The PLOT. A POEM.  

LAte in St. Germain's Court, the Royal Station  
Of the great Jacobite, Lord of Abdication,  
Sat great Divan, on a more great Occasion:  
Where Crowns, Crown'd-Heads, Power, Empire, Domination;  
Descents and Vengeance, Transports and Invasion;  
Fire, Sword and Battle, Death and Desolation;  
Even down to the diminutive Preparation  
Of Poyniards, Musquetoons, (sweet titillation,)  
Dear Russians, Ambuscades, Assassination,  
The whole Rich Magazine of Heretic Damnation,  
Were all the high Debates of this grand Consultation.   

Here First, for their Divine Illumination,  
Behold a Beam of Sacred Revelation,  
St. Granvall and St. Ruth's great Inspiration.  
Nor did there want a gentler Invocation  
Of Fair St. Levaliers bright Coruscation:  
All Heavenly warming Lights to this great Caballation.   

Here Female Statesman, at her high Helm-Station,  
Great Maintenon, began, in Learned Oration,  
The Welsh Prince Panegyric Declamation:  
Whilst a bend Knee went round, and lowest Adoration.  
Behold, she cried,—  
The little Pillar o'th' great British Nation;  
Fair Albion's Hopes to endless Generation;  
The Peterstone to her whole Church-Foundation;  
His shortlived Father's Glories Consummation.  
Wonders she spoke! 'Twas all to Admiration!  
Even truths more great than Legend Demonstration;  
Up to the very inmost Penetration,  
Into the mystic Oracles of his Procreation,  
His very Warming-Pan, and Cradle's Consecration.   

This tender Bud of British Expectation,  
That infant Theme her first Initiation,  
She now advanced to th' loftier Elevation  
Of Copes and Crosiers, Triple Coronation:  
Through all the Streams of Sanguine Desperation,  
From Blood and Murder, Scarlet Rome's Plantation;  
Those well known mounting steps to Papal instauration;  
From Guido's Lantern Light, she moved by due Gradation.  
Even up to the Divine, Pontifick Radiation.   

Great Lewis here, with proudest Exultation,  
To give the Fiat to this vast Creation,  
Bid the bold I— s, his Pupil Preservation,  
Prepare for an immediate Embarkation.  
For Honour lay before him, Triumphation,  
Dressed in her proudest Crimson Decoration;  
No less than th' High-noon bright Glorification,  
T' his Phosphor Barclay's ruddy morning Lumination.   

Great were the sounds, and sweet the Consolation;  
For, oh, the tickling dear Imagination  
Of Universal Maudlin Reformation!  
Despotic Sceptres, Absolute Regnation!  
Priests, Jesuits, Dragoons, (an inundation!)  
Fire, Faggot, the whole Jaccobite Propagation!  
A total Heretic Eradication!  
All in the golden days of joyful Restauration.   

And for our foolish Fears full Dissipation,  
Our empty Jealousies Evaporation;  
Kind Lewis' wondrous Service, free Donation,  
Bound with a solemn  Protestation,  
He swore (and with a Stygian Imprecation)  
Was far from any mental Reservation,  
His own Ambitions utter Abjuration.  
Thus Vowed great Lewis, Mahomet's Transmigration,  
The Cresent-Champion for the Cross' Exaltation,  
All from his Heart as true as Transubstantiation.   

But here Fame's Trump must stop—  
Here change thy Airs, no more thou sweet Musician;  
Sing, sad Molpomene, Sobs, Sighs, Contrition,  
Woes, Wail! Some kind melancholy Titian,  
Draw wild's and Ruins; all our vast Ambition,  
Laid low in Dust; our poor Plots lost Condition.  
For, oh, our Barclay's dear Divine Commission  
Lies quashed: Our hopes all empty Apparition,  
And honest poor Jack Catch, our sorrows last Physician.   

Our Calais Transports for the Grand Decision,  
All under an Embargo of Misprision;  
A mark for Heretic Bombs, and Williamite Derision.  
Nay, our great Jehu I— s, from his Transition  
To Albion Shore, for Regal Readmission;  
Strolled back to Bulloign Cloisters, to petition  
The minor Saints, to wail a Jacobite Politician!   

This the Reduced Britannia's new Submission?  
Instead of our once Glorious Expedition;  
Egyptian spoils, and Heretic Division;  
Now made their Hiss and Grin (Fates weak tuition!)  
Fallen from our Laurel Wreaths, t' a rueful Vision  
Of Axe, Hemp, Cord, th' whole Tyburn Ammunition;  
To our whole rampant Cause, a woeful Circumcision.   

And have we piled and heaped, left no omission  
For Roman Givets, Jacobite Provision;  
All for one Conflagration? Dire Perdition!  
But above all (what's Death the very Repetition,)  
Is this our little Warbecks Royal Recognition!   

And to conclude our whole Eternal Abdication,  
Our thunderbolt of Fate is the Association.    

London, Printed for E. Whitlock, near Stationers-Hall. 1696.