A NEW-YEARS-GIFT FOR Mercurius Politicus.  

THe Season of the year requires  
Both gratitude and grateful fires,  
To warm the Body and the mind  
Of friends, both debonary and kind.  
Each man consults for him what's best,  
And now recount's his Interest.  
The Nobles to their Kings present  
Some precious gem, or Ornament;  
The Peasants of their Lords address  
Their rural Christ-mas Charites;  
The Clients to their Lawyers give  
Such thanks, whereby their Causes thrive;  
Who, to their Persons will be nigh,  
Approve, their Interest will not Lie;  
For if you will a Saint appear,  
Your offering must renew the year;  
Sir John! he cannot hold forth right,  
Unless crammed Capons him invite.  
Is't possible a Ju●●ice can  
At New-years-tide turn pelican?  
Or that the clerk's revenue be  
Kisses from bawds without a see?  
No, no! their rents are better paid,  
Else Peace might for Poor-John go trade.  
Will any think, Will lily writes  
For Sweden, (though the King now bites  
His finger's ends, and would have feign  
His Chain at Golden-burg again,)  
B●t that the old years' stars portend,  
The King at Dco●ns-day will him send  
A Medal, for a Xenium,  
Made of the Danes old kettledrum.  
No man (that's wise,) but will review  
His Interest, whether false, or true,  
Either in State affairs, or less,  
(But fools, you know, they cannot guess.)  
Then since that Maxim is so clear,  
Adieu to the old Julian year.  
My interest leads me to prefer  
The New-year in thy Character.   

Politicus INTELLIGENCER;  
(As famous as old Megg Spencer,)  
Pragmaticus; The Spy; what not?  
Britanicus; The counter-plot  
Of Hell; the Hawkers various Legion;  
The Mercury o'th' infern Region;  
One that's new come from Newgate for  
To be the Scots Compurgator;  
To sat the Case of England right,  
And clear the Presbyterians fight;  
To make the royalists confess  
King Charles to be Eteocles;  
And the rude Levellers convince  
That Lucifer's their lawful Prince;  
No Regiment like a Free-State,  
Valour and Arts to propagate.  
None but the King's long Parliament  
To be our supreme Government!  
All this and more, in Forty nine,  
Is voughed from Francis Guicciardine  
By Thee, thou many-headed Beast,  
Thou Pimp for every Interest!   

No sooner yet old Noll conspires  
To wing his Phanton desires,  
And to Usurp the Supreme Power,  
But then Le Vostre servitor!  
The Case is altered then (My Lord!)  
A Parliament! the most abhorred,  
Contemptible, prodigious Rout.  
The Mockery, reproach, and flout  
Of our new turncoat▪ Pamphlettor,  
In praise of his Lord Proditor.  
But when God's providence deposed  
Our short-reigned Lords, and (Unsupposed,)  
Restored the noble Parliament,  
Come let me speak! Mar. Nedham, Gent.  
Recraft's his cursed perfidy,  
And says, that Interest will not lie:  
And who but he! (for old John Cann  
No more can do, than can a man!  
He writes against the cavaliers,  
And pull's the Presbyterians ears:  
He cures the wounds, which late he gave  
To th' Parliament's repute: The brave  
She General, my Lady Doll,  
He brings to the Tower without control.  
But when ambition moves the sphere,  
And Lambert will have no compeer;  
And that a second violence  
(Acted with traytr'ous insolence,)  
Is offered to the Parliament,  
(One day, we hope, which they' l resent!)  
Who but Politicus again!  
Sir Arthur, and Hab. Morley's slain!  
Monck, Lawson, Land, and Sea's subdued!  
The citizens (like Buzzards) mewed!  
The Devil and his dam to-boot  
Have brought the Lunars under foot!  
Our news does more in Print, than we  
From Ports-mouth, or else where can see!  
We call Free-Parliaments, and then  
Send them as free to th' Moon again,  
Or to the Grand Abyss; for yet  
At Wallingford they have not set.   

Thou Juggling damned Imposter! pray,  
Thou yet mayst live one new-year's day;  
And not like Doctor Lamb be palted,  
Till Tyburn has thy Crest exalted.  
Expect no mercy, or reprieve!  
It's better than thou shouldst deceive  
The world again, the world should be  
Annihilate: What Need have we  
Of such an Arch-Ardelio, when  
There are so many honest men?  
Who friends are to the good Old Cause,  
Our native Liberties, and laws;  
And are not mercenary Sephs',  
No Robinsons, nor Deans, nor goff's.  
If thou survive, thou'rt such a Pest,  
As will all Nature's frame infest,  
That's habitable; beg we then,  
Thou mayst be quickly Trust. Amen.   

its time ill spent to treat on Thee,  
Till 've been at the Triple-tree:  
And then thy Life we'll descant on,  
After thy last Confession:  
And all the Ballad-mongers, (Slaves  
To thee, and such a Pack of Knaves,)  
In doleful Tone thy Dirge shall sing,  
Of Pagan Fisher's own making!   

For he'll Pentameters (most sure,)  
As good as Ovid has, procure.   Impunitas peccati praebet ansam peccandi. 
W. KILBURNE.   

LONDON, Printed by Thomas Milbourn in Jewen-Street, near Jacobs-Well.