The horrid Popish PLOT HAPPILY DISCOVERED: OR, The English Protestant's Remembrancer.  
A POEM on the Never-to-be-forgotten POWDER-TREASON, And late Burning of several Cart-loads of Popish Books at the Royal Exchange.  

WElcome blessed day! that happily didst save  
Our Church and Nation from a threatened Grave:  
A Day! must never Marks of Honour want,  
Whilst there survives one grateful Protestant;  
But in our Calendar shall stand enrolled,  
Through every Age, with Characters of Gold.  
As once proud Haman with a cursed Decree,  
Had signed God's people's General Destiny,  
So cruel Factors now of Hell and ROME,  
Resolved on England's universal Doom.  
But Heaven's bright Eye Revealed the Hellish PLOT,  
Which had it prospered, boldly might have shot  
At the Celestial Throne, put out the Sun,  
And made the World back to its Chaos run.  
Though deep as Hell they laid the Black Design,  
Fate blasts their Projects with a Countermine:  
And then the desperate Undertakers be,  
Like Haman, sentenced to the fatal Tree.  
Thus Pharaoh perished, Israel scaped free.  
And shall such Mercies ever be forgot?  
No, no,— Were we so thankless, they would not  
Permit it; whose new Treasons still we see,  
Revive their Old ones to our Memory.  
The Cockatrice on the same Eggs doth brood;  
Rebellion's Venom is their natural Food.  
Rome's Founder by a Wolf ('tis said) was nursed,  
And with his Brother's blood her Walls at first  
He cemented: whence ever since we find  
Her Off spring of a Ravenous, Bloody kind.  
Long since with Temporal Arms, and Flags unfurled,  
She Tyranny o'er Conquered Nations hurled;  
And now with spiritual Thraldom grasps the World.  
Sooner the AEthiop may blanche his skin,  
And Devils cease from tempting Men to sin;  
Sooner shall Darkness dwell in the Sun's beams,  
And Tybur mix with our Thames purer Streams,  
Than the fly Jesuit his old Arts will leave,  
Or cursed Nets of Treason cease to wove.   

But now behold! methinks a gallant Sight,  
Doctrines of Darkness yonder brought to light:  
Bonfires in Earnest! where Rome's Pamphlets fry,  
And Popish Authors pass their Purgat'ry.  
Unto the Fire their Books most justly came,  
Which first were wrote to set us in a Flame.  
As in the Air the burning Papers flew,  
We might, in Emblem, that Religion view:  
Which makes a while a glorious glittering Blaze,  
And with gay Pomp inviteth Fools to gaze;  
Pretends directly towards Heaven to fly  
On Wings of flaming Love and Charity:  
But wait a while, approach a little nigher,  
Its Glory fades, grows faint, and does Expire.  
What at first view appeared so warm and bright,  
Like painted Fires, yields neither Heat, nor Light,  
But Gross and Earthly down it comes again,  
And with its Blackness, where't doth touch, doth slain.   

Was it for this the Monk in his dark Cell,  
With Nitrous Earth, and Brimstone stolen from Hell,  
First composed Gunpowder, that it might be  
The future Engine of their Butchery?  
At one sad stroke to Massacre a Land,  
And make them fall, whom Heaven ordained to stand?  
Or could the bold, but silly Traitors hope,  
Great Britain ere would Truckle to the Pope?  
Erect and Lofty still her Genius stands,  
And defies all their Heads, and all their Hands.  
Nor shall their Strength or Policy ere reach  
Our Ruin, if our Crimes open not the Breach.  
Still we are safe, till our Transgression merits  
The dreadful Reformation from such spirits.  
They dig in vain, nor need our Nation fear  
Dark Lanterns, whilst God's Candlesticks are here.  
" The Purple Whore may lay her Mantle by,  
" Until our Sins are of a Scarlet Die.   

Lord! may they never to that Bulk proceed,  
Nor fester so within, that we should need  
Italian Horseleeches to make us Bleed.  
May Revived London never more become  
The Priests Burnt-offering to Insulting Rome.  
With Guarding Mercies still our Sovereign tender,  
And be thou His, as He's thy Faith's Defender.   
FINIS.   

LICENCED;  
Nou. 2. 1678.   

LONDON: Printed for R. G, 1678.