THE POLITITIAN.
Upon an act of Treason made by the Rebels, etc.
From the Loyal Garland, 1686. Reprinted for the Percy Society, and edited by J. O. Halliwell.
But since it was lately enacted high treason
For a man to speak truth ’gainst the head of a state,
Let every wise man make a use of his reason
To think what he will, but take heed what he prate;
For the proverb doth learn us,
He that stays from the battel sleeps in a whole skin,
And our words are our own if we keep them within,
What fools are we then that to prattle do begin
Of things that do not concern us!
’Tis no matter to me whoe’er gets the battle,
The rubs or the crosses, ’tis all one to me;
It neither increaseth my goods nor my cattle;
A beggar’s a beggar, and so he shall be
Unless he turn traitor.
Let misers take courses to hoard up their treasure,
Whose bounds have no limits, whose minds have no measure,
Let me be but quiet and take a little pleasure,
A little contents my own nature.
But what if the kingdom returns to the prime ones?
My mind is a kingdom, and so it shall be;
I’ll make it appear, if I had but the time once,
He’s as happy in one as they are in three,
If he might but enjoy it.
He that’s mounted aloft is a mark for the fate,
And an envy to every pragmatical pate,
Whilst he that is low is safe in his estate,
And the great ones do scorn to annoy him.
I count him no wit that is gifted in rayling
And flurting at those that above him do sit;
Whilst they do outwit him with whipping and jailing,
His purse and his person must pay for his wit.
But ’tis better to be drinking;
If sack were reform’d to twelve-pence a quart
I’d study for money to merchandise for’t,
With a friend that is willing in mirth we would sport;
Not a word, but we’d pay it with thinking.
My petition shall be that Canary be cheaper,
Without either custom or cursed excise;
That the wits may have freedom to drink deeper and deeper,
And not be undone whilst our noses we baptize;
But we’ll liquor them and drench them.
If this were but granted, who would not desire
To dub himself one of Apollo’s own quire?
And then we will drink whilst our noses are on fire,
And the quart pots shall be buckets to quench them.