Mad Tom a bedlams desires of peace or his Benedicities for distracted Englands restauration to her wits again. / By a constant, though unjust sufferer (now in prison) for his Majesties just regality, and his countreys liberty. SFWB. Wortley, Francis, Sir, 1591-1652. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A96949 of text R210896 in the English Short Title Catalog (Thomason 669.f.12[59]). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 6 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2017 A96949 Wing W3640 Thomason 669.f.12[59] ESTC R210896 99869647 99869647 162852 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. A96949) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 162852) Images scanned from microfilm: (Thomason Tracts ; 246:669f12[59]) Mad Tom a bedlams desires of peace or his Benedicities for distracted Englands restauration to her wits again. / By a constant, though unjust sufferer (now in prison) for his Majesties just regality, and his countreys liberty. SFWB. Wortley, Francis, Sir, 1591-1652. 1 sheet ([1] p.) s.n.], [London : Printed, Anno Domini, 1648. SFWB = Sir Francis Wortley. Place of publication from Wing. Verse - "Poor Tom hath been imprison'd,". Annotation on Thomason copy: "June 27.". Reproduction of the original in the British Library. eng Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800. A96949 R210896 (Thomason 669.f.12[59]). civilwar no Mad Tom a bedlams desires of peace: or his Benedicities for distracted Englands restauration to her wits again. By a constant, though unjust Wortley, Francis, Sir 1648 790 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 A This text has no known defects that were recorded as gap elements at the time of transcription. 2007-06 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2007-06 Apex CoVantage Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2007-08 John Latta Sampled and proofread 2007-08 John Latta Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-02 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion Mad TOM a Bedlams desires of peace : or his Benedicities for distracted Englands restauration to her wits again . By a constant , though unjust , sufferer ( now in prison ) for his Majesties just Regality , and his Countreys Liberty . SFWB. POor Tom hath been imprison'd , With strange oppressions vexed ; He dares boldly say , they try'd each way , Wherewith Job was perplexed . Yet still he cries for the King for the good King , Tom loves brave confessors , But he curses those dare their King depose Committees and oppressors . Tom prayes for good King Charles , The best of Queenes , Queene Mary ; Prayes the Prince may advance in safety from France , Victorious as old Harry , Those have been false to the King to the good King , All those durst dissemble , Tom smiles but to think how the Rogues will stink , And like stout Atkins tremble . Next he prayes for him in Holland , Who his keeper so deceived , Got the Speakers Passe for a pretty Lasse , And so he was received . 'T will be great joy to the King to the good King , To hear of his safety , But he taught them a trick , at hide and seek , They think hee 's plaguy crafty . Blesse the hopefull Duke of Gloster , And the Princesse royall Mary , May shee fruitfull prove , to increase his love , A Charles first , then a Harry : Blesse those have stood for the King for the good King , And the Off-spring Royall : Tom prayes heauen blesse sweet Princesse Besse , Loves none she thinks disloyall . Blesse those few Lords are honest , From the Armies Adjutators , Saints sent from heaven , to make all even , Both Church and State translators : Those stood not firm to the King to the good King , But have him forsaken , Let the Crownets they weare , and supporters should beare , Their Arms from them be taken . Blesse the reverent suffering Bishops , Each Parson , Vicar , Curate , From the Presbyter plots and subtile Scots , Whose hearts are so obdurate . Blesse those stood fast to the King to the good King , Masters , Fellows , Proctors ; Pox take the fool went with his Councell of Trent , To visit Oxford Doctors . Blesse the loyall hearted Gentry In Country , Towns , and Cities From the bane of us all ( base Goldsmiths Hall ) And from their close Committees . Those who were false to the King to the good King Irish , Scot , or English ; Some marks may they beare or colours weare May them from us distinguish . Blesse the City from their Lord Major From close Committee treasons From those are unjust to the Cities trust From traytors watch their seasons . Now make a mends to your King to your good King For you have undon him ; Your coyne to the Scots , your strength and their plots Have brought these ills upon him . By poore Tom be advised As you at White-hall tryed So as stoutly call for a common hall , It cannot be denyed . Call on the States for your King for your good King . Wish them to deliver Unto justice those who the peace oppose , You strike it dead for ever . Blesse us all 't is a mad World , Tom's heart is struck with pitty To think how of late this thing call'd a State Hath wrought upon this City . 'T is time you call for the King for the good King , Else you will be undone If the Army should bring to ruin your King , What will become of London ? Blesse the valiant honest souldiers From the hands of base Commanders , From those spirits employ'd , so many destroy'd , For want of pay in Flanders . Those have been false to the King , to the good King May they ship at Dover , Thence to Rupert in France who will lead them a dance They hardly shall recover . Blesse the Printer from the Searcher And from the Houses takers . Blesse Tom from the flash ; from Bridewel's lash , Blesse all poore Ballad-makers . Those who have writ for the King , for the good King Be it rime or reason , If they please but to look through Jenkins his book The I le hardly finde it treason . Printed , Anno Dommini , 1648.