A Congratulatory Poem On the Sitting of the Great Convention  
In the Parliament House at Westminster, January 22. 1688/ 9.  
WISE Senators! We much Congratulate  
Your happy Meeting, for to heal our State:  
Our State was Sick, it lay much i'th' Head,  
We looked upon ourselves as almost Dead,  
Had not our Israel's Gideon came with speed,  
We could not now have said, Who did the Deed:  
But now the Tide is turned, the Trap they made,  
Did catch themselves, we are not now dismayed.  
They now are frustrated in their Intention,  
That God hath Blest us with a Wise Convention.  
Now Justice will run down, and Judgement meet,  
And Righteousness and Peace, they will them greet.  
May Haltion days of Joy, always attend  
Our Noble Senators, until their Lives do end.  
These days of Purim, Why should we be sad?  
Though Haman must be Hanged, Let us be Glad.  
The Voice o'th' Turtle now is heard i'th' Nation,  
Which makes the Popelings Mad with Consternation:  
The time of Singing Birds, it is now come,  
Be packing all you Papists, now for Rome:  
There Plot, and Plot, and lay your Damned design  
As low as Hell, we'll find a Countermine:  
Call your Black Emissaries, let them go  
To those dark Cells, and dismal Vaults below;  
Where Massacrees and Murders have their Birth,  
And Acted by the Devil's Apes on Earth:  
Go, go, into your secret Cells, and Mourn  
Among the shady Groves, and silent Urns;  
Whilst our grave Patriots in Peace do Rest,  
In this our Land, with Joy and Plenty Blest,  
Long may you live State Pillars, whilst you're here,  
Till Heaven removes you to a higher Sphere:  
And may your Names for ever be Enrolled,  
'Mongst Famous Worthies, when this Globe grows Old.  
Rest then (Great Sirs) in Health and Happiness,  
If we can say no more, we wish no less.  
(Tho. Morley   

London, Printed by W. Downing in Bartholomew-Close.