Is half in words, and half in face; 1490
(As Spaniards talk in dialogues
Of heads and shoulders, nods and shrugs:)
Entrust it under solemn vows
Of mum, and silence, and the rose,
To be retail’d again in whispers, 1495
For th’ easy credulous to disperse.

Thus far the Statesman —­ When a shout,
Heard at a distance, put him out;
And straight another, all aghast,
Rush’d in with equal fear and haste; 1500
Who star’d about, as pale as death,
And, for a while, as out of breath;
Till having gather’d up his wits,
He thus began his tale by fits.

That beastly rabble —­ that came down 1505
From all the garrets —­ in the town,
And stalls, and shop-boards —­ in vast swarms,
With new-chalk’d bills —­ and rusty arms,
To cry the Cause —­ up, heretofore,
And bawl the bishops —­ out of door, 1510
Are now drawn up —­ in greater shoals,
To roast —­ and broil us on the coals,
And all the Grandees —­ of our Members
Are carbonading —­ on the embers;
Knights, Citizens, and Burgesses —­ 1515
Held forth by Rumps —­ of Pigs and Geese,
That serve for Characters —­ and Badges. 
To represent their Personages: 
Each bonfire is a funeral pile,
In which they roast, and scorch, and broil, 1520
And ev’ry representative
Have vow’d to roast —­ and broil alive: 

And ’tis a miracle, we are not
Already sacrific’ d incarnate. 
For while we wrangle here, and jar, 1525
W’ are grilly’d all at temple-bar: 
Some on the sign-post of an ale-house,
Hang in effigy, on the gallows;
Made up of rags, to personate
Respective Officers of State; 1530
That henceforth they may stand reputed,
Proscrib’d in law, and executed;
And while the Work is carrying on
Be ready listed under Don,
That worthy patriot, once the bellows, 1535
And tinder-box, of all his fellows;
The activ’st Member of the Five,
As well as the most primitive;
Who, for his faithful service then
Is chosen for a Fifth agen:  1540
(For since the State has made a Quint
Of Generals, he’s listed in’t.)
This worthy, as the world will say,
Is paid in specie, his own way;
For, moulded to the life in clouts, 1545
Th’ have pick’d from dung-hills hereabouts,
He’s mounted on a hazel bavin,
A cropp’d malignant baker gave ’m;
And to the largest bone-fire riding,
They’ve roasted Cook already and pride in; 1550
On whom in equipage and state,
His scarecrow fellow-members wait,
And march in order, two and two,
As at thanksgivings th’ us’d to do;
Each in a tatter’d talisman, 1555
Like vermin in effigie slain.