Some tell of Africk Monsters

Some tell of Africk Monsters, which of old,

Vain Superstition did for God-heads hold,

How the Ægyptians, who first knowledge spread,

Ador’d their Apis with the white Bulls head;

Apis still fed with Serpents that do hiss,

Hamon, Osiris, Monster Anubis.

But Sun-burnt Africk never had, nor hath

A Monster like our English Publique Faith;

Those fed on Snakes, and satisfi’d, did rest,

This, like the Curtain Gulf, will have the best

Thing in the City, to appease its still

Encreasing hunger, Glutting its lewd will

With Families, whose substance it devours,

Perverting Justice and the Higher Powers;

Contemning without fear of any Law,

Preying on all to fill its ravenous Maw;

Whose Estrich stomack, which no steele can sate,

Has swallowed down Indies of Gold and Plate:

This is the Publique Faith, which being led

By th’ Cities wealth, has in this Kingdom bred

Such various mischiefs with its viperous breath,

Blasting its peace and happinesse to death;

And yet this Idoll which our world adores,

Has made men prostitute their truth like Whores,

To its foul Lust, which surely may as well

And soon be satisfi’d, as th’ Grave, or Hell;

This preys on Horses, yet that will not do,

Unlesse it may devour the Riders too:

This takes up all the Riches of the Land,

Not by intreaty, but unjust Command,

Borrowing extortively without any day

But the Greek Calends, then it means to pay;

This ’gainst the Law of Nations does surprise

The Goods of Strangers, Kings, & in its wise

Discretion, thinks (though its not worth their note)

They’re bound to take the Publique Faiths trim Vote

For their security, when this Publique Faith

Has broke more Merchants then e’re Riot hath,

And yet, good men o’th City, you are proud

To have this Bankrupt Publique Faith allow’d

More credit then your King, to this you’ll lend

More willingly then ever you did spend

Money to buy your Wives and Children bread,

By such a strange Inchantment being misled

To your undoings; you who upon Bond,

Nay scarcely upon Mortgage of that Land,

Treble your Moneys value, would not part

With your lov’d Coine, vanquish’d by th’ powerfull art

Of this Magician Publique Faith, justly install

Him Master of your Bags, the Devil and all

That taught you get them by deceitfull wares,

And sucking in (like Mornings draughts) young Heirs:

Well, certainly if this fine humour hold,

Your Aldermen will have no other Gold

But what’s in Thumb-rings, for their ponderous Chains,

They’le be the Publique Faiths just lawfull gains,

And have the Honour afterwards to be

Hang’d in them for its Publique Treachery.

What will become of you then, Grave and Witty

Inhabitants of this Inchanted City?

Who is’t shall those vast Sums to you re-pay,

When Master Publique Faith is run away?

Or who shall those prodigious heaps renew,

Which were prodigally decreas’d by you?

Whom the whole world imagin’d men of thrift,

What will your Orphans do? How will they shift,

Whose whole Estates in th’ City Chamber, hath

Been given a spoyle to ruin’d Publique Faith?

Perhaps you’le pawn your Charter to supply

The worthy wants of your Necessity.

Who is’t will take’t, when all (but men misled

Like you) know ’tis already forfeited?

Who is’t will then into New Coine translate

Such monstrous Cupboards of huge antick Plate?

To Publique Faiths vast Treasury bring in,

From the Gilt Goblet, to the Silver Pin,

All that was Coinable, and what to do?

Even to create you Knaves, and Traytors too.

Faith if you chance to come off with your Lives,

Your way will be to live upon your Wives,

Their Trading will be good, when Fortune wears

Your Colours in the Caps of th’ Cavaliers,

Whose Cuckolds you’ll be then, & on your brow,

Wear their Horns, as you Publique Faith’s do now;

Then, then you’ll howle, when you shall clearly see

That Publique Faith, was Publique Treachery:

Then you’ll confess your selves to ’ve been undone

By Publique Faith’s man, Isaack Pennington;

Then you’ll repent that ever you did fling

Such monstrous Sums away against your King;

When he in Triumph, with his War-like Train,

Shall to your terrour view your Town again;

Unlesse his Mercy mittigate his wrath,

Justly conceiv’d ’gainst you and Publique Faith;

That Reverent Alderman which did defile

His Breeches at the Mustering ere while,

Shall then again those Velvet Slops bewray,

Cause Publique Faith did make him go astray:

Pauls shall be opened then, and you conspire

No more against the Organs in the Quire,

Nor threat the Saints ith’ Windows, nor repair

In Troops to kill the Book of Common-Prayer;

Nor drunk with Zeal, endeavour to engrosse

To your own use, the stones of Cheap-side Crosse:

Then, then you’ll bow your heads, your horns and all,

That so exalted were to save from thrall

Your ruin’d Liberties, and humbly pray

For Mercy, more then upon each Fast-day;

When your Seditious Preachers to the throng,

Make Prayers Ex Tempore of five hours long;

Lest you by early penitence prevent

Your certain danger, if not punishment,

Which you by no means may so safely do,

As quitting Publique Faith, and Treason too:

Then, then, though late, you to your grief will find,

That you have walkt (as Moles ith’ Earth do) blind

Of your fair reason, and obedient light,

Involv’d in Mists of black Rebellious Night:

If these Instructions will not make you see

Your Errour, may you perish in’t for me,

And to your Ruine walk in deathfull path,

That leads to’th Gallows with the Publique Faith.