The Manner of the Barbarous Murder of JAMES, Late Lord Archbishop of St. Andrews, Primate and Metropolitan of all Scotland, And one of his Majesty's most Honourable Privy-Council of that Kingdom; May 3. 1679.  
 

WHen Rome, by Godfrey's Death, had proudly shown  
The greatest Horror could by Man be done;  
Hell stood amazed a while, and blushed to see  
Itself out done by Romish Cruelty:  
At length, Grim Lucifer the Silence broke;  
And to his Imps, in furious tone he spoke:  
See yonder reeking Murder! Come, le's sit  
In strong debate, and strive to rival it;  
Or else, as Novices, to Rome we'll go,  
And send the Pope to Mount our Throne below.   

In hot dispute, the black Cabal had spent  
A little Time, when with a full Consent,  
It was resolved; Ten Furies, who expressed  
A greater Love to Blood, than all the rest,  
Should with as many Scottish Ruffians Join  
To act, on Pious SHARP, this Damned Design;  
For, who that knows that Murder, can (indeed)  
Think it by any here on Earth Decreed?  
When every horrid Circumstance does tell,  
It could be Plotted no where but in Hell:  
Though some sad Mortals do delight in Blood,  
They could not be thus Wicked, if they would.  
For what Infernal could enhance the Gild,  
More than in this, A Prelate's Blood was Spilt!  
Whose Sacred Function, was enough to quell  
The Thoughts of Vengeance in an Infidel.  
But yet nor this, nor's Silver coloured Hairs,  
His Learning, Piety, his Daughter's Prayers;  
His Virtues, Prudence, Loyalty, nor Age,  
Were Charms enough, to stop these Ruffians Rage:  
Who only therefore Longed to shed his Blood;  
Because they knew him Innocent, and Good:  
That so their Crime might unexampled seem,  
Not in the Murder, but in Murdering him.   

Nor does the manner of this Murder, less  
The height of their Impiety express:  
Behold! how like a Dog, they Hawl and Draw  
Him from his Coach, not fearing Heaven nor Law!  
See, how the Coachman Tumbles from his Box;  
And poor Postilion felled, like Fatted Ox!  
Whilst on her Knees, the weeping Daughter Craves  
Her Father's Life, and's threatened by the Slaves!  
Whilst others, by a Shower of Passes Given,  
Let out his Blood, and send his Soul to Heaven!   

If any villains, for the Future, would  
Know the worst way, to dip their Hands in Blood,  
Let them to Scotland go, to end that Strife,  
This Prelate's Fall, will Teach them to the Life!    

London, Printed for J. S. and B. H. 1679.