THE PROTESTANTS Vade Mecum: OR, POPERY displayed in its proper Colours, In Thirty EMBLEMS, Lively representing all the JESUITICAL PLOTS Against this NATION, AND More fully this late hellish design Against his Sacred MAjESTY.  
Curiously engraven in Copper-plates.  
Vivere qui saint cupitis, discedite Româ;  
Omnia cum liceant, non licet esse Pium.  
What shouldst thou do, oh Protestant, at Rome?  
At that new Babylon,  
All things, but Goodness, lawful are become.  
LONDON: Printed for Dan. brown, Sam. Lee, and Dan. mayor; at the Black Swan without Temple-bar, the Feathers in Lumbard-street, and the Hand and sceptre over against St. Dunstans Church in Fleet-street. 1680.   

TO THE Candid and Ingenuous READER.  
READER,  
THough this small Book has the Ill-fortune to come abroad into the World at such a Time, when by the Licentiousness of an unlicensed Press, the Town is pestered with such a numerous swarm of idle Pamphlets, as made the most Knowing and Judicious too apt to censure all Books, without perusing them; judging( though too severely) that all are unworthy that pains, because most are: Yet this doth not much discourage the Author, nor make him doubt of a kind reception from all true English Protestants; since that which is the Subject of this Piece, viz. the Plot, was designed to involve all such in a general ruin. And certainly, it cannot but be acceptable to us, to take a view of the greatness of the Danger we so luckily escaped. No true Protestant, I am sure, doubts the reality of this lately-discovered New Branch of the Old Plot, which hath been carried on and continued ever since our Reformation, though in differing Methods, by these cursed janissaries of Hell and Rome, the Jesuits; who for complicated Mischiefs, and before-unheard-of villainies, make the Devil himself stand in admiration, to see himself outdone in his own Trade by these Devils incarnate: And blame me not for giving them this Character, unless it be because I have not said enough( for words are too weak and low to give them their due.) But alas, poor Innocents! How unchristian, nay inhuman and barbarous, are these English heretics, to scandalise them after such a rate as they do? Poor Souls!( cry they) all that we seek by our Prayers and Pains, is your Conversion and Salvation, to bring you out of your damnable errors and Heresies, and led you the right way to Paradise. A likely matter I Indeed, if cutting our Throats, burning and destroying our Habitations, vitiating and corrupting our Wives and Daughters, and cheating us of our Goods, Money and Estates, conspiring to Murder our Dread Sovereign Lord the Kings most Gracious Majesty, and to solemnize his Obsequies with the Death and Destruction of us all; if this be the way to convert us, from such Conversion, Libera nos Domine. What could we expect worse at the hands of Turks and Mahometans, nay the most barbarous Savages, than these infernal Monsters designed to inflict upon all in general, that would not truckle to their Superstition and Idolatry? But Ludit in humanis Divina Potentia rebus. God saw their designs, ●nd though he suffered them to go on for a while, yet he was seen in the Mount( as he hath graciously promised he would be, in his most holy Word:) just when implacable Malice stood with its Arm extended, preparing to strike the fatal stroke, and destroy us all at one blow, the most Just God, who hath said, Vengeance is his, turned it upon themselves, and they are fallen into the Pit which they digged for our Destruction.  
But notwithstanding all that they have done, and though concerning villainy they may do as Hercules did concerning the utmost bounds of the World, writ a Ne plus ultra, when they leave off their Old Trade,( which will never be without Squire Ketch's assistance:) Yet some good, honest, plain-meaning people think it is no such matter, as if it were impossible that Men of such Learning, Gravity, and seeming Piety and Sanctity, should be such abominable Hypocrites.  
Poor deluded Souls! the Devil himself may learn of them to dissemble, and cannot so easily appear an Angel of Light, as these can seeming Saints.  
Let their Proselytes say what they will of their Conversion, and with a blind implicit Faith believe themselves real Converts; yet I never red that they Converted any but two sorts, viz. An Honest Man to a Knave, or at best Fool, and a Wife or Virgin to a Whore. And if the same Law were in force against them here, which is in the Swedish Territories, viz. That they should be Guelt, when and wherever they happen to be taken; I believe then we should be less plagued with these Caterpillars, though they would never cease to Plot our Destruction.  
And now, Reader, this small Book presents itself to thee; and if you reap by it either Pleasure or Profit, the author hath his design; who was desirous( if it be this Poems fate to survive this present Age) that Posterity might take a short view of their Treachery, and learn to beware, having so subtle an Enemy to deal with.  
The Book, as to Matter and Method, I freely leave to your Censure: Only one thing I would say more, which is this: I would not have you esteem it the less, because 'tis in Verse; though some Ignorant Persons, and others that could never attain to it, dare vilify and profane Poetry( which the best and wisest of all Ages always held Sacred and Divine) as if it were uncapable, or at least unfit, to express any thing of weight or moment. But Antiquity gives sufficient Answer to the contrary, and therefore I shall let them alone in their Folly, and bid thee hearty  
farewell.   

READER;  

WHen Rome to all the conquered World gave Laws,  
And none durst try the dreadful Eagles claws;  
And the proud Consul( like some petty God)  
followed by fettered Kings in Triumph road:  
Yet in their greatest Bondage Men were free,  
compared to those that feel the Tyranny  
Of our New Rome:  
There Lucifer incarnate has his Throne,  
And Caesar-like will no Superior own.  
By Force or Fraud he'd make the World obey,  
And to his Moloch-ship such Honour pay,  
As only's due to Heaven: all must bow down  
To the great Monster with the Triple Crown.  
And all that dare but once oppose his Will,  
Kill 'em; you merit Heaven when such you kill;  
Is most authentic Doctrine: Oh! 'tis good  
To bathe your hands in such vile heretics blood.  
And to complete his Ends, there's none so fit  
As that chief Plague o'th' World, the Jesuit.  
A Jesuit's a Compound of all that's Evil,  
Able to baffle Hell, and foil the Devil  
At his own Weapons, Fraud and Cruelty.  
But since in their designs they both agree,  
( I mean the general ruin of mankind)  
In a strict League he and the Devil joined,  
And strive with all the Power and Art they can,  
Which shall do most t'undo poor helpless Man.   

Here, Reader, you may have a taste or two  
Of what these cursed Conspirators can do.  
Here you may see 'em plot with one dire stroke  
To spoil the Wood, and fell the Royal Oak:  
King, Nobles, Gentry, Commons, all must fall  
A Sacrifice to their Infernal Baal.  
But Heaven be praised, their damned designs are crost,  
And we are saved, whilst some of them are lost,  
And feel in Hell( though they're made Saints at Rome)  
Damnation's an ill Crown of martyrdom.    

EMBLEM I. The Jesuits in Counsel, in the time of King Hen. 8.  
Still in debate, O Rome! when wilt thou be  
Serene from Blood, and from Rebellion free?  

EMBLEM the First.  PSAL. 64. v. 5. 
They encourage themselves in an evil matter, they commune of laying snares privily, they say, Who shall see ' em?  

HEre the Religious Cheats of Rome are set,  
Whom their grand Patron hath in private met:  
Close in debate the Matchevillians sit,  
Folding their Treasons up in holy Writ.  
The grand Impostor laughs to see the Cheat,  
And gains their Souls by making of 'em great:  
They're framing now some new ambiguous evil,  
Just rammed into their Brains by Father Devil.  
'Tis this, says one—  
Long have we Courted, but in vain, to bring  
To our harsh yoke, the Northern Islands King.  
The Church he owns, and duty duly pays,  
As to Religion and its formal ways.  
By us directed, he has caused a flood,  
And Victor-like, hath bathed his hands in blood,  
To reach by that a small ascent to Bliss,  
As if high heaven were won by acts like this.  
On its Vice-gerent he but half bestows,  
The common pity we allow to foes.  
Dull in acknowledgement his senses are,  
And Alms thus given, nor merit thanks nor prayer.  
To save, forgive, relinquish, or redeem  
From death, he doth allow to him.  
Transubstantiation be believes, and more,  
'S confirmed i'th' holy Unction and its power:  
These, these great Cheats he owns, but still  
He has a matchless and unbounded will;  
He will not own Heaven's Vicar as Supreme,  
But says, he is as great a Saint as him.  
This makes our Coffers from that iceland come  
Uncram'd, and empty to the See of Rome.  
Says one, Let's try, and Excommunicate;  
Perhaps 'twill startle him to hear of fate.  
A Third replies,  
He has been threatened, but threats prove too mean;  
H'as vowed, and will not own the Pope Supreme.  
Let's try some other Cheat to win him to't:  
He paused, and all the holy Tribe were mute:  
Then starts again, and with a formal look,  
( As full of deep Enigma's as his Book)  
He called th'Apostate Angel by his name,  
Who drew the veil, and to his presence came;  
hast, says this dark contriver, fly from hence,  
Dress all your looks in Sacred Innocence;  
Assume the garb of our Religious Sire,  
And to the Northern Isle with hast retire;  
There ere its stubborn Monarch wake from sleep,  
In visionary form before him sweep:  
Sue, beg, entreat, fall prostrate at his feet,  
With all your guiles his slumbering fancy greet;  
Preach Dispensations, Pardons, all the throng  
Of holy Cheats, that to great Rome belong;  
Promise him all your Holiness can do,  
If he'll but own Supremacy to you;  
Call him your Darling, Child, and Heir to Bliss,  
If he'll but gratify your love in this.  
The Devil bowed soon as the words were spoken,  
He clapped his wings, and vanished thence in smoke,  
And then this diabolic Consult broken.   

Great hopes of Bliss, or on the earth content,  
When Saint like this on Embassy is sent:  
Hard fate, poor Soul, is for thy portion given,  
If theirs must be the path which leads to heaven.     

EMBLEM II. King Hen. 8. casting off the Popes Supremacy.  
We in this Emblem see Romes tottering state,  
Which cannot be upheld by Hell nor Fate.  
ISA. Chap. 59. v. 3. 
For your hands are defiled with blood, and your fingers with iniquity; your lips have spoken lies, your tongue hath uttered perverseness.  

POor fools, your Machinations are as vain  
As those, who fought with heaven in heaven to Reign.  
Could from your spurious Soul  
No project spring,  
But daring to control  
A potent King?  
To such a height of impudence you're grown,  
Nothing can serve you but anothers Throne.  
Could the Popes Consul choose,  
Amongst those thousand Cheats you use,  
No better theme  
T'inslave a King,  
But to trepan him in a dream?  
As if his Guardian-Angel took no care,  
To keep him from the snare  
This diabolic Counsel laid,  
To have his liberty betrayed:  
But heaven foresaw what Embassy was sent,  
And swift as thought did their vile Plot prevent;  
Still did his slumbering fancy take  
Its nightly ease,  
Whilst the unweary'd Soul did wake,  
Which from above  
Tasted the mighty gifts of Love.  
Quiet as death he in his Chamber lay,  
Till beams of light,  
Shot from eternal day,  
Flash'd on his sight,  
And shew'd him where the grand Impostor lay.  
Then in a rage majestic, as his frown,  
He starts, and hurls the Triple Monster down:  
Th'Apostate Angel trembled at the sight,  
But strait withdrew,  
And on the Dusky wings of night  
To'rds Rome he flew;  
Where the Cabal expecting the event,  
Saw their ambassador come floundring in;  
His eyes shot anger, looks spake discontent,  
The true Epitome of each mans sin.  
They guessed the cause, and without any stay,  
Priest, Devil, Jesuit, slunk quiter away,  
And left the business for another day.   

We need not fear but Rome will totter down,  
And at thy feet cast her Abortive Crown;  
If still thy holy Angel sweep along,  
And guard thy Church from the conspiring throng.     

EMBLEM III. The Pope rejoices in Queen Maries days.  
Behold, the wicked with their joy run mad,  
Whilst righteous men are trembling, pale, and sad.  
JOB Chap. 15. v. 31. 
Let not him that is deceived trust in vanity, for vanity shall be his recompense.  
WHat sudden joy is this,  
What strange surprise,  
What yet unheard-of Bliss,  
Produce these great varieties?  
It must be so,  
Rome has an Empress now  
Which doth allow  
To the all-saving Pope Supremacy:  
That, that's the cause  
Of this applause,  
And this fantastic vanity.  
Rome never laughs, or seems to smile,  
Unless  
Some secret guile  
laid by the Pope and his ambitious crew,  
Have its success,  
Though it ten thousand Souls undo:  
Souls are but Tennis-balls,  
The common sport  
Of the Romantick Cardinals,  
And all the Court;  
About they're bandy'd till that 
* The Pope.  all over evil,  
For want of money sends them to the Devil.  
For Mass, or prayer,  
He takes no care,  
Till Pluto his great god Arrives;  
Then with a throng  
Of unresistless prayers he batters Hell,  
And leads the guilty Souls along  
No one knows where, nor none can tell.  
And thus for Gold, the Devil and the Pope  
Deceive mens Souls, till they are damned in hope.  
If Gold on earth should our Salvation bring,  
What need we fear the Thunder of Heav'ns King?  
Let Scripture too, as useless be laid by;  
Gold is the saving true Divinity.  
Poor hoodwinked fools, to think and vainly hope,  
To buy Salvation from th' unerring Pope:  
You're blind, misled, and all in darkness move;  
No one can pardon sins, but God above.    

EMBLEM IV. The Consult about the Spanish Invasion.  
Conspiring still! when will the Project be  
licked into form, that all the world may see,  
Rome never teemed with ought but villainy?  
JOB, Chap. 15. v. 35. 
They conceive mischief, and bring forth vanity, and their belly prepareth deceit.  

THus the fallen Angels did in Counsel sit,  
Each Cherub fil'd with deep infernal wit;  
The Pandaemonium bent beneath the crowd,  
And their contrivance is by all allowed:  
From thence to Rome the bloody Edict's hurled,  
That they might plot the ruin of the world.  
Close in Consult, th'Apostate Fathers doom  
( Apostates to the Faith, though not to Rome)  
A dreadful sentence on this peaceful Isle;  
Not doubting its success; like Hell they smile,  
When any doubtful Soul it doth beguile.  
A Nuncio streight is to the Spaniard sent,  
To give a Model of the Popes intent;  
Which he applauds, not daring to control  
His Holiness, lest he should damn his Soul:  
The Duke of Parma too, ere aid's required,  
( spurred by success, and by his zeal all fired)  
Affords his help, commands a Naval force,  
And's quiter resolved upon this bloody course.  
The Pope to hasten such a glorious evil,  
Allows a Million too to bribe the Devil.  
Great preparations on every side  
Are making—  
And the Sea begins to swell with pride:  
Th'Armado's fixed, and its vast entrails grown  
Big bellied now with Rubbage of their own;  
The Horse and Foot promiscuously are stowed,  
Till Neptune staggered with the mighty Load:  
The Sails are hoisted whilst the wind sits fair,  
And acclamations filled the troubled air;  
The hollow echoes from the shore rebound,  
Which Trumpets answer with melodious sound:  
The confused discords follow from the strand,  
Till they have lost their clamour with the Land.  
Thus puffed with pride, on mischief they are bent,  
ruins their aim, which heaven does still prevent.   

couldst thou imagine, Rome, that heaven would still  
Wink when you Plotted to destroy and kill?  
He not in Blood Religious Basis laid,  
'Twas undefiled till you its stamp betrayed,  
And with base Metal itis true Quoin allayed.  
He that moves thus to have his Faith run even,  
Has quiter mistook the way which leads to heaven.     

EMBLEM V. The Spanish Invasion.  
Strive not, O Rome, since blows can ne're be given  
'Gainst her that's guarded by the powers of heaven.  
PSAL. 53. v. 5. 
There were they in great fear where no fear was; for God hath scattered the bones of them that encamped against thee, thou hast put them to shane because God hath despised them.  

AT length, O Rome,  
Your Naval force is to this iceland come,  
Fraught with destruction, and with Treasons grown  
So big, she's monstrous now to every one.  
Each common soul  
Hopes to control.  
Nothing but death, damnation, or what's worse,  
A holy Curse  
They think  
breathed from the mouth of an Infernal Pope,  
That can revoke  
Or call a soul,  
Though ne'er so foul,  
even from Hells brink.  
lashed by the fear, just at the latest hour  
( Although Damnation is not in his power)  
Produce but Gold, his Holiness shall give  
Th'Immortal part  
( lodged in the heart)  
His word, and that's enough, to live  
Safe in the bosom of his heavenly Sire:  
Or else instead,  
When thou art dead,  
And leaves no money for the Holy See,  
Thy soul is damned to perpetuity.  
This, this black Monster's come  
From blacker Rome,  
With all the plagues Hell can itself invent,  
With an intent  
To snatch the fruit from the forbidden three.  
Thus Eve deluded by th'Apostate, eat,  
And cursed the world in taking of her meat.  
Methinks I spy,  
I'th' Northern sky,  
A strange unusual streak of light,  
Which to my sight,  
Seems like a God whirled in a flamme of fire,  
Which darting down  
On her Imperial head that wore the Crown,  
 told her, the enemy should streight expire.  
Then swift as thought upon the edge of day  
He soared, and towards Heaven winged his way;  
Our Royal Mistris not the least dismayed,  
called all her chiefs, and thus in smiles she said:  
Behold the scum,  
The spurious Off-spring there  
Of bloody Rome,  
Whose Ensigns play between the tender air,  
overgrown with pride, and glutted with renown,  
Are come to seize upon the English Crown;  
Their large Armado, like a floating Wood,  
Resolve to swim here in a Crimson flood.  
faggot and fire  
They still desire,  
Or any thing that ruin brings;  
Rome cannot live  
Unless it give  
Hells warrant out to murder Kings.  
They are forbid, and are not to be good;  
The Devil sealed it with the Vicars blood:  
But heaven preserved me sure to wear the Crown,  
That I might pull this Romish Harlot down.  
Drunk with the blood of martyred souls they roam;  
And all its crew  
We'll soon undo,  
And with unusual force o'ercome.  
Scarce had she spoken, but from her presence went  
A Chief all fire,  
Whose looks spoken Ire,  
And eyes declared his dire intent:  
Prompted by heaven he in an instant slay,  
And with destruction 'mongst the Navy flew:  
The foaming stage  
boiling with rage,  
And heated with the fire its self did bear,  
Like yawning graves,  
opened their waves,  
Sunk some, and tossed the rest to air.   

With care and pains, and with true zeal we should  
Give thanks in prayers, and sacrifice our blood.  
Should we forget, and not that offering give,  
In dark and dusky paths the soul would live.  
Great thanks are due, and greater we must own,  
When thus through Miracles the way is shown  
To heaven, and to its Empyreal Throne.     

EMBLEM VI. The Pope laments the loss of the Spanish Fleet.  
Didst thou weep now, and for thy many Crimes,  
The World might hope to see much better times.  
JOB, Chap. 20. v. 5. 
That the triumphing of the wicked is short, and the joy of the Hypocrite but for a moment.  

PRevented thus, must all my Counsels be  
Abortive still, and end in infamy!  
Must all those many thousand slaves of mine  
That flew to listen, longed for a design,  
allowed their thoughts, applauded my device,  
Nay, Kings I was not wanting to entice,  
Which now will melt away like winters Ice.  
All my Religious dear Indulgencies,  
My Bulls, my Dispensations, Fopperies,  
My Pardons, Holy Unction, nay, my hate,  
Which still I vended at so dear a rate,  
It made a Bankrupt of a Potentate.  
My Excommunications too were grown,  
To take them off—  
So dear, they would undo a Throne.  
Abroad my foolish Fires, my teaching Crowd,  
My false Helena's which this See allowed,  
My dear infernal propagators too,  
Who taught Religion, that it might undo.  
My Priests, my Monks, my Jesuits; nay, all  
The Romish Tribe will in this Conflict fall.  
This dear Religion which admits all 'vice,  
This Chain which links the wise, doth fools entice,  
This Agent framed to cheat the souls of men,  
The bugbear which this Empress doth condemn,  
She, she o'rethrows it; Rome must totter down,  
And its luxurious Tribe dread every frown.  
We must be circumscribed that lived at ease,  
And had varieties enough to please;  
How shall we, now this grand design is known  
And blasted, keep ourselves upon the Throne?  
The tender Virgins in the early bud  
seduced by what they never understood,  
Do vainly hope for an eternal good:  
Drawn by that Magnet, our Religion, come  
To be unerring prostitutes of Rome.  
We or the Sacred Tribe assail the three,  
And then forgive her loss of Chastity.  
These, these great blessings must be snatched away;  
None but the blind will grope in open day.  
If they pluck off but once the lions skin,  
All will degrade the Ass that's hide within;  
So if discovered by this last defeat,  
The Rabble will deride me for a Cheat.  
This, this I fear, 'tis this which makes me mourn;  
hast to the holy Tribe, make swift return,  
Bear 'em these drops, these liquid Pearly tears,  
Bid 'em take heart, and banish all their fears;  
Tell 'em—  
Another Plot is laid; nay, tell 'em more,  
Tell 'em, the Plot's far stronger than before.  
The Embryo's hatched which Hell shall ne're revoke,  
Nor shall it like the last design be broken,  
Though it infest the neighbouring world with smoke.   

Is this Religion, this the holy Cheat?  
Is it for this you're mounted to the seat?  
Are you thought good, that are so all o'er 'vice?  
Is your Religion Lust and Avarice?  
Guard me, ye powers, from such a holy evil,  
That hurls both soul and body to the Devil.     

EMBLEM VII. The Powder-Plot.  
Mischief on mischief doth from Rome proceed,  
Yet all is blasted in the very dead,  
And heaven still helps when there is any need.  
JOB, Chap. 24. v. 16. 
In the dark they dig through houses, which they had marked for themselves in the day-time; they know not the light.  

HAs Hell ungorg'd, and from its entrails thrown  
Into the lap of Rome this Plot alone?  
Has the dark Consult of the gloomy part,  
Unbosom'd now the utmost of their Art,  
And writ it in the Center of the heart?  
Still hand in hand cannot the Nation see  
A Pope and Devil, but, false Rome, in thee!  
Falser than Hell, nay, falser than its chief;  
He sins as Devil; few allow belief  
To him, whom we all know to be a thief:  
But clothed in Holiness, great Pope, like you,  
He may essay another world t'undo.  
Like him at first, y'assault the weakest part,  
And dart Rebellion in a womans heart.  
Hell keeps an Annal, registers you there,  
And dines upon a Pope twice every year.  
Sated with such a damned luxurious crew,  
He vomits all his Treasons out on you.  
The then dull Pope, he in Religion rolls,  
Whose onely business is to damn their souls.  
You're but an Agent here within the world;  
Hells business done, and all its banners furled,  
Loaden with sins, you're to its Kingdom hurled.  
Cease, cease, for shane, lay all your plotting by,  
For once again you've lost the Victory,  
So great a Cheat and base a gilded you're grown,  
That for Religion I'll allow you none.  
yourself, I guess, did you but often trace,  
And view the yawning wrinkles in your face,  
The dry parched furrows of the Romish day,  
You would in spite of Hell our God obey.  
Behold, you strange, you Irreligious crew,  
And look upon the mischiefs caused by you.  
Look from a far, how through the Eastern sky,  
The Beams of heaven have made discovery;  
Then look again, and in the West you'll see  
The under-Agents of this villainy;  
See 'em suspended, and at once look pale,  
And then consider if you can prevail.  
Blood requires blood, this has our Maker taught,  
And yet it is your every minutes fault.  
If Murder be no sin, why should not we,  
That have both strength and hands, act cruelty?  
Were that the way to prove Religion good,  
We could exhaust a Nation of its Blood.  
But you have got the knack to save, forgive,  
Nay, to damn those you would not have to live.  
Did you e'r red, or can you all maintain,  
That God commanded Abel should be slain?  
Or had his great Omnipotence decreed,  
That for some secret reason he should bleed?  
Yet he cursed Cain, who presently was driven,  
And made a vagabond on Earth and heaven;  
A secret mark was on the Murth'rer set,  
Which did to all, his villainy detect.  
So to your cause the fatal Brand is given,  
Which keeps you from the path which leads to heaven.   

'Tis plainly seen, heaven has a careful eye,  
And guards his Church from Romish vanity.  
He has forbid, nor will he e'r allow  
That man should to a graved Image bow.  
Ill grounded sure the Faith of Man must be,  
That courts Salvation by offending thee,  
And Christ forgets—  
Unless he's put in mind by effigy.     

EMBLEM VIII. King Charles the First Murdered.  
Now let the Nation mourn, none can revoke  
The bloody Sentence, since this fatal stroke  
Puts on our thraldom with the Romish yoke.  
JOB, Chap. 27. v. 8. 
For what is the hope of the Hypocrite though he hath gained, when God taketh away his Soul?  

AH fatal day! let it for ever be  
Dark and obscure,  
Let night endure  
To perpetuity;  
Let not one ray  
Nor streak of day  
Appear:  
But let dull night  
o'ercome the light,  
And in grim horror let us view it here.  
For round the world  
Confusion's hurled,  
And strange Convulsions shake the Earth;  
The hollow Womb  
Of every Tomb  
groaned when he lost his Royal breath.  
Ah! cursed 
* cromwell.  Impostor, may thy ' ssential part,  
Loaden with Tortures, tossed from flamme to flamme,  
May Hells plagues there, on Earth thy cursed name  
Fright all who cracked the cordage of his heart.  
And Rome,  
Thou monstrous Pile,  
reared up in Blood, and in confusion built;  
The blackest doom  
That e're Religion gave, and yet did smile,  
Was, that thy blood should be thus basely spilled.  
Religion, O 'tis sin to name  
a double guilt,  
Nay, but to think, she could destroy a frame  
Which God had built.  
'Twas Hell  
joined with the darling off-spring of its hope,  
The bloody Pope,  
Which did this mischief to the world foretell:  
Thus Herod sought our Saviour to destroy,  
To rob the World of its Immortal joy:  
Blood-thirsty Rome  
'S as vile become,  
And its Inhabitants as thirsty are,  
As that Judea's King,  
Who sought to bring  
The world into a panic fear:  
He would have robbed the soul of its blessed part,  
And this has touched the body to the heart.  
I'th' weeping Crowd,  
Methinks I spy  
A traitor lie,  
Which laughs aloud,  
And cries,  
Now Rome  
Thy glorious happy day is come,  
That thou mayst act thy villainies;  
Now shall thy Off-spring have a happy birth,  
And thy delusions compass all the Earth.  
Now shall we be  
From trouble free,  
And live under Romes sovereignty.  
Thus spoken the Jesuit, when the stroke was given  
That sent a Martyr and a King to heaven.   

Ill must we hope, and ill th'event will be,  
When Blood shall bring a man to sovereignty:  
Strange desperations do strange actions bring,  
But 'tis more strange to level at a King.  
heaven made him Sacred, and that hand will be  
That strikes him, damned to perpetuity.  
The Agents all, Protector and the Pope,  
( Though heaven has given 'em yet a little scope)  
Must die and perish without any hope.     

EMBLEM IX. The Burning of London.  
Rome, thou hast conquered Londons earthy part,  
But never shalt o'ercome the Lions heart.  
●ROV. 4. Chap. 16. & JOB, Chap. 6. v. 27. 
For they sleep not, unless they have done mischief; and their sleep is taken away, unless they cause some to fall.  
Yea, ye overwhelm the Fatherless, and you dig a pit for your friend.  

Is't come to this? is your revenge so great,  
That this Metropolis in flames must set?  
Is this a Sacrifice t'appease the Pope?  
Are these the ruins Rome so long did hope?  
The cursed Cabal have thought upon a way,  
And our bright flames makes theirs a glorious day.  
Though in confusion all our buildings roll,  
Yet, Rome, thou canst not touch our Monarchs soul;  
That with Religious Adamantine Rocks  
Is bared,—  
And 'twill sustain the fury of your shocks;  
Nor Blood, nor fire, can undo its locks:  
fixed like the Center of the earth 'twill be,  
unmovable to all Eternity.  
Heav'ns fram● will stagger ere his soul gives way:  
Certain as light  
Which ushers in the day,  
He still in spite  
Shall make you all obey.  
heaven winked, and gave the bloody Monster leave  
To roam a while about, and to deceive;  
Undid the links which chained him to the ground,  
Where he lay grovelling to receive the wound.  
Satan asked leave that he might Job torment,  
And the Omnipotent did give consent:  
His outward substance vanished into smoke,  
His Children died, he like a Leper broke:  
All his Terrestrial goods were snatched away,  
And he, though counselled, did not disobey:  
Th'Apostate, Woman did again assail,  
And thought on weakness he might still prevail.  
Job's guardian-Angel did about him fly,  
And kept entire the souls integrity:  
The trial past, the Angel up did soar,  
And Job was made much richer than before.  
The Cherub back is to his torments hurled,  
And's forced to leave the pleasures of the world.  
So you must shrink to your first mother day,  
And all your glories shall be snatched away,  
And you be shut from the eternal day;  
Whilst from the top of our rebuilded Wall.  
We shall behold your splendid Funeral;  
But Dives-like, when you're to Hell betrayed,  
You shall be fed with fires yourselves have made.   

That Rome is Hell, the world must need confess;  
Then sure the Devil is his Holiness.  
Monks, friars, Abbots, Jesuits, and all  
The thick-scull'd Bishops, nay, the Cardinal,  
Are Devils too, though of a less esteem,  
And suck their Trayt'rous Practices from him.  
When earth was Chaos, and ere night began;  
Ere heaven had scarce considered upon Man,  
Then in Rebellion did th'Apostate move,  
And scorned to own Supremacy above.  
Cherub with Cherub did for Conquest try,  
And all the Zeraphs fought for victory:  
Arms against Arms, Angel 'gainst Angel striven,  
And all was discord which before was love.  
Thus the rebellious Angels striven for sway,  
Till with their bliss they lost eternal day:  
So you Apostates to Religion turn,  
Till in the fires you made, yourselves you burn.     

EMBLEM X. The general Consultation for promoting the Roman catholic Religion, &c.  
Which of these two does most deserve the Rope,  
Grand Father ●●vil, or grav● Fath●● Pope?  
JOB, Chap. 32. v. 9. 
Great men are not always wise, neither do the aged understand judgement.  Pop. 
TWice most successfully we have prevailed,  
And in the direful projects have not failed;  
Good Omen of a future sure success,  
Murder and fire foreshows Romes happiness.  Dev. 
You need not fear, what ere you undertake  
Shall prosper, though you made the world a stake.  
Rapine, and Blood, Rebellion for a Throne  
You may command, as virtues of your own.  
Where the nice Conscience doth not contradict,  
Who dare repined at pains which you inflict?  
Into your hand such mighty power is given,  
Supreme on earth, till you are snatched to heaven;  
Where clothed in Sun-beams in that blessed abode,  
You shall usurp the Title of a God.  Pop. 
Best and most blessed, 
* Em●a●es ●im.  thou Romes eternal friend  
My bosome-Saint, on whom my joys depend,  
My Minion of delight, my darling Child,  
My all that ever nature gave, that ever smiled  
To see my universal foes beguiled.  Dev. 
From the deep caverns of the vast Abyss,  
Where crowds of heretics with endless hiss  
Groan, and repined they shunned the way to bliss:  
With dismal roarings they the deep invade,  
And curse the Wounds their ignorance have made.  
Now they too plainly find, and too late see  
They lost Eternity in slighting thee.  
Ranging amongst this damned and dismal crew,  
In a loan corner far from any view,  
Silent as night, and pensive as a Dove,  
I saw a soul just hurried from above,  
Reeking in Blood, and mangled in such sort,  
It rather moved my pity than my sport;  
I streight demanded what the object meant,  
And found—  
He was a catholic from Tyburn sent,  
A Roman too, none of the meanest famed;  
Had not his Nation blasted half his name.  
He was of Gallia, eager for desire,  
And was the first which London set on fire.  
Hubert the Martyr, Sir, it is I mean.  Pop. 
Release him quickly from his dismal den;  
sand streight a thousand Masses to the Cave,  
And show him there is bliss beyond the Grave.  
If they should fail, my pardon without doubt  
Will quickly fetch this first French Martyr out:  
More to reward him for the pains he took,  
Let him be canonised a Saint, and look  
You set him down a Martyr in my book.  Dev. 
It shall be done; but yet before I go,  
The business of the North I fain would know.  
The last great fire has yet but warmed their Blood,  
It must boil o'er, before the Mass be good.  Pop. 
It shall, although in such a weighty cause  
My nice and foolish Conscience bids me pause:  
'Tis something ill to burn a Royal Throne.  Dev. 
It is no crime, Sir, to destroy your own.  
The flames do only in your birth-right rage,  
And England's yours, Sir, by Inheritage:  
St. Peter gave it to the See of Rome;  
Then you that are his Vicar sure may doom  
Death and Damnation on deserters still,  
And burn the Rebel-pile, when ere you will.  
heaven did not err when it destroyed the world,  
But since in private parts confusion hurled.  
He that first made, may first of all undo,  
And so by the same reason, Sir, may you.  
Things grounded thus are put beyond dispute;  
He cannot sin, whom heaven doth institute.  Pop. 
I am convinced; let all in ruin roll:  
He first destroyed the body, I the soul.  
Nip in the bud the fruit that springs so well,  
And make a Massacre to pleasure Hell.  Dev. 
I've found out Agents to perform your will,  
Men that to gain Salvation, only kill;  
A sort of Saints, who think they merit grace,  
When any Royal Image they deface;  
nursed up in Blood, to Murder they're so quick,  
They'l bless that hand which kills an heretic.  
Provincial Whitebread has an active soul,  
And is most fit the weaker to control;  
Cardinal Howard shall possession take,  
And as your Legate Royal Orders make.  
Coleman and Harcourt, Father Conyers, all  
Shall give their aids till it to ruin fall.  
If they should fail, Groves with an Irish crew  
Shall burn down Southwark, Sir, to pleasure you;  
Blundel in Wapping shall maintain a fire;  
The Strand and Westminster, if you desire,  
Shall fry in flames, and in vast smokes expire.  
Besides, some other Jesuits of trust  
I have, that will to your great Cause be just;  
managed by these, with policy extreme,  
We'll quickly make your Holiness supreme.  Pop. 
It shall be so, give our Commissions out,  
Disburse our money too, to clear all doubt;  
Seal my blank Pardons in such numerous swarms,  
That they may be secured from endless harms.  
For any sin, forgiveness I decree;  
Murder, and Rapine, fire, and Perjury,  
Are Crimes I can with as much ease forgive,  
As the Omnipotent can bid man live.  
Dispatch these streight, 'tis dangerous to delay;  
When Consternation blinds 'em in the day,  
A little matter sweeps 'em all away.  
What dark Debates and strange Results are here!  
Nothing but horror dwells within thy spheer.  
Thy products, Rome, are like thy Counsels dire,  
Nothing proceeds from thee but blood and fire.  
Thy nostrils burn, and the black sulphrous flamme  
Strives to kill those who not adore thy name.  
What can Religion be, or what the scope?  
How can we think or have but any hope  
Of good, from such a Devil, such a Pope?    

EMBLEM XI. Whitebread the Provincial striking Doctor oats, &c.  
Peter, they say, may strike as well as Preach,  
That Maxim in the Romish Church they teach.  
And if their Consults any one betrays,  
'Tis Meritorious to cut off his days.  
JOB, Chap. 30. v. 29. 
I am a Brother to Dragons, and a companion to Owls.  

ENglands Preserver, having felt the sting  
Of Conscience, in remorse  
To save the King  
From threatening dangers, and consulted Crimes,  
Thinks on a course  
That memory shall bless in future times:  
Weary of deeds so consequently ill,  
He is resolved to save whom they would kill.  
In order then  
To these great glorious acts,  
Which they condemn, cause it displays their facts  
To th'eyes of men;  
He gladly moves, but with so mildred a grace,  
That none could red his business in his face.  
Therefore resolved to leave the Faction quiter,  
He turns a happy Proselyte.  
Provincial Whitebread having understood  
The Convert was afraid to deal in blood,  
At every thought  
Which various dangers to his fancy brought,  
He wished in rage  
He might the Author of his fears engage.  
The night  
Had just withdrawn,  
When early down  
restored him to the glorious light;  
When with a frown,  
Enough to strike a puny Christian down,  
He rose.  
Scarce was he dressed, but to his presence came  
The wished for object of his fear and shane,  
Whom he did thus oppose.  
Scarce had he entred ' sore this spawn of Hell,  
Without dispute upon the Convert fell.  
So have I seen a savage Bore in chase,  
When certain death has followed him apace,  
foaming with rage, turn on the first pursued,  
Till his long Tusks is with read blood embru'd.  
A second too, if he had mist his dart,  
The beast with speed would reach his very heart  
His ground maintaining till his wounds were grown  
So many, they appeared all but one.  
So the Provincial seized upon his prey,  
And would with blows have taught him to obey,  
The other calm and silent as a dove,  
moved as became  
The rev'rent name  
Of one that is endeared with love.  
The angry Jesuit more vexed to see  
He did so slightly bear the Infamy,  
Lifts up again,  
Though reared in pain,  
A withered hand which onely cut the air;  
So light it fell,  
He could not tell  
Whether he struck in love or fear,  
Had not the dictates of the mind,  
His eyes,  
spoken what from blows he could not find,  
He had forgot the injuries.  
His spleen abated, he doth calmly treat,  
But blames him that he should defeat  
The reverend Pope, and all the holy crew,  
Which such another act would quiter undo:  
Tells him it was a base unworthy thing,  
To bring  
A Plot so hopeful to a hopeless King;  
Tells him withall, he but usurps a power,  
And's like a glorious Monarch for an hour;  
The Tyrants rule hath made Religion sick,  
Who hath pronounced him for an heretic:  
What hope of good  
To save his blood  
Can come to you?  
All Secular places are already crammed  
So full, that to undo  
What ye've already plotted to pursue,  
Will irrevocably but leave you damned:  
You'l soon be cursed,  
And all the worst  
Of woes must needs betid,  
When Sacrament and Unction is denied.  
Instead of these,  
If Rome you pl●ase,  
And to the Pope be true,  
Glories on glories will  
From heaven distil,  
And Nature triumph that she moulded you.  
The Convert bowed without the least reply;  
And Whitebread to make sure of victory  
Gave him smooth words, and tells him his intent  
Is that with speed he shall to Rome be sent,  
There to ask Counsel and promote the cause,  
And bring away the new established Laws,  
That with one stroke this glorious Kingdom be,  
The darling Child to the great Roman See,  
And ever live in endless Tyranny.   

To trust such men, is to betray the Soul,  
If still they do run on in acts so foul:  
heaven plagues on earth their sordid lumps of day,  
Then shuts 'em out from his eternal day,  
Where spite of Mass or Unction the black soul  
In endless Tortures shall for ever roll.     

EMBLEM XII. The Consult in Whitebreads Chamber.  
What! are the Cockatrices hatching still!  
Can't blood nor fire satisfy the will,  
But Rome must yet Consult of doing ill?  
ISAIAH, Chap. 5. v. 18. 
Wo unto them that draw Iniquity with cords of Vanity, and sin as it were with a Cart-rope.  

CLose in debate,  
Like angry Fate,  
Thrust from the Synod of the Gods they seem;  
Each individual brain,  
That should contain  
Embryo's for good, do still with mischief teem;  
Treason and Murder are their darling joys,  
And he acts best which most of all destroys.  
The close Cabal,  
Dreading a fall,  
Are now conspiring to preserve their own;  
Each speaks his sense,  
Blank Impudence,  
And still their hope is to enjoy the Throne.  
One holds it safe, and consequently good,  
At first not to begin with Blood;  
But doth advice  
Rather with strength,  
Which must at length  
Protect their many villainies,  
Should any bleed  
Before the great and wished-for day is come,  
The very dead  
Would make us all  
Untimely fall  
A bloody Sacrifice to Rome.  
Scarce any good  
Can come by blood  
That'● rash and unadvis'dly spilled;  
Besides 'tis poor,  
Since thousands more  
Must have an equal share i'th' guilt.  
Then Whitebread rose,  
And did depose,  
That 'twas a Meritorious dead  
In any one  
To gain a Throne,  
Although th' unhappy Monarch bleed.  
Each Proselyte  
That flies from Rome  
To the Apostate Church, we always doom  
Death and Damnation shall his portion be,  
Cause he proclaims its villainy.  
And our great pillar of Religion hate,  
Call us the Executioners of fate.  
If this small Convert be  
Thus doomed by Rome,  
Requited thus by me,  
What shall become  
Of him that is all over treachery?  
Too late we find  
He knew our mind,  
And has too long been privy made  
To the best dead,  
Should he succeed,  
That ever villainy betrayed.  
'Tis yet within our powers to keep it good,  
And hid its depth in the rash Converts blood.  
Or we, or him, nay all,  
Rome too will fall,  
If the discoverer survive;  
But stop his breath  
With sudden death,  
Rome and its many Plots may thrive.  
To foolish niceness lend not any ear;  
He doubts Salvation that's possessed with fear.  
Scarce had he spoken,  
But from 'em broken  
An universal shout which reached the sky;  
Each graced the cause  
With high applause,  
And all pronounced he presently should die.  
The happy Convert, happy more to be  
The blessed discoverer of the villainy,  
By God directed, bent his steps that way,  
And unseen heard,  
What most he feared,  
The Consult of that bloody day.  
amazed with fear,  
Not daring now to stay,  
forewarned by that, which he had heard 'em say:  
To shun the stroke they promised was so near,  
He moves, and left the diabolic Consult there.   

All-seeing heaven, the best and blessed abode  
Of an all-knowing all-forgiving God,  
Sends from above a glittering glorious ray,  
To mark our paths out in the open day,  
And gloomy night, lest we should go astray.  
From Wolves and Bears that hourly wait for blood,  
From those who never were not can be good,  
He still defends us; heaven has put armour on,  
Which still preserves our Monarch on the Throne,  
And guards us all,—  
From that foul Whorish beast of Babylon.     

EMBLEM XIII. Sir Edmundbury Godfrey taking Dr. oats his Examination.  
Now Rome the egg thy Cockatrice hath laid,  
Is pash'd; and all thy villainies betrayed.  
ISAIAH, Chap. 4. v. 8. 
●oe unto them that join house to house, that lay field to field, till there be no place, that they may be placed alone in the midst of the earth.  

blessed happy day,  
●nd happier thou that didst betray  
●he Machinations of false bloody Rome;  
Thou'st washed thy Soul,  
●n thus reversing Englands fatal doom,  
As pure and white  
As glorious light,  
●hen it the dusky Clouds control.  
No streak  
Nor ray  
Shall ever break  
From night,  
●o cloud thy everlasting day:  
Sun-beams shall Crown  
Thy head,  
And vast renown  
●old thee for ever in her glittering Arms,  
And endless famed  
Shall keep thy name  
●resh and untouched from future harms.  
When dead,  
●ike blossomed flowers in their early bud,  
thou shalt smell sweet, and in the dust be good.  
What can we give  
●oo much, to him who taught us all to live?  
●eform'd and crooked were the lines of Fate,  
●hich you have ras'd, and made the Legend streight.  
'Twas well for England that it ever bore  
A Soul which did its Liberty restore.  
blessed Constellations in Conjunction were,  
And thou wert born under a happy star:  
Nature that framed thee of pure flesh and blood,  
Sent thee into the World to do it good.  
Now the Conspirers in confusion roll,  
And they could wish they never had had a Soul▪  
Did not the grand deluding Pope each day,  
With hopes of Pardon, led 'em still astray.  
Poor mis-led slaves,  
Why are you so benumbed, so Cheated all,  
That with your loads of sins unmoved you fall  
To your untimely graves?  
As if on earth  
Salvation had its happy birth.  
You'l find too late, when Natures debt is due,  
Hell cheats the Pope, the Pope deludeth you.  
In liquid flames you'l be together crammed,  
Where when too late  
You see your fate,  
You'l taste the Sentence to be ever damned.   

You're taught indeed, and 'tis a Romish guile,  
To Murder Kings, and at the Action smile:  
Farther you're prompted by the Roman State,  
If you're discovered ere your zealous hate  
Can reach his life,  
Not to discover it at any rate;  
Not to own Blood, though in your guilty hand  
The Dagger's found that did his death command.  
Your Priest forgives you though the act was foul,  
And on his bloody sleeve you pin your Soul.  
pardoned by him, you All Not guilty pled;  
And thus they wheadle you till you are dead.     

EMBLEM XIV. The Dogging and Killing of Sir Edmundbury Godfrey.  
For blood they hunt, and after blood they fly,  
Their Beaks and talons speak their villainy;  
Like Owls they lurk, and tremble at the light,  
But pash the prey, when favoured by the night.  
PROV. Chap. 6. v. 16, 17, 18, 19. 
These six things the Lord hateth, yea, seven are an abomination unto him. A proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that  shed innocent blood; an heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that speak●th lies, and him that soweth discord amongst Brethr n.  

AS in a Desert ravenous Bears do roam,  
And seek for prey to feed their Cubs at home;  
So these black Monsters on destruction run,  
Scorning to be in villainy outdone.  
Like them, they range with a desire unknown,  
And all to snatch a Monarch from his Throne.  
clothed in destruction, the Tempestuous will  
Can never be allayed till it doth kill.  
The foaming Billows higher mount and higher,  
As if to mix with Clouds they would aspire.  
With thundering echo wave doth wave engage,  
And all the Ocean is o'ercome with rage.  
Th'Incestuous Womb aloud doth tyramnize,  
Till Ships whose very tops have touched the skies,  
And Men do all become a Sacrifice.  
When thus appeased, she ceaseth to be foul,  
And her large Billows do more calmly roll.  
But thou, O Rome, couldst never glutted be,  
Though all the world did taste thy Treachery:  
As often as thy dark Conspirers kill,  
Thou d●st ungorge, and never hast thy fill.  
Thy Womb's so vast, the dark Abyss that's cursed,  
Cannot hold Blood enough to quench thy thirst.  
Thus tender Lambs become the lions Prey,  
And Romish Wolves do snatch our Saints away.  
See how they follow him from place to place,  
And dog his steps, each private corner trace:  
The sent is strong, they follow him for blood,  
And Rome, whose Dictates cannot be withstood,  
Has warranted the action to be good.  
Now b'ing arrived near to his fatal end,  
He is Accosted by a seeming friend,  
Who in confusion tells him, that too soon,  
Unless he went, some mischief would be done:  
Two men are fighting, and blood must ensue,  
Unless prevented by their seeing you.  
He nothing doubting that he was betrayed,  
Nor thinking on the snare which Rome had laid,  
Follows this Judas to the fatal place,  
And met his destiny too swift a place.  
He winged with zeal, did to'rds his Murth'rers fly,  
But little thought he made such hast to die.  
Too soon he found what was decreed by Fate,  
And grieved, alas, when it was much too late.  
Scarce was he come before the Murth'rous crew,  
Romes ravenous Eagles on his body flew;  
Headlong they haled him, with unusual speed,  
And in a private corner did the dead.  
Nor sated with the pains he did endure,  
They broken his Neck, to make the act secure.   

Blood-thirsty villains! think you heaven doth sleep,  
Or that no guard of Angels it doth keep?  
Think you because he let this victim fall  
A Martyr, that it would preserve you all?  
No, hoodwinked slaves, of men the very worst,  
Blinded with zeal, and in Religion cursed;  
Headlong you range about from sin to sin,  
And think not of the Soul that's lodged within;  
That when 'tis died in such a sea of evil,  
Will find no Pope can keep it from the Devil.     

EMBLEM XV. The manner of conveying Sir Edmundbury to Primrose-Hill.  
At Crimes they start not, nor at blood look pale,  
Nor grieve when any person they assail,  
If in their direful projects they prevail.  
JOB, Chap. 20. v. 27. 
The Heavens shall reveal your Iniquities, and the earth shall rise up against you.  

THe dead is done, and the great danger past;  
They cry,  
Had we ten thousand such as fast,  
We might make sure of victory.  
Now having haled him from the dismal room,  
They go to help him to an op'ner tomb.  
Their precepts teach 'em they have done  
But half enough;  
They must declare their mischiefs to the Sun,  
And make their garments whole with other stuff.  
They think't imprudence to Inter  
The bloody Sacrifice;  
But at their Consults they prefer,  
Though dead, his name  
And spotless famed,  
Shall yet be blasted by their villainies.  
In order streight,  
To act the Prodigies of their debate,  
The sacred day  
Of murdered Godfrey now is on its way.  
They various ways the martyred lump convey  
By night,  
Not daring to approach the day,  
For fear its light  
Should much too soon that bloody present give,  
Which startled Nature when it did receive.  
Safe and unseen they move  
To all on Earth;  
But he above,  
Who snatched the holy Martyr's breath,  
prepared his veng'ance, though not willing then  
To scourge with shane those unrelenting men.  
The Vials full, and his great wrath will be,  
Though slow, a sure reward for Treachery.  
Their charge delivered, they again return  
As unconcerned, as if they need not mourn.  
drowned in full bowls, they wash the guilt away,  
And now again appear in open day.   

And do you think heaven has forgot the Crime,  
Or that he but delays you for a time?  
Has your Religions precepts so confined  
The Soul,  
You feel no sting of Conscience in the mind?  
Or has Confession washed away the guilt,  
And Sacrament cleared you of th'blood you spilled?  
Has your great Patron, the unerring Pope,  
pronounced, you shall not suffer by the Rope?  
T' must needs be so, he has the fact forgiven  
On Earth, and promised a reward in heaven.  
But black and dismal will the Moment be,  
When you shall launch to vast Eternity.  
That dire reward our Saviour doth prepare,  
In spite of holy Unction you must bear  
In Hell, although you've Hecatombs of prayer.     

EMBLEM XVI. The manner of his being found; his Burial, and the Murtherers Execution.  
Although unseen, and unespy'd you range,  
One moment turns the Scale, and makes a change.  
MATTH. Chap. 25. v. 26. 
And these shall go away into everlasting punishment, but the righteous into life eternal.  

AT length they are  
To their great journeys end  
arrived,  
Where without fear,  
As if each Roman strived  
Which 'twas should merit most, most ill appear,  
Into a Ditch they fling the Nations friend;  
Where Tyrant-like,  
Because the World should think himself did strike  
The fatal stroke,  
His own good Sword is through his body thrust:  
Good I may call it, since it proved so just,  
Not only to revoke  
That dismal sentence they had on him thrown,  
That discontent,  
That way he bent,  
And perpetrated there that guilt alone.  
But watchful heaven unmasked their dark device,  
And quickly melted down their walls of Ice:  
'Twas plainly seen,  
The Executioner black Rome had been;  
His Neck and breast,  
Nay, all the rest,  
Of their revenge was plainly found:  
His Sword unbloody'd's drawn out of the wound,  
His shoes unsoyl'd, the very ground  
Alone  
Unstayn'd,  
Are arguments that scandal was their own,  
Which they so barb'rously maintained.  
But 'tis no wonder, for what ere they do  
Is strangely cruel, and most bloody too.  
Was't not enough they stopped his breath,  
But after death  
Must Godfrey's famed,  
( That fell for us a bloody Sacrifice)  
Have lost the honour of a Martyrs name,  
And doubly tasted, Rome, thy cruelties?  
No, clear as day,  
Your many guiles are to this Nation known;  
Nor better can we hope from them that say,  
To gain a Throne,  
'Tis meritorious to kill any one  
That are opponents to his mighty hope,  
Who is the universal King, th'unerring Pope.  
Heavy as led, he and his trech'rous crew  
( That would the Race of Monarchy undo)  
Shall, when their Souls have left their lumps of day,  
In Winds and Tempests be conveyed away.  
All in confusion they shall hence be hurled,  
To feel the Torments of another world.  
Whilst Godfrey's Soul incumbent on the air,  
Shall view the Torments you in Hell must bear;  
In distant joys he shall his Murth'rers greet,  
Who now would crawl to worship at his feet:  
But after death you no remove can have;  
Once damned, 'tis more impossible to save,  
Than schismatical life when butted in the grave.  
But take with speed, take up this reverend dust,  
And lodge it 'mongst the sepulchres of th'just,  
Let sweet hosannas bring him to the grave,  
And Halleluja's blessed the Good, the Brave,  
That did all England in his ruin save  
Had not this Victim, Rome, been made by thee,  
Thou hadst persisted in thy cruelty,  
And at the last displayed thy Treachery.   

That good from ill thus happily should spring!  
That Godfrey's death should warn our Royal King!  
Thus Murder did the great effect produce,  
As good's extracted from a poisonous juice.  
Thou'rt the preserver of Great Britains Throne,  
Who to save his, did freely give thy own.  
Thus life for life thou hast already given,  
And trod the certain path that leads to heaven.     

EMBLEM XVII. Bedloe charged by his Mother to discover, &c.  
The Loyal heart doth good effects produce,  
And draws a Cordial from a poisonous juice.  
MATTH. Chap. 27. v. 4. 
Saying, I have sinned, in that I have betrayed the Innocent blood. And they said, What is that to us? look thou to that.  
HOw have I erred in hiding of a dead  
Makes Nature start, and all my entrails bleed;  
Tortures my heart for winking at the Crimes  
Will never be forgot in future times!  
seized with Convulsions, and by Fevers torn,  
With Aches wracked, and by distractions grown  
So bad, it makes me wish I'd nere been born:  
Since to hid Murder is as great a guilt,  
As to be bathed in blood myself had spilled.  
Thus desp'rate man considers his own state,  
And grieves at bloodshed when it is too late.  
In th'midst of all his frenzy and his pain,  
heaven shows a Bath to wash him white again.  
Prompted to fly from Justice and from death,  
He helped the Nation to prolong its breath.  
He quickly left the bloody stage behind,  
The tragic place where Murder was designed,  
●ut could not leave the Troubles of his mind.  
A guilty Conscience doth no ease admit,  
Nor can it meet with ought to pleasure it.  
Nought but Confusion doth about him move,  
And hourly stings are sent it from above.  
clothed in distraction 't doth about him roll,  
And Hell on Earth is lodged within his Soul.  
●hus, thus Tormented, he at length is come  
●o's happy end, but happier Mothers home:  
Where when the story of his life he  told,  
And did the bottom of his heart unfold;  
Till then his Treasons such combustions made,  
To stir or peep abroad he was afraid.  
Strangely surprised th'attentive Mother was,  
To find her Son engaged in such a Cause:  
Like one unnerv'd, she shook in every part,  
And her Eyes spoken the Language of her Heart.  
The fiery darts uncessantly she shot,  
And her Maternal goodness quiter forgot.  
At length recovered of the dire Transport,  
She bid him back again unto the Court:  
Fall on your knees, lie grovelling on the ground,  
Offer your life to bath the wrankled wound;  
Discover all, hid not one grain within,  
Lest it should swell into some other sin:  
Unmask the dark Contrivers, let 'em be  
displayed, discover all their villainy;  
Let your Confession of such candour taste,  
That heaven may pardon you for what is past:  
To lose your life to do the Nation good,  
Is the best way you can bestow your blood.  
hast, ere my blessings I do snatch away,  
And plant a Curse instead, if you delay,  
Whose dire effects will most prodigious be.  
Ham cursed by Noah, lived in misery;  
Whilst th'other two, whom blessings he had given  
In life and death, enjoyed perpetual heaven.  
Besides, the King, the Monarch you implore,  
Like heaven, forgives, and you can hope no more:  
He crowned with mercy quickly will forgive,  
And you'l for ever in his favour live;  
But if relentless and obdure you prove,  
May heaven deny, and shut you from their love.  
Scarce had she done, but with as swift a speed  
As he before did perpetrate the dead,  
He from her presence with her blessing drew,  
And swift as thought he to the Palace flew;  
Where in an instant he his freedom gave  
To be a Convert, and expect a grave.  
But our all-good and gracious Monarch soon  
turned his dark night into a glorious noon;  
Descending full of mercy from his Throne,  
He made not Life but Liberty his own.  
Rewarded thus, who would a traitor be?  
Or hid but any spark of Treachery?  
Treason's a dangerous Monster in a State,  
'Tis the dire Off-spring of Rebellion hate,  
And the black issue of unweary'd Fate.  
When sin and death conspire, vast ruin springs,  
But vaster ruin when they strike at Kings.  
A Monarch is composed of Sacred day,  
And nought but heaven should close his glorious day:  
His glass once run, and all his hours made even,  
An angels th'Executioner of heaven.  
Hell may conspire, and sand its Agents out;  
But being weak to fight, they only scout:  
Cherubick guards about the King they spy,  
Which makes 'em still despair of victory.  
How ere, to pleasure sin and hungry death,  
They rob the Murd'rers they have made of breath:  
Those swept away, and all deprived of hope,  
Satan allows him yet a little scope,  
Then swoops, and teises on his Brother Pope.    

EMBLEM XVIII. The Apprehension and Imprisonment of several Conspirators.  
'Tis but an Index yet, for all shall see  
Their just reward in their Catastrophe.  
LAMENTATIONS, Chap. 3. v. 6. 
Render unto them a recompense, O Lord, according to the work of their hands.  

Is't come to this? now all  
Your promised glories fade!  
As angry winds do make the blossoms fall,  
And perish in the lap which Nature made:  
So will you whither now your Plot's betrayed.  
Whirlwinds and storms shall headlong drive  
( And each one strive  
To scatter) the tempestuous cry;  
Like Chaff o'th' ground,  
They'l whirl 'em round:  
All glad you did yourselves undo.  
What could you hope, or thought to find,  
( In the unruly Concave of your mind)  
But sure destruction? nothing good can come  
From the pernicious Consult of black Rome;  
Whose cursed dictates if you not oppose,  
Shall led you to its dismal Palace, Hell, by th'Nose.  
You see th'effect  
Of the neglect:  
Fetters and Chains,  
Nay, endless pains,  
Shall clog you here and after death.  
Your only hope  
Is, that the Rope  
Which gently stopped your willing breath,  
Shall by the Pope  
Be turned a holy relic, and have power  
To work a Miracle in half an hour.  
And that it would, did the grave Fathers try,  
For by a relic 'tis some ease to die.  
'Tis strange belief,  
Nay, stranger yet, to trust  
All our Terrestrial substance with a Thief  
Makes theft his lust.  
Rome too, like them, rather than live in pain,  
Will boggle at no sin that brings in gain,  
Till the reward which follows them as fast,  
Nip all their blossoms in the bud at last.  

* Their Precepts.  'Tis for Religion though, not private end,  
I take my Brothers life, or kill my friend,  
Defile his Daughter, prostitute his Wife,  
Deceive the Widow, sow dissension, strife,  
With hourly discords fill their days of life.  
All's for Religion, and the Churches good  
They cry.  
Can acts so ill, that have their rise from blood,  
Produce the least effects of Piety?  
No, Rome's Religion's like Rome's actions, vile;  
They Rapine and Murder act, and yet can smile.  
Knee-deep they wade in Massacre and blood;  
Crimes they find out, Savages ne're understood,  
And Romes chief Head declares 'em to be good.   


* A Witch.  Thus Satan leads the poor decrepit fool,  
That scarcely knows she ever had a Soul;  
Fills her crazed head with various mystic toys,  
And whispers to her nought but pleasing joys;  
Deludes her eyes with a Romantick guile,  
Allows her pleasure for a little while;  
But her time come, she to a stake is hurled,  
And then he leaves her to forsake the world:  
Her Soul's to him linked with an Iron Chain,  
Which he in Hell loads with eternal pain.  
So when you run the utmost of your race,  
The Devil leads you to a vile disgrace:  
All the reward vou'l have for loss of Breath,  
The Pope will Canonize you after death.  
Thus Romish Saints like Witches are become,  
Old and young fools bread up to martyrdom.     

EMBLEM XIX. The black Bills, Halters, and heads of Spears for a Massacre.  
With those strange Engines you've discovered here  
The Popish Art; but Hell's the Engineer.  
ISAIAH, Chap. 3. v. 15. 
What mean you that you beat my people to pieces, and grinned the faces of the poor? saith the Lord of Hosts.  

ARe these  
The Engines to disturb our ease?  
When will Rome cease  
From plotting to annoy our Peace?  
Briareus-like, no sooner one is found,  
But streight another rises from the ground.  
Halters and Bills  
Th'Appartment fills,  
With numerous heaps of heads of spears,  
Huge massy steel  
We all should feel,  
Did Heaven wink when she appears.  
Still from the doom  
Of bloody Rome  
He has preserved the Nation free;  
Still lent his aid,  
When Rome hath said,  
England shall bend t'Idolatry.  
What need we then  
Fear the Consults of bloody men,  
When from above  
Our God of love  
ruins their Cause,  
And gives her Agents up unto the Laws?  
This fatal store,  
Were it much more,  
Could not dismay us in the least;  
For being free,  
We've liberty  
To chase and take the Romish beast.  
'twould be a glorious sight to see  
All those which own Supremacy,  
Lay down their yoke,  
And with one stroke  
Strike off usurped Triplicity.  
Religion! fie,  
'Tis base deceit,  
A very Cheat,  
If it must be maintained by Treachery.  
Rebellious blood  
Can nere be good;  
The prop's too weak to make Religion sure:  
A well-got Throne  
Admits of none,  
Yet doth from age to age endure.   

Didst thou, O Rome, a Massacre intend?  
Were we then grown so weak not to defend?  
Didst thou the fatal Magazine produce,,  
And has thy 
* The Devil.  Brother taught thee then the use?  
Or are thy Coffers empty then at home,  
That o'er our bloods our wealth may sail to Rome?  
A stranger frenzy never seized on man,  
To think this iceland lay within thy span.  
He that from harm has saved us to this hour,  
Will still protect and keep us from thy power.  
Each Pope successively does still invade,  
Which shows Religion is a thriving Trade.  
For damning Souls you all the glory have;  
But true Religion is to teach and save,  
And then your splendor's vanished in the grave.  
The reason's plain, why still you run on evil;  
Most Popes have had one Tutor, that's the De—     

EMBLEM XX. Langhorn in Newgate.  
Scourge his rebellious outside here on earth,  
Forgive all sins committed s●nce his birth,  
With holy water wash his crimes away,  
For upon earth he has not long to stay.  
ISAIAH, Chap. 1. v. 15. 
And when ye spread forth your hands, I will hid mine eyes from you: yea, when you make many prayers I will not hear; your bands are full of blood.  

HOw vile and loathsome is thy fatal place,  
This gaping womb, this Chamber of Disgrace!  
Look on the dismal comforts of this Cave,  
And then compare 'em to a loathsome grave;  
Then view thy seared and blacker Soul within,  
And then if possible repent thy sin:  
Think on the tender mercies of thy King,  
And let his goodness some Confession bring;  
Think on the Nation, and thy native seat,  
And there( although condemned) do something great.  
Let not thy loaden Soul oppressed with care,  
Sink, nor its burden load thee to despair.  
Nor let the smooth delusive Jesuits tale  
( That flatters till h'as hanged thee) yet prevail.  
Think he but preaches to secure his own,  
Lest thou discov'ring, he might too be known.  
Be not so blind to think you ever can  
Have( when condemned by God as well as man)  
Equivocating Reservations there,  
That staff of your Religion more then prayer.  
There's no defending, all's too plainly known,  
And your black crime before the Bar is thrown;  
No, rather purge thy Soul, and let it be  
Made light, to soar up to Eternity.  
It will not move; he is obdurate still,  
And turns his Reason off, to serve his Will.  
He masked in zeal, the beaten path doth move,  
In acting Crimes to merit heaven above.  
H'as been a Rebel to his God and King,  
Which will without dispute Salvation bring!  
heaven must be thronged if all they say be good,  
Incorrigible Thieves that deal in Blood,  
Prostitutes, Cheats, with perjured Priests, and Monks,  
( If by their Crimes they have but crammed their Trunks)  
Traytors, Blasphemers, and a sordid rout  
That Hell( had they not Souls) would vomit out.  
If they've acquired but Gold, and that Gold given  
His Holiness, he'll sand their Souls to heaven.  
But this hard-hearted and obdurate man  
Will merit more, if possibly he can.  
He's doing Penance, besides Abstinence,  
And wheals his shoulders for his hearts offence.  
These stripes must do it: i'faith 'tis very civil,  
To be thus disciplined for doing evil.  
Hard-hearted Priest, you'd discipline, I see,  
Were he just launching to Eternity.  
He has not long before the fatal day,  
When Justice is to snatch his life away;  
Then hissing Snakes that 'mongst the Fairies roll,  
Shall watch to seize on thy Immortal Soul.   

Since disobeying heaven's a heinous crime,  
How can we hope, that sin from time to time,  
Run on egregiously, and turn not back,  
But mend our place when we should go more slacken?  
Though Blood, nor sacrilege, nor Perjury,  
Nor Rape, nor Theft, nor horrid Blasphemy,  
Are in the scroul, the Table of our deeds,  
Yet without true contrition none succeeds;  
What can you hope, or your pretences be,  
That daily waded into Treachery?  
Not a known crime, nor individual sin,  
But hourly waits to have an entrance in.  
Incorrigibly to the fact you run,  
And triumph in the mischief you have done;  
With hardened hearts most impiously you come  
T'accept a Popish Crown of martyrdom.     

EMBLEM XXI. Pickering and Grove attempting to shoot the King in St. James's Park.  
Now guard him Heaven from approaching fate,  
And crush the Romish Plot to spoil the State.  
JOB, Chap. 24. v. 5. 
Behold, as wild Asses in the desert go they forth to their work, rising betimes for a prey.  

ROme's under-Agents knowing that the King  
Did sometimes walk to pass an hour away,  
Crept like two Serpents into th'Park to sting,  
And at one stroke t'eclipse a glorious ray.  
In Ambuscade  
They closely laid,  
resolved the dead to perpetrate;  
With bloody will,  
Intent to kill,  
They lurked to give the King his fate.  
Now to his long'd-for Recreations he  
Is moving on  
In th'sweet felicity  
Of th'evening sun,  
To view the sportful Fawn, the nimble Hind  
Trips o'er the tender grass, as swift as wind,  
And leaves no tract of any steps behind.  
The feathered Guests their thankfulness afford,  
And in their various Notes proclaim him Lord,  
fluttering in air, some hover in his sight,  
And treat him still with different delight.  
The murmuring Winds do from the Thickets yield  
balsamic odours, which surround the field:  
But they more guilty than th'unerring rest,  
hid both the Traytors in their leavy breast.  
lulled in the bosom of the Thicket, they  
Wait that his steps might Royalty betray.  
Still he walks on,  
And nothing fears;  
Nothing of harm as yet appears,  
Nor ought that's like destruction.  
All his great dangers no distraction bring,  
But he does still support 'em as a King.  
The ambush too,  
Who would undo  
A Nation, if they might its Crown subdue,  
Full of desire,  
Ready to fire,  
Are dashed, and streight with shane retire.  
The faithful Flint more sensible than they,  
Unnerv'd, and did in honour disobey.  
Loose in the frame it shook beneath its trust,  
And nip'd the blooming hopes of bloody lust:  
Like hardened Criminals away they move,  
Not thinking they were seen by heaven above.  
With rage made wild,  
They were beguiled,  
And could not then perform their will.  
They vow before  
They'l give it ore,  
They'l forge a thousand ways to kill:  
poison or Steel  
He still must feel,  
Or any thing that surest wounds;  
The ways we'll choose,  
We'll not refuse  
To give a hundred thousand pounds.  
Thus they run on in their pernicious ways,  
All to make short the best of Princes days.  
But one more blind,  
And seared in mind,  
Still thought Damnation must ensue,  
Because he lost  
With care and cost  
That Minute Fate allowed by you.  
To purge the heinous crime  
Committed by the zealous fool that time,  
He sends for Priest, a Devil, and a Rope,  
Who both combine  
To Discipline,  
Because he disobliged the Pope.   

Kind heaven! this is a Miracle indeed,  
To save a life which should that moment bleed,  
If they had acted what black Rome decreed.  
But thou art good, and infinitely just,  
And none are lost that on thy mercies trust;  
Though many Princes of the earth do drink  
The Romish Cup, and to her bosom shrink:  
Though most do bend unto the fatal See,  
And Slave-like, give the Beast Supremacy;  
Thou like a King art kept by heaven alone,  
An unslav'd Monarch on a Royal Throne;  
Thou all enjoy'st, all the great gifts above,  
Whilst they like Vassals in subjection move,  
And shrink to Chaos, dying without hope  
Of future bliss, not pard'ned by the Pope.     

EMBLEM XXII. Sir George Wakemans trial.  
Judges should fan the Cause, not cast the Wheat  
Away, and save th'unworthy Chaff for meat.  
DEUTERONOMY, Chap. 16. v. 19. 
Thou shalt not wrest judgement, thou shalt not respect persons, neither take a gift: for a gift doth bind the eyes of the wise, and perverteth the words of the righteous.  

WHen the grave Fathers of the Land are me●,  
both Life and Death before their eyes are set,  
Evil and Good, the two great things God gave,  
Or Death or Life, Salvation, or a Grave.  
But the first Man not thinking of the Crime,  
Made choice o'th' wrong, and cursed the world that time.  
God gave Free-will to choose, or to neglect,  
To taste the dangerous Food, or to reject;  
But for a kiss, or some such loving toy,  
He lost his Bliss, and all the world its joy,  
And bribed to sin, did all Mankind destroy.  
In our first Parent we may all behold,  
Her bribe was as effectual then as gold.  
Forwarn'd by them, they shun the dangerous snare,  
And let true Justice be their utmost care.  
The Cause is great that to their trust is given,  
Or Life or Death, or Hell, or glorious heaven.  
To th'last great day it most resemblance has,  
And he's most happy has the justest Cause,  
And has done best that is within the Laws.  
How in confusion are your Senses hurled,  
( That huddle of light stuff that plagues the world)  
When after death all shall be summoned there,  
Before the great Tribunal to appear,  
When before our faces all our Crimes till death,  
All the great sins we acted on the Earth,  
Shall in black forms like ugly Monsters roll,  
And all to testify against the Soul!  
Then with what Tremblings shall they be possessed,  
Who hear they never shall partake of rest;  
Never shall joy nor any blessings taste,  
But scorching pangs for pleasure gone and past!  
When they shall hear that last and fatal word,  
( breathed out with fury from an angry Lord,)  
Be gone ye wicked to perpetual pain,  
Where you for ever shall in flames remain!  
But you the blessed few, that did repent,  
Or did the business you on earth were sent;  
You that in all the little space of breath  
abhorred Idolatry, and watched for death,  
Dealt not in Murder, or allowed the least  
Of ear or thought to th' Babylonean beast;  
That never did contrive to propagate,  
Or hold Religion up with Blood and hate,  
Nor ere conspired against that Sacred thing  
I made, and had Anointed for a King;  
You're the blessed partners of eternal bliss,  
But they Companions to hells loudest hiss.  
On earth the Cheat forgiving is unknown,  
But here 'tis verified to every one.  
Those numerous crowds that were on earth forgiven,  
Have bought Damnation for their Gold, not heaven.   

Why dost thou, Rome, so much confusion bring,  
Or dost so often level at the King?  
Why with your dismal Plots which still retort,  
Are you so rude thus to surround his Court?  
Have y'any hope ever to win the field,  
Or think you his firm breast will ever yield?  
Work on, dull Mole; 'gainst every Plot of thine,  
We've a new Engineer to Countermine;  
All your out-works we have already blown  
Into the air, or with more strength o'erthrown:  
Then draw with hast the scatt'red Legions back,  
And save the Rebel-Crew from farther wrack:  
So many Pillars of the Churches good  
Are and must down,—  
'Twill make a drought in Rome of Christians blood.     

EMBLEM XXIII. Killegrews Man stabbed at Windsor.  
'Twas a mistake, and happy for the Nation,  
The Consecrated Dagger was in pashion;  
For 'twas so zealous to promote the thing,  
It struck but a Plebeian, not a King.  
EXODUS, Chap. 21. v. 14. 
But if a man come presumptuously upon his Neighbour to slay him with guile, thou shalt take him from my Altar that he may die.  

ILL was it meant, but well it did succeed:  
Better thou happy man  
To die,  
Then all the Nation bleed.  
Thy life was but a span,  
And this one stroke  
broke the frail yoke,  
And sent thee to Eternity.  
Consider where soere thou art,  
Though dead,  
Alive thy heart  
Defended with its blood the Nations head:  
'Twas you received the bloody Scorpions sting,  
Which was intended for a King.  
Hadst thou not been  
The Touchstone to declare their sin,  
The next dire stroke, if Hell had the command,  
Might else have cut the heart-strings of the Land.  
Thy slumbering mind,  
No whit confined,  
Roam'd with thy Soul the world about,  
Till the Thief came,  
Who watched his game,  
And shut the rambling Tenants out.  
As swift as thought,  
They soon were brought  
Back to the structure they so late had left,  
Where to their grief,  
They saw the Thief  
Had the whole Microcosm of life bereft.  
confused and wild  
To be so overcome, so much beguiled,  
They shot away  
In the bright glittering streaks of day,  
To an abode  
More bright and nearer to a God.  
Rome not content  
With this,  
More villains sent,  
With an intent  
Fully to complete her Bliss:  
But all their hope  
Was vain;  
Who can a War maintain,  
'Gainst those whom heaven doth preordain?  
'Tis not the Pope,  
Nor all the Holy Tribe can give a wound  
To him that Angels do incircle round.  
Folded in Mists or various Crimes they run,  
But leave the business of their Souls undone.   

St. Peters Vicar! no, the Devil's rather,  
Who is and ever was your only Father.  
heaven vexed at earth, let loose th'infernal chain,  
And gave him leave to range about again.  
So full of sin th'infected world was grown,  
It looked not like the Figure of his own.  
Satan's let loose to plague the race of Man,  
And to destroy as many as he can:  
All the infernal crowd concluded on,  
Was to erect a sham-Religion.  
In the Abyss the secret Plot is laid,  
And Satan on nights wings to earth's conveyed;  
Where without stay he pitches upon Rome,  
And rumours it about a Saint is come.  
The silly crowd believed his reasons soon,  
And 'gan to grope about an early noon:  
sucked down the Dictates he did there distill,  
proved whoredom lawful, requisite to kill:  
Made it so easy, it did soon entice:  
All flocked to a Religion allowed 'vice.  
Some formal show and Idolism they had,  
Which made the Rabble with their joy run mad;  
But a supreme they want to make the scope,  
And then the Mobile pitched on a Pope.  
Things thus succeeding, and thus ordered well,  
Satan leaves Rome, and slinks away to Hell.     

EMBLEM XXIV. The Attempting of the King in his Sedan.  
Can in no place majestic Man go free,  
But he must still be dogged by villainy?  
But though approached, and he drawn near the sting.  
They stagger at the glories of the King.  
MATTH. 23. v. 14. 
Wo unto you, Scribes, Pharisees, Hypocrites; for ye devour widows houses, and for a pretence make long prayers: therefore ye shall receive the greater damnation.  
IS this the way,  
O Rome!  
Thou dost assay,  
And hop'st to overcome?  
Are you not yet convinced the Cause  
Is far from good;  
So far,  
The very laws  
●f God and Man declare 'gainst human blood;  
●uch more to dabble in th'Imperial flood.  
If you do still  
Run on in ill,  
And take a pride in hopes to kill;  
All will deserters be,  
And leave thy See,  
'Cause you promote such cruelty.  
But why do I  
Expostulate,  
Or talk to the 
* Pope.  most stubborn of Mankind?  
For he must die,  
And taste accordingly the fate,  
Which in Eternity  
Such Souls do find.  
How ere on earth  
Whilst he draws breath,  
I would have this great man foresee,  
He swims against the stream in Treachery.  
Look from your seat,  

* The Pope.  Religious Cheat,  
And view what Consternations hem around  
The very slave that was to give the wound:  
'Twas fear, you cry,  
And want of Romish Piety;  
But I declare,  
'Twas Heav'ns great care.  
Struck with astonishment the Murth'rers hand,  
Strangely unnerv'd as he were thunder struck,  
Or fearing death for what he undertook,  
Nor life nor death was in the slaves command.  
It was not fear,  
When drawn so near,  
Nor ought but an impulse of heaven,  
That secretly did to his bosom glide,  
And checked th'unruly rising Tide;  
Which else—  
Had to an universal shipwreck driven.  
heaven does fore-see  
Ills meant by thee,  
And gives thee still a little scope;  
But once arrived, and just to period come,  
He pashes all the wil●ss contrived in Rome,  
And nips 'em in the Bud of hope.  
But you unweary'd still  
Contrive to kill,  
Though all your Machinations fail;  
As who should say,  
In spite  
Of heaven I will with murder play,  
Till all be Chaos, and eternal night.  
Thus hardened Pharaoh did obdure remain,  
Till he and all his host at once were slain.  
Nor threats, nor prayers, nor any thing that's civil,  
Can mollify the heart of so much evil:  
Hard as an Adamant, and nerv'd with steel,  
Fiber'd with flint that can no softness feel,  
Is all the Mass, nay, th'Composition heart  
Is as much Rock as any other part.  
What hopes t'alloy its fury then remains,  
But that by force we break the Iron chain?  
'Tis force must do it, force must Crown the end,  
And the whole business doth on that depend,  
To chase an open foe, and bloody friend.    

EMBLEM XXV. Reading taking off Mr. Bedloes Evidence.  
New Plots require new Measures, these new Men,  
Who move in hopes to heave it up again;  
And though more silently they still design,  
We've yet an Engineer to find the Mine.  
JOB, Chap. 15. v. 5. 
For thy mouth uttereth thine Iniquity, and thou choosest the tongue of the crafty.  

WHat shrub is this that Rome hath sent  
To undermine the Government?  
A lump of Aches, Cramps, and Gout,  
A thing so rammed  
And doubly crammed  
With ill,  
Death will not find him out,  
Nor cares to kill.  
A kisk just fitted up for boys,  
A thing that only makes a noise  
To please the Babe, who thinks its force destroys.  
He's so unworthy of the name of man,  
'Twould to the Race  
Bring such disgrace,  
All will deny themselves that can.  
Has Rome which kept this pudder, has Romes Father  
Sent us an empty bladder, bubble rather,  
composed of Soap and water forced to fly,  
And strives to reach the Region of the sky?  
But the first gust it meets  
I'th' first career,  
The empty nothing greets,  
And sends it here,  
Where to its being nothing it retires,  
And glorious nothing, nothing much admires.  
Such is the paltry thing that Rome  
So lately sent,  
To circumvent  
And keep her Ministers from doom.  
This is that picture drawn on each mans door,  
That hopes the Conquest of th'insulting Whore.  
Was it for this the noble Law he red,  
To be a traitor on his dying bed?  
As an old thief that lately lost his Eyes,  
And was informed of a most glorious prise,  
Will venture, though he to the theft is lead;  
So this grave Lawer's brought with small ado,  
To grope the business out for th'holy crew.  
A thing so wan,  
A purblind-man  
At a high noon might gaze him through.  
He's in a word a shadow on a clout,  
And only fit for boys to kick about.  
But mark th'effect, this aged zealous fool  
Is caught, and sent amongst the rest to School;  
He's stricter guarded than the fattened rout,  
For fear the crawling Insect should get out:  
At length this thing's to be in public shown,  
But moves in imitation of a drone;  
But now he's come  
To suffer, yet not reach at martyrdom.  
The Executioner 'tis thought  
Knew for what business he was thither brought,  
Knew the Law reached not at the villains life,  
And therefore was within himself at strife,  
Whether or no he durst put in his head,  
He looked already so like one half dead.  
His fear persuaded him he soon should find;  
The body drop, and leave the head behind.  
These things considered, he most gently bowed,  
And made the Ape a scandal to the crowd.   

Incessant still? can nothing kerb the mind,  
Or is it totally on blood designed?  
What various ways and crooked paths you choose  
To sin, and labour 'cause you said would loose.  
So often foiled, and yet the stubborn will  
Is rather apt to take hold on ill.  
If ill examples do to Vices led,  
And those once followed find a spurious head,  
A diabolic Patron to the crowd,  
Of heinous sins that are by him allowed,  
How can those Graduates in Rebellion be  
But branded with the name of infamy;  
When their great Patron in the end they'l find  
Is an Apostate to betray Mankind!     

EMBLEM XXVI. A Dialogue between the Pope, a Devil, and a jesuit.  
In this one Emblem you may plainly see,  
What 'tis that makes the Popes Triplicity:  
A grave old Fool, and jesuit all Evil,  
Supports the Papal Crown, with Brother Devil.  
HABAKKUK, Chap. 2. v. 12. 
Woe unto him that buildeth a Town with blood, and astablisheth a City by Iniquity.  Pop. 
HArd fate again! curse on your idle toys,  
Your Plots that are not fit to frighten boys.  
I thought, assisted by your grave advice;  
To choke Religion up, and bring in 'vice;  
When to the shane of haughty Rome and me,  
They still do trample on Supremacy.  Jes. 
'Tis true, the last Plot fayl'd, and well it might,  
I knew the dire event before the fight  
Your easy Holiness your charge betrayed,  
In calling puny Devils to your aid.  
From crowds of Souls that you with ease have damned,  
You by the scum of Hell are merely shamed;  
By an unthinking Devil chous'd so plain,  
'Twould move my wonder should you Plot again.  Dev. 
How 
* Angry.  Puny Devil, and the scum of Hell!  
Was it for this we mighty Cherubs fell?  
Was it for this I planted you in Rome,  
And gave into your hands the power to doom?  
summoned our Chiefs, who did in Council fit,  
To guild the name of Fiend with jesuit?  
Did soon pervert the minds of men again,  
Until I made you up a numerous train?  
Found you out Friends of vast Estates at last,  
Whom to gain popular esteem, as fast  
As you, would set upon the bloody cast?  Jes. 
All this you did, 'tis true, but to what end,  
I but your Conduct blame, your Plot commend.  
To those tall Trees they all for safety fled,  
But now the Axe is levelled at the Head.  
Supine and tame the Machevillians sit,  
And in 
* Tower Dev.  Confinement curse you cause of it.  Dev. 
How can I be of so much ill the chief,  
That have wrought Miracles beyond belief?  
Did I not harden Coleman's heart till death,  
And fed him still with hopes, to lose his breath;  
promised a Pardon even that very day  
That Justice came to snatch his life away?  
Did he recant, or yet confess the Crime?  Pop. 
'Tis true, he died as did become the time  
And his Religion; for what need he more,  
For all his sins I'd pardoned him before.  Dev. 
In spite of that, now at this very hour,  
I have his Soul.  ( Pop. and Jes.) 
How so!  ( Dev.) 
'Cause when 'twas in his power,  
He did not kill the unsuspecting King,  

* Rom. Religion.  Religions Foe, and Romes Immortal sling.  Pop. 
But what's all this to th'business now in hand?  
Can 
* Devil,  he, or 
† Jesuit.  you that Monarchs life command?  
Your boasted Plots have all wickedness proved,  
And through our weakness he's more feared and loved.  
Besides, those hopeful 
* The Priests and Jesuits Executed or fled.  Engines of our State,  
That did so lately yield t'untimely fate,  
Or fled to shun a universal hate,  
Has so impaired the cause, and dashed our hope,  
The world begins to grumble at a Pope.  Dev. 
heaven has been shut up long, or winked, that we  
At length might yet obtain the sovereignty.  
Make but Proposals such as may avail,  
And then Condemn me if I not prevail.  Jes. 
How Sir! Proposals? 
Angry.  'tis I think enough  
You have the Riffraff of the erring stuff;  
The chance by Souls that slink to Hell for fear  
They should on earth in martyrdom appear.  
Would you propose reward for villainy?  
By your leave, Satan, that belongs to me.  
You but project and only frame the fact,  
Which we th'undaunted Tribe of Jesuits act.  
To poison Kings, or murder Monarchs, you  
Know is not in the power of Hell to do.  
Then he dares act what you can but command,  
Ought to pass all the Profits through his hand,  
And dole 'em with discretion to the rout,  
But pay himself before he gives 'em out.  

* Both in rage.  Nor Pope nor Devil!  Pop. 
How, blasphemous Elf,  
Dost thou not know thou speaking dam'st thyself?  
Doth not my blood which hourly either drains  
Feed 
* Jes.  his luxurious Soul, and swell 
† Dev.  the veins?  
Has not those numerous swarms of blinded Souls  
I sand,— all crammed and fattened up like fowls?  
'Tis true, 
* Dev.  you Plot, and 
† Jes.  you, Sir, execute,  
But it is I that terminate the svit.  
Therefore, upon myself, myself I cast,  
I deserve most, that propagate more fast  
Than he, whom to please both is damned at last.  Jes. 
You are our Father, and our earthly good,  
And, Sir, to you I'll Sacrifice my blood.  
Let your great judgement then the cause decide,  
And open justice bend to either side.  Dev. 
Who not excepts the first of your Creation,  
Shall loose th'eternal pleasure of Damnation:  Pop. 
Then't shall be thus: as I am head, I take  
Before they suffer for Religions sake,  
All their late purchased and long hoarded Ore;  
Pay me but that, and I'll exact no more.  Dev. 
It shall be yours, and when the blow is given,  
I'll keep the heretics from entering heaven;  
Allow no Pardons to the wicked crew,  
And it is all I ask for what I do.  Jes. 
Their Confiscated Lands bestow on me,  
And I'll promote a speedy Massacre.  Pop. 
Dev. With full consent we both of us agree.  Jes. 
Then thus I'l bind the Popes Supremacy. Embracing.    

EMBLEM XXVII. The Lady Powis chiding Mr. Dangerfield.  
No Rage like Womans unrelenting Will,  
When she doth lust for Blood and cannot kill.  
PROV. Chap. 1. v. 22. 
How long ye simplo ones will ye love simplicity, and the scorners delight in their scornings, and fools hate knowledge.  
STrange is the nature of the Romish beast,  
That without blood cannot enjoy true rest.  
But stranger far  
Of those which follow her to open War.  
How in confusion do they daily roll!  
What various Troubles do invade the Soul!  
No minutes ease;  
Nor ought to please,  
Can in their hearts possession find;  
Unruly Throbs,  
With sighs and sobs,  
Do minutely assault the mind.  
As winds confined  
Within the bowels of the earth,  
Rumble about till it a passage find,  
And in convulsions force a dangerous birth;  
But when broke through,  
With less ado,  
It rangeth ore the world at will,  
To whirlwinds bore,  
It ruins more  
Than Earthquakes, and doth swifter kill.  
But the storm past,  
How mildred at last,  
And how serene the clouds appear;  
As if their rage  
Had been t'asswage  
The many troubles we have here.  
But the past storm doth point at other things,  
Subjects must bleed,  
And fall with speed,  
Because it could not reach at Kings.  
Now in a different passion 
* Lady Powis.  she doth move,  
She preacheth profit first, then gifts and love:  
soothes 
* Mr. Dang.  him by all the pleasing charms of life;  
Blows up the fire,  
And doth admire,  
As much as can become anothers Wife:  
Reads the vile Dictates ore  
Of th' Romish Whore,  
And wheedles him not to believe it sin,  
Since what is done  
By th' Churches Son,  
Is a sure way bright heaven to win.  
He is convinced, and Blood is his intent,  
murder's his aim, on murder he is bent;  

* Lord Shaftesbury.  The good old man  
Suspecting not the Thief,  
Thought not his span  
Of life could ere be shortened by belief:  
But had not heaven the thread in safety put,  
The moment 
* Mr. Dangerfield.  he came in it had been cut.  
But heaven instead  
Of one came armed to strike him dead,  
wiped off that shape of Fiend which Rome had given,  
And made his heart an Essence sent from heaven.  
So th' hungry Wolf that came resolved to kill,  
Return'd a Lamb, and trembled at the ill.  
Could they mould hearts as they have framed the mind,  
Or could they act those ills they have designed;  
Could they strike all whom they decree for fate,  
A day would a whole Town depopulate.  
Did they range on, not contradiction meet,  
Cursings not Blessings should th'adverse party greet.  
'Tis true, they strive with an unbounded will,  
And 'tis Romes Birthright to destroy and kill.  
Still daily Plots they hatch, lay hourly snares,  
To trap the guiltless Souls at unawares.  
Like envious men they dig a pit for all,  
Into the which themselves untimely fall.    

EMBLEM XXVIII. Mr. Dangerfield discovering more of the Plot to my Lord Mayor.  
They round the Labyrinth with a Clue are lead,  
But loose their way in losing of the thread.  
JOB, Chap. 5. v. 13. 
He taketh the wise in their own craftiness, and the Counsel of the froward is carried headlong?  
NOw Rome you may  
Give ore the day,  
And cease to fight against such odds;  
But better fly  
With Infamy  
Before the Champion of the Gods.  
Your Leaders lost, and your great men made prise,  
Makes an addition to our Victories:  
Behold how all,  
Conscious of your black Crimes, do from you fall.  
Those which remain,  
With fear are slain,  
Or else in dark Recesses move,  
Like those of Hell  
That Rebels fell,  
And dare not look to'rds joys above.  
robbed of the pleasure of our blessed abode,  
They shrink like Satan at the Name of God.  
Such black and monstrous forms their Crimes do wear,  
They dare not own the 
* Thier Order.  Titles they should bear.  
Like Thieves ashamed of their ill-gotten prise,  
They quiter disown they ere did Idolize.  
But man howe'er  
Obdure,  
Must something fear,  
When out of hopes of care  
Though by Enchantment he's so senseless made,  
To have the outward part of man betrayed.  
Yet sure to reconcile th'Immortal Soul,  
You should glow-worm all, though nere so soul.  
Perhaps 'tis rare  
To court despair,  
And by a Pope to be thus shamed;  
As if the Bliss  
In Hell were this,  
And endless pleasure to be damned.  
Thus lead by th'nose yourselves you do betray,  
And put your Candle out to grope i'th'day.  
Had you not better be  
A happy Proselyte,  
Than serve an Enemy  
That leads you to Eternal night?  
To be a Convert where the Cause is evil,  
Is th'onely way you have to plague the Devil.  
Consult in time,  
And shun the Crime,  
Shun the delusive Charms of Rome:  
Be not confined,  
Nor with a fatal willingness be blind;  
But leave that unrelenting Churches doom:  
Cease to be Bats,  
Half Owls, half Cats,  
And in the Galaxy for ever move:  
A bide of day,  
That scorns to prey  
On any thing, but feasts in love.  
Take then the proffered Grace, and cease to be  
To Heaven and Earth an Enemy.  
Snatch at the Mercies offered by a Crown,  
Before the fatal draft doth sink you down.  
Vast are the blessings of a tender King,  
When Life and Death before his Eyes you bring.  
Though Death doth turn the beam, and sink the scale,  
His Mercies still above their Crimes prevail.  
This makes the unrelenting Romans be  
Undaunted, and run on in Treachery.  
The scythes of Time can never Mow them down,  
But still the bloody Earth-born brethren rise,  
And justle like th'Apostates for a Crown,  
Who met instead ten thousand miseries.  
The way t'expel this viprous bloody Race,  
Is to grub up the Roots which sprout so fast,  
And cast 'em from you to perpetual fire,  
Where as unworthy they may all Expire.    

EMBLEM XXIX. The Execution of the Conspirators.  
This is the Centre, where the Traytors come  
To meet a shameful Death, called martyrdom.  
JOB, Chap. 20. v. 27. 
The Heavens shall reveal his iniquity, and the earth shall rise up against him.  

WIth curious eye and ever-searching care,  
The prudent, 
* Sir W.W.  Magistrate 〈…〉 where,  
Big with some Embryo that may much disgrace  
The Cause,  
Without a pause,  
Moves like a longing woman to the 
* Celier's house.  place▪  
Where 
† Mrs. Celier.  Mother Midnig●t, who ●●ll 〈◇〉 laid  
The spurious Issue of the 
* Writings of the Sham-Plot.  Romish ●ade,  
In a by-corner of the house, for fear  
The Brat should be discovered cost so ●ea●  
lulled into safety, thought the should deceive  
The pie●eing eye  
Of the all-high,  
And man( his Deputy) of sense ber●●●?  
But Treason and Murder de●●,  
An equal sh●●●  
Of guilt,  
Since one already has,  
And th'other Plots for blood that shou●● be spilled.  
To raise the Cause,  
How can the traitor or the Murth'rous he,  
End his dire life without discovery?  
But Womans will,  
That ere was 〈◇〉,  
framed in Creation for a Plagne to man,  
promised much more  
Than all before,  
And will perform it if she can.  
Their first Plot shrunk,  
This Romish Punk.  
This Midnight Bawd to Teeming Rome,  
Groaps out a way,  
To give new-day  
To Popery, and fix Religious doom,  
Their Mens Plots fail,  
She doth assail,  
A shame on that way to prevail.  
On our Religion she'd the odium cast;  
So makes us guilty of their Crimes at last.  
But when most near  
To take,  
Nay, when't had reached our Monarchs ear,  
heaven put a period to it for his sake,  
Unbound the charms  
The Sore'ress made,  
And broken those Arms  
Which should Religious peace invade:  
displayed their 'vice,  
Nay did entice  
Their Agent too,  
Who soon declared what he had sworn to do;  
Threw off the rubbish from their secret Mine,  
And shew'd us in a minute their design.  
The Mole thus sound  
That heaved the ground,  
And raised Commotions in a quiet field,  
Tells us yet more  
O'th'Romish Whore,  
And teacheth us to make her yield.   

As the base spurious Issue of some Drab,  
That shane had forced to strangle or to stab,  
Is in some close and private corner thrust,  
And all to hid the product of her lust  
She with the face of Impudence doth come,  
As if she never had absented home.  
hardened in sin, she doth once more invade  
Mankind, and passeth for a Maid.  
But the last partner of her lust and shane,  
Against her boasted title doth declaim,  
Declares the substance of their Midnight facts,  
And now in public mentions all their acts.  
The boasted Maid is to a Justice driven;  
But she denies the thing, and calls on heaven.  
I'th' place suspected narrowly they prie,  
Where soon is found Murder and Infamy.  
So th' Romish Bastard, though in private drowned,  
At length is in a paltry Meal-Tub found.  
The ready Midwife too that gave it breath,  
Concealing the black Crime doth merit death.  
But she already on the Law is thrust,  
Which quickly doth Condemn, or clear the Just.     

EMBLEM XXX. The Writings found in the Meal-tub.  
When once your Plots in Womens laps are thrown,  
'Tis the last Gasp Rome fetches for a Crown.  
EZEK. Chap. 8. v. 18. 
Therefore will I also deal in my fury, my eyes shall not spare, neither will I have pity; and though they cry in my ears with a loud voice, yet will I not hear them.  
THere was a day when from the holy See,  
A grand Commission signed for villainy,  
Was sent to Britain: at the strange debate,  
Were all the Cheats of Rome, to nominate  
Able Conspirators to drive on the Trade,  
Whilst he another prompted to invade.  
Not doubting the effects, they onwards steer,  
And find, or sand a Crowd of Traytors here.  
After the scourge of heaven, the Plague, had swept  
The City clean, the Vipers hither crept;  
Got Salamander-like so near the Crown,  
They quickly burnt its Royal City down:  
With this great Mischief they not yet content,  
Promote a way to alter Government;  
Brought Slaves to Plot against the sovereignty,  
That the dull fools might rule by Anarchy.  
But the Egg's found the Cockatrice had laid,  
And all the Plot's unraveled and betrayed.  
The misled Traytors to their Deaths are hurled,  
Poor, easy Fools, and popp'd out of the world.  
This device blasted, Rome a while lay still,  
Thought 'twas not safe as yet to treat us ill.  
But the huge Clamour and the Hubbub done,  
She falls again into Projection;  
Concludes to lay our Suburbs waste by Fire,  
That they in flames, like London, might expire.  
And 'twas not long after the train was laid,  
But Southwark to their fury was betrayed.  
St. Kath'rines, Wapping, many places more  
Were visited with flames, as they before.  
Out of these ruins Rome her Coffers crammed,  
And paid most nobly for those Souls it damned.  
Having demolished these, the Tyrant said,  
Now let's begin our Plot against the 
* The King.  Head.  
'Twas soon Debated, and without dispute,  
They as soon promised they would Execute.  
The Dagger's Consecrate, the Hand raised, even  
Ready to strike, and sand a King to heaven.  
But the Eternal from his blessed Abode  
looked down, with all the Mercies of a God;  
stoping the bloody hand of greedy Fate,  
And dashed their Treasons ere it was too late;  
Did in our Monarch's stead the Traytors harm,  
And with one stroke broken all their mighty Charm:  
Brought the Conspirators and Friends of Rome  
T'eternal Exile, and eternal Doom:  
Brought 'em to shane in the Catastrophe,  
As he will all that strike at Monarchy.  
heaven that reserved this happiness in store,  
Gave us not this, to give us then no more;  
Fed us not once with universal Joy,  
To curse us soon, and quickly to destroy:  
For bliss thus given, and snatched away in hast,  
The Pain is greater for the Pleasure past.  
To be reprieved, and to prolong our Breath,  
Only to plague us by a lingering Death,  
Is past the burden of that man to bear,  
Who hourly is distracted with his fear.  
Therefore till heaven our Reasons do direct  
To lop those Cedars down it did detect;  
With panic Fear and strange Convulsions we  
Must still expect the Romish Tyranny,  
Unless well guarded by Divinity.   
FINIS.