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

BRITANNIA

The fame of virtue 'tis for which I sound,And heroes with immortal triumphs crowned.Fame, built on solid virtue, swifter fliesThan morning light can spread my eastern skies.The gathering air returns the doubling sound,And loud repeating thunders force it round;Echoes return from caverns of the deep;Old Chaos dreamt on't in eternal sleep;Time hands it forward to its latest urn,From whence it never, never shall return;Nothing is heard so far or lasts so long;'Tis heard by every ear and spoke by every tongue.My hero, with the sails of honour furled,Rises like the great genius of the world.By Fate and Fame wisely prepared to beThe soul of war and life of victory;He spreads the wings of virtue on the throne,And every wind of glory fans them on.Immortal trophies dwell upon his brow,Fresh as the garlands he has won but now.By different steps the high ascent he gains,And differently that high ascent maintains.Princes for pride and lust of rule make war,And struggle for the name of conqueror.Some fight for fame, and some for victory;He fights to save, and conquers to set free.Then seek no phrase his titles to conceal,And hide with words what actions must reveal,No parallel from Hebrew stories takeOf god-like kings my similes to make;No borrowed names conceal my living theme,But names and things directly I proclaim.'Tis honest merit does his glory raise,Whom that exalts let no man fear to praise:Of such a subject no man need be shy,Virtue's above the reach of flattery.He needs no character but his own fame,Nor any flattering titles but his name:William's the name that's spoke by every tongue,William's the darling subject of my song.Listen, ye virgins to the charming sound,And in eternal dances hand it round:Your early offerings to this altar bring,Make him at once a lover and a king.May he submit to none but to your arms,Nor ever be subdued but by your charms.May your soft thoughts for him be all sublime,And every tender vow be made for him.May he be first in every morning thought,And Heaven ne'er hear a prayer when he's left out.May every omen, every boding dream,Be fortunate by mentioning his name;May this one charm infernal power affright,And guard you from the terrors of the night;May every cheerful glass, as it goes downTo William's health, be cordials to your own.Let every song be chorused with his name,And music pay a tribute to his fame;Let every poet tune his artful verse,And in immortal strains his deeds rehearse.And may Apollo never more inspireThe disobedient bard with his seraphic fire;May all my sons their graceful homage pay,His praises sing, and for his safety pray.Satire, return to our unthankful isle,Secured by Heaven's regard and William's toil;To both ungrateful and to both untrue,Rebels to God, and to good-nature too.If e'er this nation be distressed again,To whomsoe'er they cry, they'll cry in vain;To Heaven they cannot have the face to look,Or, if they should, it would but Heaven provoke.To hope for help from man would be too much,Mankind would always tell them of the Dutch;How they came here our freedoms to obtain,Were paid and cursed, and hurried home again;How by their aid we first dissolved our fears,And then our helpers damned for foreigners.'Tis not our English temper to do better,For Englishmen think every man their debtor.'Tis worth observing that we ne'er complainedOf foreigners, nor of the wealth they gained,Till all their services were at an end.Wise men affirm it is the English wayNever to grumble till they come to pay,And then they always think, their temper's such,The work too little and the pay too much.As frightened patients, when they want a cure,Bid any price, and any pain endure;But when the doctor's remedies appear,The cure's too easy and the price too dear.Great Portland ne'er was bantered when he stroveFor us his master's kindest thoughts to move;We ne'er lampooned his conduct when employedKing James's secret counsels to divide:Then we caressed him as the only manWhich could the doubtful oracle explain;The only Hushai able to repelThe dark designs of our Achitopel;Compared his master's courage to his sense,The ablest statesman and the bravest prince.On his wise conduct we depended much,And liked him ne'er the worse for being Dutch.Nor was he valued more than he deserved,Freely he ventured, faithfully he served.In all King William's dangers he has shared;In England's quarrels always he appeared:The Revolution first, and then the Boyne,In both his counsels and his conduct shine;His martial valour Flanders will confess,And France regrets his managing the peace.Faithful to England's interest and her king;The greatest reason of our murmuring.Ten years in English service he appeared,And gained his master's and the world's regard:But 'tis not England's custom to reward.The wars are over, England needs him not;Now he's a Dutchman, and the Lord knows what.Schomberg, the ablest soldier of his age,With great Nassau did in our cause engage:Both joined for England's rescue and defence,The greatest captain and the greatest prince.With what applause, his stories did we tell!Stories which Europe's volumes largely swell.We counted him an army in our aid:Where he commanded, no man was afraid.His actions with a constant conquest shine,From Villa-Viciosa to the Rhine.France, Flanders, Germany, his fame confess,And all the world was fond of him, but us.Our turn first served, we grudged him the command:Witness the grateful temper of the land.We blame the King that he relies too muchOn strangers, Germans, Hugonots, and Dutch,And seldom does his great affairs of stateTo English counsellors communicate.The fact might very well be answered thus:He has so often been betrayed by us,He must have been a madman to relyOn English Godolphin's fidelity.For, laying other arguments aside,This thought might mortify our English pride,That foreigners have faithfully obeyed him,And none but Englishmen have e'er betrayed him.They have our ships and merchants bought and sold,And bartered English blood for foreign gold.First to the French they sold our Turkey fleet,And injured Talmarsh next at Camaret.The King himself is sheltered from their snares,Not by his merit, but the crown he wears.Experience tells us 'tis the English wayTheir benefactors always to betray.And lest examples should be too remote,A modern magistrate of famous noteShall give you his own character by rote.I'll make it out, deny it he that can,His worship is a true-born Englishman,In all the latitude of that empty word,By modern acceptations understood.The parish books his great descent record;And now he hopes ere long to be a lord.And truly, as things go, it would be pityBut such as he should represent the City:While robbery for burnt-offering he brings,And gives to God what he has stole from kings:Great monuments of charity he raises,And good St. Magnus whistles out his praises.To City gaols he grants a jubilee,And hires huzzas from his own Mobilee.21Lately he wore the golden chain and gown,With which equipped, he thus harangued the town.

His Fine Speech, Etc

With clouted iron shoes and sheep-skin breeches,More rags than manners, and more dirt than riches;From driving cows and calves to Leyton Market,While of my greatness there appeared no spark yet,Behold I come, to let you see the prideWith which exalted beggars always ride.Born to the needful labours of the plough,The cart-whip graced me, as the chain does now.Nature and Fate, in doubt what course to take,Whether I should a lord or plough-boy make,Kindly at last resolved they would promote me,And first a knave, and then a knight, they vote me.What Fate appointed, Nature did prepare,And furnished me with an exceeding care,To fit me for what they designed to have me;And every gift, but honesty, they gave me.And thus equipped, to this proud town I came,In quest of bread, and not in quest of fame.Blind to my future fate, a humble boy,Free from the guilt and glory I enjoy,The hopes which my ambition entertainedWere in the name of foot-boy all contained.The greatest heights from small beginnings rise;The gods were great on earth before they reached the skies.B- well, the generous temper of whose mindWas ever to be bountiful inclined,Whether by his ill-fate or fancy led,First took me up, and furnished me with bread.The little services he put me toSeemed labours, rather than were truly so.But always my advancement he designed,For 'twas his very nature to be kind.Large was his soul, his temper ever free;The best of masters and of men to me.And I, who was before decreed by FateTo be made infamous as well as great,With an obsequious diligence obeyed him,Till trusted with his all, and then betrayed him.All his past kindnesses I trampled on,Ruined his fortunes to erect my own.So vipers in the bosom bred, beginTo hiss at that hand first which took them in.With eager treachery I his fall pursued,And my first trophies were Ingratitude.Ingratitude, the worst of human wit,The basest action mankind can commit;Which, like the sin against the Holy Ghost,Has least of honour, and of guilt the most;Distinguished from all other crimes by this,That 'tis a crime which no man will confess.That sin alone, which should not be forgivenOn earth, although perhaps it may in Heaven.Thus my first benefactor I o'erthrew;And how should I be to a second true?The public trusts came next into my care,And I to use them scurvily prepare.My needy sovereign lord I played upon,And lent him many a thousand of his own;For which great interests I took care to charge,And so my ill-got wealth became so large.My predecessor, Judas, was a fool,Fitter to have been whipped and sent to schoolThan sell a Saviour. Had I been at hand,His Master had not been so cheap trepanned;I would have made the eager Jews have found,For forty pieces, thirty thousand pound.My cousin, Ziba, of immortal fame(Ziba and I shall never want a name),First-born of treason, nobly did advanceHis master's fall for his inheritance,By whose keen arts old David first beganTo break his sacred oath with Jonathan:The good old king, 'tis thought, was very lothTo break his word, and therefore broke his oath.Ziba's a traitor of some quality,Yet Ziba might have been informed by me:Had I been there, he ne'er had been contentWith half the estate, nor have the government.In our late revolution 'twas thought strangeThat I, of all mankind, should like the change;But they who wondered at it never knewThat in it I did my old game pursue;Nor had they heard of twenty thousand pound,Which never yet was lost, nor ne'er was found.Thus all things in their turn to sale I bring,God and my master first, and then the King;Till, by successful villanies made bold,I thought to turn the nation into gold;And so to forgery my hand I bent,Not doubting I could gull the Government;But there was ruffled by the Parliament.And if I 'scaped the unhappy tree to climb,'Twas want of law, and not for want of crime.But my old friend,22 who printed in my faceA needful competence of English brass,Having more business yet for me to do,And loth to lose his trusty servant so,Managed the matter with such art and skillAs saved his hero and threw down the bill.And now I'm graced with unexpected honours,For which I'll certainly abuse the donors.Knighted, and made a tribune of the people,Whose laws and properties I'm like to keep well;The custos rotulorum of the City,And captain of the guards of their banditti.Surrounded by my catchpoles, I declareAgainst the needy debtor open war;I hang poor thieves for stealing of your pelf,And suffer none to rob you but myself.The King commanded me to help reform ye,And how I'll do it, Miss shall inform ye.I keep the best seraglio in the nation,And hope in time to bring it into fashion.For this my praise is sung by every bard,For which Bridewell would be a just reward.In print my panegyrics fill the streets,And hired gaol-birds their huzzas repeat.Some charities contrived to make a show,Have taught the needy rabble to do so,Whose empty noise is a mechanic fame,Since for Sir Belzebub they'd do the same.

The Conclusion

Then let us boast of ancestors no more,Or deeds of heroes done in days of yore,In latent records of the ages past,Behind the rear of time, in long oblivion placed.For if our virtues must in lines descend,The merit with the families would end,And intermixtures would most fatal grow;For vice would be hereditary too;The tainted blood would of necessityInvoluntary wickedness convey.Vice, like ill-nature, for an age or twoMay seem a generation to pursue;But virtue seldom does regard the breed;Fools do the wise, and wise men fools succeed.What is't to us what ancestors we had?If good, what better? or what worse, if bad?Examples are for imitation set,Yet all men follow virtue with regret.Could but our ancestors retrieve the fate,And see their offspring thus degenerate;How we contend for birth and names unknown,And build on their past actions, not our own;They'd cancel records, and their tombs deface,And openly disown the vile degenerate race:For fame of families is all a cheat,'Tis personal virtue only makes us great.

THE SHORTEST WAY WITH THE DISSENTERS;

OR,

PROPOSALS FOR THE ESTABLISHMENT OF THE CHURCH

THE SHORTEST WAY WITH THE DISSENTERS

Sir Roger L'Estrange tells us a story in his collection of fables, of the cock and the horses. The cock was gotten to roost in the stable among the horses, and there being no racks or other conveniences for him, it seems he was forced to roost upon the ground. The horses jostling about for room, and putting the cock in danger of his life, he gives them this grave advice, "Pray, gentlefolks, let us stand still, for fear we should tread upon one another."

There are some people in the world, who now they are unperched, and reduced to an equality with other people, and under strong and very just apprehensions of being further treated as they deserve, begin, with Æsop's cock, to preach up peace and union, and the Christian duties of moderation, for getting that, when they had the power in their hands, these graces were strangers in their gates.

It is now near fourteen years23 that the glory and peace of the purest and most flourishing Church in the world has been eclipsed, buffeted, and disturbed by a sort of men whom God in His providence has suffered to insult over her and bring her down. These have been the days of her humiliation and tribulation. She has borne with invincible patience the reproach of the wicked, and God has at last heard her prayers, and delivered her from the oppression of the stranger.

And now they find their day is over, their power gone, and the throne of this nation possessed by a royal, English, true, and ever-constant member of, and friend to, the Church of England. Now they find that they are in danger of the Church of England's just resentments; now they cry out peace, union, forbearance, and charity, as if the Church had not too long harboured her enemies under her wing, and nourished the viperous brood till they hiss and fly in the face of the mother that cherished them.

No, gentlemen, the time of mercy is past, your day of grace is over; you should have practised peace, and moderation, and charity, if you expected any yourselves.

We have heard none of this lesson for fourteen years past. We have been huffed and bullied with your Act of Toleration; you have told us that you are the Church established by law, as well as others; have set up your canting synagogues at our church doors, and the Church and members have been loaded with reproaches, with oaths, associations, abjurations, and what not. Where has been the mercy, the forbearance, the charity, you have shown to tender consciences of the Church of England, that could not take oaths as fast as you made them; that having sworn allegiance to their lawful and rightful King, could not dispense with that oath, their King being still alive, and swear to your new hodge-podge of a Dutch Government? These have been turned out of their livings, and they and their families left to starve; their estates double taxed to carry on a war they had no hand in, and you got nothing by. What account can you give of the multitudes you have forced to comply, against their consciences, with your new sophistical politics, who, like new converts in France, sin because they cannot starve? And now the tables are turned upon you; you must not be persecuted; it is not a Christian spirit.

You have butchered one king, deposed another king, and made a mock king of a third,24 and yet you could have the face to expect to be employed and trusted by the fourth. Anybody that did not know the temper of your party would stand amazed at the impudence, as well as folly, to think of it.

Your management of your Dutch monarch, whom you reduced to a mere King of Clouts, is enough to give any future princes such an idea of your principles as to warn them sufficiently from coming into your clutches; and God be thanked the Queen is out of your hands, knows you, and will have a care of you.

There is no doubt but the supreme authority of a nation has in itself a power, and a right to that power, to execute the laws upon any part of that nation it governs. The execution of the known laws of the land, and that with a weak and gentle hand neither, was all this fanatical party of this land have ever called persecution; this they have magnified to a height, that the sufferings of the Huguenots in France were not to be compared with. Now, to execute the known laws of a nation upon those who transgress them, after voluntarily consenting to the making those laws, can never be called persecution, but justice. But justice is always violence to the party offending, for every man is innocent in his own eyes. The first execution of the laws against Dissenters in England was in the days of King James the First;25 and what did it amount to truly? The worst they suffered was at their own request: to let them go to New England and erect a new colony, and give them great privileges, grants, and suitable powers, keep them under protection, and defend them against all invaders, and receive no taxes or revenue from them. This was the cruelty of the Church of England. Fatal leniency! It was the ruin of that excellent prince, King Charles the First. Had King James sent all the Puritans in England away to the West Indies, we had been a national, unmixed Church; the Church of England had been kept undivided and entire.

To requite the lenity of the father they take up arms against the son; conquer, pursue, take, imprison, and at last put to death the anointed of God, and destroy the very being and nature of government, setting up a sordid impostor, who had neither title to govern nor understanding to manage, but supplied that want with power, bloody and desperate counsels, and craft without conscience.

Had not King James the First withheld the full execution of the laws, had he given them strict justice, he had cleared the nation of them, and the consequences had been plain: his son had never been murdered by them nor the monarchy overwhelmed. It was too much mercy shown them, was the ruin of his posterity and the ruin of the nation's peace. One would think the Dissenters should not have the face to believe that we are to be wheedled and canted into peace and toleration when they know that they have once requited us with a civil war, and once with an intolerable and unrighteous persecution for our former civility.

Nay, to encourage us to be easy with them, it is apparent that they never had the upper hand of the Church, but they treated her with all the severity, with all the reproach and contempt that was possible. What peace and what mercy did they show the loyal gentry of the Church of England in the time of their triumphant Commonwealth? How did they put all the gentry of England to ransom, whether they were actually in arms for the King or not, making people compound for their estates and starve their families? How did they treat the clergy of the Church of England, sequestered the ministers, devoured the patrimony of the Church, and divided the spoil by sharing the Church lands among their soldiers, and turning her clergy out to starve? Just such measure as they have meted should be measured them again.

Charity and love is the known doctrine of the Church of England, and it is plain she has put it in practice towards the Dissenters, even beyond what they ought, till she has been wanting to herself, and in effect unkind to her sons, particularly in the too much lenity of King James the First, mentioned before. Had he so rooted the Puritans from the face of the land, which he had an opportunity early to have done, they had not had the power to vex the Church as since they have done.

In the days of King Charles the Second, how did the Church reward their bloody doings with lenity and mercy, except the barbarous regicides of the pretended court of justice? Not a soul suffered for all the blood in an unnatural war. King Charles came in all mercy and love, cherished them, preferred them, employed them, withheld the rigour of the law, and oftentimes, even against the advice of his Parliament, gave them liberty of conscience;26 and how did they requite him with the villainous contrivance to depose and murder him and his successor at the Rye Plot?27

King James, as if mercy was the inherent quality of the family, began his reign with unusual favour to them. Nor could their joining with the Duke of Monmouth against him move him to do himself justice upon them; but that mistaken prince thought to win them by gentleness and love, proclaimed an universal liberty to them, and rather discountenanced the Church of England than them.28 How they requited him all the world knows.

The late reign is too fresh in the memory of all the world to need a comment; how, under pretence of joining with the Church in redressing some grievances, they pushed things to that extremity, in conjunction with some mistaken gentlemen, as to depose the late King, as if the grievance of the nation could not have been redressed but by the absolute ruin of the prince. Here is an instance of their temper, their peace, and charity. To what height they carried themselves during the reign of a king of their own; how they crept into all places of trust and profit; how they insinuated into the favour of the King, and were at first preferred to the highest places in the nation; how they engrossed the ministry, and above all, how pitifully they managed, is too plain to need any remarks.

But particularly their mercy and charity, the spirit of union, they tell us so much of, has been remarkable in Scotland. If any man would see the spirit of a Dissenter, let him look into Scotland. There they made entire conquest of the Church, trampled down the sacred orders, and suppressed the Episcopal government with an absolute, and, as they suppose, irretrievable victory, though it is possible they may find themselves mistaken. Now it would be a very proper question to ask their impudent advocate, the Observator, pray how much mercy and favour did the members of the Episcopal Church find in Scotland from the Scotch Presbyterian Government? and I shall undertake for the Church of England that the Dissenters shall still receive as much here, though they deserve but little.

In a small treatise of the sufferings of the Episcopal clergy in Scotland, it will appear what usage they met with; how they not only lost their livings, but in several places were plundered and abused in their persons; the ministers that could not conform turned out with numerous families and no maintenance, and hardly charity enough left to relieve them with a bit of bread. And the cruelties of the parties are innumerable, and not to be attempted in this short piece.

And now to prevent the distant cloud which they perceived to hang over their heads from England. With a true Presbyterian policy, they put in for a union of nations, that England might unite their Church with the Kirk of Scotland, and their Presbyterian members sit in our House of Commons, and their Assembly of Scotch canting long-cloaks in our Convocation. What might have been if our fanatic Whiggish statesmen continued, God only knows; but we hope we are out of fear of that now.

It is alleged by some of the faction-and they began to bully us with it-that if we won't unite with them, they will not settle the crown with us again, but when Her Majesty dies, will choose a king for themselves.

If they won't, we must make them, and it is not the first time we have let them know that we are able. The crowns of these kingdoms have not so far disowned the right of succession, but they may retrieve it again; and if Scotland thinks to come off from a successive to an elective state of government, England has not promised not to assist the right heir and put them into possession without any regard to their ridiculous settlements.29