THE Double Deliverance: On the never to be forgotten Fifth of November. A POEM.  Olim haec meminisse juvabit. 
LICENCED November 3. 1690.   


I.  
Welcome, O welcome, thou auspicious Morn,  
See from the East the Radiant Beams arise,  
To gild the Mountains, and the Plains adorn:  
Not Health to Bedrid, Liberty to Slaves,  
Drink to the fev'rish Throat that craves,  
Can half so welcome be, or so surprise,  
As is this wished-for Morning to our Eyes.  
Ah Sluggish Man, for shame awake,  
And of the Common Joy partake.  
See on the Leafless Boughs the Birds are sat,  
Each with his pretty warbling Note,  
Singing their Great Creator's Praise;  
Thy Sloth the winged Choir upbraid:  
Shake, Shake off downy Sleep, and raise  
Thy Gratitude as high as humane Thought  
Is capable, or by the Church is taught;  
To Day be grateful Thoughts and Songs thy Trade.   

II.  
To Times long passed, I would not say forgot,  
First cast thine Eye; remember, oh! remember,  
The Cursed Hellish Powder Plot,  
Intended to be acted in November.  
Let no false Medium blind thine Eyes,  
Nor think 'twas Cecil's Artifice;  
A Trick of State, by Policy designed,  
Let no such Stories cheat thy Mind;  
Rubbish may oft be thrown on Things of Worth,  
But time at length will bring the Matter forth.   

III.  
The Romish Yoke (which long our Shoulders galled)  
Thrown off, we then began to see  
The worth of Native English Liberty,  
And were the Happy Nation called.  
But some too envious of our peaceful State,  
Who to a false Religion made pretence,  
Resolved to Undermine it in the litt'ral Sense,  
Had one of them to Pluto's Court been sent,  
To turn th' Infernal Volumes over;  
Examine the Archives of Hell,  
And there in search of Plots a Twelvemonth dwell,  
He could not find in all their Store,  
A cursed Design so closely Impudent;  
For Belzebub with all his Court was sat,  
When News was brought of this Intent;  
The Furies roared, and all were grieved at Heart,  
To see poor Man outdo 'em in their Art.   

iv  
Under the Room where English Senators  
Do meet, the Nations Business to Discourse,  
A Cellar was, dark, long, and unobserved:  
All Qualities which for their Business served:  
This hired; great store of Powder first is laid,  
Faggots o'er that, lest all should be betrayed.  
Thus having all (they thinking) in their power,  
Each Plotter smiles, and waits the wished-for hour,  
But Pity is a Quality so good,  
And so incorporate with Flesh and Blood.  
However so cruel we to others are,  
Those of our own Persuasion we must spare.  
A Letter's sent, to let a Person know  
Their Friendship, and to bid him shun the Blow.  
This by mistakes delivered wrong, and none  
Can solve the Riddle,—  
Until to Royal James the thing was known.  
His piercing Wit soon found the Plot was deep:  
In times of Danger 'tis not safe to sleep.  
After some Search, the dark Design is found,  
While Fear and Shame the Plotters do confound.   

V  
Happy Mistake— and much more happy he,  
Who could through all the dark AEnigma see.  
How great Confusion else must have been made?  
Poets and Painters, who in Fancy Trade,  
Can never an Idea frame,  
How great would be the Horror of the same.  
For this Escape, Thanks first to Heaven is due,  
Next after that, Most Learned Prince, to You.  
The Traitors who so failed in all their Parts,  
Yet found 'em Halters fit for their Deserts.  
The Popes have lately made Canonization  
Much such a Trick as Transubstantiation.  
More Criminals did ne'er at Tyburn groan,  
Than Saints in Roman Calendar are shown.  
Let Faux and Garnet, pass for Saints at Rome,  
We'll think 'em Rogues and Villains here at Home.   

VI  
No leaky Vessel in the Irish Seas,  
Can suffer more than has the Church and State,  
From close Cabals, and private Plots of late.  
But he was sure the Oracle of Truth,  
That spoke and uttered from his Sacred Mouth,  
The Church upon a Rock was Seated sure,  
And should all Tempests and all Storms endure;  
And what he said is come to pass.  
But now omit we all the Close Intrigues,  
Of Solemn Covenants, and Holy Leagues;  
Of Private Clubs, and Dark Association,  
Which have so lately Plagued the English Nation.  
And passing over these Unwholesome Streams,  
Come to the Reign of Abdicated James.   

VII.  
Never at Roman Triumphs was there known  
More Joy, than at his Coming to the Throne.  
Our Love of him did all our Fears destroy,  
And little Babes were taught to shout for Joy.  
But ah!— As we too often see  
A Morning promising and fair,  
The Sun shine bright, Serene the Air;  
But suddenly some envious Cloud  
Shall all Sol's Charming Lustre shroud,  
And Storms and Tempests fill the Sky:  
So 'twas with us when he began  
To listen to the Romish Crew,  
And must whatever they Commanded do.  
Nay, though he at his Coronation Swore,  
Oppressed 
* Ch. of Engl.  Eusebia's Rights he would Maintain,  
Yet pardon me, Crowned Heads, his Oath he broke,  
And all his former Promises forsaken.  
The Priests o'er him did such Ascendants gain,  
That, Poor Unhappy Prince, he was constrained  
To humour them, and forfeit all his Store  
To cherish his Bald Pated Train.  
Those who, in spite of all his Foes,  
Would his Prorogative Maintain,  
Whilst They behind the Curtain laughed to see,  
Th' Effects of his Accursed Bigotry.  
Oh, Bigotry, thou Witchcraft of a Man!  
What Prince (but such a one) would e'er permit  
Such Swarms of Priests to be about the Court;  
Nay, with him in his Councils sit?  
His Bosom Thoughts were not his own,  
But must to Confessor be known.  
Of these there were a numerous Sort,  
Who hearing that the Harvest would be Great,  
From Douai and St. Omers hither fled;  
Of Jesuits first a mighty Breed,  
Who are the great Incend'ries of the State;  
Of Benedictines not a few,  
And of the Mortified Franciscan Crew;  
Who in hard Fair, hair Shirts, and Nastiness,  
Do all their Worship and Religion place,  
A greater Number than can well be thought.  
These, like to Locusts, overspread the Land,  
And yet we wanted Moses powerful Wand  
To drive the Vermin from us; nay, at last,  
Warmed by Court Smiles, they were so bold  
To seize our Churches; and, pretend to hold  
Them by a better Title than was ere  
Pretended by the Possessor.  
By a pretended Form of Law they cast  
Our Students out, and in their Colleges  
Their dull Unthinking Blockheads brought.  
Blasphemed our Worship, and in every Town  
They brought their Breaden Idol down;  
And we were awed and braved by such as these.  
The Clouds grew black and lowering, and we all  
Expected when the Mighty Storm would fall.   

VIII.  
Thus was our Case— Relief we knew not where  
To find, but only to our God by Prayer:  
At last our Hopes grown Languid with suspense,  
We heard of the Intentions of the Prince;  
Nassaw the Great, the Generous, and the Brave,  
The only Prince in Europe, not a Slave,  
Came to our Aid— and with successful Arms  
Dissolved the Spells, and Countercharmed the Charms.  
Th'affrighted Priests their private Cells forsake,  
And Public Masses all forbear to make,  
But to poor sordid Shifts themselves betake.  
Some Peers, and others, filled with Gild or Fear,  
Betake themselves to flight, yet know not where.  
Forsaken by his Friends, the K— retires,  
Returns again— while Shouting fill the Air;  
But still uneasy in his own Desires,  
Retires again—  
And to a Foreign Crown for Shelter flies,  
Whose Cursed Counsels caused his Miseries.   

IX.  
Unhappy Prince— How Cruel was thy Fate,  
To suffer Priests thy Soul to captivate?  
No Prince that ever took them for his Friends,  
But found they served their own dear Interest;  
Thy Crown was Sacrificed to their base Ends.  
How in thy People's Love hadst thou been blest,  
If croaking Jesuits had been from thy Breast?  
The bold Egyptian Frogs came not so near,  
They Dined with Pharaoh, but had not his Ear,  
Nine of the Ten of Aegypts' Plagues were light,  
To that one single Plague of Jesuit.   

X.  
Go on, Great William, till thy very Name  
Serves to Eclipse Great Alexander's Fame.  
Poets have too much flattered his Deserts,  
He overcame Nations, but You conquer Hearts.  
Thou Moses, Gideon, David of our Land,  
Go on, and know no End of thy Command:  
May distant Nations to thy Sceptre bow,  
And Laurels still be fresh upon thy Brow.   
FINIS.   

London Printed, and Sold by R. Taylor, near Stationers-Hall, 1690.