A Congratulation OF THE Protestant-Joyner TO Anthony King of Poland, Upon his Arrival in the Lower World.  joiner. 
Welcome, my Lord, unto these Stygian Plains;  
Welcome unto a Land where Discord reigns:  
This is a Land Your Lordship will approve,  
From whence these States hope you will ne'er remove;  
Welcome to These, as to the States above.  
From Them I'm come, and this blessed News I bring,  
Discord is dead, and they have chose You KING.  
Pride, Envy, Malice, Hell would soon decay,  
Should Peace appear, and Discord fade away.  Anth. 
Thanks Friend, whoever thou art, for this blessed News;  
The Name of King I hate, yet can't refuse;  
I wish some other Name they would confer.  Joyn. 
What think You then, my Lord, of Emperor?  Anth. 
Spoke like a Roman Soul; who, though they hate  
The Name of Kings, yet Emperors create.  Joyn. 
Or, if these please not, what if You should be  
Dubbed of Mankind Plenipotentiary?  Anth. 
Spoke like a Non-con 's Soul, that very Name  
Does all my Vitals heat, and sets my Soul on flame.  
Let me embrace, and hug thee in my Arms;  
That Hogen-mogen word is full of Charms:  
There's Beauty in't, that leads my Soul away,  
And I must follow, though I go astray,  Joyn. 
What means my Lord by that recanting Speech?  
To go astray implies 've made some breach.  Anth. 
The observation of it does imply  
You have been bold i'th' world as well as I.  Joyn. 
'Tis true, my Lord, I aimed at mighty Things,  
To Subvert Kingdoms, and to Murder Kings;  
To teach the Nation to be Picts once more,  
And die their Skins with their own crimson Gore:  
That is the truest stain, that ne'er will out;  
Witness His Father, murdered by the Rout.  Anth. 
That's the dead-bone, which (touching) bleeds anew;  
And that's the cause I did the Son pursue:  
Like Catiline, our Mischiefs are not sure;  
But by effecting greater to secure.  Joyn. 
But since i'th' world Your Taper does not shine,  
Like Damocles tho Presbyterians dine;  
The Sword of Justice trembles o'er their head,  
And hangs secured but by one single Thread;  
There needs no Atrapos to cut the String,  
One blast of Treason more against their KING,  
Does all the Vengeance on their own heads bring.  Anth. 
You seem a Convert now; Prithee declare,  
What is your Name? From whence, and what you were?  Joyn. 
My Lord, survey this Face, and You will find  
(With a small recollecting of Your mind)  
What my Profession was, and what's my Name,  
By whom employed, from whence, and what I am.  Anth. 
I seriously observe you, but can't tell,  
You are so altered since you came to Hell;  
But guess you are a Man of no great Fame;  
Nor ever had, until of late, a Name:  
A Name, I mean, that does deserve Renown  
For Murder, or for striking at the Crown.  Joyn. 
Small Shrubs, my Lord, may tall as Cedars grow;  
What was John Leyden and Massanello?  
What was Wat Tyler and Jack Straw of late?  
And our prodigious Oliver's great Fate,  
That made all Europe shake? To such a height  
I might have rose; but Fortune owed a spite,  
And struck it home just in the nick of Time;  
And for a Throne, I did a Gallows climb.  
My Lord, you sure may know me now;—  Anth. 
I do;  
Your Name is College, and I pity you.  
But prithee tell me, for I fain would know,  
In all my journey hither, to and fro,  
I could not spy one glimmering light of Heaven;  
For all was dark, but what from hence was given,  
Only some Link-boys Skeletons did ply  
I'th' way, with Lights most dreadful to the eye.  
What is the reason? For I've heard men tell  
Strange Stories, and that viewing Heaven is Hell,  
And not enjoy't; Prithee what shall I do?  
I'd give a world that happy place to view.  Joyn. 
The reason is, You did in Holland die;  
A place that to the Centre lies so nigh,  
That you're not sooner dead, but you are here;  
It is a shorter cut by half a year:  
It lies so low, and sunk so deep i'th' Sea,  
It wants the use o'th' Primum Mobile.  
Had you in England stayed, and died as I,  
You might have clipped the Air, and reached the Sky.  Anth. 
But since I'm forced into this dark abode,  
Describe the pleasures of that blessed Road:  
I fancy that some pleasure will ensue,  
To hear that told which I shall never view.  Joyn. 
No sooner was my Soul discharged of Clay,  
But up it sprang, and pinioned quick its way;  
I passed the Orbs with wonder and delight,  
And wasn't took notice of in all my slight,  
At last, on heavens Battlements I stayed,  
And all that bright Empire I round surveyed;  
Observed how th' Primum Mobile did fly  
Ten thousand times more swifter than the Eye:  
The vast Expance did all with Glory shine,  
And every thing I saw was all Divine;  
A Gate of Pearl did on my right hand stand,  
And Peter, (as I guess, by th' Keys in's hand)  
Who opeed the door, and all pure Souls received,  
I thought to enter too, but was deceived.  Anth. 
What happiness to those blessed Souls was given!  
Who'd plague their King and Country to lose Heaven!  Joyn. 
He took me by the hand, and turned me round;  
Bid me avaunt, for that was holy Ground:  
Yonder's your Road; down there the Angels fell,  
And so must you. At which I struck at Hell;  
For in a moment (so quick was my Fate!)  
My Head was dashed against Hell's Iron-gate,  
(Which then was shut) A wonder to the Crowd!  
Open the door! I boldly yauled aloud:  
A Thundering Voice I heard; From whence? From who  
D'ye come? I straight replied I came from Yond;  
I am a Joiner by my Trade, and come  
To sit and Wainscot up his Lordship's Room.  
At which the Gates slew , I entered in,  
Swept clean the Room of all things there but Sin;  
She must remain, and your Companion be,  
For ever, and to vast Eternity.  Anth. 
I'm mad! I rave! The Vulture gnaws my Breast!  
I would repose, but 'tis in vain to rest.  
No rest is here! My scorching Entrails burn!  
And all my Guts to horrid Snakes do turn!  
Oh, cursed Fate! that I should die so soon,  
When all my Treasons scarce did reach their Noon!  
Oh! had I but a little longer stood,  
I would have made the Nation flow with Blood:  
But I am dead; yet still I must Rebel,  
And add more Flames unto the Flames of Hell;  
I'll make grim Pluto tremble in his Throne,  
And all the Subterranean Empire groan;  
I'll make 'em drink again the bitter Cup,  
And undermine their Hell, and blow 'em up.  
With that he foamed at mouth, hung out his Tongue,  
(At which a horrid ugly Scorpion hung;)  
His Eyes so hot did glow, made Fiends admire;  
And burned so fierce, as Hell itself cried Fire:  
But a shagged Fiend appeared, and in a trice  
Hurled his hot Soul into a Hell of Ice;  
Where may each Traitor, that their KING'S control,  
Find this Estate entailed upon their Soul.  
FINIS.   

LONDON: Printed for N. Thompson, Anno Dom. 1683.