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Alexander Brome (Александр Бром)

The Satyr of Money


IT is not the Silver or Gold of its self,
That makes men adore it; but 'tis for its power:
For no man does dote upon pelf, because pelf;
But all court the Lady in hopes of her Dower.
The wonders that now in our daies we behold,
Done by th' irresistible power of Gold,
Our Love, and our Zeal, and Allegiance do mould.


This purchaseth Kingdoms, Kings, Scepters, & Crowns;
Wins Battels, and conquers the Conquerors bold;
Takes Bulwarks, and Castles, and Armies, and Towns,
Our prime Laws, are written in letters of Gold:
'Tis this that our Parliaments calls, and creates;
Turns Kings into Keepers, and Kingdoms to States,
And Peopledoms this into High-doms translates.


This plots doth devise, then discovers what th' are;
This makes the great folons the lesser condemn:
Sets those on the bench that should stand at the bar;
Who judge such as by right, ought to execute them:
Gives the boystrous Clown his unsufferable pride;
Make•Beggers, and ••ols, and usurpers to •ide,
While ruin'd properties run by their side.


Stamp either the arms of the State, or the King,
St. George or the breeches, C. R. or O. P.
The Cross and the fiddle, 'tis all the same thing.
This still is the Queen, who e're the King be.
This lines mens Religion, builds doctrines and truth,
With zeal, and the spirit; the factious endu'th,
To club with St. Katherine, or sweet sister Ruth.


This made our black Senate to sit still so long;
To make themselves rich by making us poor;
This made our bold Army so daring, and strong;
And that made them drive 'um like Geese out of door.
'Twas this made the Covenant-makers to make it;
And this made our Levites to make us to take it;
And this made both makers and takers forsake it.


This spawn'd the dunghil crew of Committees and 'Strators,
Who lived by picking their Parliaments Gums;
This made, and then prospered Rebels and Traytors,
And made Gentry of those that were the Nations scums.
Page  131This Herald gives arms, not for merit but store;
Gives Coats unto such, as did sell coats before;
If their nockers be lin'd but with Argent and Or.


'Tis this makes the Lawyer give judgment and pledd,
On this side, or that side, on both sides or neither,
This makes Yeomen Clerks, that can scarce write or read,
And spawns arbitrary orders as various as the weather:
This makes the blew-lecturor pray, preach and prate,
Without reason or truth against K. Church, or State,
To shew the thin lyning of his twice-cover'd pa•e.


'Tis this that makes Earls, Lords, Knights, & Esquires,
Without breeding, discent, wit, learning, or merit;
Makes Ropers and Ale-drapers Sheriffs of Shires,
Whose trade's not so low, nor so base as their spirits
This Justices makes, and wise ones we know;
Furr'd Aldermen likewise, and Mayors also,
Makes the old wife to trot, and makes the Mare go.


This makes the blew aprons write themselves wor∣shipful,
And for this we stand bare, and before 'um do fall;
They leave their young Heirs well fleeced with wool,
whom we're to call Squires, and they're to pay all;
Who with beggarly souls, though their bodies are gawdy,
Court the pale Chamber-maid, and nick-name her a Lady;
And for want of discourse they do swear and talk baudy.


For money mens lives may be purchas'd and sold,
'Tis money breaks laws, and that mends 'um again;
Men venture their quiet and safety for gold,
When they won't stir a foot their rights to maintain.
This Doctors createth of Dunces, and those,
Commanders that use to pollute their hose;
This buyes the spruce gallant his verse and his prose.


This marriages makes, 'tis the centre of love;
It draws on the man, and it pricks up the woman;
Birth, vertue, and parts, no affection can move,
While this makes Lords bow to the brat of a Broom-man.
Gives vertue, and beauty to the lass that you woe,
Makes women of all sorts and ages to do;
'Tis the soul of the world, and the worldling too.


This horses procures you, and hawks, hounds, and hares;
'Tis this keeps your Groom, and your Groom keeps your Geldings;
It buyes Citizens wives as well as their wares,
And makes your coy Ladies so coming and yielding;
This buyes us good Sack, which revives like the spring;
This gives the poetical fancies their wing;
This makes you as merry as we that do sing.

Alexander Brome's other poems:
  1. The Cavalier
  2. The Prodigal
  3. The Reformation
  4. The Hard Heart
  5. The Libertine

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