Character of a Grumbletonian

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The following was transcribed from an original pamphlet (dated 1689) which is in the Bodleian Library, Oxford

[edit] The Character of a Grumbletonian, or, the New Malcontent

A Grumletonian! What's that -- in the Pope's Name? Why, 'tis the

First and Second Part of

Hickeringel -- a meer Composition of Curse-ye-meroz, and

The Black Non Conformist, as full of contradictions as of Nonsence:

an absolute Civil Quaker, that finds as many faults with the State as he with

the Church, and both for the same No-Reason. Tis a Hodge-podge of Malice,

Scurility, and Illnature, who has seldome Wit enough to keep him from Slavering,

or if he does now and then Stumble on some pleasant Notion; han't manners enough

to keep his Wit from Stinking. 'Tis a thing that was never Born to be contented

-- he's always Twisting and Wrigling, and has a Worm in his Tail as long as that

in his Head, -- see but how tenderly he Treads, you'd think he was under

Harry Hills's Course of Penance, and had all his Pea's in his Shooes

without Boyling 'em. 'Tis a hard matter that's the Truth on't, to tell what he

is, since he hardly knows it himself, nor does the froward Chit know what

'twould have, tho' if any thing, it must be some Bawble or other that guiets

him. He handles the Government as the Turks do slaves, when they come to

be Sold -- Peeps all round it -- Trys and Gropes, whether it be Sound Wind and

Limb -- Looks Marvellous earnestly on its Physiognomy, pretending to Read its

Fortune, and if he has any skill 'twon't be long-liv'd, -- and yet after all his

prying as sharply as the Jesuite with his Prospective, all the Wise faults he

can find in't are, that the Nose and Complexion on't don't please him, He's hard

to be found, and yet every where, for he's as diligent and indefatigable, as

another that runs too and fro on the same business, and for the same Reason too,

because he knows his time is short. And now we talk of the Devil -- there's a

certain place within a Mile of hte Oake, where you are very likely to find him,

Settleing Church and State over a Dozen Bottles of Claret. He's very ready at

Quoting Presidents when they please him, and pretends to carry as Humble an

Implicite Faith about with him as e're a Catholick of 'em all, -- and Reason too

-- for this he finds a good Lazy Compendious way of Grumbling, without the long

Fatigue of Enquiry and Argument. By his Commending Tenderness of Conscience in

others, you'd be almose Tempted to belive he had some such thing himself, -- and

indeed who wou'd think any Man wou'd forswear himself by way of Civil

Conversation or so, a Hundred times a Day, and yet all o' the sudden Start and

Bogle at one single Oath of Allegiance? one would think he own'd a God too when

he seems afraid to Invoke his Name to a Lie, or beleiv'd in a Hell, when he says

he dares not comply for fear of Damnation.

He's an Irish Man Double gilt, -- a meer Teague Christianiz'd and

Reform'd into somewhat that looks like Humanity, -- but with much using the

Gilding wears off agen, and Mistress Puss must have a touch at the Mouse, tho'

she leaves her Spark Catter-wawling for the loss of her. There's so much

Discontent and Ingratitude, and Baseness, mixt with such a Profound Twang of

Laziness and Cowardise in the very Constitution of him, that Nature has as

perfectly markt him out for Slavery, as it he had great Lips and a Flat Nose

--he mainly Resembles the Inhabitants of the Cape -- bring 'em into any Country,

Dress 'em and give 'em Food fit for Humane Creatures, they'l do nothing but lie

upon the Ground, and Pine themselves to Death for their old belov'd Hogsty, and

long as passionately as a Teeming Woman, for a Savoury Mouthful of their old

Guts and Garbage. He's of a very Ancient Family that's the Truth on't and can

run ye up his Pedigree as high as Peter Heylin cou'd his own, or a

High-lander his Princes, for he'le tell ye, (if Modesty don't a little Confound

him) that some of his Relations had a strong Party among the Israelites

in the Wilderness -- and great men in the Congregation, he can assure ye some of

'em were -- no less Names then Korah, Dathan and Abiram. They

call'd 'em Murmerers then, but that's but an old word for Grumbletonians. Tho'

he's heavy enough in some things where hast is requir'd, yet he's Nimble enough

in others -- Woe won't be a Serjeant at Arms if he was oblig'd to follow him a

whole Day to take him into Custody, for he has a Thousand Disguises, and is

almost at once in as many places. -- Here he appears in the shape of a

Gentleman, and Squats him down in a Coffee-House like the Toad at Eve's

Ear: Shakes Empty Poll very Emphatically -- takes up the Votes, finds fault with

one Damn'd Clause or other in 'em, Bites off the corner of 'em, and throws 'em

down in Dudgeon agen -- Snatches up the Gazet -- Men of Merit are not Prefer'd

-- (ay, there 'tis) here's a Company of I known't who got in, and he has nothing

-- not that he'd Act -- no -- not for a World -- he can't accept -- his

Conscience -- O -- it Grumbleth most Obstreperously, and there is no quieting of

the same. -- Look sharp Mr. Officer -- he's pulling up his Hatch, and if ye

don't have a care the Gentleman will be a Baker, and his Calash a Cart before ye

can call a Constable, -- for now all o'th' sudden he's an honest Country Farmer,

and mightily aggrieved that the Affairs of the Nation are settled without his

Spade and Flail to lend Assistance -- thinks he has Sweat and Voted, and Stunk

in a Crowd to some purpose -- Scratches his Head, and with some dry Bob of good

King James -- Exit Hobbinol -- but wou'd ye think it --who is now at the

turning of the next Corner? If these Cheating Eyes don't deceive me ha has got a

Parsons Gown on to hide his Cloven-Foot --nay, -- he'le pretend to be

Hamet -- Ben Hamet, and a Parsons Son too, -- he has his Ticket in's

Hand, and you'le see him at the Feast to Morrow, when the Sons of God met

together, we know who came among them -- Unfrock the Rascal for shame & let him

not abuse that Venerable Order -- d'ye see, he's in the Pulpit already -- his

Prayer is not long -- somewhat the shorter because ye hear no King

William and Queen Mary, -- his sermon -- the Ingratiude of this our

Age -- prepare for Persecution -- Two or Three silent Smiters more -- and he's

Vanished into the Tavern -- where that Disguise is soon thrown off, and he gets

another -- and yet what Reason shou'd there be to say a Man's Disguis'd when you

may Peep into the Soul of him, for row he appears in his proper Shape. -- Now

keep out of the way --for he Vomits all his Soul out -- O this Parliament --

here's Arbitrary with a Vengeance, -- Hoc est Parliamentum -- Habeas

Corpus where art thou? -- this will never do -- we will not suffer our King

to be thus -- these Oaths -- these -- certainly they'l never go down without

Buttering -- Ay, ay, -- teh Lawn Sleeves down next -- ye may see what they'd be

at -- these Pack of -- and then he Tumbles under Board -- and next Morning as

soon as his Head's Cool dispatches Packets to this Mayor, and t'other Alderman

in the Country, to Wheedle or Fright 'em into as great Knaves or Fools aas he

is himself. -- There's one infallible Mark more, by which you may be sure of

knowing him through all his Diguises -- as soon as he takes up this Paper -- (a

better Looking Glass then his own) he Starts back at the sight of his own ugly

Face -- falls a foming like a Sweet Singer, and Swears heartily the Authors a

Fanatick, tho' as Friend Ratcliff says, He might as well have Guest

him a Mahometan.

Licens'd according to Law,

May the I. 1689

LONDON, Printed and are to be Sold by Richard Janeway in
Queens-Head-Alley in Pater-Noster-Row. MDCLXXXIX