PRESBYTERY Rough-drawn. A satire. IN CONTEMPLATION OF The late Rebellion.  
LONDON, Printed for Joanna Brome, at the Gun, at the West End of St. Paul's. 1683.   

To the Right Honourable JAMES, EARL of ABINGDON, LORD NORREYES, BARON of RICOTT, AND Lord Lieutenant of His MAJESTY's County of OXFORD.  
My Lord,  
I Am not insensible but that I go contrary to the Examples of my Contemporaries, in writing a Dedication before a Poem of this Nature; where the satire may seem to point at particular Persons, and also to infer, that they are already in the disesteem of the Patron. These Considerations (I confess) are sufficient to stifle the very Thought of a Dedication. But when you shall know (my Lord) that 'twas not the Ambition alone of prefixing your Lordship's Name to the Frontispiece (of which I must acknowledge myself guilty) but withat, that it might be a guard to secure my first Essay from the malicious Censures of the Factious; for, if their unlimited indignities extend to the vilifying the best Frame of Government in the World; how can I expect this slender Production of mine should scape? Wherefore, when your Lordship shall know this, I may reasonably hope for a favourable construction of a Freedom taken, which others have not yet adventured on. And indeed, of all the British Nobility, to whom could I with more security address myself for Refuge, than to your Lordship? Who in all the time of our Late Confusions (when Fears and jealousies had wrought the Rabble into Madness) with so much integrity and justice maintained the Royal Interest, and stood the shock of Faction in its highest Rage; even when Loyalty was hardly able to support itself, or thrown by like an unfashionable Garment; when the Hypocrisy of the Tub had stained the Purity of the Gospel, and with its noisy Cant had almost driven three Kingdoms into a second Rebellion. To dare to be honest at such a time (my Lord) was certainly the most exalted Proof of a firm Obedience; and made no less known the Character of your Greatness than of your Loyalty, which is already▪ so truly eminent, that to attempt to heighten it, would but derogate from that which I am obliged (though at an humble distance) to admire.  
It is beyond all doubt that to offer at a description of Heaven would be utterly vain; because it is impossible to be described: for it may reasonably be thought, that, where Imagination itself cannot reach an Idea suitable to what the thing really is, Language (though dressed in all the Gallantry of Eloquence) must come infinitely short: Nevertheless, if we may presume to aim at it with any Earthly comparison, nothing can more resemble it than the Content and Felicity your Lordship is seated in: where you have all the Delights of the Court without the Vanity; the Transactions of the Town, without the Noise; the Praise of good Men, without being stummed with Flattery; Diversion, without Folly; Plenty, without Luxury; and indeed, all the Sweets of Life, without the Gall, which too commonly attends'em. Pardon me (my Lord) that I am so long upon a Subject that I cannot exchange for a better.  
As for the following Trifle, I have little to say in defence of it; only, that it carries no other design along with it than the reducing of Offenders to Obedience, and to make the more moderate see their Errors; the first step towards amendment. But that such a design (however pursued) should please all Men, I am not so vain as to expect; for the World was never yet so honest, but that it might mend. To be no farther troublesome (my Lord) should it gain the Success which I myself could wish it, it would not equal the satisfaction I have in the honour of valuing myself, as,  
MY LORD, Your Lordship's most Humble and Obedient Servant, R. G.   

Presbytery Rough-drawn.  
A satire.  
In Contemplation of The late Rebellion.  

Rouse, Rouse, my Muse; why dost thou silent lie  
When Truth's oppressed, and Mischief soars so high?  
Rouse then, and lash with thy severest Rage  
Th' ingraitude of a Rebellious Age.  
Oh Albion, (to all sense of Glory dead)  
Whither is all thy ancient Grandeur fled?  
That Grandeur, which through France in Triumph (flew,  
And only Came, and Saw, and did Subdue:  
In vain vast Bulwarks, and strong Walls oppose  
Against a Fate, which was more strong than those,  
A Fate, by which our victories flew like Wind,  
And left swift Fame panting for Breath behind.  
That Grandeur which once met the Pride of Spain,  
Like a huge City, floating on the Main;  
Met it, and to the bottom sunk it down▪  
Oh ancient Glory! Oh unmatched Renown!  
And Oh th'uncertain state of all that's high!  
Those Masts which lately seemed to touch the Sky,  
Now low in the vast Ocean's Womb do lie;  
And where th' Armada did its Pride display,  
Fish's resort, and wanton Dolphin's play:  
Hard Fate! and yet they're happier far than we,  
From all the sad events of Discord free;  
For there they lie secure, and now no more  
Will mount the foaming Waves as heretofore,  
But quite beneath'em, never hear'em roar.  
Nor stopped thy Genius here; but with the Sun,  
Round the vast Circuit of the Globe has run,  
And came home covered with the Laurels won.  
But Ah! what art thou now become? a Den  
Of murderers, Monsters, and perfidious Men:  
What victories now dost thou achieve or win?  
As once in Arms, so now thou'rt chief in Sin,  
Hissed at without, and damned to Strife within.   

Happy the Times, when Man rejoiced to pay  
All just Obedience to the Regal Sway;  
But now Rebellious Rage is grown so high,  
Man's Cruelty does Savage Beasts outvie;  
For they all Tremble when the Lions Roar,  
And grow as Tame as they were Wild before:  
To their great Chiefs they all Obedience pay:  
In which they prove us greater Beasts than they:  
For Man, base Man, will no Obedience own,  
But in Contempt of it their Kings dethrone,  
Although they know (as what they ought to fear)  
They Stab at God in his Vicegerents here.  
The Treacherous jews that never stopped at Ills,  
But traced the Bend of their unbounded Wills;  
Though one (perhaps) drunk with Ambitious Rage,  
(For Villains are produced in every Age)  
All ties of God and Nature might disown;  
And on his sovereign's Blood erect his Throne:  
Yet I ne'er read the Factious Chiefs did join,  
Associated in one Damned Design;  
Or that they were such vain fantastic things,  
To think that God design'd'em all for Kings:  
As our Religious Rebels did of late  
When they o'erthrew the long established State,  
And made three Nations groan beneath the weight:  
Brought down their Godlike sovereign to the Block  
And which was worse—  
Worse than the Bonds of Loyalty when broke,  
Proclaimed that Justice gave the bitter Stroke.  
Vile Brood! can Justice an Injustice do?  
Could ye, when false, at the same time be true?  
At once be Royalists and Traitors too?  
No, no, witness how unconcerned ye stood,  
And bathed your hands in your dear sovereign's Blood.   

Ah! Righteous God that sittest in Peace above;  
From whence thou showr'st eternal streams of Love  
Down on thy Church below; what was it then  
Drew down this Plague? that Sacrilegious Men  
Should Plunder that, and Rob the Land of more  
Than ever it was Blessed with heretofore,  
A King so Good, so Merciful, and Just,  
His chief delight was to pursue his Trust,  
So far from thinking or creating Strife,  
He blessed that Hand that took away his Life.   

But tell me, ye ungodly treacherous Crew;  
(Take't to yourselves to whom 'tis truly due;  
For as things heavy to the Centre tend,  
As Showers on Earth do fall, or Flames ascend,  
And in short, all to their allotted place;  
So Villainy, and every thing that's base,  
Flies to your Hearts, as to its proper Sphere,  
And finds an everlasting Centre there.)  
Oh! tell me, where's the Fame that does succeed  
That (still deplored by me) prodigious deed?  
A deed so far beyond all flights of ill,  
It can't be marched in the Records of Hell:  
A deed so damned! as if designed to vie  
Even with the jews boundless Impiety,  
When they doomed Christ unjustly to the Cross;  
And frighted Nature trembled at the loss.  
But this you'll say was Mercy from above,  
To show th'extent of Heavens eternal Love;  
Or else the jews might here pretend some cause  
For his annulling their Mosaic Laws:  
But ah! what cause had you, perfidious Brood,  
To slain your hands in that illustrious Blood,  
Which never was employed but for your Good?  
Or was it done because it was your will?  
(That potent Cause by which y'are governed still?)  
Oh cursed effects of Arbitrary Zeal!   

I know you'll say, 'twas your design to be  
From servile Slavery and Oppression free;  
But those that shoot at random in the Night  
When darkness rules may sooner hit the White;  
They must be wrong who ne'er were in the right:  
For when through all your treacherous Paths you'd run,  
Adverse to all the Laws of God and Man;  
Had you at last your expectations Crowned?  
Or was the Liberty, you sought for, found?  
(Indeed it were unjust to think it should;  
The way to Peace lies not through War and Blood)  
No, no, that popular Idol of your own,  
That load of Beast which once defiled the Throne,  
That Deity, which your own Hands had made,  
And then with so much frantic Zeal obeyed,  
Did all your Rights and Liberties invade;  
Those Liberties ye had so long enjoyed,  
And could not be, but by yourselves destroyed;  
Those Rights, which with an unexhausted spring,  
For ever flowed from your indulgent King:  
Those Rights did an Usurping Conqueror  
Ravish, and make you Slaves t'a lawless Power;  
For how could he Protect, that did Devour?  
Nay the base Sanhedrim, whose lawless Pride  
Had to their King his Regal Deuce denied,  
With open Hands the Tyrant's Lust supplied;  
Which their proud Stores t'an Ebb as low did bring,  
As they were full when they denied their King.  
Thus by their Aid he did the War commence,  
And made'em wretched at their own expense.  
A just reward for raising Civil-war,  
(And may no Traitors ever better fare)  
A fond imagined freedom to restore  
When we had all our Hearts could wish before:  
'Twas justly lost then, when we sought for more.   

But lo! the Scenes are shifted straight, and lo!  
His God's, his King's and his own country's Foe,  
Is in a moment fallen! 'twas Death that gave  
The fatal Stroke and sent him to the Grave;  
Where he no sooner entered, but the slain,  
Who in the Vales of horror did remain,  
With dismal Groans pierced all the neighbouring Air,  
As if he'd been denied an entrance there:  
Nor were the dire fore-boding Omens vain;  
The Grave could not such Villainy contain,  
But from its entrails spewed him back again.  
Thus he, who while he lived no freedom gave  
Had not, in death, the freedom of a Slave,  
The poor allowance of a six-foot Grave:  
Like the proud Persian, in the Air he hung;  
Like him too, the Reproach of every Tongue.  
Ravens, and all th'inferior Fowls of Prey,  
Which used to hover round where Carion lay,  
Croaked at the Tyrant— croaked and flew away.  
And now of all his noisy Pomp and Fame,  
Nothing survives but a reproachful Name.  
Thus Treach'ry though it may a while shine bright,  
As Meteors at a blaze lose all their light;  
And what they had from the dull Earth before,  
When once it is dissolved, is seen no more.   

And now (methinks) I see the Sun appear,  
Nor is it only thought, for lo he's here:  
With gentle Beams he first proclaims the Day,  
Then drives at once th'unwholesome Damps away.  
Ah welcome, Sacred Sir, welcome as Sight  
To those who from their births have groap'd in night  
And never hoped to view the cheerful light:  
Welcome as Spring, after a bitter Frost;  
Welcome as Peace, where Peace has long been lost.  
What shall I say? O what eternal spring  
Can furnish Words, or set my Thoughts on wing  
To bless his Welcome, and his Praises sing!  
But hold, my Muse; in vain that pitch you'd fly,  
For Language there must yield, as well as I:  
Back then to thy own Task, and scourge the times,  
Revile their Follies, and disclose their Crimes;  
How cankered Villains into corners run,  
And blushed at the vile deeds their Hands had done;  
But deeds of darkness dare not view the Sun:  
Too well they knew the Mischiefs that they wrought  
Were unrevenged, and trembled at the Thought;  
As fearing (what indeed they ought to fear)  
That Vengeance for their Treach'ry now was near:  
But Godlike Kindness (as in Man's first Fall)  
Gave them an Act of Grace, and cancelled all.  
An Act! which Reason's at a loss to scan;  
And proves the Giver something more than Man;  
Whose Goodness we in vain would comprehend,  
For he forgives as fast as we offend:  
So Merciful! there's not a Thought Severe  
In all his Soul— too Merciful I fear!  
For had that Hand of Justice (once oppressed)  
That struck some Heads off, but secured the rest;  
The Hydra then might have been overcome;  
But being too merciful, and sparing some,  
From the rank wounds more darling Monsters sprout,  
And every Neck a thousand Heads thrusts out,  
Till the vast sum did soon amount to more,  
And lewder Criminals than e'er before:  
So Thiefs from Gallows saved, still Thiefs will be;  
And cut the Throats of those that set'em free.  
But sure that King must needs be all divine,  
When too much Mercy is his only Crime.   

Say then, ye bold fanatics of the Times,  
(Ye that succeed those Monsters in their Crimes)  
What makes you thus Seditiously exclaim  
Under the Blessings of a peaceful Reign?  
What ye would have I know not; but I know Ye might be happy if ye would be so;  
Happy as Lovers on their Bridal Night;  
But that's a Happiness but vain and slight,  
Where Pain and Trouble still succeed Delight:  
But yours might be all one continued Scene,  
Without an interval of Grief between.  
Has not your God (if any God ye own;  
But I much rather think that ye have none,  
For God, from whom all true Obedience springs,  
Injoins us strictly to obey our Kings.)  
Has he not saved from Rebels impious Steel,  
And the worse Fury of misguided Zeal  
A gracious Prince, and blessed us with his Reign?  
In whom his Father seems to live again:  
By heavens peculiar care made fit to Rule;  
Would ye leave him for some Usurping Tool?  
A baseness never to be cancelled more,  
Unless by him that cancelled it before:  
A Prince who has through all misfortunes trod,  
With the unshaken Patience of a God:  
And as 'tis sung, Alcides, heretofore  
The weight of Heaven upon his Shoulders bore,  
So He (a nobler Subject for our Songs)  
At once sustains a World— a World of Wrongs;  
A World! which were that once famed Hero now,  
Tho' he bore Heaven, beneath their Weight he'd bow.  
Yet still he Governs, still he Rules in Peace,  
(And may it, Heaven, O may it never cease!)  
And still your Stores eternally increase;  
Time was th'increased too much; and that the thing,  
That made thee, London, murmur at thy King;  
And lift thy Proud Luxurious Head as high,  
As it since low did in its Ashes lie:  
'Twas that inspired thy Crowds with factious Rage;  
The Crowd! whose fury nothing can assuage,  
Nor Tears of Youth, nor Eloquence of Age:  
It rowls o'er all with an impetuous sway,  
Like Rivers when they've forced their Banks away:  
The Crowd! which does for ever look awry  
On those that true desert has mounted high,  
And would rebel although it knows not why;  
And such a Crowd were't thou— a Mass combined  
Of all adulterate mixtures we can find,  
That may infect the Soul or taint the Mind:  
No wonder then, with such rank Weeds overspread,  
Thy Body should rebel against its Head.  
That Honesty that lodged within thy wall,  
(For there were Thousands that ne'er bowed to Baal)  
Like some poor wounded Deer was strieght cashiered;  
Or bore the brunt of all the Brutal Herd.  
And this the Faction would be at again,  
For the same cause that they promoted then;  
Were they not baffled, curbed and kept in awe  
By Men that love the King, the Church, the Law:  
And such the Bench of Aldermen are now;  
Compared with whom, how dim the Factious show?  
Nor should we here those Citizens forget,  
Whose Acts are proof that Faith's a Virtue yet;  
Since by the Good (as in a Mirror) still  
We may descry the Failings of the Ill:  
But why do I presume those Faults to scan,  
Which in the Action are so lively drawn?  
Witness for proof th' imparalleled abuse  
(Beyond Example, as beyond excuse)  
To their last Loyal Chief—  
Which from no other Cause but this could spring;  
The Man was honest, and he loved his King.  
Help Heaven! what but confusion can succeed,  
When to be Loyal's a pernicious deed,  
Faith to the Crown, a Crime?— but to proceed.  
Has he not stooped beneath his Royal Stem,  
Lower than ever Rebels stooped to him?  
Has he not all his Subjects wants supplied?  
What did they ask him that he e'er denied?  
Unless it were (invincible constraint!)  
What Nature, Law and Conscience could not grant?  
Has he not too (though now the Scenes are changed)  
Like a poor Pilgrim through the Nations ranged?  
Distressed, despised, nay almost left of all;  
And by the Rage of an ambitious Saul,  
As many various turns of mis'ry bore,  
As God's good Shepherd David did before?  
Yet now as soon as God is pleased again  
To give us Peace, by giving Him to Reign;  
Rather than they'll be honest or reform,  
Even in the Sacred Port they'll force a Storm:  
But all in vain— for the Eternal Will,  
(The Guardian Pillar that directs him still)  
Will now as well protect him from the Rage  
Of an unsatisfied, seditious Age,  
With the same mighty Love as heretofore,  
When War did rave, and all the Billows roar.  
Assured of this, how dare Men disapprove  
What Heaven protects, and Heavenly Angels love?  
Who is a Subject fit for Songs divine;  
Alas, how far above the reach of mine!  
And then his Princely Brother (whom their hate  
Brands with the Name of Traitor to the State;  
But falsely— false as the Tongue-murth'ring Blade  
That first made Perjury to be a Trade.  
So false! even they theirselves could ne'er deny,  
But that their Hearts gave their bold Tongues the lie:  
For why should he conspire against that Throne,  
Which Legally may come to be his own?  
No; that's a work for him that's Born to none?  
Has not that Prince moved in the selfsame Sphere?  
With Patience born all wrongs that Man can bear?  
Who, though your Envy does his Fame pursue,  
He still has fought both for your Rights and You.  
In foreign Lands his conduct he has shown;  
And found no Valour braver than his own.  
Conquest was still his Prize; and as Success  
Crowned him at Land, 'twas on the Sea no less;  
Where on the Deck (for his dear Countries good,  
Whose Cause he fought) he has undaunted stood  
Amidst the wildest rage of Canons roar;  
Whose sound has frighted Cowards on the Shore.  
Black Clouds of Smoke have dimmed the Sun's bright ray,  
And made a Night at the full Noon of Day.  
One would have thought, who from afar had seen,  
They in the Bosom of the Clouds had been,  
And round their Heads lightning and Thunder flew;  
And through the Air ten thousand Terrors threw.  
The Sun himself looked pale; amazed to see  
Deaths scattered through the Air like Atoms flee;  
And Nature was concerned as well as he.  
Not so the Duke— who did through all appear  
Fierce as a Storm, and was himself a War.  
O who in such a Cause would danger shun,  
Blessed with so brave a Chief to lead 'em on?  
Who scorned to check his Rage, or leave the Fray,  
Till he'd quite driven the shattered Fleet away;  
Too wise to trust to Fate another day.  
Thus he, sole Victor, did our Fame regain;  
And road unrivalled o'er the conquered main.  
Enriched by Princes so Divine, so Good,  
(Brothers in Virtue, as they are by Blood)  
What Frenzy is it makes you think y'are Poor?  
When Heaven in them showers down so vast a Store,  
'Twould be impiety to wish for more;  
Which as 'tis great, we ought to think it good,  
As drawn from th' Fountain of a Martyr's Blood.  
But as when some wild ravenous Beast of Prey  
Has seized a Lamb which in his passage lay;  
The blood's first sucked, and finding that so sweet,  
He crams his Maw with the delicious Meat;  
Yet the same moment, painted with the Gore,  
Rouzes again, and roams the Woods for more.  
So you, flushed with your former Royal Bait,  
Grow mad again, and for more Blood do wait,  
In the subversion of the Regal State.   

From whence else can our wild divisions grow?  
Can such a Prince be his own Country's Foe?  
At the same time he does their Battles fight,  
And makes their happiness his chief delight?  
True; but you'll say (perhaps) others have done  
As brave exploits, as glorious Fields have won.  
Well, and suppose it true? yet when their Fame  
We once compare with York's illustrious Name,  
It blushing shrinks into itself again.  
None sure but such as have abandoned Sense,  
Will stoop to an Usurper for a Prince;  
And like the rough-cast Heathen's heretofore,  
Rather than want a Patron-God t'adore,  
Before some Stock or Stone will Homage pay;  
Or to some uncouth Creature Kneel and Pray.  
Dagon, to those who did before him fall,  
(As the All-high to us) was all in all;  
But God forbid we should their steps pursue,  
Or for to serve the False, Blaspheme the True;  
Whose Laws (though spurned at by Fanatic spite)  
Instruct us to distinguish Wrong from Right.  
Right, when we do the true Succession own;  
Wrong when a false Pretender mounts the Throne;  
Right, to obey those rightful sovereign Powers,  
Who lose their own repose to procure ours;  
But Wrong, against such Goodness to declaim,  
Or with base Libels strive to wound his Fame.  
But they that took away his Father's Life,  
Defame the Royal Duke, spare not his Wife;  
Such Undertakers rightly understood,  
Can mean their present sovereign little good.  
— Nor stops the Frenzy here— when every Drone  
Inspired by foggy Ale's a Statesman grown,  
And takes upon him to dispose the Crown;  
Drivels out spiteful Treason o'er his Pots,  
With as much Zeal and Gravity as O—  
Go to your Looms, Cobble your Shoes; and there  
We will allow y'are in your proper Sphere;  
Those Paths by Beasts of Burden may be trod;  
But leave the Crown to the dispose of God;  
" Whose Voice to say you are, were Blasphemy;  
" For there all Parts do with the Whole agree,  
" And with a Concord so Divinely sweet,  
" As never can with Contradictions meet:  
" Should the almighty Voice—  
" With the Profane dull Crowds run Parallel;  
" 'Twould turn even Heaven itself t' a kind of Hell.  
'Twere better far to let the State alone;  
And mind your little Commonwealths at home.  
But if 'tis needful it should now be known,  
Who must or ought hereafter wear the Crown;  
We need no other Guide than Reason's light:  
Whose should it be, but whose it is by Right?  
His Right alone (which only is withstood  
By such a sullen and contentious Brood)  
Whose sure it is by all the Ties of Blood.  
Ye hate the King, yet ye all Kings would be;  
Why do ye strive to Rule else more than he?  
And while ye are contending who should wear  
The Regal Crown, the Regal Sceptre bear;  
By fraud and Treach'ry (marks by which ye are known,  
Well as your Tub-men by their canting Tone)  
Would from his Brows, transplant it to your own:  
But finding that y'are baffled in your Will,  
Run drudging on, and will be Rebels still.   

Yes Rebels? what else can the meaning be,  
Of Bellowing after Rights and Liberty,  
When 'tis impossible to be more free?  
Of all the Nations that enclose you round,  
Point me out one with half your Freedoms Crowned;  
Freedoms too great, too much in't to express;  
Nor is each Man's particularly less.  
The Wild has liberty the World to roam,  
To France, to Spain, Smyrna, japan or Rome;  
But ne'er will find a better place than Home;  
Where Nature in her bloom for ever waits,  
And every morning fresh delight creates.  
Th'Old and Studious may enjoy their ease;  
And this may plough the Land, and that the Seas;  
The Crowds too, may almost do what they please:  
Oh that they might not; 'tis th' unhappy Cause  
From whence our Discord still more Discord draws:  
For when the Conscience it's own way may go,  
How boundless, wild a Monster will it grow!  
Pulpits are dwindled into Tubs; and Kings,  
Esteemed unnecessary useless things:  
All wholesome Doctrine's Banished with the Creed,  
And Blockheads Preach, who never learned to Read.  
Kings to their Subjects must Obedience pay:  
Nor is it strange the Flock should go astray,  
When they theirselves are in the wrong that guide;  
'Tis best then when such Liberty's denied.  
Does not your Land with Milk and Honey flow?  
Canaan could not such Crops of Plenty show,  
Or Iordan's loved, and unpolluted Streams,  
Produce more Wonders than our fruitful Thames.  
Do not all things that feast the Eye and Ear,  
The Taste and Smell for ever flourish here  
With an unbounded, unexhausted Spring?  
And to Crown all—  
Are we not Crowned with an indulgent King?  
Having all this, what would ye more possess?  
Having so much, why would ye make it less?  
Why should that pleasant tune of Concord cease?  
Can e'er Rebellion be the way to Peace?  
Why do ye your pernicious Doctrine sow?  
And through the Land seditious Libels strew;  
Spurn at the Virtuous, vilify the Just,  
(As if their Loyalty debauched their Trust)  
Rail at the Law, nay rail at one another,  
And, which is yet more base than all the other,  
Stab the King's Reputation in his Brother?  
O tell me, to what end can this be done?  
Unless you'd like your Predecessors run  
And damn our Eighty two, to Forty one;  
For they (like you) mouthed after Liberty,  
And they (like you) too, knew that they were free;  
But found too soon (Experience dearly bought)  
Their seeking for't, destroyed the thing they sought.  
Yet, though they got so little by't before,  
(When their own Lust and Rapine robbed the Poor  
In opposition to all sacred Laws)  
Once more you would revive the Good-Old-Cause;  
Once more overthrow the Church, the State, and King,  
And from blessed Order make Confusion spring;  
That wild Confusion which of late did rave,  
And sent so many Thousands to the Grave:  
But you may spare the Toil— the Veil's plucked off,  
And every Soul that has but Sense enough  
To choose the Right from Wrong: may plainly see  
What you have been, and what you'll ever be:   

And as you are, I fear you'll such remain,  
(And should I wish ye honest 'twere in vain)  
For they that spurn at Mercy, cherish Ill,  
And own no Power above their Lawless Will,  
Will certainly continue Ill Men still;  
Too rank for Earth, and only fit to go  
To murmur in their grand Cabal below;  
you'd best be cautious then, and have a care;  
Ingratitude will find no favour there,  
Although 't has missed the stroke of Justice here:  
— As yet I mean has missed of— for I've seen  
A Morning, though it were at first serene  
As thought can form, has in a trice been clogged  
With gloomy Clouds, and almost choked with Fog:  
The Sun himself, as if oppressed with Night,  
Has shrunk his Glories in, ere while so bright,  
And had not power to bless the World with Light.  
Thus sullen signs approaching storms fore told;  
And lo! loud Thunder through the Air has rolled:  
Mountains which one would think stood firm as Fate,  
Have reeled as if they bent beneath their weight.  
When of a sudden the allseeing Sun,  
Angry as 'twere with what the Storm had done,  
Through the thick Shades his pointed Beams has thrown▪  
And in a Moment chased 'em all away,  
And with fresh Glories dressed the newborn Day.  
So in the wild disorders of the State,  
When mighty Charles shall yield to mightier Fate;  
(Which may it first be long, for Monarch's Breath  
Is frail like ours; like ours must taste of Death:)  
What could we wish should that black hour arrive,  
More than some glorious Hero to survive?  
Prepared by Heaven, by Nature, and by Right,  
For all the Functions of the Royal Seat;  
And fitted thus, why not the Heir, the Brother,  
To fill that sacred Place before another?  
Who, guided by the same eternal Will,  
Would all the roaring Winds of Faction still:  
For he who has so many Wonders wrought,  
Crowned with success in all the Fields he fought,  
Whom Heaven has saved from Rocks and Treacherous Sand▪  
And the more treacherous dangers of the Land,  
War, Envy, Banishment, Intestine strife,  
Slander, and all the Snares that catch at life;  
He sure must be for some great End designed,  
Proportioned to the greatness of his Mind;  
For nothing less were fit to carry on,  
What our good Monarch has so well begun:  
In such a Cause, bright as the Sun he'd rise,  
And dart his Glories through the sullow Skies,  
Dissolve or drive the Factious Gloom away,  
Unrip Cabals, where Treasons brooding lay,  
And show 'em all to the clear Eye of day;  
And with a Justice splendid and sublime,  
Would punish Treach'ry equal to the Crime.  
Then would the Land a firm-wrought Peace enjoy,  
Which wild Sedition would not dare t' annoy;  
Nor all the angry Storms of Fate destroy.   
THE END.