THE Converted Jacobite: BEING A Brief Admonition To all our present MURMURERS, Upon the Present Descent against France. 28. July. 1692  By a Late Jacobite. 

ONce being overwhelmed with Grief and Care,  
In a most Melancholy deep Despair,  
I sat me down in a sweet silent Grove,  
Implored Assistance from Great Thundering Jove;  
And that he would be pleased to let me know,  
His Mind to Mortals in this World below,  
Whether the Ways were Good which here they take,  
Allegiance from Great James thus to forsake,  
And give the Crown unto his Royal Son:  
Now, Is this well, which they on Earth have done?   

When I had spoke, and these my Words had ended,  
Great Jove, as I did think, to me descended,  
And with a surly Voice, these words he said,  
What wilt thou have of me? Art not afraid  
To question what I have done in this same thing,  
To take the Crown from a Delinquent King,  
And give the same unto his Royal Son?  
Then Murmur not, for what I've done, I've done:  

For 'twas my ●oyal Will, and my Decree,  
That now, henceforth, this British Land should be  
From Po●i●h dispensations ever free;   
And not once buckle to the Whore of Rome,  
Who shortly must expect her final Doom.  
Then what do you, proud Mortals, to despise  
What I have done? And with your loudest Cries,  
Seek unto Him, who lately was cast down,  
And shall no more Possess the English Crown:  
For now I've given it to a Potent Prince;  
And this was by the Fates decreed long since:  
And by the Word of Mighty Jove I spoke,  
That he should free you from all Tyrant's Yoke.  
He Tyrants shall subdue, and Nations free  
From Servitude; and all the French shall see  

His Mighty Actions, trembling at the same,  
And stand amazed at Great WILLIAM's Name,  
Which shall be Honoured with eternal Fame.   
Cease then your Tricks; in vain 'tis that you strive,  
To set Him up, whom Heaven did deprive:  
Your Plots will fail; and you shall quickly know,  
That I have preordained your Overthrow:  
Your Ruin and Destruction it will bring,  
To seek to raise your Abdicated King,  
Who was dethroned by the Eternal Doom,  
That Mighty WILLIAM should supply his room▪  
Give over then in time, else you shall see,  
The rigid Fate of your cursed Destiny.  
Not being fit with English Men to dwell,  
You must turn off, for there is room in Hell,  
Which, for such Rogues, is much the fit place,  
Who are the Spawn of a Rebellious Race.  
Then be content, and done't pretend to Slander  
The Mighty Actions of the World's Commander:  
For I do swear, by my fierce roaring Thunder,  
I'll do such Things will fill the World with Wonder.   

No sooner Jove himself these Words had spoke,  
But at some distance there appeared a Smoke,  
An horrid, stin●ing, and sulphureous Smell,  
Then quickly did appear the Devil of Hell;  
Who, when he saw Great Jove to be so near,  
He kept far off, surprised with sudden fear,  
And from his Presence did begin to fly;  
Jove called him back, than he came quickly nigh.  
Where hast thou been, Grim Pluto, than he said?  
Hast been at Work at thy Infernal Trade?  
I have, said he, (and in a Passion Swore)  
And Worked so hard, I ne'er Worked so before.  
What is the reason thou'rt so hard at Work?  
Dost thou expect Great Lewis, or the Turk,  
For to attend at thy Infernal Court?  
Or dost thou want some Fools to make the Sport?  
If so, a Thousand Jacobites I'll send thee,  
Their Company's good, and can't offend thee.  
Thou always were't their Friend, they like thee well,  
I think no Place so fit for them as Hell.  
Be thou but sure, that when thou hast them there,  
Thou keep them under with a Slavish Fear:  
Thus if thou dost, the better they will be,  
And Chain them fast, they'll never run from thee.  
Then Pluto said, Great Jove I thee implore,  
To send enough, none I'll lay up in Store:  
This sort of Cattle I like best of all,  
None comes amiss to me of great and small.  
Ne'er sparing be, or think that I want Room;  
But send them all, I do not care how soon;  
I have some by me, seem to be good Meat,  
I'll fry them well, then they'll be fit to eat:  
When they are caught and foiled in their own Treason,  
Then the Jacobites are here in Season.  
But if I thought they would officiate  
As heretofore, with a projecting Pate,  
Then I would beg they might here longer stay,  
And not be hurried in such haste away.  
've done their best, and they can do no more,  
To me their welcome, I will pay their Score;  
Well than quoth Jove, I'll send you them so fast,  
You shan't miss one, but have them all at last.  
For as for Heaven, now I Vow and Swear,  
And do protest that none shall e'er come there.  
So get thee Back, now Pluto to retreat,  
And take thy Place in thy infernal Seat;  
Be ready to receive, when I do send 'em,  
And try what you can do, for we can't mend 'em;  
I'll send you LEWIS, and make Room be sure,  
For he a rousing Heat may well endure.  
Prepare a Place for him then with all Speed,  
I'll send him quickly, he shall come indeed.  
With that Grim Pluto made no longer stay,  
But of a sudden vanished quite away.  
And then quoth Jove, no mortal Man doth hear  
Their tragic End, which now approaches near.  
Love Great King William, his Sword that shall prevail,  
This I have said, and not one Word shall fail.  
For nought shall hurt him, or stand in his Way  
To hinder him, for he shall win the Day.  
Thus Jove departing flew into the Skies,  
And soon was hid from my poor Mortal Eyes.   

This was my Vision then which I did see,  
My Brother Jacobites, believe you me,  
But if you done't, the Case is still the same;  
I told the Truth, and you are all to blame.  
If you persist in your rebellious Will,  
You make yourselves alone unhappy still;  
Then be content, and done't yourselves deceive,  
Take good Advice, and so I'll take my Leave.   
Vale.   

London: Printed for A. Westby without Temple-Bar. 1692.