Thrēnodē, or Englands passing-bell Gilbert, Thomas, 1613-1694. 1679 Approx. 55 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 15 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2004-05 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A42738 Wing G723 ESTC R30410 11309989 ocm 11309989 47412 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A42738) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 47412) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1461:43) Thrēnodē, or Englands passing-bell Gilbert, Thomas, 1613-1694. Sherburne, Edward, Sir, 1618-1702. Wild, Robert, 1609-1679. [4], 24 p. [s.n.], London : M.DC.LXXIX [1679] In verse. First word of title in Greek characters. Attributed by Wing and NUC pre-1956 imprints to Thomas Gilberts also variously attributed to Sir Edward Sherburne or Robert Wild. Reproduction of original in the Harvard University Library. England's passing-bell--The bill of request--Romanzi--The postscript. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng Great Britain -- History -- Charles II, 1660-1685 -- Poetry. 2003-11 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2003-12 Apex CoVantage Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2004-02 Angela Lea Sampled and proofread 2004-02 Angela Lea Text and markup reviewed and edited 2004-04 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 : OR , ENGLANDS Passing-Bell . Psal. 80 : 3. Turn us O God to thee again , For we too long have swerv'd : Cause thou thy face on us to shine , And we shall be preserv'd . Quarles Eleg. Offended Iustice often strikes by turns , Edom beware , for thy next neighbour burns : LONDON , Printed in the Year M. DC . LXXIX . TO THE READER . REader , perhaps my melancholly Quill May dote ; but let Melpom'ne weep her sill . Bear with her weakness , grudg not at her Tears ; It springs not from her Envy , but her Fears : She is no hired Naenia ; her moans Are like to purchase little else than stones . Then give her leave to mourn upon these Rocks ; To ease her troubled heart to Stones and Stocks . Her sad abodings do not imprecate : But wish and warn thee to anticipate : And if there may no loyal method be Form'd to prevent thy hanging - Destinie Immure thy soul within those gracious Arms , That may protect thee from the Syrenes charms . ENGLAND'S PASSING-BELL . I Am no Prophet , no , nor Prophet's Son ; Yet dare pretend unto a Vision ; Pretend , say I ? nay , 't is no meer pretence , Pretences do but juggle Conscience . I pray for peace , yea , I could die for 't too A willing Sacrifice , if that would do . But what I do foresee , I dare foretell , God is now ringing ENGLANDS Passing-Bell , The sound is in mine ears , the doleful Toul Strikes strange amazement on my trembling Soul. She gasps for breath , her Optick nerves are crackt . Eyes sunk into their holes , her spirits rackt On fatal Tenters , and her Pulses beat To her oppressed soul a faint Retreat . Alas the day ! these threatning symptoms call Her Friends to mind her of a Funeral . O thou the God of life , commiserate Thy foolish peoples self-undone estate ! Calm all these Paroxismes , and allay Those mortal heats ; so will I ever pray . ' Wake sottish Island ! let thy ruins teach Thy Sons and Daughters to bewail the Breach . Where are thy Noahs , Daniels and Iobs ? Are these the men , that in their linsie Robes Chant their Devotions ? th' Angels of the Quire , Whose very Noses threat their shirts with fire ; Whose Bacchanalian zeal's a flame they stole Not from the Altar , but Maeonian coal . Are these the men , that with their Pipes can do The Counter-wonder on a Iericho ? Ah! poor bewitched Land ! how long wilt be Before thy banisht Wits return to thee ? The Cup is in thine hand , hath toucht thy lips ; Thou wring'st thy mouth at some distasteful sips : Fain would'st thou plead , enough ; ay , so would I , Or drink it in thy stead , and for thee die . But what e're be the hopes that buoy thy mind , Unless I dream , the dreggs are yet behind . On whose unhappy heads this Lot shall fall God knows , the wrathful fate doth threaten all . Let him that thinks he 's with a Bargain blest , Know , the last Nail may double all the rest . There are some few within thee that begin To smite the thigh , and to confess their sin . Others that think it safer to compound , To shark and shuffle while the Cup goes round . But if I know ought of thy constitution , Or of the Products of a Revolution , Compose the present Frights , and 't will appear The Frogs now quasht will be as bold as e're . These brows of brass , these iron sinews may Shine like the gold , and bend like kneaded clay , Whilst an hot Furnace , preaching to the sence , Applys the terrour of a Providence ; But once withdraw the coals , and you may see These Metals have not lost their Propertie . But as for Ionas , who 's now Tarsus bound , Let him remember who a Ionas found . Let Demas know too , that his present world Will cheat his fond love , when he shall be hurl'd By an Ejectment from that dear possession , That lay in right of Heaven's Sequestration . And Iudas may be sure , his treacherous Kiss Shall be repay'd with lips as foul as his . Haman must also know , the Gibbet's up ; Where Mordecai should dine , there he may sup . 'T was not for lack of eyes the Iews were grown So strangely blind , that nought but Babylon Could make them see ; nor is 't for lack of eyes I grope at noon , and fall , and cannot rise ; But 't is this Babylon the Mystical Hath blinded me ; nay , which is worst of all , She is my mated Incubus , and hence I 'm rid by her bewitching influence . O pity me , all ye that ever saw A Sampson snared by a Delilah ! Were Moses here , sure he would sigh with me For their dear sakes ; whose sin and slaverie Was once like mine : Or could I but produce A Ieremy , his eye should be the sluce To weep me out a bitter Lamentation , And to condole a bleeding dying Nation . With tears of blood I could sit down and mourn On my dear Children's most unhappy Urn ▪ Thousands of sprightly youth , whose breasts and bones Were richly fill'd , have breath'd their fruitless moans Under that wrathful hand that did dispense The bloody arrows of the Pestilence . Sure death had never such a Table spread In any age , for ought we hear or read . How greedily he fed on rich and poor , As though he never meant to feast it more ! Wit , wealth , or beauty , honour , sex or age , Made no distinction in his mortal rage . O cruel death ! could not thy heart relent At those dear Infants that thy fury rent From tender mother's breasts ! Could not their groans Have pierc'd thy heart , that might have pierced stones ? Heaps upon heaps of choicest friends I saw ; Our Glory 's now become our Golgotha . Could not the Ancients venerable Hairs , ( The silver Symbole of their age and cares ) Have aw'd thy bold attempt ? or pleaded pity , Who were the Eyes and Pillars of the City . Nor could thy sacrilegious hands forbear To rob our Churches of their Common-Prayer . Th' affrighted Levite durst not for his head , Appear between the Living and the Dead . On him ( poor Soul ! ) thou charged'st the extent Of his own Law , of five miles Banishment . O King of terrours great ! how could'st thou quell The sacred vertue of his powerful spell , Against thy sudden stroak ? or who should care For his forsaken Flock , whose Fleece they are ? Now was not this enough ? but must it be But the Praeludium to thy Tragedy ? Whence is 't , thou wert in combination found With Mars and Neptune , for a vantage ground ? What! had poor Mortals over-matcht thee ? or Hadst thou a Fit to hear the Cannons roar ? To toss their shatter'd bones , and serve them in , As carved Messes , unto Triton's shrine ? Or was 't to prove how far thy pow'r would do , To feast not only Worms , but Fishes too ? Was ever blood so prodigally spent ? Whole Hecatombs seem'd little to present . Neptune himself could not but blush to see Thy greedy Altar's Anthropophagie . Did not the Passing-Bell go sad enough ? That Cannons hellish mouths must speak how rough And grim a Ghost thou art ? for this , will I Ne're hope to bribe thee when I come to die . O Death ! what is my sin , that still I hear Those ruthful sighings to torment my ear ? Behold the Fatherless and Widows eyes , The woful Relicts of thy Sacrifice . Would God , say they , our dearest blood had run In those dear veins , from which our blood begun ; Then had we been as happy as the dead , And ne're have pin'd for lack of daily bread . Ah me ! methink with grief and shame I see The hostile rage of the proud enemy Insulting on our shores , who durst not peep , Had they not found us in so dead a sleep . Then might Philistims with advantage come , When Sampson's shorn , and lull'd with Opium . Oh! then who could but rent his heart to see Our Glory led into captivity ? Those floating Eulwarks , and of Royal race , The envy of the world , that ne're gave place To a superiour , nor could e're be mated By those of whom they were both fear'd and hated ; That like a thunder , brake the thickest clouds Of bold assaults , and scatter'd all the crouds Of martial force , that could command their way , And dash their foes like pots of glass or clay . With what reproach and ignominious boasts Led they their captive prey to foreign coasts ! Then farewell Royal Charles ! yet this shall be Our joy and triumph still , that here is He By whose great name th' rt call'd ; let Shadows go , ( The substance being come ) sith't must be so . Might here my sorrows end , I 'd ne're lament As one undone ; but ah ! my Fate is bent To rack my guilty bones , and to devise New methods , that her fury may comprize All the sad stories of the Ages past , As though this scene were to us both the last . From Plague and Sword , my mournful eyes I roul On that amazing mirrour , which my soul So trembles to behold ; my Strength , my Crown , My Hope , my Magazeen , which now was grown From Troy novant , to Troy le grand , is now My Troy l'extinct ; thus must the mighty bow When God will humble them , and lick the dust When once he smites ; for sure this God is just . But Oh! th' unhappy day that dawn'd in Flames , Flames that contemned all the floods of Thames . What! could no Engins art nor power prevail ? Were Samson's Foxes turned tayl to tayl ? 'T was some strange God , no doubt , that should require So chargeable an Offering made by fire . London and Sodom may sit down together , And now condole the Ashes of each other . For sin they perisht both , and both by Fire , But here 's the odds ; Efficients did conspire In different methods ; that from Heaven came , This from beneath : a black and hellish flame , A spark of Faux's Cell , infernal coals Matur'd for service in some Stygian holes . How did the hungry flames devour their prey ! And lick up stones like straw ! and force their way Through all obstructions , Nature , Art , or Might Had rais'd to check their desolating flight ! With what stupendious terrour did they roul From street to street , disdaining all controul ! As though the lungs of wide-mouth'd Aeolus Had been in sacred Oath to drive them thus ! What horrour , think you , what distractions then Seiz'd on the heart of our poor Citizen ! What bitter cries , complaints and lamentations ! While some bewail their own loss , some the Nations ! Some die for very grief , and others curse The late indulgence of a faithful Nurse . Alas ! no tongue nor pen can e're express The Hurries , Hazards , and the sad distress . Was ever grief like mine ! Deeps call to Deeps : And what one Judgment spares , the second sweeps . This Scald , I doubt , I shall bear in my face Unto my grave , with grief and sore disgrace . And now , if Plague and Sword , and Fire wont do To melt the heart , and let the captive go ; I dread the thoughts of some impendent scourge , More like to be a Poyson than a Purge . Good God! avert whatever it may be ; Avenge not on us our Iniquitie . Sin has gone big ; but ah ! we knew it not : She 's now in Travel , and her reckonings out ; The fore springs come , which threatens what may be The Birth , if God permit Deliverie . Lord strangle thou the Monster in the womb , And let the Mothers bowels be its Tomb. But if my wandring Muse should chance to fly Within the compass of that Royal eye , Whose very Aspect gives her life or death , And for whose sake this Die she ventureth ; She will confess 't is bold to soar so high , To trip on Crowns ; the beams of Majesty May shine too hot for such Icarian wings , And melt the Copper of her feeble strings . She has no wanton nor prestigious Lyricks To fawn on Kings with flattering Panegyricks . But her true loyal heart she 'l ne're betray , Though she can't vent it in the Courtiers way . Nor will she e're bethink her sworn Allegiance , Or boggle at her duty of obedience ; Although the Persians have contriv'd their snare , And made it criminal if found at Prayer . Pardon , dread Sov'raign , if some rambling fit Transport her honest zeal , and so commit A sin Poetical ; Her Pegasus Is Saddle-gall'd , and therefore hobbles thus . She gads eccentrick ; hence it is she hovers On every Pinacle that hope discovers ; Under these gracious wings my Dove may find Protection , if propitiously inclin'd . I hate those Tongues , whose morsels make them loyal , To serve their Int'rest on the Favour Royal. I only wish their Lips may never shew Those bloody Teeth that just within them grow . Nor that those Hooded Moths may ever sit So near the Crown as to dishonour it . I 'le ever pray the King may know his Friends , And fully understand his Flatterers ends . The Kingdom groans , although her King be come ! Why ! what 's the matter ? sure he 's welcome home . Alas ! she 's sick , and of some strange disease , Which neither Kings nor Parliaments can ease , Until that God , whom th' Athiest doth contemn , Do purge the Blood of our Ierusalem . I 'le say no more here , but God save the King , From whom , or whatsoe're may mischief bring ! And what if I let loose my scribling Fancy , To give a piece of her poor Chronomancie Unto her Honourable Senate , who If God incline their hearts , great things may do . O Sirs ! ye are our wise Physicians , and Ye have the sickest Nation now in hand That e're had men : The first step to a cure Is to know the cause of what we do endure . The cause is complicated both in Civil And Spiritual respects ; a twisted evil , Deep Labyrinths we 're in ; our strong foundations Do shake and tremble ; dismal Desolations Seem to attend us : Lord ! avert this cup , And let thy bloody En'mies drink it up . Ye 're our Physicians , Sirs ! Oh! cast the state Of your sick Patient , and prevent that Fate Her Enemies threaten , and her fears suggest , And all Posterities shall call you blest . O cast abroad your wise and prudent eyes , And pity , pity England's miseries . Let not the Canaanite reproach and laugh To see us breaking of that Golden staff On our own Shoulders , which might else have been Our Rod to rule , and reins to hold them in . Our costly Pills indeed have purg'd the Purse , But our disease is growing worse and worse . Poor England's hour is come ! a Trinitie Of wrestling Int'rests in her bowels lye . Two Opposites might happy Union know , If well concenter'd in some Tertio . Three Contradictories will never be Espoused in a fair consistencie . Those that consult the peace and good of State , I think ( as case stands ) must accommmodate . Sirs ! pity those poor hearts that cannot see With any other eyes than those that be Their own ; some squeamish stomacks turn at Cheese , Which I won't give for all our Coquus Fees. Were all confin'd to one Dish , and no other , You 'd poyson me with what you feed my brother . When you can pare all Bodies to one stature , And club the Elements into one nature , And make all faces of the same complexion , ( which will scarce be ev'n at the Resurrection ) Then may you find all Consciences agreed In nice Punctilio's , and our judgments freed From quaint Idea's , which not understood , Have bred us this dissenting Brotherhood . Religion is that Primum Mobile Of States and Kingdoms , yea , their Int'rests be Mov'd in their Politick Circungyrations , Upon this golden Pole , the soul of Nations . Lord ! so co-ordinate each gliding Sphere , As that their motions may not interfere . Two parallel lines are never like to greet , Till Capricorn with sultry Cancer meet . If each would stoop to other , you might see Our Tabernacl's handsome Canopie . Our First is up ; where are the Builders now ? Come ! shut the Roof , and let the Rafters bow . Is it impossible such storms should rise From Hell or Rome , as may convince our eyes ? Our Walls will tumble if they want a Cover ; Why ! 't is but mud , though it be varnisht over . All ope ' at top ? nay , ev'ry Thief may enter , And scale our naked Walls ; who 's mad to venture His Life and Fortunes on such Guards , and let His Iewels hazard such a Cabinet ? Well! in this naked case , I 'le pray , I 'le sing To him that is both Walls and Covering . Alas ! poor London ! who can see thine Ashes , And not sit down and score those angry lashes Thy righteous Judg hath in just wrath inflicted For that whereof thou hadst been long convicted ? Thy Prophets were not dumb , but thou wert deaf : They warn'd in season ; but thy unbelief Was warning-proof : like knotty crooked wood , They rul'd and hew'd thee for a common good , Until their hearts did ake , and arms did tire ; At last thou art condemned to the Fire . Thou could'st out-face the frowns of Pestilence . Daring provoked Justice to commence In hotter Plagues : That Cup is fill'd thee now , That hath abasht thy proud and shameless brow ▪ Old Sodom was in our young London found , Yea , more than Sodom did in her abound , And now if any will of London hear , To Sodom he may go , and find her there . In thee was found the blood of Martyrs , yea , The murder'd blood of Royal Majesty . Oaths , Drunk'ness , Lust , and ravenous Oppression , Pride and Deceit , the spots of high Profession . In thee was found the woman Iezebel , With those infernal Locusts that compell Her Proselytes to commit Fornication ; Which were sad Omens of thy Desolation . And now , my Daughter , may we come to treat With that poor Rag that 's left ? or art too great Yet to incline thy stubborn ear ? Remember In Sixty-six thou hadst a hot September . He that thy Remnant , like a smoaking Brand , Then snatcht out of the fire , with the same hand Can crush what he hath sav'd ; nay , look thou to it , Lest perad venture he indeed may do it . True Penitentials might have prevented That fearful breach that 's now in vain lamented . The Buckets of thine eyes had checkt the Flames , If well appli'd , 'fore all the Pow'rs of Thames . But Epimetheus doth but aggravate And rake the wound ▪ by being wise too late . Yet for the future , if thou wilt be wise , And re-espoused , thus I do advise . Thine Ashes steept in penitent tears may Make thee a Lie to wash thy shame away . Thou hast been in the smoak , ( and wash thou must ) ; Both in the smoak of Fire , and smoak of Lust. Wash therefore , make thee clean , and thou shalt be As in the days of thy Virginity . Thy Bricks are fallen , wilt thou change them for The Hewen Stone ? and turn the Sycomore Into the Cedar ? yea , and be it so ! And let thine Ashes to a Phoenix grow ! But yet I doubt , thy pregnant hopes may prove A Babel's project , unless God above Unite thy Languages , and undertake Both to begin , and a full end to make : Be both thy Builder , and thy Corner-stone , And raise thee in a Modell of his own . Lord ! rear thy London's Walls , and purge her blood , And let her know thou hast chastiz'd for good . Make her thy Sion , thine Emanuel's Land , And let her Ruins be under thine hand . The World is God's great Wheel , his Providence The hand that turns it ; its intelligence , The Wheel's in motion ; but the rising side Will still pursue their chase , till they bestride The whole Circumference ; and then beginning To take their turn again they fall a whining ; Complain of Envy , Pride , Revenge , Oppression , Which just before was but their own ambition . Rebeccah's Twins ! we catch each others heel , And ne're observe the Dog that 's in the wheel . Lord ! shall we e're have wit enough to know To poise our selves in Aequilibrio ? Sure God hath set his Ministers for Lights In a blind , giddy world ; the Rechabites Of an apostate age ; but sure I am , There are too many of the seed of Cham , Yet can Canonical Adoption lurch , And so are naturaliz'd Sons of the Church . The Clergy's Gods inheritance ; but these Are Pliny's Insects , Worms that spoil the Bees , Those sweet industrious creatures ; Aesop's Dogs , That starve the Ox , but will not touch the Hogs , Whose blushing Carbuncles , and purple faces , Are no Crown Iewels , nor the Churches Graces . Will a debauched Clergy e're invest Your Cause with an applauded Interest In sober minds ? Will a sulphureous zeal , In things confest indifferent , ever heal Our dismal breaches ? or what ! do you hope To make us your Peace-offring to the Pope ? But I have better thoughts ; yet pray take heed Lest you and we both offer'd be indeed . While we contend for shadows , there are those That will their greedy clutches interpose , And seize that Morsel , which preserv'd , might be The Medium of our Correspondencie . What! are we Artick and Antartick ? must The Mother separate the Babes she nurst ? Did one womb bare us ? and what ! are we now No nearer kin at all , than I , and thou ? Sirs ! is 't not bold enough to set your Post By Gods ? to introduce a ragged Host Of Ceremonies , borrowed of that Groom , ( For the most part ) that keeps his Stall at Rome ? But would you back to Egypt shuffle too , In hopes to feast it on their flesh-pots ? you May chance to change your wood for worser Timber ; Nay , there 's a Red Sea too , as I remember , 'Twixt us and them , where Pharoah and his Host Were buri'd once : although his restless Ghost Still haunt our shores , and with his Magick strive To serve his Capias on 's , Dead or alive . Are Egypt's Leeks such Dishes ! let me tell ye , Their Tale of Bricks may chance to fill your belly ! Sirs ! you that bear so stiff from Scylla , may In a Charibdis cast your selves away . 'T will vex you sure ( yet help it while you can ) When you are plac't behind the Veteran . Turn Capuchins then , if your guts will bear it ; Though you have won it , let your Lord-Danes wear it . Your Rubrick , Articles , and Canon-Law , You may set back with the Apocrypha . Some Mendicancy of unbounded Order May be your Monitor , and my Recorder . Nay , were it not for our Faith 's Great Defender , Whose prudent jealousie hath been so tender In this important case , they 'd run us down E're this , ( for ought I know ) Miter and Crown . This piece of Logick I can't understand , No Bishop , if no ceremony ; and No King , if there no Lordly Bishop be ; I must confess they 'r Parables to me . Nay , in the fancy of my jealous Reason Its consequence speaks little less than Treason . But be it so , I never will impeach you , Nor yet presume for 't is in vain ) to teach you what 's the conclusion of your Syllogism ( If I might urge this piece of Catechism ) But this ? no ceremony , then no King ; And what 's a ceremony but a thing So adiaph'rous , that his Lordship may Pro libitu , impose or throw away ? This Papal Oracle in its Essaies Was practically known in Becket's daies . And is the Crown then but a ceremony ? Will you believe St. Thomas and his Chrony Who had near prov'd it once ? shall th' Scepter be But a poor Pinacle of a Bishops See ? I dread those Politicks that do advise To perch the Miter on State-dignities ! Nay , let the Crosiers staff and Lawn-sleeves lye Some Orbs beneath the Sphere of Majesty . And may I now presume to speak a word To those my Brethren , that are thus abhor'd ? Ye are the Salt , Sirs ! that hath lost its savour With men , at least , and therefore lost their favour . But like unsav'ury Salt , though ye are cast , It may be 't is their mouths are out of taste . If so , they may come or 't , when they have try'd That cellar which they have so magnify'd . For my part , I think yours to be the cheaper , And far the better too , for the House-keeper . But sith 't is so , that out at doors you must , And trampl'd on be , both by Law and Lust , I hope you will not murmur , but reflect , And own that Hand , that doth these Heels direct . Although your eager spirits have been fed On those crude humours that the times have bred , Which have dissolv'd your sweet consistencies Into that brine , which now leaks at your eyes : Yet when this brine is boil'd and scum'd , who knows How the good Steward may of it dispose ? Rome ! Rome ! thine Hour is coming though't be long ; Thy Mattens sung , turn to thy Even song . Thou struggl'st hard to grasp within thy wings The Churches Dowry , and the Crowns of Kings ; To brood those Chickens thou didst never hatch , That so thou maist thy prey at pleasure catch . Thou crouchest low a Favourite to be , And boastest highly of thy loyalty . But yet these Visards thou dissemblest with , Are cut one inch too short to hide thy teeth . We can't forget thy love in Eighty-eight , When thy kind Visit cast us on that streight . The poor Waldenses , and cold Piedmont Have felt thy mercy , with sharp Comments on 't . Let Ireland's Tears , and England's long experience Produce their Records of thy vow'd Allegiance . Thy Sacrifices in Queen Maries daies ; Thy faith and service prov'd so many waies To her Successors ; Faux's Loyalty In that unparallel'd Conspiracy ; Thy secret Hit at our late Soveraign's Head , Which at one blow struck his three Kingdoms dead ; The dismal ashes of our City Royal ; All these bespeak thee trusty , kind , and loyal . But hark ! in London's dust these coals that rest May sindg thy Plumes , and chance to fire thy Nest. Muntzer no doubt had play'd the man , if we Had better fee'd his sacred Fealty . Our happy War , with its triumphant feats ; Our lingring Treaties , and undoing cheats ; Our beggar'd subject , yet indebted Prince , Are of your loyal hearts clear evidence . Whole Volumes here each word doth comprehend ; More I could say too , had I time to spend . England's a Vine , a sowre and barren one ; Her Judgments come , God seems to cut her down . Had I a Stentor's lungs , I 'd stretch them here , To rouze those stupified souls , that fear But what they feel , whose Dreams are sweeter to 'um Than Life or Gospel , till their Dreams undo ' um . We have undone our selves ; I 'le say no more , For 't is not words that will our Paths restore . 'T is sport enough for Gath and Askelon , To see our emulous zeal to carry on Their grand designs , and with what art we spin Our selves a Halter to be hanged in . What! hath their Curfue ring'd us all to bed ? Shall they that strike us thus , next strike us dead ? Good God! what ails us ? are we all run mad ? Is there no sober party to be had ? O bring us so far to our selves , as we May once devolve the care and cure on thee ! Nay , may a Bethlem bring us to our wits , To Bethlem let us go to cure these Fits. But let it not ( as some would have it ) be The Bethlem we were in 'bout Forty-three . I am for peace , let false and bloody minds Be Cyrus-like , rewarded in their kinds ▪ But I 'm condemn'd , it 's like , by good and bad ; My Muse is peevish , froward , bold and mad . 'T is true , she 's apt to speak her fears , but so As she may timely caution Friend and Foe . Let none be grieved at her sad Presages , Or think her melancholly spirit rages . When times of laughter come , she 'l laugh with you ; And when you sing , she 'l strike in consort too ▪ But oh ! let not her counsel be her crime , Though it may seem to you born out of time . We know who 't was that breath'd on Israel's bones , He that can form him children out of stones . He that sav'd Peter on the raging Seas Will save his Church too , when and how he please . Then be content , let Faith and Patience be Your Life , your Refuge , and your Victorie . The RIDDLE . THere was a Man , ( l 've heard my Grandsire say ) That had two Sons that in his bosom lay : The first was Bat , a sober loving youth , But through much weakness , very slow of growth ; The other Ned a lusty jocund child , But that he prov'd extreamly high and wild These grew together ; Ned was Father's Boy ; Who knew it well , and therefore did imploy His wits and interest against his Brother To get his Birth-right : yea , sware to his Mother To be his Guardian , and as tender of him As she could be , who did so dearly love him . So 't was agree'd through much ado ; but Ned Grew proud and high , which great Dissentions bred . In short , the House fell into such a flame Of strife between the Master and the Dame , That all the Neighbourhood began to ring ; Some wept to hear it , other some did sing . Among the rest there was one neighbour Cross , Who 's alway wont to gain by others loss . This Cross ( they say ) had an old servant been Unto the House these Children lived in , But justly long before had been cashier'd For sev'ral urgent causes that appear'd . This Villain , seeing these broils thus begun , Hopes now to reel the yarn that he had spun ▪ VVorks with both Parties , but at such a distance , That neither was the neer for his assistance : How e're it was , at length 't was thus agreed ; Ned must away , and so the House be freed . Then Cross with Bat and 's Mother would collogue ; But they defie him for an arrant Rogue . Some say , Had it not been for such as he , These sparks had never fir'd the Family . Few of his Neighbours have a good word for him ; No more but Ned swears that he doth abhor him ▪ Thus scann'd on all hands , he must hide his face , And act his part by those that are in place ; And so he did , until the House did grow Too hot for Father , Ned , and Mother too . Thus Bat is left alone , shakes every limb , For fear of what was now attending him . By secret Packets then he did implore His Father's powerful presence , to restore His dving hopes : The Father mounts his steed , His wings are impt with pity , joy , and shee l . But with the Father home comes busling Ned , Calls all his own , his Mother being dead . ( Though Bat were promis'd , Ned should never more Presume to set his foot within the door . ) Bat over-joy'd to see his Father come , Rings out the Bells to bid him welcome home . Ned makes some offers to capitulate ; Being forc'd thereto , but after some debate , The bus'ness comes to this , poor Bat must be What Ned will have him , nay , for ought I see He 'd rather that he might not be at all , Poor love , you 'l say , and but this brother all . The Father being griev'd to see this strife Between his Children , looks him out a Wife To rule the stubborn lads ; the Mother law Takes Bat in hand , and swears she 'l whip him raw . The Bed's prepar'd , where both these Boy 's must lye , To lull them into Uniformity . Ned leaps in first , and with him Spot his Cur , He puts off ne're a Rag , Cloak , Boots , nor Spur. Poor Bat would fain lye down too by his Brother : He shuts in one foot now , and then the other ; Intreats for room , but Ned begins to thunder , That if he would lye there , he must lye under . Hard terms , you 'l say , but melancholly Bat ( Had that been all ) would scarce have stuck at that , But through disorders and excess in drink , ( Which was his life ) his very skin did stink ; His clothes were all with mire and vomit drest , That Bat crys out , Sure Ned ! th' hast foul'd thy Nest. Is this the fashion thou intend'st to lye ? Thy Dog may like it well , but so can't I. But weeps , and bids Good night , and looks about For some dark corner , where to cry it out . But Ned 's offended thus to hear him roar , And bid's his Mother turn him out at door . Now Bat must wander ; yet I 've heard him say , That while he lives he 'l do no worse than pray For Father , Mother , and for Ned , all three , And for the rest of his dear Family . Where 's Cross this while ? has he been idle ? no : He hands his fails as every wind doth blow . When Ned was come , thought he , There 's none that can Be so well spar ▪ d , to be his Gentleman As I ; by this , and one trick more , I know I shall be chosen for his Bed fellow ; Then Art shall fail me , if it be not sed , In few days more , Cross is as good as Ned. And to this end , he first accuses Bat Of Frenzv , Murder , Theft , and who knows what ! Which Ned lik'd well ; on whose report it was ( Some say ) that Bat's Ejectment came to pass . Howe're it was , it seems that Ned and Cross Were well enough agreed , though 't were too gross To hold an open correspondencie Which might to their Designes destructive be . These Tragedies premis'd , Cross thinks he may Begin to scrape , and make some fresh Essay To prove his loyalty ; but some cry out , Nay , he 's a Thief ; others reply , no doubt But we may trust him now ; he has been try'd , 'T is Bat ' s the greater Thief , Cross is be-ly'd . But most affirm , that Bat's the honest man ; And Cross's cringing is but to trepan . These were shrewd rubs , at last , in the smooth Run Of Cross's hopes ; but what is thus begun Can't linger now , for when the Ulcer's gone Unto a rotten Suppuration , It struggles hard for vent , and so did this , Resolving to attempt it , Hit or miss . First , he engag'd th' unhappy Family In an unlucky brawl , with two or three Of their malignant Neighbours ; some say 't was The Ghost of an old grudg reviv'd , a mass Of scurrilous reproaches , and such things As soon produc'd these bloody Quarrellings ; But that which did these furious feuds advance ( Most say ) was claim to an Inheritance . However 't were , Cross serves his Interests here ; Nay , boasts it too , that he had brew'd the Beer Wherewith he hop ▪ d shortly to entertain Such other Friends as once came out of Spain . Most of the Family were griev'd to see This cursed Villain 's pride and treachery ▪ It were too sad and tedious to tell All those defeats and mischiefs that befell This poor divided House , how Mogonde swagger'd . And sharkt and robb'd , till both were almost beggar'd ; The Stables plunder'd , and the Garners fir'd By such Accomplices as Cross had hir'd . And is 't not strange , that such a Rogue as he Should thus bewitch so brave a Family ! Well! Ned may know , if ever he be wise , What clouds they are that thus be-night his eyes . The Bill of Request . THere is a Woman ( Sir ) and she a Friend That lyes in Travell , and is like to end Her own life and her Babes at once ; her case Is often spread before the Throne of Grace ; Her Midwives also have almost undone her , And left her worse than when they first began her ▪ 'T will cost her bitter Throws ( poor Heart ) I doubt , If ever she have strength to weather't out . Your Prayers are desir'd for such an one , That you would mind her case before the Throne . Pray give this Bill to one that is devout Among the Priests , if you can find him out . ROMANZI . 'T Was when the Heaven 's winged Charioteer Was swiftly racing in his high carier Through Cancer's hot Ascendent , whose fierce beams Exhal'd from parched Earth those sweating steams Which left her surface , ( like a Niobe Bak't to a crust ) curst with an Atrophie . And when , besides the Torrid Influence Of Aestive Rays , the dire malevolence Of three Coelestial Heroes did conspire In their Trine-aspect , to incense the fire . That I descending from the lofty brow Of a steep Hill , where just beneath did grow A shady Grove , which the fair Dryades Had lately chosen for their Chap'l of ease ; And fast by , Neptune comb'd his powder'd Locks In the course teeth of sharp and craggy Rocks . I heard ( methought ) the sighs of deep despair From off the Grove , refract the gentle air . At these strange Eccho's being mov'd , I stood Amuz'd a while , at length drew to the Wood ; Where the first words that met my ear , were these , After a sigh : Ay! they do what they please ! Would ever men , that were not worse than mad , ( Yea , mauger all those cautions we have had ) Have done as we have done ? but 't is too late , Now that the steed is gone , to shut the Gate . To whom reply'd another , with an Oath , Nay now , no doubt , but we shall thrive forsooth ▪ Our En'mies we have thrice quite overthrown , And forc't their mourning Widows to atone Our Grace and Favour ; men could ne're have done More bravely , and have won what we have won . Old Noll the Tyrant would have gnasht to see The rich successes of his Enemy In his old Field , recounting what it cost him , Yo do what we have done ; yea , what it lost him In not improving what his Tyrannie Had gain'd , when he had brought them on the knee . But what ! we could not chuse but prosper thus , While God and man did so encourage us . Indeed the Oracle spake plain , methought , But that we deem'd it as a thing of nought , An accident in London ' s first Oblation , Whose Gifts and whose Devotions acceptation Was witnessed by fire ; I think she may Expound the Omen now without a Key . Provisions we had store , but wisely cookt ; Great wages too , but that t is most on 't bookt . Such care our Commissaries had , it 's sed Our very Powder-casks were ballasted . In short , most honestly 't was rigg'd and man'd , Like to go through what e're we took in hand . Well , well , Marinus ! said the other , you Can jest it out , as you are wont to do . Iest ! said Marinus , could I get my Pay , It were a jest indeed , the merriest day That I , or my poor wife and babes have seen Since the first hour that we divorc't have been . I would redeem their Pledg , and set them free From thy contentious , Parish-charitie . The other griev'd to hear this well known story , Breaks this Discourse : Where 's then , says he , the glory Of your great Victories ? The glory , said Marinus ; Nay , you may see , when those that undermine us Have done their shuffle and begin to cut , Into whose hands the Master-Trumps are shut . There 's nothing vext me more than this , that we Must thus adventure Life and Liberty To take a Prize , which then must be conducted By us their Convoys , as they were instructed . — Take you Monsieurs ! must our Vict'ry make Courtiers of you , and us slaves for your sake ? Is this the way to raise our Countrey credit ? And to eternalize his fame that did it ! Hold ! said the other , now you seem to rage ; Passion can hardly keep due Equipage . Passion ! quoth he , I take him for an Ass , Or for an Angel , that in such a case Can rule his Passions ; but I 'le say no more , Sith I can't say but what was known before . The other whom by his discourse I take To be a Country-man , reply did make : It is observ'd , said he , though but by few , We never thriv'd since that Black Bartholomew ; Then pluckt we out our Eyes , and thought to see By a Canonical Ophthalmistry . But now we 'r into Ditch , who ever't were That led us thus : but hark methink I hear The Pixie laugh ; but we shall cry ( I doubt , Or something worse ) before we scramble out . Ho! said Marinus , if it be but so , Turn something in and out , and that will do . Turn something in and out ! said th' other , ay , Were that but done , we might hit out the way . But how shall this be done ? Be done ? said he , Why ! 't is half done already ! Out there be Coats turn'd enough ; might they again turn In Body and sleeve , our hopes might here begin . What hath this beetle brow'd suspicion spy'd In them or theirs , it 's still so evil ey'd ? Since that most black and dreadful day of Bats , That pip't our Fathers off to bring these Rats ? That 's not the business , said the Country-man , There 's still a jealous head , though nothing can Be prov'd ; I doubt , from that kind Principle , On which Cain on his righteous Brother fell : They must be Lords , and rule like Kings ; but not By Canon Law , but by their Cannon-shot . But what ! let these alone , a few years more May this mad Priesthood to their wits restore . But there 's a cloud which hath been gathering About these six years ; if it chance to wring It self upon our shores , our case may be The parallel of a sad Germanie . Besides those home-bred vipers which we hug In our own breasts , where they have drawn the Dug So dry , that now they draw our very blood : And here 's the curse ; it is not understood . Not that we do bethink our Sov'raign Lord The utmost that our Lands or Lives afford . But when our Plough-shares must perverted be Into Stilletoes for an Enemie : This makes me fret , and wish my limber goad ( In a just call ) might do as Shamgar's did . Our Senators ( they say ) are in a maze ; They stare on us , and we on them do gaze . But 't is no wonder ; 't was once so with Saul ; We fight with God , and therefore needs must fall . Our Foes are greedy , early , strong and wise , They 're on their way , e're we can find our Eyes . Our Eyes are lockt up in a Pix ( they say ) Where 't will be hard to get without the Key . Lord help us ! Sir our Story 's like to be Our poor Posterities dismal Tragedy ▪ Thus we sit here , and in complaining spend Our wretched Hours and Thoughts , and to what END ? The ECCHO . THine House is foul ; Lord , wilt thou sweep ? We weep ; Lord sweep ; But with what Broom ? Fast then , and throw the Shrub away . The POSTSCRIPT . READER ! 't is now almost six years twice told My Muse conceiv'd ; so that this Brat's born old ▪ Yet even then it had Nativity ; But ever since hath mist Epiphany ; I took it for still born , and buried it , As smother'd by an Epileptick fit . But since that time , it seems its Ghost hath walkt ; And with some Friends familiarly talkt . I do not know whereof it might complain ; But this they say , they 'l dig it up again In hopes to make the Bones and Dust to speak , Which so long lay in silence , and to break The nap of this poor Dormouse . I confess It 's not grown out of season , more or less ; Much of what then did look like Prophesie , Late actions have turn'd into History . So that to read aright , thou must begin Eleven years back , and think how things were then . Yet some things here thou'lt find , which I have reason Enough to think will ne're be out of season . And once more may I speak but what I think , You 'l find the bitterest cup is yet to drink . The Ball is up , by that the Game is out , Those that survive will wish for death , I doubt : When that curst Fox that 's now unkennel'd shall Turn head against the Chase ▪ we stand or fall . Ah me ! methinks I see the bloody Field ; But here 's my comfort ; Heaven is my shield . I smell the Battel , and you 'l shortly see How you are juggl'd to your Destinie . When God shall heal the sickness of this Nation , And purge her Blood by an Evacuation , Yea , when our veins shall weep their fountains dry , And shed those crimson Tears , which from the eye Might have been better spar'd ; then shall we know With what a God England hath had to do . FINIS . Notes, typically marginal, from the original text Notes for div A42738-e500 ☞ ☜ ☞ ☜ Eccho . Weep . Rome . Ay.