Epistle XIII. To C. S. Esquire

Since we met last, my Brother dear,
We've had such alterations here,
Such turnings in and out:
That I bing fat and breathless grown,
My side I meant to take was gone,
E'r I could turn about.

First I was for the King, and then
He could not please the Parliament men,
And so they went by th' ears:
I was with other fools sent out,
And staid three daies, but never fought
'Gainst King or Cavaliers.

And (Brother) as I have been told,
You were for the Parliament of old,
And made a mighty dust;
And though perhaps you did not kill,
You prov'd your self as valiant still,
As ever they were just.

You were ingaged in that war,
When C. R, fought against C. R.
By a distinction new.
You alwaies took that side that's right,
But when Charles with himself did fight,
Pray of which side were you?

Should I that am a man of law,
Make use of such a subtle claw,
In London or in Ex'ter;
And be of both sides as you were,
People would count me then, I fear,
A Knavish Ambodexter.

But since all sides so tottering be
It puzzles wiser men then me,
Who would no have it utter'd;
What side to take they cannot tell,
And I believe they know not well
Which side their bread is butter'd.

Here's fore-side, and here's back-side too;
And two left sides, for ought I know,
I can find ne'r a right:
I've been for th' middle twenty years,
And will be still, for there appears
Most Safety and delight.

But if the times think that too high,
By creeping lower, I'll comply,
And with their humour jump.
If love at th'belly may not enter
In an Italian way, I'll venter,
To love the very Rump.

So here's t'you (Charles) a Rubber's too't;
Here's a Cast more; if that won't do't,
Here's half a dozen more, and
To every feather here's a glass;
Nay rather then I'll let it pass,
Here's a years healths before hand.

If loving it, and drinking to't,
And making others drink to boot,
Don't shew my good affection.
I'll sit down disaffected still,
And let them all do what they will,
Until our next Election.

But I'm concern'd (me thinks) to find
Our Grandees turn with every wind,
Yet keep like Corks above:
They lived and dyed but two years since
With Oliver their pious Prince,
Whom they did fear and love.

As soon as Richard did but raign,
They liv'd and dy'd with him again,
And swore to serve him ever:
But when Sir Arthur came with's men,
They liv'd and dy'd with him agen,
As if Dick had been never.

And when Prince Lambert turn'd them out,
They liv'd and dy'd another bout,
and vilifi'd the Rump;
And now for them they live and dye,
But for the Devil by and by,
If he be turn'd up trump.

Yet still they order us and ours,
And will be called Higher Powers:
But I will tell you what;
Either these slaves forswear, and lye,
Or if they did so often dye,
They've more lives then a Cat.

Let the times run, and let men turn,
This is too wise an age to burn,
We'l in our Judgment hover,
Till 'tis agreed what we must be,
In the interim take this from me,
I'm thy eternal Lover.