ENGLAND'S HOPE, AGAINST IRISH HATE.  Sint Maecenates et non deerunt Marones. 
AT LONDON, Printed by W. W. for Thomas Heyes. 1600.   

THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY.  
I Have here presumed for to present you with my ENGLISH HOPE: which, though it be but roughly handled, yet the Matter is good. If you be pleased to take delight in it, I shall not only be encouraged to some more serious study, but be bound (before any other) to make you par●… thereof. I hope you will not measure the Matter by the M●●, nor proportion the worth of my labour with the unworthiness of myself: f●r that were to refuse the Rose, because it hath pr●…; or to make light esteem of H●nny, because the L'ee hath a 〈◊〉. I know Mo●us will look at it narrowly, and say; So 〈…〉 a matter is but weakly followed. Zoilus with his squint eyes, will find some fault with the shape; so shall I be bitt●n both for matter and method: Well, I care not though They be 〈◊〉, if I find you courteous. If an Ass strike me, I will never lift up my heel: a●d if Diogenes be cynical, I will shake off his 〈◊〉 with Ari●ipus. Though Hipanchion could not warble like O●pheus, yet he could pipe. And though En●i●-wrote a rough style yet he was a 〈◊〉 and I may term myself a Writer, thou 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Inditer. Every one dips not his 〈◊〉 with H●mer in the 〈◊〉 nor all men's works can●●t 〈◊〉. How so ever I have pleased 〈◊〉, and my trust 〈…〉 please you: In which hope, I commit myself, and 〈◊〉 Book, to your 〈…〉 censure.   

ENGLAND'S HOPE AGAINST IRIHS' HATE.  

THE Serpent's sly insinuating course,  
Is far below most opposite to sight;  
His practise deadly, his desire worse:  
The fairest green conceals his hidden spite,  
Nothing less feared then to shun his force:  
Yet nothing sooner doth beget mishap,  
For worst ensnares the sudden unseen trap.   

Such are those creeping Machavils of late,  
Those eavesdropping Heralts listening spies,  
That come to pry into our Country's state;  
To hide their Treason, Vizards they devise;  
That so they may our purposes relate:  
With us they walk, they laugh; with us they eat  
Yet in their hearts hath judas ta'en his seat.   

But if their falsehood, Truth hath open laid;  
If younger wits, their elder shifts have seen:  
If their close meeching providence displayed,  
And all their counsels have confounded been:  
If Treachery have Treasons self betrayed,  
And not ourselves do laugh at them alone,  
If all miscarry: Why not then Terone?   

What venom beast compared to the Toad,  
Doth better picture malice of the mind?  
He stripes so long his rancour to unload,  
As coveting an equal pitch to find:  
With him whose cloven hoof is scarce so broad  
In puffed presumptuous humour glowting sits,  
Until his carcase quite in sunder splits.   

Such is the broody monster Rome contains,  
His eyes he strains until they sparkle fire:  
His hands are fatted with continual gains:  
Each hour against the anointed he conspires  
His heart a thousand stratagems retains,  
And down his throat he needs will swallow Spain  
With France and Italy, to work our pain.   

But if this diet have distemper wrought,  
If this huge glutton surfettor on hate,  
In striving to be greater than he ought:  
Hath still been crossed with death, a boding fate,  
That his dissevered members fly about;  
And some of them unto our gates at blown,  
For Crows to feed on: Why not then Terone?   

The shepherds dread, the silly flocks annoy,  
The ravening Wolf, is ever known to be  
His thirsty stomach slaughter must enjoy,  
And nought but blood alleys his tyranny:  
The more he hath, the more he will destroy,  
Nor is it sovereignty, but bestial lust:  
For who knows not the silly Lamb is just?   

Such is the stern Iberian Monarchy,  
Whose fingers dipped in ill effused gore:  
And hearts ybathed in neighbour Tyranny,  
Lift up their snouts into the West for more,  
And nought may staunch their bloody penury,  
But wrongful massacre of Gods elect,  
The more their proud ambition to detect.   

But if the sinews of their strong assaults,  
The just revenger have in sunder cracked:  
If so their huge Armadas in the vaults,  
Of vast Ocean's kingdom have been wracked,  
Leaving the world to descant on their faults:  
If all their boasting threaves away were blown,  
And they suppressed: then why not now TERONE?   

If wavering with the reed that shakes his top,  
Which way the wind sends forth a whistling gale,  
Ever be turning with the weathercock,  
And spread Inconstancies forbidden sail,  
Deserve reproach, and every Idiots mock:  
What then shall they that like Chameleons skins,  
Make every object Author of new sins?   

Yet such there are, whose rotten inside shows  
Their outward painting, but corrupted dross,  
Whose faith as often altars, as the glo●e,  
For most advantage in deceit so gross:  
As for their gain, they wreck not honours loss;  
Now swearing, then recounting what they swore,  
One foot on board, the other on the shore.   

But if the Plains of Cressy, like a Book  
Contain in Characters their heavy doom:  
If Bullen, Tourney, Poitiers, pale do look,  
To think what hath, or may here after come:  
If they be witnesses how ill we brook  
Dissembling lips, when Truth the goal hath won,  
Treading on falsehood: Why not then Terone?   

The Fox is subtle, and doth lie a loof,  
Waiting occasion when to catch his prey;  
Seeing, and yet not seen, for his behoof,  
As though compassion kept him at a stay,  
When (God doth know) ti's fear doth rule the day:  
Yet such is his Hypocrisy by kind,  
He will be thought to love; to hate inclined.   

Such cubs the Northern issue of the air,  
Sends forth to bark against the silver Moon  
Whose frozen temperate cannot repair  
Nor better fame that Region ever won.  
ti's hard to wring moist water from a stone:  
What hath been customed, seldom men refrain,  
A bone-bred evil, the flesh will still retain.   

But if their lurking malice hath been imped  
Even when their treason, like grassy blads did spring  
And downe their giant boastings rudely tripped,  
When circumvention looked for greatest speeding,  
And in one day their Army lay a bleeding:  
If King and people both were overthrown,  
What lets to hope the like against Terone?   

As that disease which doth attaint the heart,  
Is more pernicious fatal than the grief,  
Doth outwardly afflict some other part;  
And is less capable of swift relief:  
So 'mongst our enemies the worst and chief,  
Is nothing foreign, but the homebred foe;  
And such as own dominion undergo.   

Whereof four kinds I purpose to relate;  
All Viperlike, their mother's womb assailing:  
All worse than Hemblocke to their country's state,  
Against her life, with meager death prevailing,  
In them fair Peace her miseries bewailing:  
That most unnatural outrage fills the air,  
And Prince and subject feeds upon despair.   

The first, the Traitor Passant I define:  
The next, Regardant: Couchant is the third:  
Rampant the fourth and last: where I combine  
The general Eyrie of this monstruous Bird;  
Whereof not one hath wickedly been stirred,  
That under vengeance justly did not groan,  
To quit rebellion: Why not then Terone?   

THE TRAITOR PASSANT.  
This whelp of Typhe, this gross influence,  
Of canckring humours having taken hold,  
Infecteth all, like to the Pestilence:  
Gaddes too and fro, in council shameless bold;  
Persuading here, there tempting with his gold:  
That so he may pervert the civil good,  
And hurt, for whom he owes his vassal blood.   

Such Inundation of lewd villainy,  
Such walking Spirits, such hopping Grasshoppers:  
Such Frogs of Egypt, bastard jesury,  
Not long ago did play the damn'de introppers,  
With drawing subjects from their fealty:  
Sounding our Havens, gathering in munition,  
'Gainst some foreign power abrupt-intrusion.   

But if Throckmorton, Campion, and the rest,  
With those their deadly sins, in number doubling  
All agents to the Triple wreathed Beast:  
With plodding feet our spring of gladness troubling  
Fell in their own mud errors, groveling:  
If their blood paceing trackts, were quickly known,  
And they supplanted: Why not then Terone?   

THE TRAITOR REGARDANT.  
This sqint-eyed wat, this wry-necked fugitive,  
Labours in like oppugnacie of faith:  
Some fatal Organon for to contrive,  
Whereby he may procure his Country's scathe;  
But being smoked in that he plotted hath,  
A way he goes; yet flying wrythes his head,  
Repining still at those from whom he's fled.   

Such after-malice, such retorting hate,  
That grinds the teeth when he is forst'to skud:  
Cursing the fortune of well governed state,  
When other mischief wholly is withstood,  
Ploughing with speed through the Ocean flood:  
And having got the seas upon their back,  
Look over their shoulder for their country's wrack   

But if their staring expectation fail,  
And they have gaped until their laws do ache:  
It imprecations nothing do prevail,  
Nor else what they in practise under take,  
But daily miseries their souls partake:  
As not the woeful Westmoreland alone,  
Reputes his treason: Why not then Terone?   

THE TRAITOR COUCHANT.  
This leering monster lurks within his den,  
Seeming well pleased with any square of life;  
Conceals his thoughts from public sight of men:  
Gives underhand increase to factious strife,  
And in his bosom hides the fatal knife:  
With which, when Innovation calls him out,  
He ruthless means to cut his country's throat.   

This is that lump of vile hypocrisy,  
That janus-like doth bear a double hood.  
This is that framer of base villanic,  
By whom all virtuous actions are withstood.  
He never doth intend his Country's good;  
But privately endeavours public smart,  
To whom he owes his blood, his life, his heart.   

Such are the ruins of decayed excess,  
The Catelines that some time pestered Rome,  
Our neutral malcontents, of conscience less  
Than they which sacrilege their father's Tomb:  
With them Church wilful exiles halting come;  
Who are as Spiders 'mongst the honey Bees,  
Or to pure Wine, the dreg down sinking Lees.   

If these gross abjects, these indifferences,  
Respecting almost neither hell nor heaven;  
Have been ingaold within their dirty sties,  
Of all exulting glory quite bereaven:  
Not daring once lift up their low-checkt eyes▪  
If trembling fear have drenched them in their moan,  
Leaving them prostrate: Why not then Terone?   

THE TRAITOR RAMPANT.  
amain, amain, thus cries this lusty base,  
The top must vail, no other congee serves:  
A Cottage? fie, his seat must be a Palace;  
To which his brandished blade, his passage carves,  
All, or else none, his worthiness deserves:  
And so doth elevate his reaching paw,  
With kingly spoil, to gorge Ambitions maw▪   

Such was the Serpentine late gathered head,  
Congealed obedience published in the North▪  
And such is that in Ireland now bred,  
By him whose parentage is little worth:  
That hath enkindled majesties high wrath:  
Those only Vermin of their Country's soil,  
Contemning Peace, and glorying so in spoil.   

But if in all times former memory,  
Such, and the like proceedings have declined:  
If never yet was seen that Treachery,  
Against th'anointed, had his force combined;  
But still deserued-vengaunce was assigned:  
If all have learned experience one, by one,  
To taste affliction: Why not then Terone?   

To over pass the ruins long perfixt,  
Inroulde in leaves of grave Antiquity:  
The mutual Blood of Traitors late commixed,  
Let out by sword of sharp severity,  
Give warrantise of laurel victory:  
And to these Rebels fearful discipline,  
What 'tis a subjects duty to resign.   

If Rory Oge, a pillar of that crew,  
Of glib-pate Karne, and breechles pedigree;  
Presuming of a Sceptre to ensue:  
Fell headlong into cureless misery,  
Cursing the time of treading thus awry,  
And with his blood powered forth repentant tears,  
To show his sorrow, for mispence of years.   

If Feaghe Mackhugh an other outlaw carl,  
Stamped of the same rebellious upstart mould,  
With those, against the regal guidance gnarle:  
Not enterprising what they should, but would;  
Received his hire, for being over bold:  
And for adulterate Nobility,  
Was taught the study of Astronomy.   

If stern Mackshaw irregular and bloody,  
That likewise gave us base upon the bogs,  
In treason's pursuit, obstinate and moody:  
training with him a number such like dogs,  
Performed at last his currish obsequy,  
A halter destined to his mankind neck,  
That gave the lusty gamester mate and check.   

If great Oneale, sole great in his abuse,  
Rich in the want of true humility:  
A pignie puny for the spirits infuse;  
And Irus poor for his fidelity,  
Was forced to see his naked Treachery,  
And stealing forth to find the Figtree-shade,  
Can no way shroud th'offence his soul had made   

If Desmond, that Hereditary Lord,  
Lilke Naball vaunting his large Signiory;  
thousands depending on his ill drawn Sword,  
Paid dearly for his damned perjury:  
His House attaint with lasting infamy,  
And his cropped head aduanct' in deaths pale throne,  
For men to gaze at: Why not then Terone?   

If Deity the righteous cause uphold,  
And wrong be still the jewel of his hate:  
If band coal black, their Prince's love have sold,  
And blest that stick unto their country's state:  
If death the one do never subjugate,  
But spite of Destiny, his fame shall flourish,  
Where as the other eternally shall perish.   

If Traitors though immûred in walls of Brasie,  
And locked in Armour of the strongest proof;  
In courage still, are brittle as the Glass,  
Their conscience telling how they keep aloof:  
If they are but a bubble, smoke, a puff;  
Afraid to look upon the rising Sun,  
And dreading more, when he his course hath run   

If every scowling cloud aloft doth glance,  
And some times but the shadow of a Tree,  
Make them conjecture some sudden wrackful chance,  
Leading their senses to an ecstasy:  
If multitudes and many hands they be,  
But hearts to guide those hands but few or none:  
Who sees not then the downfall of Terone?   

A Traitor's cognizance to know him by;  
Are his lewd deeds, and success therein,  
To find them such peruse their villainy:  
Unrip the farthel of their mouldy sin:  
Describe the puddle they do wallow in,  
The heinous thefts, the massacres of ruth,  
Wherein they have been nouzled from their youth.   

As they are rude, and strange in their attire,  
Portrayted in an Antic fashion:  
So all their dispositions, all desire,  
bewrays a crooked generation,  
Uncivil in their first creation:  
Each channel beggar needy will be a Lord,  
Although his honours purchase be a cord.   

Those civil hearts that stoop to just command,  
Allow Religion, and embrace their God:  
They seriously with all their might withstand,  
Afflicting them with wars deep wounding rod,  
Accounting still the number to be odd,  
Until such Subjects they have overthrown,  
As are unfeigned friends unto the Crown.   

Banquet's wherein their appetites may broach,  
The crimson veins of kin, to quench their thirst:  
In rage they wreck not Natures near approach;  
Who is the last, appeareth to be first.  
If he can glory most of deeds accursed:  
All their delight is general annoy,  
And by most harms accrues their greatest joy.   

Fruit Fields o'errun, and stately Cities burning,  
Order disordered, justice in the wain:  
The current of sweet Peace, to discord turning:  
Women lamenting, Children cries in vain:  
What ere is got, accounted honest gain.  
Blasphemy to God, to Men a scandal,  
This Irish Kern allows, else they condemn all.   

Their will submits not to their Princes will.  
Obedience is a word, they never heard:  
Their hope is for to be magnifide for ill.  
The Law's a chastity, a task too hard.  
Prayer, and all good exercise, is bard:  
And sooner they will lift a hand to kill,  
Then once entreat remission of that ill.   

Humility is native arrogance,  
Retain from time of their Conception.  
Three things accompany their essence,  
Never retain but by subversion,  
Fear, Shame, and Gild of Conscience:  
But if it chance they do outlive their pride,  
Then comes Repentance, else they are never tried.   

Fear of his judgement that appears above,  
Shame of the worlds reproachful censure,  
The minds fell torment that doth ever move,  
And wraps the body in perpetual torture:  
This is a duty growing every quarter;  
Exacts a pension, if it be denied,  
Despair assails the party, so exiled.   

And then proceeds the sport as at a feast,  
Blindness goes on, and their delight is priest,  
More rude in Nature then the savage Beast:  
Observing these three qualities detest,  
Impudency, Craft, and Covetousness:  
Whereof the first assures them void of shame:  
The second wealth: the third a victor's name.   

When, though the bosom of Affection ,  
The eye of Pity smile them in the face;  
The tongue pronounce sweet Liberties free scope:  
And Arms expantion offer kind embrace:  
Though all resolve to do them any grace;  
As what on earth is more to be extolled,  
Then Prince's love, out valuing finest gold?   

Yet they contemn with Aesop's Cock the Pearl,  
Esteeming more some dirty Grain rake up,  
Then all the blessings gracious Heavens do sell,  
To such as thirst to drink of virtues cup,  
Treading the open way that leads to Hell:  
Rather than enter at the Narrow gate,  
Whose journey is the blessedness of fate.   

Nature beside abhors this loathed vice,  
Opening her womb in monstruous prodigies,  
Whose better favours melt away like ice,  
Supplanting them with harder penuries.  
The earth all barren and forsaken lies,  
In stead of wholesome fruits, rankest of weeds,  
Albeit their labour cast in better seeds.   

Heaven lowers in Tragic colours of disdain,  
His marble face hath no relenting motion:  
The day expectes her wont light in vain:  
Or if it deign the world her beams of notion,  
It is with fiery meteors perturbation:  
The angry Sun refrains to shine on those,  
Which are to God and men such brainsick foes.   

The dropsy-sicke enfeebled air a bounds  
With misty vapours filling all her parts.  
The Siluans their melodious cheerful sounds,  
To dismal Screech-owl Elegies converts,  
Down the black vesture of sad Fos ' skirts:  
A Deluge from her rainy cheeks distills,  
To see the earth replenished with such diuelles.   

Look towards the mountains, & in modest loathing  
They shrink aside, not able to endure  
The hideous proud unnatural encroaching  
Of such their plighted loyalty abjure:  
The savage Beasts hold this as most impure;  
They follow the just instinction of their kind:  
Men are to all lycentiousnes inclined.   

The raging Waters of the boisterous Seas,  
A little bank of Sand doth circle in;  
Although it seem nought may his threats appease,  
Yet to exceed his bounds, was never seen.  
The Sun, the Moon, & Stars, obsequious been:  
The Clouds depart not out their station,  
But gliding, keep their first creation.   

More near to come, peruse the bodies frame,  
How all things keep their mutual harmony,  
Without the least commotion in the same;  
The one disturbing not the others duty,  
But love induceing friendly amity,  
Causeth a sweet consent of many strings,  
That to the whole exceeding comfort brings.   

The Hand gives not direction to the Head,  
But serviceable takes his charge from it.  
The Foot instructeth not the Eye to guide;  
But from his beams receives his borrowed light:  
Contemplate on the flaming vital bright  
Within the Hart; the motive in the Brain:  
The natural power the Liver doth contain.   

Who sees not if the least of these revolt,  
Presuming to supplant his neighbour brother  
Ruin, destruction doth the rest assault;  
And that becomes their murder, was their mother;  
Moisture contending lively Heat to smother:  
Cold conquering Heat, and what was spirit & life,  
Quite profligate by such intestine strife.   

May droops not strait, if but in quality  
The bodies temperature retain excess?  
As say the blood inflamed with Luxury,  
Increase beyond his wont greatness:  
What sudden pricking yrksomnes  
Nettles the Veins? as but some Delphian art  
Rebuke disorder: health is desperate.   

Obedience joins; Disorder separates.  
Obedience pities; but Disorder scorns.  
Obedience plants vineyards of sweet Grapes:  
Disorder planted with sharp pricking Thorns.  
This many cut-throat Ministers suborns,  
That stirs direct Astras' golden Helm,  
And makes a peaceful want, excluding Realm.   

Yet these blind reprobates, Megara's brats,  
These Safforne-shirts; these party-pleited lacks:  
These wood borne Savages; these dunghill Gnats,  
Had rather bear war-armour on their backs,  
(So they may practise rapes, and tru-mens' wracks)  
Then freely take fair Mercy by the hand,  
To glad themselves, and dignify their land.   

But if the end of Theft, be I●bbet-capering.  
Or if the Scorpion have a glozing face;  
Yet in her tail conceal 2 deadly sting.  
If judgement do a while give Riot place,  
And in the end, pay home with deep disgrace.  
If Treason's period be confusion,  
Quelling the proudest: Why not then Terone?   

The valiant hand of ESSEX honoured line,  
Already once display the great Mars his Banner;  
Ringing the ●●owtes of these rebellious Swine,  
Within their Confines, teaching them the manner,  
Of mild obedience, humbly to surrender  
Their necks to yoke, though fircely they withstood  
And know the penalty of shedding blood.   

A Volume would but serve a readier Pen,  
Then my slow feathered Muse to celebrate;  
The golden Trophies were erected then,  
When that renowned Knight upheld the state,  
Sir HENRY SIDNEY gracious by his fate,  
A throng of Rebels to his mercy crouched,  
And who refused, the scaffold dead avouched.   

The Bogs yet tremble, and the leaved Trees  
Shake their high branches in memorial  
Of his sharp censure, and severe decrees.  
The warlike GREY, whose actions Tragical,  
Did likewise curb their minds Imperial,  
Gives document; Fitzwilliams, and the rest,  
In those proceedings ever highly blest.   

Prevaylde they then? Our quarrel's still the same,  
Our wrong no less; nay rightly understood,  
Who sees not merit of far greater blame,  
By lavish late expense of English blood:  
This joined with th'abuse of Traytor-hood,  
Incites revenge, deafes-heaven with clamorous cries,  
Till they go down, and we in conquest rise.   

For this vile ribble rabble vp-start crew,  
Misled by Treasons treacherous command;  
And that rebellion teacher, that late drew  
His Country 'gainst their head to lift up hand;  
Will know what 'tis to dwell in wars false band:  
And will with cause cry woe, woe; one by one:  
Woe to thee that misled'st us: woe Terone?