies when they ride
Or, like Colleagues, which sit all of a side,
So the vain Satyrist stand all a row.
As hollow Teeth on a Lute string show.
FINIS.

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