THE Duchess of Portsmouths AND Count Coningsmarks FAREWELL TO ENGLAND.  
BUt are you gone, and gone in good earnest? All ill go with you; may you never return to disturb our Peace; the discourse of the Town is various, some say a Plotter and a Murderer are gone hand in hand; if it be so, they need not Balance their Ship, for their Sins are so weighty, that it's well for them if the Mariners do not cry out, they have got a Ionas and a Jezabel aboard: when the Billows rage, the winds blow rough, the Seas Foam, the ship dances, and the Seamen roar, oh what would they give for a Whale to carry them on Shore! I dare say one would give his embroidered Coat, and the other would give even all her honesty and one of her Barrels of Guinies to boot: if the storm should but awaken her Distemper and his Conscience, they would certainly cry out, that the Vengeance of God doth pursue them; then the one would part with his Confidence upon easy terms, and the other would as easily be persuaded to come to Confession. But I presume the Count makes light account of his frolicksome Voyage, the seeds of Repentance are but Thynn in his Breast, but before Boraskie drops from his Chains, possibly the wounds of poor Esquire Thynn may make him bleed, and he may cry out as David did for Absalon, would to God I had died for thee oh Thynn▪ Well, let them alone, let them go, a fair Riddance of them; we have two Tories less than we had, but yet enough to perplex the Kingdom: Long have we looked for the Duchess' departure, but she has stuck to us like Birdlime; she has been long a Mote in the Kingdom's Eye, and now the true Protestants cry out, blessed be God our Plague is removed▪ But whilst they sing this Song, millions of skulking Papists are praying to the Virgin Mary, and to all the Saints, even to Saint Coleman, and Saint Staly, for her safe journey and her speedy return. But how pray I,  
That she that has long been the Enlish Plague, may now become the French Pestilence; that she that has been our grief, may be their sorrow; that she that has drained our purses of their Coin and our hearts▪ of our comforts, may ease us hereafter by her absence, and Plague the Monsieurs by her presence; when she gets as much from France, as she has carried to France, then let her come and welcome; till then let her keep her kind Lewes and send us over 10000 despised Protestants instead of her, though we beg to maintain them. As for the pretty little kidd, the silly innocent Lamb, that followed the Ewe, may he go and return in safety; his tender years are not capable of those Villainous practices now on foot; he has not yet imbibed his Mother's Tenets, nor Scucked in the Poison of her perverse Principles; he's unacquainted with Poisoning, stabbing, Shooting, and massacring; pray Heavens he be not gone over to learn their Trade, his early years are unacquainted with Plots, and Conspiracies; he hardly knows a Priest from a Jesuit nor a Jesuit from a Devil; but ill egging makes ill begging, Cat after kind the proverb says; I pray God he may have the innocency of his Father but not the Policy of his Mother▪ In short, I wish him to be as good as handsome; as noble in his actions as he is great in his Titles. And as for his Illustrions' Mother, rather than she should return to add misery to our misery by some new invented Shame Plots, may the powers above move Neptune with his trident to pierce the Ship between wind and water, that she may fairly fall and foully rise; may the sands be her bed, and may she be disappointed of that Splended Tomb, that a Virtuous person of her quality might merit, may she be rocked to and fro, with the waves till one joint refuses to take hold of another; but hold it may be she is gone to France, to follow the Countess of cleaveland's steps; may be she is weary of a Vicious life, and has betaken herself to a Solitary Retirement▪ Oh bless my ears with this news▪ I wish all of her persuasion would retire from our Borders, that we might sit peaceably under our own Vines, and with some content eat the fruit of our own Labours; but I doubt we shall have no such plumbs fall this year. Wel● if she comes again let it be by Night, or else the Tarpollians at Wapping will go nigh to stick their Anchors in her Barge; the Scolds of Billingsgate will plague her far more than either Drums or Thunder. The Scullers will be ready to give her a thousand Broadsides, so that if she escapes 999 the odd one may cool her Courage; but if they should fail, how would the swarming Poets like incensed Bees) sting her to Death? One would have a touch at her Plots; another at her Houses in Paris; one would peek at her Guinnies, another at her Religion, and all would strive to make her as little as her Sins ha● made her great, and so give occasion for some Fool to say, Sic transit gloria Mundi.   

London Printed for J. Bayly. 1682.