The History and Remarkable Life of the Truly Honourable Colonel Jacque, Commonly called Colonel Jack

At last I told him I had two requests to make to him, which must not be denied. I told him I had a small present to make him, which I would give him a reason why he should not refuse to accept; and the second request I would make after the first was granted. He said he would have accepted my present from me if I had not been under a disaster, but as it was it would be cruel and ungenerous. But I told him he was obliged to hear my reason for his accepting it. Then I told him that this parcel was made up for him by name by my wife and I in Virginia, and his name set on the marks of the bale, and accordingly I showed him the marks, which was indeed on one of the bales, but I had doubled it now, as above, so that I told him these were his own proper goods; and, in short, I pressed him so to receive them that he made a bow; and I said no more, but ordered my negro, that is to say, his negro that waited on me, to carry them all, except the two boxes, into his apartments, but would not let him see the particulars till they were all carried away.

After he was gone about a quarter of an hour, he came in raving and almost swearing, and in a great passion, but I could easily see he was exceedingly pleased; and told me, had he known the particulars, he would never have suffered them to have gone as he did, and at last used the very same compliment that the governor at the Havannah used, viz., that it was a present fit for a viceroy of Mexico rather than for him.

When he had done, he then told me he remembered I had two requests to him, and that one was not to be told till after the first was granted, and he hoped now I had something to ask of him that was equal to the obligation I laid upon him.

I told him I knew it was not the custom in Spain for a stranger to make presents to the ladies, and that I would not in the least doubt but that, what ever the ladies of his family required as proper for their use, he would appropriate to them as he thought fit; but that there were two little boxes in the parcel which my wife with her own hand had directed to the ladies; and I begged he would be pleased with his own hand to give them in my wife's name, as directed; that I was only the messenger, but that I could not be honest if I did not discharge myself of the trust reposed in me.

These were the two boxes of ribands and lace, which, knowing the nicety of the ladies in Spain, or rather of the Spaniards about their women, I had made my wife pack up, and directed with her own hand, as I have said.

He smiled, and told me it was true the Spaniards did not ordinarily admit so much freedom among the women as other nations; but he hoped, he said, I would not think the Spaniards thought all their women whores, or that all Spaniards were jealous of their wives; that, as to my present, since he had agreed to accept of it, I should have the direction of what part I pleased to his wife and daughters; for he had three daughters.

Here I strained courtesies again, and told him by no means; I would direct nothing of that kind. I only begged that he would with his own hand present to his donna, or lady, the present designed her by my wife, and that he would present it in her name, now living in Virginia. He was extremely pleased with the nicety I used; and I saw him present it to her accordingly, and could see, at the opening of it, that she was extremely pleased with the present itself, as indeed might very well be, for in that country it was worth a very considerable sum of money.

Though I was used with an uncommon friendship before, and nothing could well be desired more, yet the grateful sense I showed of it in the magnificence of this present was not lost, and the whole family appeared sensible of it; so that I must allow that presents, where they can be made in such a manner, are not without their influence, where the persons were not at all mercenary either before or after.

I had here now a most happy and comfortable retreat, though it was a kind of an exile. Here I enjoyed everything I could think of that was agreeable and pleasant, except only a liberty of going home, which, for that reason perhaps, was the only thing I desired in the world; for the grief of one absent comfort is oftentimes capable of embittering all the other enjoyments in the world.

Here I enjoyed the moments which I had never before known how to employ-I mean that here I learned to look back upon a long ill-spent life, blessed with infinite advantage, which I had no heart given me till now to make use of, and here I found just reflections were the utmost felicity of human life.

Here I wrote these memoirs, having to add to the pleasure of looking back with due reflections the benefit of a violent fit of the gout, which, as it is allowed by most people, clears the head, restores the memory, and qualifies us to make the most, and just, and useful remarks upon our own actions.

Perhaps when I wrote these things down I did not foresee that the writings of our own stories would be so much the fashion in England, or so agreeable to others to read, as I find custom and the humour of the times has caused it to be. If any one that reads my story pleases to make the same just reflections which I acknowledge I ought to have made, he will reap the benefit of my misfortunes perhaps more than I have done myself. 'Tis evident by the long series of changes and turns which have appeared in the narrow compass of one private, mean person's life, that the history of men's lives may be many ways made useful and instructing to those who read them, if moral and religious improvement and reflections are made by those that write them.

There remains many things in the course of this unhappy life of mine, though I have left so little a part of it to speak of, that is worth giving a large and distinct account of, and which gives room for just reflections of a kind which I have not made yet. Particularly, I think it just to add how, in collecting the various changes and turns in my affairs, I saw clearer than ever I had done before how an invincible overruling Power, a hand influenced from above, governs all our actions of every kind, limits all our designs, and orders the events of everything relating to us.

And from this observation it necessarily occurred to me how just it was that we should pay the homage of all events to Him; that as He guided, and had even made the chain of cause and consequences, which nature in general strictly obeyed, so to Him should be given the honour of all events, the consequences of those causes, as the first Mover and Maker of all things.

I, who had hitherto lived, as might be truly said, without God in the world, began now to see farther into all those things than I had ever yet been capable of before, and this brought me at last to look with shame and blushes upon such a course of wickedness as I had gone through in the world. I had been bred, indeed, to nothing of either religious or moral knowledge. What I gained of either was, first, by the little time of civil life which I lived in Scotland, where my abhorrence of the wickedness of my captain and comrade, and some sober, religious company I fell into, first gave me some knowledge of good and evil, and showed me the beauty of a sober, religious life, though, with my leaving that country, it soon left me too; or, secondly, the modest hints and just reflections of my steward, whom I called my tutor, who was a man of sincere religion, good principles, and a real, true penitent for his past miscarriages. Oh! had I with him sincerely repented of what was past, I had not for twenty-four years together lived a life of levity and profligate wickedness after it.

But here I had, as I said, leisure to reflect and to repent, to call to mind things past, and, with a just detestation, learn, as Job says, to abhor myself in dust and ashes.

It is with this temper that I have written my story. I would have all that design to read it prepare to do so with the temper of penitents, and remember with how much advantage they may make their penitent reflections at home, under the merciful dispositions of Providence, in peace, plenty, and ease, rather than abroad, under the discipline of a transported criminal, as my wife and my tutor, or under the miseries and distresses of a shipwrecked wanderer, as my skipper or captain of the sloop, who, as I hear, died a very great penitent, labouring in the deserts and mountains to find his way home to Virginia, by the way of Carolina, whither the rest of the crew reached after infinite dangers and hardships; or in exile, however favourably circumstanced, as mine, in absence from my family, and for some time in no probable view of ever seeing them any more.

Such, I say, may repent with advantage; but how few are they that seriously look in till their way is hedged up and they have no other way to look!

Here, I say, I had leisure to repent. How far it pleases God to give the grace of repentance where He gives the opportunity of it is not for me to say of myself. It is sufficient that I recommend it to all that read this story, that, when they find their lives come up in any degree to any similitude of cases, they will inquire by me, and ask themselves, Is not this the time to repent? Perhaps the answer may touch them.

I have only to add to what was then written, that my kind friends the Spaniards, finding no other method presented for conveying me to my home-that is to say, to Virginia-got a license for me to come in the next galleons, as a Spanish merchant, to Cadiz, where I arrived safe with all my treasure; for he suffered me to be at no expenses in his house; and from Cadiz I soon got my passage on board an English merchantship for London, from whence I sent an account of my adventures to my wife, and where, in about five months more, she came over to me, leaving with full satisfaction the management of all our affairs in Virginia in the same faithful hands as before.

END OF THE LIFE OF COLONEL JACQUE

THE TRUE-BORN ENGLISHMAN

AN EXPLANATORY PREFACE

It is not that I see any reason to alter my opinion in anything I have written which occasions this epistle, but I find it necessary, for the satisfaction of some persons of honour as well as wit, to pass a short explication upon it, and tell the world what I mean, or rather what I do not mean, in some things wherein I find I am liable to be misunderstood.

I confess myself something surprised to hear that I am taxed with bewraying my own nest and abusing our nation by discovering the meanness of our original, in order to make the English contemptible abroad and at home; in which I think they are mistaken. For why should not our neighbours be as good as we to derive from? And I must add that, had we been an unmixed nation, I am of opinion it had been to our disadvantage. For, to go no further, we have three nations about us as clear from mixtures of blood as any in the world, and I know not which of them I could wish ourselves to be like-I mean the Scots, the Welsh, and Irish; and if I were to write a reverse to the satire, I would examine all the nations of Europe, and prove that those nations which are most mixed are the best, and have least of barbarism and brutality among them; and abundance of reasons might be given for it, too long to bring into a preface.

But I give this hint to let the world know that I am far from thinking it is a satire upon the English nation to tell them they are derived from all the nations under heaven-that is, from several nations. Nor is it meant to undervalue the original of the English, for we see no reason to like them the worse, being the relics of Nomans, Danes, Saxons, and Normans, than we should have done if they had remained Britons; that is, than if they had been all Welshmen.

But the intent of the satire is pointed at the vanity of those who talk of their antiquity and value themselves upon their pedigree, their ancient families, and being true-born; whereas it is impossible we should be true-born, and if we could, should have lost by the bargain.

Those sort of people who call themselves true-born and tell long stories of their families, and, like a nobleman of Venice, think a foreigner ought not to walk on the same side of the street with them, are owned to be meant in this satire. What they would infer from their own original I know not, nor is it easy to make out whether they are the better or the worse for their ancestors. Our English nation may value themselves for their wit, wealth, and courage, and I believe few will dispute it with them; but for long originals and ancient true-born families of English, I would advise them to waive the discourse. A true Englishman is one that deserves a character, and I have nowhere lessened him that I know of; but as for a true-born Englishman, I confess I do not understand him.

From hence I only infer that an Englishman, of all men, ought not to despise foreigners as such, and I think the inference is just, since what they are to-day we were yesterday, and to-morrow they will be like us. If foreigners misbehave in their several stations and employments, I have nothing to do with that; the laws are open to punish them equally with natives, and let them have no favour.

But when I see the town full of lampoons and invectives against Dutchmen only because they are foreigners, and the King reproached and insulted by insolent pedants and ballad-making poets for employing foreigners, and for being a foreigner himself, I confess myself moved by it to remind our nation of their own original, thereby to let them see what a banter is put upon ourselves in it, since, speaking of Englishmen ab origine, we are really foreigners ourselves.

I could go on to prove it is also impolitic in us to discourage foreigners, since it is easy to make it appear that the multitudes of foreign nations who have taken sanctuary here have been the greatest additions to the wealth and strength of the nation, the great essential whereof is the number of its in habitants. Nor would this nation have ever arrived to the degree of wealth and glory it now boasts of if the addition of foreign nations, both as to manufactures and arms, had not been helpful to it. This is so plain that he who is ignorant of it is too dull to be talked with.

The satire, therefore, I must allow to be just till I am otherwise convinced, because nothing can be more ridiculous than to hear our people boast of that antiquity which, if it had been true, would have left us in so much worse a condition than we are in now; whereas we ought rather to boast among our neighbours that we are a part of themselves, or the same original as they, but bettered by our climate, and, like our language and manufactures, derived from them and improved by us to a perfection greater than they can pretend to.

This we might have valued ourselves upon without vanity; but to disown our descent from them, talking big of our ancient families and long originals, and stand at a distance from foreigners, like the enthusiast in religion, with a "Stand off; I am more holy than thou!" – this is a thing so ridiculous in a nation, derived from foreigners as we are, that I could not but attack them as I have done.

And whereas I am threatened to be called to a public account for this freedom, and the publisher of this has been new-papered in gaol already for it, though I see nothing in it for which the Government can be displeased, yet if at the same time those people who, with an unlimited arrogance in print, every day affront the King, prescribe the Parliament, and lampoon the Government may be either punished or restrained, I am content to stand and fall with the public justice of my native country which I am not sensible I have anywhere injured.

Nor would I be misunderstood concerning the clergy, with whom, if I have taken any license more than becomes a satire, I question not but those gentlemen, who are men of letters, are also men of so much candour as to allow me a loose at the crimes of the guilty without thinking the whole profession lashed, who are innocent. I profess to have very mean thoughts of those gentlemen who have deserted their own principles, and exposed even their morals as well as loyalty, but not at all to think it affects any but such as are concerned in the fact.

Nor would I be misrepresented as to the ingratitude of the English to the King and his friends, as if I meant the English as a nation are so. The contrary is so apparent, that I would hope it should not be suggested of me; and, therefore, when I have brought in Britannia speaking of the King, I suppose her to be the representative or mouth of the nation as a body. But if I say we are full of such who daily affront the King and abuse his friends, who print scurrilous pamphlets, virulent lampoons, and reproachful public banter against both the King's person and Government, I say nothing but what is too true. And that the satire is directed at such I freely own, and cannot say but I should think it very hard to be censured for this satire while such remain unquestioned and tacitly approved. That I can mean none but such is plain from these few lines: -

"Ye Heavens, regard! Almighty Jove, look down,And view thy injured monarch on the throne.On their ungrateful heads due vengeance takeWho sought his aid and then his part forsake."

If I have fallen upon our vices, I hope none but the vicious will be angry. As for writing for interest, I disown it. I have neither place, nor pension, nor prospect; nor seek none, nor will have none. If matter of fact justifies the truth of the crimes, the satire is just. As to the poetic liberties, I hope the crime is pardonable. I am content to be stoned provided none will attack me but the innocent.

If my countrymen would take the hint and grow better-natured from my ill-natured poem, as some call it, I would say this of it, that though it is far from the best satire that ever was written, it would do the most good that ever satire did.

And yet I am ready to ask pardon of some gentlemen too, who, though they are Englishmen, have good-nature enough to see themselves reproved, and can bear it. Those are gentlemen in a true sense that can bear to be told of their faux pas and not abuse the reprover. To such I must say this is no satire; they are exceptions to the general rule; and I value my performance from their generous approbation more than I can from any opinion I have of its worth.

The hasty errors of my verse I made my excuse for before; and since the time I have been upon it has been but little, and my leisure less, I have all along strove rather to make the thoughts explicit than the poem correct. However, I have mended some faults in this edition, and the rest must be placed to my account.

As to answers, banters, true English Billingsgate, I expect them till nobody will buy, and then the shop will be shut. Had I wrote it for the gain of the press, I should have been concerned at its being printed again and again by pirates, as they call them, and paragraph-men; but would they but do it justice and print it true according to the copy, they are welcome to sell it for a penny if they please.

The pence indeed is the end of their works. I will engage, if nobody will buy, nobody will write. And not a patriot-poet of them all now will, in defence of his native country-which I have abused, they say-print an answer to it, and give it about for God's sake.

THE PREFACE

The end of satire is reformation; and the author, though he doubts the work of conversion is at a general stop, has put his hand to the plough.

I expect a storm of ill language from the fury of the town, and especially from those whose English talent it is to rail. And without being taken for a conjuror, I may venture to foretell that I shall be cavilled at about my mean style, rough verse, and incorrect language; things I might indeed have taken more care in, but the book is printed; and though I see some faults, it is too late to mend them. And this is all I think needful to say to them.

Possibly somebody may take me for a Dutchman, in which they are mistaken. But I am one that would be glad to see Englishmen behave themselves better to strangers and to governors also, that one might not be reproached in foreign countries for belonging to a nation that wants manners.

I assure you, gentlemen, strangers use us better abroad; and we can give no reason but our ill-nature for the contrary here.

Methinks an Englishman, who is so proud of being called a good fellow, should be civil; and it cannot be denied but we are in many cases, and particularly to strangers, the churlishest people alive.

As to vices, who can dispute our intemperance, while an honest drunken fellow is a character in a man's praise? All our reformations are banters, and will be so till our magistrates and gentry reform themselves by way of example. Then, and not till then, they may be expected to punish others without blushing.

As to our ingratitude, I desire to be understood of that particular people who, pretending to be Protestants, have all along endeavoured to reduce the liberties and religion of this nation into the hands of King James and his Popish Powers; together with such who enjoy the peace and protection of the present Government, and yet abuse and affront the King, who procured it, and openly profess their uneasiness under him. These, by whatsoever names or titles they are dignified or distinguished, are the people aimed at; nor do I disown but that it is so much the temper of an Englishman to abuse his benefactor that I could be glad to see it rectified.

Those who think I have been guilty of any error in exposing the crimes of my own countrymen to themselves may, among many honest instances of the like nature, find the same thing in Mr. Cowley, in his imitation of the second Olympic ode of Pindar. His words are these-

"But in this thankless world the giversAre envied even by the receivers:'Tis now the cheap and frugal fashionRather to hide than pay an obligation.Nay, 'tis much worse than so;It now an artifice doth growWrongs and outrages to do,Lest men should think we owe."

THE INTRODUCTION

Speak, Satire; for there's none can tell like theeWhether 'tis folly, pride, or knaveryThat makes this discontented land appearLess happy now in times of peace than war?Why civil feuds disturb the nation moreThan all our bloody wars have done before?Fools out of favour grudge at knaves in placeAnd men are always honest in disgrace:The Court preferments make men knaves in course;But they which would be in them would be worse.'Tis not at foreigners that we repine,Would foreigners their perquisites resign:The grand contention 's plainly to be seen,To get some men put out, and some put in.For this our Senators make long harangues,And florid Members whet their polished tongues.Statesmen are always sick of one disease,And a good pension gives them present ease:That's the specific makes them all contentWith any King and any Government.Good patriots at Court abuses rail,And all the nation's grievances bewail;But when the sovereign balsam's once applied,The zealot never fails to change his side;And when he must the golden key resign,The railing spirit comes about again.Who shall this bubbled nation disabuse,While they their own felicities refuse,Who at the wars have made such mighty pother,And now are falling out with one another:With needless fears the jealous nation fill,And always have been saved against their will:Who fifty millions sterling have disbursed,To be with peace and too much plenty cursed:Who their old monarch eagerly undo,And yet uneasily obey the new?Search, Satire, search: a deep incision make;The poison's strong, the antidote's too weak.'Tis pointed Truth must manage this dispute,And downright English, Englishmen confute.Whet thy just anger at the nation's pride,And with keen phrase repel the vicious tide;To Englishmen their own beginnings show,And ask them why they slight their neighbours so.Go back to elder times and ages past,And nations into long oblivion cast;To old Britannia's youthful days retire,And there for true-born Englishmen inquire.Britannia freely will disown the name,And hardly knows herself from whence they cameWonders that they of all men should pretendTo birth and blood, and for a name contend.Go back to causes where our follies dwell,And fetch the dark original from hell:Speak, Satire, for there's none like thee can tell.

THE TRUE-BORN ENGLISHMAN

PART I

Wherever God erects a house of prayer,The Devil always builds a chapel there:11And 'twill be found upon examination,The latter has the largest congregation:For ever since he first debauched the mind,He made a perfect conquest of mankind.With uniformity of service, heReigns with a general aristocracy.No non-conforming sects disturb his reign,For of his yoke there's very few complain.He knows the genius and the inclination,And matches proper sins for every nation,He needs no standing-army government;He always rules us by our own consent:His laws are easy, and his gentle swayMakes it exceeding pleasant to obey:The list of his vicegerents and commanders,Outdoes your Cæsars or your Alexanders.They never fail of his infernal aid,And he's as certain ne'er to be betrayed.Through all the world they spread his vast command,And Death's eternal empire is maintained.They rule so politicly and so well,As if they were Lords Justices of Hell,Duly divided to debauch mankind,And plant infernal dictates in his mind.Pride, the first peer, and president of Hell,To his share Spain, the largest province, fell.The subtile Prince thought fittest to bestowOn these the golden mines of Mexico,With all the silver mountains of Peru,Wealth which would in wise hands the world undo:Because he knew their genius was such,Too lazy and too haughty to be rich.So proud a people, so above their fate,That if reduced to beg, they'll beg in state;Lavish of money to be counted brave,And proudly starve because they scorn to save.Never was nation in the world beforeSo very rich and yet so very poor.Lust chose the torrid zone of Italy,Where blood ferments in rapes and sodomy:Where swelling veins overflow with liquid streams,With heat impregnate from Vesuvian flames:Whose flowing sulphur forms infernal lakes,And human body of the soil partakes.Their nature ever burns with hot desires,Fanned with luxuriant air from subterranean fires;Here, undisturbed in floods of scalding lust,The Infernal King reigns with infernal gust.Drunkenness, the darling favourite of Hell,Chose Germany to rule; and rules so well,No subjects more obsequiously obey,None please so well or are so pleased as they.The cunning artist manages so well,He lets them bow to Heaven and drink to Hell.If but to wine and him they homage pay,He cares not to what deity they pray,What God they worship most, or in what way.Whether by Luther, Calvin, or by RomeThey sail for Heaven, by Wine he steers them home.Ungoverned Passion settled first in France,Where mankind lives in haste and thrives by chance;A dancing nation, fickle and untrue,Have oft undone themselves and others too;Prompt the infernal dictates to obey,And in Hell's favour none more great than they.The Pagan world he blindly leads away,And personally rules with arbitrary sway;The mask thrown off, plain Devil his title stands,And what elsewhere he tempts he there commands.There with full gust the ambition of his mindGoverns, as he of old in Heaven designed.Worshipped as God, his Paynim altars smoke,Embrued with blood of those that him invoke.The rest by Deputies he rules as well,And plants the distant colonies of Hell.By them his secret power he maintains,And binds the world in his infernal chains.By Zeal the Irish, and the Russ by FollyFury the Dane, the Swede by Melancholy;By stupid Ignorance the Muscovite;The Chinese by a child of Hell called WitWealth makes the Persian too effeminate,And Poverty the Tartars desperate;The Turks and Moors by Mah'met he subdues,And God has given him leave to rule the Jews.Rage rules the Portuguese and Fraud the Scotch,Revenge the Pole and Avarice the Dutch.Satire, be kind, and draw a silent veilThy native England's vices to conceal;Or, if that task's impossible to do,At least be just and show her virtues too-Too great the first; alas, the last too few!England, unknown as yet, unpeopled lay;Happy had she remained so to this day,And not to every nation been a prey.Her open harbours and her fertile plains(The merchant's glory those, and these the swain's)To every barbarous nation have betrayed her,Who conquer her as oft as they invade her;So beauty's guarded but by innocence,That ruins her, which should be her defence.Ingratitude, a devil of black renown,Possessed her very early for his own.An ugly, surly, sullen, selfish spirit,Who Satan's worst perfections does inherit;Second to him in malice and in force,All devil without, and all within him worse.He made her first-born race to be so rude,And suffered her so oft to be subdued;By several crowds of wandering thieves o'errun,Often unpeopled, and as oft undone;While every nation that her powers reducedTheir languages and manners introduced.From whose mixed relics our compounded breedBy spurious generation does succeed,Making a race uncertain and uneven,Derived from all the nations under Heaven.The Romans first with Julius Cæsar came,Including all the nations of that name,Gauls, Greeks, and Lombards, and, by computationAuxiliaries or slaves of every nation.With Hengist, Saxons; Danes with Sueno came,In search of plunder, not in search of fame.Scots, Picts, and Irish from the Hibernian shore,And conquering William brought the Normans o'er.All these their barbarous offspring left behind,The dregs of armies, they of all mankind;Blended with Britons, who before were here,Of whom the Welsh ha' blessed the character.From this amphibious ill-born mob beganThat vain, ill-natured thing, an Englishman.The customs, surnames, languages, and mannersOf all these nations are their own explainers:Whose relics are so lasting and so strong,They ha' left a shibboleth upon our tongue,By which with easy search you may distinguishYour Roman-Saxon-Danish Norman English.The great invading Norman12 let us knowWhat conquerors in after times might do.To every musketeer13 he brought to town,He gave the lands which never were his own.When first the English crown he did obtain,He did not send his Dutchmen back again.No reassumptions in his reign were known,D'Avenant might there ha' let his book alone.No Parliament his army could disband;He raised no money, for he paid in land.He gave his legions their eternal station,And made them all freeholders of the nation.He cantoned out the country to his men,And every soldier was a denizen.The rascals thus enriched, he called them lords,To please their upstart pride with new-made words,And Doomsday Book his tyranny records.And here begins our ancient pedigree,That so exalts our poor nobility:'Tis that from some French trooper they derive,Who with the Norman bastard did arrive;The trophies of the families appear,Some show the sword, the bow, and some the spear,Which their great ancestor, forsooth, did wear.These in the herald's register remain,Their noble mean extraction to explain,Yet who the hero was, no man can tell,Whether a drummer or a colonel:The silent record blushes to revealTheir undescended dark original.But grant the best, how came the change to pass,A true-born Englishman of Norman race?A Turkish horse can show more historyTo prove his well-descended family.Conquest, as by the moderns14 'tis expressed,May give a title to the lands possessed:But that the longest sword should be so civilTo make a Frenchman English, that's the devil.These are the heroes that despise the Dutch,And rail at new-come foreigners so much,Forgetting that themselves are all derivedFrom the most scoundrel race that ever lived;A horrid crowd of rambling thieves and drones,Who ransacked kingdoms and dispeopled towns,The Pict and painted Briton, treacherous Scot,By hunger, /theft, and rapine hither brought;Norwegian pirates, buccaneering Danes,Whose red-haired offspring everywhere remains,Who, joined with Norman-French, compound the breedFrom whence your true-born Englishmen proceed.And lest by length of time it be pretendedThe climate may this modern breed ha' mended,Wise Providence, to keep us where we are,Mixes us daily with exceeding care.We have been Europe's sink, the jakes where sheVoids all her offal outcast progeny.From the eighth Henry's time, the strolling bandsOf banished fugitives from neighbouring landsHave here a certain sanctuary found:The eternal refuge of the vagabond,Where, in but half a common age of time,Borrowing new blood and manners from the clime,Proudly they learn all mankind to contemn,And all their race are true-born Englishmen.Dutch, Walloons, Flemings, Irishmen, and Scots,Vaudois and Valtelins, and Hugonots,In good Queen Bess's charitable reign,Supplied us with three hundred thousand men.Religion-God, we thank Thee! – sent them hitherPriests, Protestants, the Devil and all together:Of all professions and of every trade,All that were persecuted or afraid;Whether for debt or other crimes they fled,David at Hachilah was still their head.The offspring of this miscellaneous crowdHad not their new plantations long enjoyed,But they grew Englishmen, and raised their votesAt foreign shoals for interloping Scots.The royal branch15 from Pictland did succeed,With troops of Scots and Scabs from North-by-Tweed.The seven first years of his pacific reignMade him and half his nation Englishmen.Scots from the northern frozen banks of Tay,With packs and plods came whigging all away:Thick as the locusts which in Egypt swarmed,With pride and hungry hopes completely armed;With native truth, diseases, and no money,Plundered our Canaan of the milk and honey.Here they grew quickly lords and gentlemen,And all their race are true-born Englishmen.The civil wars, the common purgative,Which always use to make the nation thrive,Made way for all that strolling congregationWhich thronged in Pious Charles's restoration.16The royal refugee our breed restores,With foreign courtiers and with foreign whores,And carefully repeopled us again,Throughout his lazy, long, lascivious reign,With such a blest and true-born English fry,As much illustrates our nobility.A gratitude which will so black appear,As future ages must abhor to hear,When they look back on all that crimson flood,Which streamed in Lindsay's and Carnarvon's blood,Bold Strafford, Cambridge, Capel, Lucas, Lisle,Who crowned in death his father's funeral pile.The loss of whom, in order to supply,With true-born English nationality,Six bastard Dukes survive his luscious reign,The labours of Italian Castlemaine,17French Portsmouth,18 Tabby Scot, and Cambrian.Besides the numerous bright and virgin throng,Whose female glories shade them from my song.This offspring, if one age they multiply,May half the house with English peers supply;There with true English pride they may contemnSchomberg and Portland,19 new made noblemen.French cooks, Scotch pedlars, and Italian whores,Were all made lords or lords' progenitors.Beggars and bastards by his new creationMuch multiplied the peerage of the nation;Who will be all, ere one short age runs o'er.As true-born lords as those we had before.Then to recruit the Commons he preparesAnd heal the latent breaches of the wars;The pious purpose better to advance,He invites the banished Protestants of France:Hither for God's sake and their own they fled,Some for religion came, and some for bread;Two hundred thousand pairs of wooden shoes,Who, God be thanked, had nothing left to lose,To Heaven's great praise did for religion fly,To make us starve our poor in charity.In every port they plant their fruitful train,To get a race of true-born Englishmen;Whose children will, when riper years they see,Be as ill-natured and as proud as we;Call themselves English, foreigners despise,Be surly like us all, and just as wise.Thus from a mixture of all kinds beganThat heterogeneous thing an Englishman;In eager rapes and furious lust begot,Betwixt a painted Briton and a Scot;Whose gendering offspring quickly learned to bow,And yoke their heifers to the Roman plough;From whence a mongrel half-bred race there came,With neither name nor nation, speech nor fame;In whose hot veins new mixtures quickly ran,Infused betwixt a Saxon and a Dane;While their rank daughters, to their parents just,Received all nations with promiscuous lust.This nauseous brood directly did containThe well-extracted brood of Englishmen.Which medley cantoned in a Heptarchy,A rhapsody of nations to supply,Among themselves maintained eternal wars,And still the ladies loved the conquerors.The Western Angles all the rest subdued,A bloody nation, barbarous and rude,Who by the tenure of the sword possessedOne part of Britain, and subdued the rest.And as great things denominate the small,The conquering part gave title to the whole;The Scot, Pict, Briton, Roman, Dane, submit,And with the English-Saxon all unite;And these the mixtures have so close pursued,The very name and memory's subdued.No Roman now, no Briton does remain;Wales strove to separate, but strove in vain;The silent nations undistinguished fall,And Englishman's the common name of all.Fate jumbled them together, God knows how;What e'er they were, they're true-born English now.The wonder which remains is at our pride,To value that which all men else deride.For Englishmen to boast of generationCancels their knowledge and lampoons the nation.A true-born Englishman's a contradiction,In speech an irony, in fact a fiction;A banter made to be a test to fools,Which those that use it justly ridicules;A metaphor invented to expressA man akin to all the universe.For, as the Scots, as learned men have said,Throughout the world their wandering seed have spread;So open-handed England, 'tis believed,Has all the gleanings of the world received.Some think of England, 'twas our Saviour meant,The Gospel should to all the world be sent,Since, when the blessed sound did hither reach,They to all nations might be said to preach.'Tis well that virtue gives nobility,How shall we else the want of birth and blood supply?Since scarce one family is left aliveWhich does not from some foreigner derive.Of sixty thousand English gentlemen,Whose name and arms in registers remain,We challenge all our heralds to declareTen families which English-Saxons are.France justly owns the ancient noble lineOf Bourbon, Montmorency, and Lorraine,The Germans too their House of Austria showAnd Holland their invincible Nassau,Lines which in heraldry were ancient grownBefore the name of Englishman was known.Even Scotland, too, her elder glory shows,Her Gordons, Hamiltons, and her Monros,Douglas, Mackays, and Grahams, names well knownLong before ancient England knew her own.But England, modern to the last degreeBorrows or makes her own nobility,And yet she boldly boasts of pedigree;Repines that foreigners are put upon her,And talks of her antiquity and honour;Her Sackvilles, Saviles, Capels, De la Meres,Mohuns, and Montagues, Darcys, and Veres,Not one have English names, yet all are English peers.Your Hermans, Papillons, and LavalliersPass now for true-born English knights and squires,And make good senate members or Lord Mayors.Wealth, howsoever got, in Ehgland makesLords of mechanics, gentlemen of rakes:Antiquity and birth are needless here;'Tis impudence and money makes a peer.Innumerable City knights, we know,From Bluecoat Hospital and Bridewell flow;Draymen and porters fill the city ChairAnd footboys magisterial purple wear.Fate has but very small distinction setBetwixt the counter and the coronet.Tarpaulin lords, pages of high renown,Rise up by poor men's valour, not their own.Great families of yesterday we show,And lords whose parents were the Lord knows who.