As in the days of yore were ods
Betwixt the Giants and the Gods,
So now is rife a fearful Brawl
Between the Parliament and Whitehal;
But, blest be Iove, these Gods of ours
Are greater in their Guilt than Pow’rs.
Tho then the Heathens were such Fools,
Yet they made Gods of better Tools.
No Altars then to Plackets were,
Nor Majesty by Buss would swear.
They’d hang a Tippet at his Door,
Should break a Parliament to please a Whore;
And further to oblige him to it,
Would swear by Portsm—h‘s C—t he’d do it,
And by Contents of th’ Oath he had took,
Kneel’d down in zeal and kist the Book.
They’d think the Faith too much amiss
That such Defenders had as this,
And that Religion look’d too poor,
Whose Head of th’ Church kist A—se of W—re.
But this he did, much good may’t do him,
And then the Quean held forth unto him.
The Devil take her for a Whore:
Wou’d he had kist ten years before,
Before our City had been burn’d,
And all our Wealth to Plagues had turn’d;
Before she had ruin’d (pox upon her)
Our English Name, Blood, Wealth and Honor.
Whilst Parliaments too flippant gave,
And Courtiers would but ask and have.
Whilst they are making English, French,
And Money vote to keep the Wench,
And the Buffoons and Pimps to pay,
The devil a bit prorogu’d were they.
The kiss of T—t, instead had stood,
And might have done three Nations good.
But when the Commons would no more
Raise Taxes to maintain the Whore.
When they would not abide the Aw
Of standing Force instead of Law.
Then Law, Religion Property
They’d force ‘gainst Will and Popery.
When they provide that all shall be
From Slavery and Oppession free.
That a Writ of Habeas Corpus come,
And none in Prison be undone.
That English men should not, like Beast,
To war by Sea or Land be prest.
That Peace with Holland should be made,
When War had spoil’d our Men and Trade.
That Treason it should be for any,
Without a Parliament to raise a Peny.
That no Courtier should be sent
To sit and vote in Parliament.
That when an end to this was gave,
A yearly Parliament we should have,
According to the antient Law,
That mighty Knaves might live in aw.
That King nor Council should commit
An English man for wealth or wit.
Prerogative being ty’d thus tight,
That it could neither scratch nor bite.
When Whores began to be afeard,
Like Armies, they should be cashier’d.
Then Portsm — th, the incestous Punk,
Made our most gracious Sov’raign drunk.
And drunk she made him give that Buss
That all the Kingdom’s bound to curse,
And so red hot with Wine and Whore,
He kickt the Commons out of door.
Note: The subject of this satire is Louise de Kérouaille (sometimes anglicised to Carwell), Duchess of Portsmouth, one of the many mistresses of the British king, Charles II, and the mother of the last of his acknowledged illegitimate children (Charles Lennox, 1st Duke of Richmond). She was feared for her nationality (French), her religion (Catholic) and her political influence over the king.
From: Prior, Matthew and Rochester, John Wilmot, State-poems; continued from the time of O. Cromwel, to this present year 1697. Written by the greatest wits of the age, viz. The Lord Rochester, the Lord D-t, the Lord V-n, the hon. Mr. M-ue, Sir F. S-d, Mr. Milton, Mr. Prior, Mr. Stepney, Mr. Ayloffe, &c. With several poems in praise of Oliver Cromwel, in Latin and English, by D. South, D. Locke, Sir W. G-n, D. Crew, Mr. Busby, &c. Also some miscellany poems by the same, never before printed, 2003, Text Creation Partnership: Ann Arbor, Michigan and Oxford, pp. 41-43.
(http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A61352.0001.001)
Date: 1675
By: John Freke (1652-1717)
From Troubles of The World 
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