The jesuits Miracles, or new Popish Wonders.  
Containing the Straw, the Crown, and the Wondrous Child, with the confutation of them and their follies.  
MIRACULOSA EFFIGIES R.P. HENRICI GARNETI SO tis JESV MARTYRIS ANGLIAE 3d MAII 1606  
CUM G ET PRIVIL SING DE BUSS  
Printed at London for C.P. and R.I. and are to be sold at his shop in Fleetstreet near the Conduit. 1607.   

To the Reader.  
Gentle Reader,  
A good mind be thy leader:  
And then so led,  
Be thou with contentment fed.  
An honest love,  
Doth me, thus to writing move:  
Accept, and then  
Well rewarded is my pen.  
But pleased, if not  
Equally, divide the lot.  
Indeed my Muse,  
A blunt soldiers words doth use.  
Here, in this book,  
Do for Popish Wonders look.  
A flock of Daws,  
Gaping skip, at painted straws.  
And Aesop's Ass,  
Creates greatly, wondrous Grass.  
A little Child  
With wonders▪ great fools beguiled.  
These, thousands more,  
Are the rags of Popish store.  
What I have done,  
Thus doth to thy judgement run.  
And I am still  
Thy good friend, and ever will.  
That in thy heart,  
To God, and King, faithful art.  
Thus thine ever, Or else never. R.P.   

The jesuits Miracles.  

Such honest minds as do desire to laugh,  
When idle fools their foolish parts do play:  
Let them herein peruse that broken staff,  
Where on proud Rome her shartered hopes doth lay.  
And smiling then, say thus, time happen shall,  
And that ere long when Dagon down must fall.   

The Sea of Rome, grown to so low an ebb,  
To raise her fall doth vainly shifts devise:  
The Pope to spin his spiteful Spider's web.  
Maintains a doctrine, devilish teaching lies  
For when on his proud head destruction comes,  
For helpless help, to miracles he runs.   

Great Britons Isle, when on her fruitful breast,  
Hell breathed forth corruptions poisoned slime▪  
And bloody Rome's adherents did their best.  
To make their hellish hopes aloft to climb:  
When at their top of height heaven them so checks,  
That helborne Climbers break their traitorous necks.   

Then of that troup Cerberus their captain chief,  
Whose counsel did each secret ill direct,  
False traitor Garnet that soul murdering thief,  
His treason did each treason's plot protect,  
Upon his trust did damned sin rely,  
With hope to bring to pass, Arch villainy.   

When God was pleased at last to bring to light,  
That twenty years concealed close kept devil:  
Who for the Pope with craft and greatest might,  
Had closely wrought in framing works of evil.  
When justice him, most justly did surprise,  
Mark on his part, what hell did thus devise.   

Finding himself, with danger round beset,  
He standing still, men say, that thus he said:  
In God's name come, my life shall pay the debt.  
Which must I know, to God by death be paid,  
In forcest, he then himself did humbly yield:  
Whose deadly poison, would the world have killed.   

But where his right foot firmly fixed was,  
In beaten path, hard, smooth and boordlike plain:  
Even in that place, this wonder came to pass:  
A wondrous grass sprang forth (a lie) certain,  
Twelve inches long, two broad, and then, and there,  
That Grass was seen (most false) three crowns to bear.   

From hence it comes, our Papists vainly think,  
That triple Crowned grass did plainly show,  
Though holy Garnet, chanced then to sink,  
The Pope should yet, to mighty greatness grow.  
For Garnets' death had force his cause to nourish,  
And by his death, Rome's sea should freshly flourish.   

Who so believes this Popish bold facest lie,  
That's grounded on, supposed admired Grass,  
May fatly feed, his folly's foolery:  
Yet live indeed, a very lean fed Ass,  
But falsehood doth, such threadbare stuff compound,  
As that thereby, it doth itself confound.   

This forged tale, may tell as I consider,  
The scarlet whore, of bloud-desiring Rome,  
Her pompous pride, like scattered grass shall wither:  
And to destruction's judgement, shortly come,  
And that in Britons famous Monarchy,  
In Garnets' fall, Rome down cast, fallen doth lie.   

But more than this, by him did strangely hap,  
For aye to crown his painted virtues name,  
Oh wondrous was his threefold crowned cap:  
His substance was, the child of shameless fame,  
His life, and death, in very Popish troth,  
Did bring admired lying wonders forth.   

For when he died, oh thing most strange to tell,  
To a tailors wife, a scipping silkman's bears,  
A straw whereof, blood from a traitor fell.  
She thereon weeps, ruthful devotions tears,  
To sight thereof she than her husband brings,  
And over it, a mournful durge he sings.   

This holy rellicke, whilst (they say) she kept,  
Some craftier knave, than her poor plain goseman:  
To see that straw, devoutly stealing crept.  
And well to search each part thereof began,  
At last whilst he, to look himself inclines,  
Behold forsooth, a miracle he finds.   

For (though not) in the inward husk or rind,  
Garnets' dead face (at London bridge) appears,  
This wonder proves he was indeed divelline.  
And all his works, for treason doubtless clears,  
Some Popish painter cunningly did trace,  
On Garnets' straw, false Garnets' traitorous face.   

But would you run, that strange made straw to see,  
And not for truth a Popish lie believe:  
It's gone to Rome, there safely kept to be.  
The Pope must wear it on his golden sleeve,  
But zeals hot fire, wisely to assuage,  
Let fools trudge to it, in paultring pilgrimage.   

False as themselves, this lie by them is coined,  
They'll first pick straws, ere lying wonders loose,  
Deceit have they, with falsehood falsely joined:  
Lies to maintain, they brazen lies must choose,  
To force belief, by falsehoods forsworn prate,  
Papists dare boldly wrong, both Prince and State.   

Let Pope, and Papists, close together join,  
Falsely to paint, a Popish painted grace,  
Let still their wits, false truthless wonders coin:  
By painting straws, with traitor Garnets' face,  
And let them lie, with flinty impudence,  
In hell is placest, their certain recumpence.   

Garnet misnamed, of jesus order hight,  
A jesuit known, and jesuit fiercely they,  
'Gainst jesus Christ, do with proud boldness fight.  
And strive on earth, heavens blessed Saints to slay,  
All Popish jesuits seeming saintie,  
Doth chiefly work vild treasons villainy.   

Garnet their Martyr, whom they please to paint,  
Him only for a painted martyr take,  
He was even such a martyr, as a Saint.  
Such Saints, and Martyrs, Popes have power to make:  
He dies no Saint, whose death maintains a lie,  
Nor are they Martyrs, that for treason die.   

But Garnet dead, he for his treason died,  
False was his heart, desiring guiltless blood,  
Equivocations force his cunning tried.  
Thereby to make his hellborn actions good:  
Fond think not, for him strange straws to see,  
Not worth a straw, such patched up wonders be.   

But her's the jest, new straws are painted now,  
As if thereon two faithless faces stood:  
Rightly to paint the painter well knew how,  
For Garnet had two faces in one hood:  
Equivocation his double face did cloak,  
Equivocating himself at last did choke.   

Pope, Cardinals, Papists, blush all with shame,  
To see your jesuits lying shameless drift,  
By miracle to crown a traitors name:  
With martyrdom and by so vild a shift,  
Painting a fruitless straw, the worst of things,  
Dirisions scorn, such painted wonder brings.   

They paint themselves, and what their church is made,  
With straw they build their painted walls about:  
Heavens fruitful wheat they blasted in the blade.  
Their corn is chaff life's juice themselves stamp out,  
They and their Church, though painted fair we know,  
Like Garnets' straw is fruitless but in show.   

Pope like he hath himself and friends betrayed,  
With painted food feeding delusions joy,  
His fatlings some, even in their strength decayed,  
So such destroyers shall themselves destroy:  
Their painted straw may for Rome's Emblems serve,  
On painted fruit who feeds shall feeding starve.   

So are they fed, so they desire to feed,  
With painted zeal, and painted holiness,  
From Popish schools, such feeders do proceed.  
Let those soul killers not to Albion press,  
Traitors they come, vild treasons to compound,  
For which when hanged, then are they Martyrs crown   

Let but a Bird, or silly butter fly,  
Chance to come near the slead, or Gallows when  
A Popish Priest, or jesuit comes to die,  
And strait by fools, it is reported then,  
The holy Ghost, such likeness undertook,  
Thereby on martyred, crowned Saints to look.   

And may they so be ever comforted,  
That seek on earth, heavens kingdom to destroy,  
When they to death for sin are justly led:  
Let vain conceits confirm their faithless joy,  
Such as do breath a traitors loathed breath,  
Be all their comfort in untimely death.   

But now the tale which strangely doth begild,  
Amazed minds, or vain, or faithless weak:  
Oh a most strange surnamed inspired child.  
Hath power to heal before he right can speak,  
His infant birth, a rolling Cradle shakes,  
Yet if but touched, sick, hail, lame, sound he makes.   

From Popish parents, springs this enchanted bud,  
Rome's faith alone works mighty miracles,  
Satan's proud Popes have boldly oft withstood:  
The firm laid truth of sacred Oracles,  
Be that Religion rightly devilish scanned,  
Whose strength must now by working wonders stand.   

Shall by a child more wonder now be wrought,  
Then was by Christ the world's redeemer done,  
Shall misbelief (as if no truth were taught)  
Teach us (from God) for witchlike help to run,  
We know Christ did not in his infancy,  
Do any one thing miraculously.   

But now that miracles are fully seast,  
Shall such be wrought as Christ himself exceeds:  
Let Rome alone such loathsome stuff digest.  
Whose poisoned maw upon damnation seeds,  
necromancy, witchcraft, enchantments, socerie,  
Adores proud Rome's most damned hypocrisy.   

For treason, murder, theft, a Papist dying,  
If at his death he cross himself and say,  
His faith is on Rome's holy Church relying.  
And wills for him true catholics to pray,  
He dies a Martyr that to speak be bold,  
For so his name shall be at Rome enrolled.   

Parsons the jesuit in his house at Rome,  
Hath in a gallery gallantly set forth,  
Such as in England suffered martyrdom:  
Who first had vowed themselves to Rome by oath,  
Each traitor hanged, hangs for a martyr there,  
But Parson's chief, I would he chiefly were.   

When he from England entertained a friend,  
Then must they both amidst those martyrs walk,  
And when their conference had retained an end,  
Then Parsons he would thus begin to talk,  
Behold dear friend these shrines angelical,  
Of martyrs crowned with joys Celestial.   

As at some motion than the fool begins,  
And to a Picture doth directly Point,  
Saith he an angel his sweet requiem sings,  
And for a Martyr doth his soul anoint,  
So much by him was holy Rome uphild,  
As for Rome's sake he would his Queen have killed.   

That happy Martyr died on such a day,  
At such a place in England hanged was he,  
But at his death report doth truly say,  
That all the people did this wonder see,  
For when emboweled to his fame's renown,  
He with his foot did strike the hangman down.   

Upon that text than doth he preaching say,  
That wonder did unto the world declare,  
They down should fall and all their strength decay.  
That dirst themselves against Rome's holiest bear,  
But hear his lie against himself is borne,  
Rome's foes shall fall, Rome first in pieces torn,   

Then doth he show a man or woman such,  
As did some Priest or jesuit entertain,  
And of their cause expostulating much,  
Saith that these Martyrs were in England slain,  
Their death was joy no grief their minds could move,  
They died because they holy men did love.   

There was in them no less perfection left,  
Then in those Traitors whom their house did shroud,  
Themselves are thieves that but conceal a theft,  
Law justly hath that truth for just allowed,  
They traitors are that Traitors do conceal,  
Or hide them up and not their names reveal.   

But Parsons he black treason's lector reads,  
Of all those Martyrs and their noble deeds,  
And his good friend from each to other leads.  
His ears with monstrous mountain lies he feeds,  
Telling of wonders and most wondrous lie,  
Saith all lived saints, and all did Martyrs die.   

And last of all to Campions' face he comes,  
And saith, look here, this halloweg shrine behold,  
His dear remembrance every sense benumbs.  
Whose praise deserves a book with leaves of gold,  
This this, saith he, my life's associate was,  
His life had brought a wondrous work to pass.   

We laboured both for England's happiest weal,  
To holy Rome that kingdoms rule to turn,  
We sought her wounds with blessed grace to heal.  
So did our love in loves affection burn,  
We Princes drew to pass the Ocians surge,  
Our land from sin by force of arms to purge.   

But in our work whilst we a strength prepared,  
To entertain Rome's Catholic defence,  
When for the good of souls we chiefly carded.  
Then was disclosed our Christian just pretence,  
Holy Campion by heretics was taken,  
Who had he lived their greatest strength had shaken.   

That learned Father lodged in London's Tower,  
Though wanting books and liberty of mind,  
Yet was in him such force of holy power.  
As to dispute poor England could not find,  
Sufficient Clerks his learning to repel,  
In him there did such heavenly judgement dwell.   

But England turned a tyrant to her own,  
In pieces cut her star-bright native glory,  
But Campion is a sacred martyr known.  
Fame to the world proclaims his fame's true story,  
The night before that blessed martyr died,  
By heavenly vision was he glorified.   

Lo what a coil a cunning traitor makes,  
Both treason and a traitors shame to hide,  
See with what boldness he himself betakes,  
For treasons safety strongly to provide,  
But he that thus in Campions' praise hath lied,  
Would God he had with Traitor Campion died.   

When Campion did with reverent Fulke dispute,  
Then Campions Errors were approved lies,  
In every point Fulke did Rome's Pope confute.  
In spite of all that Campion could devise,  
Our learned Fulke did arguments contrive,  
Whereby he did to Non plus Campion drive.   

Though Traitor Campion did for Treason die,  
Yet Campion can his vice for virtue praise,  
And paint him with a Martyr's sayntitie,  
For 'gainst his Queen he sought a power to raise,  
Strange Martyrs they must strangely be commended,  
Who justly were for Traitors vild condemned.   

But Parsons thus when he hath forged his tale,  
And told the fame of all his Martyrs dead,  
Then doth he round his falsehoods speech empale,  
With monstrous lies not to be numbered,  
For than he doth with protestations tell,  
What Plauges unto those Martyr's foes befell,   

Some at the bar which did those saints accuse,  
By sudden death were plagued for their sin,  
Some hanged themselves, and with such fearful muse,  
He doth afresh his prechive lies begin,  
And in that curse his impudence is such,  
As falsely he will noble States men tuch,   

His slander dares both Kings and Queen's abuse,  
Alive or dead his lies have no respect,  
He doth but as Popes, priests and jesuits use,  
By vildest means Rome's glory to erect,  
And to that end the Rolling lies he tells,  
His greatest work which wonder most excels.   

He can conclude each point with wonders great,  
Done by or for those Martyrs by him named,  
Or how for them judgement their foes did beat,  
Worst, wonders praised, the best had wondrous shame,  
Thus would he speak, that those to whom he spoke,  
He might there by such holy martyrs make.   

I would that Parsons were in England here,  
Thanks to receive for all his loves good will,  
That he in state might worthily appear.  
Climbing the top of ancient Holborn hill,  
He ever did, and doth deserve the best,  
Of all those Martyrs whom himself hath dressed.   

But now to Rome is Garnets' picture run,  
And 'mongst those Martyrs claims the chiefest place,  
For at his death there was a wonder done.  
A straw did him and Rome's Religion grace:  
When strangers come that picture strange to see,  
Amongst the best it most adored must be.   

Thus jesuits can hells sulfer smoke perfume,  
And make the sent of damned Treason sweet,  
Popes and jesuits dare devilishly presume,  
To make a devil for heavens salvation meet,  
Traitors endued with Rome's most gracious spirit,  
Must after death the name of Martyr's merit.   

Popes two and twenty vild ones at the least,  
Have used abhorred necromantic spells,  
By which is plain the most accursed beast.  
Even in the throne of truthless Popedom dwells,  
For Antichrist he must by Satan's skill,  
The world with monstrous lying wonders fill.   

With fiery signs and conjuring wonders great,  
Popes often have amazed minds dismayed,  
men's souls have their most wicked Papal seat.  
With seeming holy (but hellish) power betrayed,  
Pope Hell brand he, the People made believe,  
That burning fire came sparkling forth his sleeve.   

Such Popes indeed might with strange fire deal,  
Whose souls were sold to ever flaming hell,  
Themselves did from themselves salvation steal.  
Choosing with Devils in endless flames to dwell,  
Love not wonders that are by Satan wrought,  
So Popes themselves and friends to hell have brought,   

Rome's Legendary is with Legions filled,  
Of lying tales souls baneful treachery,  
Those mountain lies are in their strength uphild,  
Whose strife is to maintain Rome's Papacy,  
Rome will be great in spite of adverse Fate,  
For why Rome's friend the Devil upholds Rome's state.   

By miracles with hell Rome shaking hands,  
Aproves Rome's strength is doubtless wondrous weak,  
For sins foundation ever weakly stands.  
And vengeance must such force in sunder break,  
The Pope enraged, wrath working Martial toil,  
Shall Rome reward with her destruction's spoil.   

Then let us joy that Papists vainly fly,  
To such like fond and childish shifts as these,  
The Pope doth now upon his death bed lie.  
Let not his physic faithful Christians please,  
And though that name he proudly us denies,  
Faith boldly yet dares tell the Pope he lies.   

We live in Christ salvations only means,  
Worlds all sufficient saving Saviour,  
Pope's idly ground, their faith on faithless dreams.  
Denying Christ his glories glorious power,  
No soul (saith Rome) Christ's death doth make so pure,  
But that besides it must a fire endure.   

Blasphemously Rome's hellish doctrine speaks,  
Pope's purgatory for their bellies built,  
In them the frame of their redemption breaks.  
And leaves their soul stained with damnation's guilt,  
He in his heart Christ's death and passion hates,  
That from Christ's death the glory derogates.   

The soul by Christ made clean true Christians know,  
Is robed in Christ his heavenly righteousness,  
And made as white as is the new driven snow.  
That gloriously it doth appear spotless,  
Christ's precious blood, of souls the only cure,  
Doth make the soul all glorious perfect pure.   

But if the Pope in show no Christian seemed,  
Christians then, would not to him repair,  
Nor could he be a mediator deemed,  
Betwixt the Dragon and our sins despair,  
But when the world did him earth's holiest name,  
His craft unseen broke down salvations frame.   

The Pope when he had cast Rome's Emperor down,  
And to himself worlds mighty Empire took,  
Then Antichrist advanced his triple Crown.  
And proudly did over all earth's Princes look,  
The Pope grown great this subtle course he takes,  
His turn to serve religious form he makes.   

Above God's Church the Pope himself installs,  
No Church allowing but his proper own,  
From God's Church then Rome's Church on sudden falls,  
Christ's Kingly power less than the Popes was grown,  
Meditators being joined with Christ than he,  
Seemed by the Pope, a Cipher made to be.   

For whilst the Pope such power vindicates,  
Unto himself, that can pardon sins,  
And that a saint, or Angel meditates,  
Twixt God and us, and to us safety brings,  
Christ is thereby made for us sinful men,  
No mediator, nor redeemer then.   

See how the Pope doth jesus Christ confess,  
When as he doth his saving power deny,  
What is the Pope than a plain Atheist less,  
And what Rome's sea, but hellish Blasphemy,  
Oh then let Popes not rule the Church of God,  
They and their Church is Satan's Sinagouge,   

The heathens they had gods for every thing,  
And Papists have for every thing their Saint,  
Proud Popes when they do Papal Massis sing.  
But Pagan Panisme thereby smoothly paints,  
Heathens one jove, Papists one Good they fear,  
But gods and saints they serve with equal share.   

Dear country men borne in great Britain's Isle,  
Do not your blessed souls contaminate,  
With Babel's slime fly from corruptions soil.  
For Rome's great whore is earth's adulterate,  
'Gainst her and all her vild adulterates hath,  
heavens mighty God denounst consuming wrath.   

Pope's when they curse do proudly cast from high,  
Their cursed fiery flaming torches down,  
Their insolence would tell the world thereby.  
God's burning wrath doth weight upon their frown,  
But thus by God their daring pride is scoffed,  
Wraths fire on them is powered from a fit.   

Rome's sea in which heaven ruled all these Popes,  
Full twenty two, detested conjurers,  
Eight Atheists known wear hallowed golden Copes,  
And twenty three were vildest whore masters,  
A eleven Sodomites, Pope jone a whore they call,  
Murderers some, but wondrous bloody all.   

As those Popes did, so every Pope doth take,  
A course alike to self same only end,  
That to the Pope, Rome's ruling power might make.  
The world and all world's Princes humbly bend,  
This to obtain by every horrid evil,  
Popes choose to serve worlds mighty Prince the devil.   

The Pope a wolf clothed like an humble lamb,  
As Christ his Vicar, claims his greatest power,  
That Dragon Pope, of sin the marked out man.  
Doth harbour Wolves, but harmless lambs devour,  
Proud Rome's blood thirsty big swollen throat bepaints.  
Pope's scarlet robes, with blood of heavens dear saints.   

Proudly the Pope doth so himself prefer,  
As that he must on earth earth's God be held,  
In cause of faith (who dares say) Popes do err.  
God's own dear to their decrees must yield,  
Yet from the Pope like blasting lightnings fly,  
Fowl errors, lies, and faithless heresy.   

From Peter doth such Godless race proceed,  
No sure such judas like succession,  
From hell both flow, hell's devil daily feed.  
Such poisoned viperous vild transgression,  
What vildness then dares boldly to express,  
That Rome's the sea, of sacred holiness.   

Those notes, those signs, those marks, and all those names,  
With Antichrist must on his forehead bear,  
Shine in the Pope with patent burning flames.  
He wants no badge the monstrous beast should bear,  
That Wolfish Fox chaste from his falsehoods burrow,  
His self despair, himself to death shall worrow.   

Arm, Arm for God doth wrathful war proclaim,  
The beast must dowme his high grown sin is ripe,  
From evil to worse, he swiftly flies amain,  
And bends his force salvation out to wipe,  
He would raise up a mighty Monarch such,  
As should his sea with strength and wealth enrich.   

He and his Campions now they mustering are,  
By oaths, by force, by Treason fraud and blood,  
He lays his plots how best to manage war,  
The devil for him hath up in council stood,  
The Pope resolved all things doth ready make,  
His thundering curse shall seem the world to shake.   

His purpose doth but his own fall resemble,  
For such a curse will shortly fall on him,  
As all the world thereat amazed shall tremble,  
Blood thirsty throats in pools of blood swim,  
Fire final, and fire infinite,  
Are both prepared▪ in wrath proud Rome to smite.   

Rome's Gog, and Turkish Magog both they rose,  
At once the Pope and helhowne Mawhumet.  
On earth grew great, but greater are their woes.  
The Pope as god thrond in his church doth set,  
That Antichrist to ruin first must fall,  
And then the world's great Magog perish shall,   

How runs this time all whist and quiet thought,  
God's word, Heavens signs, world's sin, hell's rage times rot,  
Strange revolutions to threatening Periods brought.  
Of some great work all these things speak they not,  
A Plague and plagues do with continuance run,  
For something is but not what should be done.   

Then turn to God and ask the question why,  
Find out of sin which doth him most displease,  
False bloody house in bloods revenge must die,  
Gods will performed then is his wrath appeased,  
The house of blood which would gods church confound,  
So race as it may feel destructions wound.   

The scarlet horse, on which the beast doth ride,  
Was by the beast, wounded and healed again,  
But yet the beast his scar could never hide.  
Nor shun the wound himself did deadly main,  
Both horse, and beast, beasts both, are both so wounded.  
As both must be by force thereof confounded.   

That arm whose blow did make Rome's beast to reel,  
Grew first from thence, from whence a power doth grow,  
Whose strength hath felt, but ten times more shall feel.  
Even to his last most fatal overthrow,  
And now Rome's pride, which doth of wonders vaunt,  
With wonder thus, may we with wonders daunt.   

How wondrously did God from death defend,  
A Princes when to certain death exposed,  
Through Iron gates, heaven safeties arm did send.  
And heavens beloved, from danger safe enclosed,  
heavens saint was saved, that she heavens saints might save,  
Heaven unto her, a crown and Sceptre gave.   

How was her life and glory of her state,  
By wonder kept from Popish treasons rage,  
How bloody was Rome's proud intestive hate.  
When but her blood could traitors spite assuage,  
When wonders were the plots of Rome's pretence,  
Miraculus was then her lives defence.   

Three and thirty years by treason Rome conspired,  
Her subjects were by oath false traitors sworn,  
Time, place and means, when fit as hell desired.  
Devils in that instant from their hopes were torn,  
And heavens Eliza was by wonder seen,  
From treason kept to live worlds peerless Queen.   

When Rome in rage a hostile power did raise,  
By force of sword her kingdoms to invade,  
Then to the glory of her endless praise.  
Eliza was a glorious conqueror made,  
In spite of all Rome's bloody plots observed,  
By miracle she was a Queen preserved.   

Her great successor by most lawful right,  
With how great wonder lived he Scotland's King,  
When private treason and rebellions might.  
Against his life a Popish strength did bring,  
By miracle God kept his Majesty,  
And gave to him great Britain's Monarchy.   

And being once in regald Throne installed,  
What strange device had Roman traitors got,  
The devil from hell their hellish practice called.  
To be an agent in that damned plot,  
By miracle it rightly may be said,  
Was brought to light such treason closely laid.   

These miracles their truth doth far surpass,  
Those idle tales that papists cast at us,  
Their lies, their child, their straw, their lying grass.  
Are all extinct, by truth miraculus,  
And thence shall rise where truth confirms heavens wonder,  
A strength to break all falsehoods frame in sunder.   

Though God be powerful in his safety's arm,  
Yet hath and must external means be used,  
We must not think we can be kept from harm.  
If careful counsel be carelessly refused,  
The grace which God doth graciously bestow,  
Should teach us how his pleasures will to know.   

Then to prevent the craft of Rome's proud Pope,  
And safe to make succeeding happy times,  
Strike roundly up the heels of Popish hope.  
Race down those walls by which foul treason climbs,  
The Popish Priest is like the jesuit nought,  
Rome hath to both vild treason's lesson taught.   

Those Priests would work like labourers in a mine,  
Unseen, and jesuits they should bear the name,  
To be state traitors, the wounds of bleeding time▪  
But Priests (poor souls) work no such deeds of shame,  
And yet the Seminary, or Priest secular,  
Are as the jesuits traitors regular.   

one self same rule doth both their works direct,  
And to like purpose their restless labours strive,  
For Rome's avail they treasons must protect.  
And 'gainst their king each traitorous plot contrive,  
For when they break divine and human laws,  
Then their religion doth defend their cause.   

Their oily tongues have power to persuade,  
And from the king his subjects hearts to steal,  
By them indeed are secret traitors made.  
Whose outward show can their close thoughts conceal,  
Their's strength to much in one vild Priest or two,  
Amongst us here (as jesuits) harm to do.   

The Priest doth scorn an upstart jesuit should,  
By begging creep into more princely grace,  
Then they or any shaven pare order could.  
That are descended from more ancient race,  
This is the prize their war doth most assail,  
Which of them best can work for Rome's avail.   

But in that strife aloft the jesuit flies,  
Contenting best princely ambitious ears.  
They know the grounds of secret policy.  
And kings to monarchs their persuasion rears,  
They vow they will, this high pitched note they sing,  
To Rome's allegiance kings and kingdoms bring.   

The Priest doth scorn the jesuits braving course,  
And flouting thus do (in derision) say,  
Their counsel doth to late repentance force.  
But Priests do bring more souls to hell then they,  
The Pope to serve is their contention,  
Dangers alike crave like prevention.   

The law is just that to death's judgement thowes,  
Those that would turn subjects against their king,  
By popish priests the fruit of treason grows.  
They unto us do greatest danger bring,  
Those that by them to Rome are reconciled,  
Prove like themselves in heart, their thoughts as vild.   

Let justice then law justly execute,  
And by the root pluck up Rome's traitorous plants,  
Let subjects know obedience is the fruit.  
That their submission to their Sovereign grants,  
Those not allowing their king's supremacy,  
Give them no strength, no wealth, no liberty.   

Who dares not swear allegiance to his king,  
But vows himself unto the Pope's behest,  
Will at the Pope's command do any thing.  
And such a one hides treason in his breast,  
Let not their country unto them do good,  
Who Popes to please will suck their country's blood.   

Abominations desolation,  
May cross our hopes although so well begun,  
By granting forth a Popish dispensation.  
By means whereof may mischief still be done.  
But such whose oath no strength of truth can give,  
Soon may they die, or else exiled live.   

Black treason than will fly from Britain's coast,  
When traitors have no shrouding place allowed,  
Rome's Priest or jesuit having lost their host:  
Will come no more to work their mischiefs vowed,  
From Tiber if to swim to us they strive,  
At Tyburn then shall all such saints arrive.   

Then should our peace bring forth of peace the fruits,  
When Christ his spouse should in her glory shine,  
Not being masked in Antichristian suits.  
But like herself clothed in her robes divine,  
This is the work which should to pass be brought,  
And this to cross are strange preventions wrought.   

Those amongst us that Rome's religion love,  
And yet do hate the evils that Pope allow,  
Let all their actions to their king approve,  
That unto him they faith obedience vow,  
If to their king and country faithful then,  
Though Papists yet report them honest men.   

Those of that sort will not our good prevent,  
Their country's spoil they'll not endure to work,  
Those traitors that from Rome are hither sent.  
Shall not consealed in their houses lurk,  
They chiefly will such upright course affect,  
As best may clear them from foul evils suspect.   

And such as those be they with favour used,  
If joined with us in Secraments and prayer,  
Without just cause be not their loves refused.  
Nor let us of their faith or love despair,  
They may at lest see in truth's crystal myror,  
How to wipe out the stains of popish error.   

But such as are perversely obstinate,  
Or bow, or break by laws commanding power,  
Those that to Rome themselves do subjugate.  
They only are Rome's constant friends not ours,  
Such in their hearts are to vild mischiefs bend,  
Wisdom and judgement must their hopes prevent.   

Some insolent and most presumptuous proud,  
Will dare to speak and boast of future hope,  
There shall (say they) a strength remove the cloud.  
That hides world's glory from world's holiest Pope,  
Still their device removes from plot to plot,  
That one may hold though many prosper not.   

A circuit large their compassed hope doth reach,  
Wishing to raise a king above their own,  
The Pope and jesuits grounded precepts teach.  
How best may grow to seed that Rome hath sown,  
Rome's plots, devices, and inventions all,  
Strive most to make great Britain's Monarch fall.   

Lay hold on time, whilst time is friend to thee,  
join where is join a strength truth to descend,  
Let o'er thy friends, thy foes no conquerors be.  
Break not thy bow ere thou begin to bend,  
When open danger in secret working stays,  
Make strong, begin, much dangerous are delays.   

The curious stir that self conceited wits,  
Do wrangling make for ceremonial rights,  
justice must cure all those Ague fits,  
Against our peace their vain contention fights,  
The Puritan though rising like a babble,  
Yet doth his error cause dissensions trouble.   

Our royal King, at first the Church surveyed,  
To truth's Religion having chief respect,  
On holy writ he faith's foundation laid.  
Unfaithful those that to obey neglect,  
Oh let not such as should obedience preach,  
By vain contending vain contentions teach.   

Unity, we then in unions concord peace,  
Where God and nature have one nation made,  
By wisdoms law let all dissension cease.  
Discords black cloud spreads a prodigious shade,  
United love doth discords strength repel,  
And sauft best doth in loves union dwell.   

The head and members nature doth compact,  
That all as one do work for others good,  
No ones best joy doth others harm enact.  
Nor is the heads great ruling power withstood,  
Nature expels what 'gainst her health contendeth,  
What she defends her certain good defendeth.   

Oh may the good of Britain's public weal,  
Be in a blessed peaceful union wrought,  
That done time would her happiest work reveal,  
Which should be to a blessed conclusion brought,  
Britain is safe of world and hell though spited,  
When in one heart her nations are united.   

Great Briton then with joys contentment smile,  
In thee a puissant potent power doth live,  
From Rome Rome's Pope and Papal sea exile.  
Unto earth's whore her vowed destruction give,  
Perform that work to which by God thou'rt called,  
And then thy state is on a rock installed.   

With faithful hearts and constant loyal hands,  
Let's join in truth our God and king to serve,  
Freeing ourselves from Satan's Popish bands.  
Which do from faith and truths obedience serve,  
So shall we joy with conquering triumph still,  
As Gods true saints on Zion's glorious hill.   
FINIS.