AN ANSWER TO Dagons Fall; OR THE KNIGHT turned out of COMMISSION: Being a VINDICATION of Sir W. W.  

HE that lately writ the Fall of Dagon,  
Is a rigid Papist, or a Pagan.  
But overruling Providence, that must  
With humane Projects play, as Wind with Dust,  
From whose allseeing Eye no Clandestine  
Plots or Conspiracies, to undermine  
Prince, Church or State, there's none so well can hid,  
The Pope himself with all his Pomp and Pride  

Must Truckle under it; that mighty Power  
Will pull those down that now so highly Tower,  
And convert their now all sweets to sour.   

What Joy, the nothing-understanding Rout,  
What Laughing, what Rejoicing, how they flout  
And keep a Jubilee now Waller's out?   
O! How they mock, they scorn, and do deride  
That worthy Justice that's now laid aside,  
The Priests do Dance and skip like Fairy Elves,  
And could for Joy even half hang themselves:  
Our Copes, our Beads, our Books, says Father Ralph,  
Yea, and ourselves too, now he's out, are safe;  
We sleep secure, and walk now where we please  
Since brave Sir William had a Writ of Ease;  
Their Party's weakened, ours is much stronger,  
Our old Gouty Pope looks ten years younger,  
And though he scarce can crawl, ready to Jump,  
Ha', ha', quoth he, I see Knaves will be Trump:  
I'll play my Game with these, and do not doubt  
But I shall bring this great Design about.  
I'll Saddle this dull Ass, and if I get on,  
How I will Ride the resty Jade Great-Brittain;  
The Peterpences, that were my former Fees,  
Pardons for Sins, and all such Cheats as these,  
They shall not serve their turn, I do divine,  
That all their Chimney-Money shall be mine,  
It was my former Right, and they shall know it,  
Their ancient Records do plainly show it.  
The Church-Lands too, that Harry, out of hate,  
Did from the See of Rome Alienate,  
Shall all be mine, I see the Game's my own,  
I've packed the Cards, and well my Dice have thrown,  
The Lords who acted for me, now i'th' Tower,  
Think it no Prison, it's a pleasant Bower.  
The Stage Erected for to try them on,  
Is a fine thing for Boys to Play upon  
At Hide and Seek, since the great Rod's fling by  
We must bestir our Stump, for if they Dye,  
One may discover what Cabal and I  
So long have Plotted, and perhaps put by.  

We were in Danger once but found a Trick,  
And took off Justice Godfrey just i'th' Nick,  
Who thought to have given us all a mortal Kick.   
The Parliament straight took the Quarrel up,  
And they made some to taste the Bitter Cup  
Of Martyrdom, for Colemdn and some more,  
I think in number almost half a score,  
Were hanged at Tyburn: But I was the Cause  
To dull their edge; and put a stop to Laws  
They were a making; and resolved to try  
Whether those Country Clowns should Rule, or I.  
I lately set some desperate Ruffians on  
To murder Arnold, pity 'twas not done:  
But this I dare almost be bold to swear,  
It will possess the rest with such a fear,  
That scarce one Justice throughout all the Nation  
Will dare to seize, or take Examination  
Of any Priest that I shall send abroad;  
The Coast is clear and open lies our Road.  
Their Ships of War though they are numerous,  
Laid all in Dock, scarce one will oppose us;  
Their Seaport Towns, I must confess are strong,  
I know my Emmissaries ere't be long,  
Will clear me of that doubt; though they have Guns  
They shall want Powder, fight no more than Nuns.  
There are but few that do the Land defend,  
Cut off their Heads, and then there is an end  
Of their Allegiance; for still want of Pay,  
With Men of Fortune, will bear all the Sway;  
When that's once done we need not doubt the day.  
Of the whole Alphabet I use only three Letters,  
A. B. C. that Charm shall bring in Fetters.  
Who soon will Rock and closely lay to sleep  
Those Argus-Eyes, whose Vigilance should keep  
A Guard by Land, and well secure the Deep.  
By unseen Arts when that is brought to pass  
Let no man call sly Pontifex, an Ass.   

But now, Sir Pope, you do believe you're sixth,  
Remember Alexander, Pope the sixth;  
Who laid his Plot as cunningly as yours,  
And yet was baffled by overruling Powers,  
And Borgia his Son, who could not miss,  
A Principality would sure be his,  
As he did boast to the wise Florentine;  
Both disappointed by a Glass of Wine.  
You do cry down the Nations surest Friends,  
And blame all that dare oppose your Ends;  
And makes your daily business for to Ring  
The Funeral Knell of those brought in the King.  
But on firm Basis still old England stands,  
Defying all your Heads and all your Hands.  
By generous Courage she was ne'er forsaken,  
When wiser Foes her Ruin undertook.  
And now to make her Truckle can ye hope  
To self-willed Fops, and an old Doting Pope?  

Andronicus, who most unfortunate,  
Murdered his Nephew thinking to Instate  
Himself i'th' Throne, gained but the People's hate;   
And what was th' end of his great Policy;  
Hung by the Heels this Emperor did die  
Upon a Gallows, when all that saw't did cry,  
He well deserved that sad Catastrophe.  

You ne'er shall make us stoop to th' See of Rome,  
We'll keep our Laws, and Lands, and Heaven's Doom,  
Spite of your Arts and Plots shall surely come.    
FINIS.