ENGLAND's Mournful Elegy FOR The Dissolving the PARLIAMENT.  

ARE all our Hopes thus on a sudden dashed?  
Our Trust confounded, and rejoicings quashed!  
One blast of Air, upon one dismal day  
Has blown our JOY, our Parliament away!  
When the Beast's King sends forth his dreadful Voice:  
They leave the Wood, affrighted at the noise.  
How fair of late did all the Heaven's smile?  
What streams of Joy ran through this gladsome Isle!  

When now, behold, disturbed and clouded Skies,  
And Tears of Sorrow trickling from our Eyes,  
Followed with Tempests of Heart-breaking sighs.   
ROME at our Troubles now gins to Laugh,  
And traitorous Lords do our Confusion Quaff:  
The Prince of Hell, by these sad Signs mistake,  
Thinks Heaven and Providence has us forsaken,  
And, spite of all his cunning, shows his Joy,  
In hopes that, now, he ENGLAND shall destroy;  
But we do know, that God has Mercy still;  
If humbly we submit unto his Will:  
ROME, may deceived be, and lose its Aim,  
And Hell, Confounded be, with Fear and Shame.  

The WOLF the threatened Child, did long to Taste,  
Expecting for the Morsel long did Fast,  
But Mocked and Hungry did return at last;   
The Mother still did in her Child delight,  
And with the WOLF to stilled, did it affright.  
Thus Wolfish JESUITS, waiting for their Prey,  
Without it, empty, shall be sent away.  
Our TEARS of Sorrow, shall to Gladness turn,  
And ENGLAND at the last, shall Cease to Mourn.  
A Mourner, at the present, she appears,  
And with a Sable Veil, she hides her TEARS:  
Great is her Grief, yet scarcely understood;  
Her Eyes drop TEARS, her Heart a shower of BLOOD,  
For many Woes she now expects to see,  
And doth presage some Fearful Tragedy.  
Plotters yet live, which still our Head would wound,  
Who seek us, and our Happiness to confound:  

Who still are trying all the means they can,  
By subtle ways th' unwary to Trepan:  
And whom they cannot reach, they curse and ban▪   
The Plots a Deep, whose Bottom is not found,  
Which many Fathoms has unto the Ground,  
So intricate a labyrinth few can find,  
By what is past, what yet remains behind.  
England remembers, and with Grief's dismayed.  
At what, long since, prophetic Usper said,  
That Popery for a while should hither come,  
And our Religion should submit to ROME:  
That once again she should her Altars see,  
Her priest's, her Trinkets and Idolatry.  
But that at last, the breath of Providence.  
Should them disperse, and suddenly blow hence;  
That they should all be driven from our Shore,  
And after that in England seen no more.  
Through clouded Eyes England beholds the Star  
That seems to threaten Famine Plague and War.  
Armies in ●ight seen in the azure Sky,  
With many a strange and unheard Prodigy,  
Add to her grief, which trembling she beholds,  
Whilst the Mysterious Riddle none unfolds.  
With Arms , she sat, in Silence hushed,  
Till a salt Flood, from her drowned Eyes new gushed;  
For like a Ship, she at an Anchor lay,  
Rolling on surging Seas within a Bay;  
Till on a sudden, by a Thunderstroke,  
She lost her Hold, Anchor and Cable broke,  
And her great Hopes, her Anchor being quit,  
Upon despairing Rocks she seems to split.  
But God who all things sees, and rules above,  
Who with his Justice always mixes Love,  
Beholds poor England in her deep Distress,  
And in the midst of Miseries her can bless.  
The Hearts of Kings he holdeth in his Hand,  
And he can them, as other men command;  
On God above now all our Hopes doth lie,  
On Him she fixes her still constant Eye,  
Resolved to suffer what on her he'll throw,  
Good Counsel she doth on her Sons bestow,  

Bids them be bold, but not with Rage to swell,  
Petition, Pray, and all their Griefs to tell,  
To Heaven and their King, but not Rebel.     

LONDON, Printed for S. N.