Vox & Lacrimae Anglorum: OR, The True English— mens COMPLAINTS, To their Representatives in PARLIAMENT.  
Humbly tendered to their serious Consideration at their next sitting, February the 6th. 1667-68.  By reason of the Multitude of Oppressions, they make the oppressed to cry. They cry out, by reason of the Arm of the Mighty. Job 35. 9 And in every Province whithersoever the King's Commandment, and his Decree came, there was great Mourning, and Fasting, and Weeping and Wailing. Esth. 4. 3. 
Printed in the Year 1668.   

To the Parliament.  

THese Lines had kissed your Hands October last,  
But were suspended till the time was passed;  
Because we hoped you were about to do  
That which this just Complaint incites you to;  
It is our duty, to put you in mind  
Of that great Work which yet doth lag behind:  
Our Grief and Woes do force us loud to cry,  
And call on you for speedy Remedy;  
Which was the moving Cause of these our Tears,  
That you may know our Sufferings and our Fears.  
And Providence now having led the way  
To give it birth; peruse it well we pray.  
And do not take it for an old Wife's story,  
But know the Nations Griefs lie here before ye:  
Though in short hints, yet here, as in a Map,  
With ease you'll see the cause of our Mishap.   

There's not a freeborn English Protestant,  
But sets both hand and heart to this Complaint.    

Vox & Lacrimae Anglorum.  
REnowned Partiots, open your Eyes,  
And lend an ear to th' Justice of our cries;  
As you are English men (our blood and bones)  
Know 'tis your duty to regard our Groans;  
On you, next God, our confidence relies,  
You are the Bulwarks of our Liberties.  
Within your Walls was voted-in our King,  
For joy whereof our shouts made England sing,  
And to make him a great and glorious Prince,  
Both you and we have been at great expense.  
Full Five and twenty hundred thousand pound,  
(By you enacted) since hath been paid down,  
Our Customs to a vast Revenue come;  
Our Fishing-money, no inferior sum.  
That old Ale-spoiling trade of the Excise,  
Doth yearly to a mass of money rise;  
Besides the Additional of Royal Aid,  
And Chimney-money, which is yearly paid.  
Oft have our heads by Polls been sadly shorn,  
With money from poor Servants Wages torn.  
Our Dunkirk yielded many a thousand pound,  
('tis easier far to sell than gain a Town.)  
With forced Benevolence, and other things,  
Enough t'enrich a dozen Danish Kings,  
Million on million on the Nations back,  
Yet we and all our Freedoms go to wrack.  
We hoped when first these heavy Taxes rose,  
Some should be used to scare away our foes,  
Or beat them, till (like Gibeonites) they bring  
Their Grandees ready haltred to our King;  
Or make them buckle, and their points untruss;  
As they did when the Motto, God with Vs.  
But Oh! instead of this, our cruel Fate  
Hath made us like a Widow, desolate.  
Our Houses sadly burnt about our ears,  
Our Wives & Children senseless made with fears;  
Our Warlike Ships, in which our safety lay,  
Unto our daring foes are made a prey.  
Our Forts and Castles, which should guard our Land,  
Just like old Nunneries and Abbeys stand.  
And long before our Inland-Towns demured,  
That Sea and Land alike might be secured.  
Our Magazines, which did abound with store,  
Like us (sad Englishmen) are very poor.  
Our Trade is lost, our Merchants are undone,  
Yeomen and Farmers, all to Ruin run.  
Those that our fatal Battles fought, neglected;  
And swearing, dam, cowardly Rogues protected.  
Our gallant Seamen (once the world did dread)  
For want of Pay, are metamorphosed:  
Whilst their sad Widows & poor Orphans weep.  
Whose dear Relations perished in the deep;  
And to augment and aggravate their grief,  
At the Payoffice find but cold relief;  
Many a month are forced to wait and stay,  
To seek the price of blood, dead Husbands pay.  
The sober People, who our Trade advanced,  
Throughout our Nation quite discountenanced.  
It grieves our hearts that we should live to see  
True Virtue pnnished, and Vice go free.  
Thousands there be that could not hurt a worm,  
Imprisoned were, 'cause they cannot conform.  
Others exiled, and from Relations sent,  
We know not why, but being innocent.  
Whilst Rome's black Locusts menace us with storms  
Like Egypt's Frogs, about the Kingdom swarms.  
Our penal Laws are never executed  
Against those Vermin, which our Land polluted,  
Only to blind and hoodwink us (alas)  
An Edict passes to prohibir Mass,  
With such a latitude, as most men say,  
It's like its Sire, the Oath Et caetera.  
But praised be God for Peace, that's very clear;  
But on what terms th' Event will make appear;  
We dread lest it should be more to our cost,  
Than when Amboyna Spicery was lost.  
They treat with Rod in hand, our Buttocks bare;  
Judge what the issues of such Treaties are.  
Thus sick, ye Worthies, sick our Nation lies,  
And none but God can cure her maladies.  
Those that should cheer her in your interval,  
Like dull Quacksalvers, make her spirits fail:  
Turn she her withered face to whom she will,  
All that she gets is but a purging Pill.  
If any of her Children for her cry,  
Her cruel Empirics use Phlebotomy.  
That wholesome Physic which should cleanse her blood,  
They do detain, inflaming what is good.  
This for a long time hath bad humours bred,  
Which sends up filthy vapours to the head.  
All wise men judge, if these extremes endure;  
'Twill period in a mad-brained Calenture.  
Then, O ye Worthies, now for Heaven's sake,  
Some pity on your gasping Country take.  
Call to account those Leeches of the State,  
Who from their trust deeply prevaricate;  
Who have of English Coin exhausted more,  
Than would ten Cuerdelions home restore.  
Who like perfidious and deceitful Elves,  
Ruin the Nation to enrich themselves,  
More ready were our Counsels to disclose,  
Then to protect us from our Belgian foes.  
The Fleet divided, shows such treachery,  
That Pagans, Turks and Infidels decry.  
The State's Purse cannot but be indigent,  
When so much money over-Sea is sent.  
No wonder Dutchmen cry, Thanks Clarendine,  
We are so roundly paid with English Coin.  
If George's mouth be stopped, think they that we  
Have all our eyes bored out, and cannot see.  
Our foes of Engiish Coin have greater store  
Since Wars began, than ere they had before.  
Acquaint stratagem, for Rulers busied be  
To tie a raw Hide to an Orange Tree;  
With resolution, 'cause he's of that blood,  
To lift his head above the Mogan hood.  
Then both the Kiep-skins would be well bestowed,  
One honoured here, t'other as much abroad.  
These and such Projects have procured a War,  
Where mortals worried were like Dog and Bear.  
Then Money works the wonder, that is sure,  
The price of Dunkirk here may much procure.  
Dunkirk was sold, but why, we do not know,  
Unless t' erect a new Seraglio,  
Or be a Receptacle unto those,  
Were once intended our invading foes.  
Then let that treacherous Abject Lump of Pride,  
With all his joynt-Confederates beside,  
Be brought to Justice, tried by our Laws,  
And so receive the merits of their Cause.  
Who justly now are made the people's hate.  
That would not do them Justice in the Gate.  
● We pray your Honours choose out a Committee  
To find the Instruments that burned our City;  
Can one poor senseless Frenchman's life repair  
The loss of Britain's great Imperial Chair?  
Many there were in that vile fact detected,  
And those that should them punish, them protected.  
When Nero did the like on famous Rome,  
Were all her Senators and People dumb?  
Must we be silent, when encompassed round  
With black-mouthed Dogs, that would us all confound?  
Most hellish Plot! 'twas Guido Faux in grain,  
Hatched by the Jesuits in France and Spain.  
For which your Honours wisely did remember  
To keep another fifth day of November.  
When these Delinquents up and down the Nation  
You sifted for, then came your Prorogation.  
Mean while, though London in her ashes lies,  
Yet out of her shall such a Phoenix rise,  
Shall be a scourge and terror unto those,  
Who for this hundred years have been her foes.  
Perfidious Papists! shall your treachery,  
Think ye, reduce US to Idolatry?  
Bloodthirsty Monsters! we know better things;  
Not all the pride of your darklanthorn Kings,  
Nor all your Counsels of Achitophel,  
Shall make us run your ready road to Hell;  
Blind Blockheads, we abhor your rotten Whore;  
None but the God of Jacob we adore.  
We beg your Honours to redeem our Trade,  
Which in your Intervals is much decayed;  
Regaining that, we hope such fruit 'twill yield,  
We on our Ruins cheerfully may build.  
We pray repeal that Law unnatural,  
That men in question for their Conscience call:  
'Tis cruelty, for you to force men to  
The thing, that they had rather die than do,  
This is man's All, 'tis Christ's Prerogative,  
Therefore against it 'tis in vain to strive.  
Distribute Justice with an equal hand  
Unto the Peer, as Peasant of the Land;  
Many true Commoners murdered of late,  
Yet Justice strikes not the Assassinate.  
Why should the just Cause of the Client be  
Utterly lost, wanting a double Fee?  
Why partial Judges on the Benches sit,  
And Juries overawed, which is not fit?  
Why some corrupted, others wanting wit,  
And why a Parliament should suffer it?  
Why great men's wills should be their only Law;  
And why they do not call to mind Jack Straw?  
Why they do let their Reputation rot,  
And why Carnarvan Edward is forgot?  
Why Bloodworth would not let that dreadful Fire  
Extinguished be, as good men did desire?  
And why Lifeguard-men at each Gate were set,  
Hindering the people thence their goods to get?  
Why were our Houses levelled with the ground,  
That fairly stood about the Tower round?  
When many thousand Families were left  
Without a house, than we must be bereavest  
Of habitations too with all the rest,  
And share with those that greatly were distressed.  
Why should our Mother-Queen exhaust our store,  
Enriching France, and making England poor  
Spending our Treasure in a foreign Land,  
Which doth not with our Nation's Interest stand?  
Therefore in time stay th' bleeding of this vein,  
Lest it our Nations vital spirits drain.  
Why England now, as in the days of yore,  
Must have an Intercessor, Madam Shore?  
Why upon her is spent more in a day,  
Than would a deal of public charge defray?  
Why second Rosamond is made away?  
And that remains a Riddle to this day.  
Why Papists put in places of great trust,  
And Protestants lay by their Arms to rust?  
Why Courtiers rant with Goods of other men's,  
And with Protections cheat the Citizens?  
Why drunken Justices are tolerated,  
And why the Gospel's almost abrogated?  
Why Clergymen do domineer so high,  
That should be patterns of humility?  
Why they do Steeple upon Steeple set,  
As if they meant that way to Heaven to get?  
Who nothing have to prove themselves devout,  
Save only this, that Cromwell turned them out.  
Why Tippits, Copes, Lawnsleeves & such like gear  
Consume above three millions by the year?  
Why Bell and Dragon Drones, like Boar in sty,  
Eat more than all the painful Ministry?  
Which is one cause the Nation is so poor,  
And when the King will find their Privy Door?  
When Daniel shows th' impression of their feet,  
And gives direction, then he'll come to see 't.  
Why England's grand Religion now should be  
A Stalking-Horse to blind Idolatry?  
Why many thousauds now bow down before it,  
That in their Consciences do much abhor it?  
Why Treachery is used by Complication,  
Fraud and Deceit the All-a-moad in fashion?  
Why ranting Cowards in Bust-coats are put,  
And why they Robbers turn, to fill their gut?  
Why Fools in Corporations do command,  
Who know nor Justice, nor the Law o'th' Land?  
Why he who brought our necks into this Yoke,  
Dreads not the thoughts of Feltons' fatal stroke?  
Sure they're bewitched who think us English men  
Have no more courage left us than a Hen.  
And why that interest is become the least,  
In the year Sixty greater than the rest?  
We know no reason, but do all consent,  
These are the fruits of an Ill-Government.  
Some think our Judgements do run parallel  
With david's in the days of Israel.  
The difference is, he was a Man of God;  
But ours have been his sore afflicting Rod;  
To which we turn our naked backs, and say,  
Lord, during thy pleasure, Vive le Roy.  
We pray restore our faithful Ministers,  
Whom we do own as Christ's Ambassadors.  
Why are our Pulpits pestered with that Crew,  
That took up Orders since black Bartholomew;  
Who Mysteries of Gospel know no more,  
Than that dumb Calf that Israel did adore.  
Too late for us to you to make our moan,  
When they have led us to destruction.  
Must all be enemies to King and State,  
That from the Church of England separate?  
Must all the Meetings of the Innocent  
Be judged unlawful and to Prison sent?  
'Twere better all such Edicts you made void,  
And grant the Liberty they once enjoyed;  
Confirming that unto them by a Law,  
Makes good the Royal Promise at Breda.  
Tread all Monopolies into the Earth,  
And make provision that no more get birth.  
In this a Prince's danger chiefly lies,  
That he is forced to see with others eyes:  
From hence our Troubles rose in Forty one,  
When that Domestic War at first begun.  
Relieve th' Oppressed, set all Prisoners free,  
Who for their Consciences in durance be.  
Poor Debtors who have not wherewith to pay,  
Break off their Shackles, let them go their way.  
And let suborned Witnesses appear  
No more against the Innocent to swear.  
Let no more Juries that are biased,  
Selected be to do what they are bid;  
Who to fulfil men's Lusts and Cruelty,  
Regard not though the Innocent do die.  
Why should our just Laws as a Cobweb be,  
To catch small flies, and let the great go free?  
This ●urns true judgement into wormwood gall,  
Doth for the Vengeance of th' Avenger call.  
Then ease those Burdens under which we groan,  
Give Liberty its Resurrection.  
Let painful Husbandry, the Child of Peace,  
Be now encouraged, since Wars do cease:  
Let not the poor enslaved Ploughman crave  
Redress from you, and yet no succour have.  
'Tis too much like a base French stratagem,  
To make the People poor to govern them.  
More happy for a Prince, when Aid he craves,  
To have't from freeborn men, than injured slaves.  
We are freeborn, we yet are Englishmen,  
Let's not like old men boast what we have been;  
But make us happy by your gentle Rays,  
And You shall be the tenor of our Praise;  
And our posterities with joint consent,  
Shall call you England's healing Parliament;  
But if you still will make our Bands the stronger,  
If Prisoners must remain in durance longer;  
If wand'ring Stars must still by force detrude  
(Under Eclipse) those of first Magnitude;  
If Prelates still must o'er our Conscience ride,  
And Papists bonfires make on us beside.  
If he and they (whose Avarice and Pride  
So long have rid our backs, and galled our side)  
Have got so strong an interest in the State,  
That their Commitment costs so long debate;  
Until a way be made for his escape  
To foreign parts, there to negotiate:  
The edge of Justice surely's turned aside,  
To cut the poor ones flesh, and save the Hide.  
If you men's Lusts and Av'rice gratify,  
And yet our empty Purse-strings will untie;  
You are too free of what never was your own,  
And know you only make us more to groan,  
(Asslike:) and surely any mortal man,  
Will seek to ease his burden when he can.  
There's not an Englishman but well hath learned,  
Your Privileges are alike concerned  
With all our Liberties; That he that doth  
Infringe the one, usurps upon them both.  
And shall it on your Door and Tombs be writ,  
This was that Parliament so long did sit,  
While Conscience, Liberty, our Purse and Trade;,  
The Country, City, Ships, and All's betrayed?  
That made an Act for building on the Urn,  
But no Inquest who did the City burn;  
To feed a Palmer-worm, who threw away  
That public stock that Seamen should defray.  
Since now you have an opportunity,  
Redeem yourselves and us from Slavery:  
If not, (the Wheel goes round) there is no doubt,  
You'll also share with those you have turned out.  Vivat Lex Rex.  

POSTSCRIPT.  
IF ere you leave us in a lasting-Peace,  
'Tis by redressing all our Grievances.  
When Rulers stop their ears to th' People's cries,  
Those are sad symptoms of Catastrophies.  
In Watch, or Clock, things made irregular,  
Though ne'er so small, make all the work to jar.  
And in the Body Natural 'tis sound,  
That if an Humour doth therein abound,  
That the Physician must extenuate,  
And make it with the rest cooperate.  
So, if in Bodies Politic there be,  
Not found 'twixt all Estates a harmony,  
They cease not till in tract of time they bring  
All to Confusion, Peasant, Lord and King.  
To make some great, and ruin all the rest,  
In this a Commonwealth cannot be blest.  
And doth it follow hence, great Sirs, that we  
Must be made Beggars to posterity.  
Let Equity and Justice plead our Cause,  
And then refer us to our ancient Laws.  
If Magna Charta must be wholly slighted,  
We must conclude our Rulers are benighted.  
But needs must we be poor, when it is known  
We've had a second Pearce of Gaveston.  
Your Power is sovereign, else we durst not quote  
His poisonous name, without an Antidote.  
Perfidious Clarenden! that potent Thief,  
His Prince's blemish, and the People's grief.  
Who once did scorn to plunder by retail,  
Who stretched the State's purse till the strings did fail.  
He and his fellow Jugglers found the knack  
To plow deep furrows on the Nations back.  
Like Glaziars, who incite the roaring Crew  
Windows to break, that they may make them new.  
So they pick Quarrels with our Neighbour Nations,  
Then bawl at you to peel us with Taxations;  
Which having got, still more and more they crave,  
Even like the Horseleech, or devouring Grave.  
For Avarice cannot be satisfied,  
No more than Belzebub and's Brother Hide.  
That Machiavil we have not yet forgot,  
Who brewed that wicked, hellish Northern Plot;  
Where many Gentlemen had ruined been,  
If Providence had not stepped in between.  
Who then amongst your selves secure can be,  
If this be not checked by Authority,  
He was one of that openhanded Tribe  
Whose Avarice ne'er yet refused a Bribe.  
What suit of Law soev'r before him came,  
He that produced most Angels, won the Game;  
Be't right or wrong, or Plaintiff or Defendant,  
Should have the Cause, if Gold were at the end on't.  
How did he send, without remorse or fear,  
Thousands brave English to that Grave, Tangier?  
What usage had the Scots, thousands can tell,  
When the late Remonstrators did rebel.  
Whilst Irish Rebels quit their old O hone.  
Poor English Protestants take up that tone.  
Empson and Dudly's facts compared with his,  
Were but night's darkness unto Hell's Abiss.  
The famous Spensers did in type portray  
What should be acted by this Beast of prey.  
Earth him, and you shall find within his Cell,  
Those mischiefs which no Age can parallel;  
War, Fire and Blood, with vast expense of Treasure,  
Ruin of Englishmen, his chiefest pleasure.  
In fine, for Mischief he was what you will,  
The perfect Epitome of all ill.  
All good men hate his Name; nay (which is worse)  
Three Nations dogs him with their heavy curse.  
As he regarded not the Widow's tears;  
So ye, just Heavens, multiply his fears.  
Let cain's most dreadful doom soon overtake him,  
And his companion Gout never forsake him.  
Let Heaven's Vengeance light upon his pate,  
Till all our wrongs it doth retaliate;  
Till he himself to Justice doth resign,  
Let all men call him, Cursed Clarendine.  
Dexterous Artist, he with little ease,  
Transplanted Dunkirk from beyond the Seas,  
And dropped it near that fatal spot of Land,  
Where for him now Tyburn doth weeping stand;  
The echoing Axe out of the Tower doth call,  
To speed this Monster Epidemical.  
But he upon us having played his prank,  
Follows his Brethren, Finch and Windebank.  
Thus Hide by name, is Hide by practice too,  
Yet cannot hide from Heaven, though hid from You.  
And being gone, hath left his Imps behind,  
Whose only work is, all your Eyes to blind,  
Lest tracing him, you find their villainy.  
Yet known to few but the Allseeing Eye.  
If any thing of common fame be true,  
He's only gone our Mischiefs to renew;  
And if his practice justify our fears,  
he'll sets again together by the ears.  
Ambition's of the nature of the Devil,  
Always to brood, and hatch, and bring forth evil.  
If true that Maxim be, Kings cannot err;  
With modesty we may from thence infer.  
Ill thrives that hapless Nation then that shows,  
A silent Prince, and Chancellor that crows  
Over his Equals, over all his Peers,  
Over fanatics, over Cavaliers;  
He was so absolute, 'twas hard to say  
Or he, or Charles, whether we must obey.  
Rose from a Gentleman, too near the Throne;  
Sought not the Nation's Interest, but his own.  
You are our Bridle in such Tyrant's jaws,  
That would destroy us, and subvert our Laws.  
Now hold the Beign, now keep the Balance true,  
Find those Bandetro's that do lie perdieu.  
If you, like Cato, for your Country stand,  
Three noble Nations are at your command,  
Whilst Justice, Truth & Right ousness do guide you  
we'll be your Guard, whatever shal1s betid you.  
Disarm the Papists, and secure our Ports,  
Place Protestants in Garrisons and Forts.  
Why should the French and Irish here bear sway,  
That Enemies to England are this day?  
Let not our Magazines remain with those,  
That burned our City, and abide our Foes;  
Whose hellish, bloody principles are such,  
To butcher Englishmen they think nor much.  
What Safety, Peace, or Trade can we expect,  
When these protected are, and you neglect  
Us to secure against such Cutthroat Dogs,  
As swarm now in our Land, like Egypt's Frogs.  
What means the flocking of the French so fast,  
Into our Bowels thus with Arms to haste?  
And must our Horses, which of value be,  
Be unto France transported, as we see?  
Are not our Forts and Castles, all betrayed.  
When all their Stores and Guns aside are laid,  
Out of the reach of such as would oppose  
Foreign Enemies and Domestic Foes?  
Did the Dumb Child, when at his Father's throat  
He saw a Knife? immediately cry out?  
Can we be silent, when the Train is laid,  
And Fireworks prepared, as 'tis said?  
Look through the Veil, and yond will soon espy  
The Romish Councils close at work do lie,  
To undermine You, and Religion too:  
Look well about you, lest you do it rue.  
Now is the time to quit yourselves like men,  
Now stand up for our Liberties, and then,  
The Laurel Wreath and never-fading Bays,  
Shall crown your heads, and we shall sing your praise.  Is there no Balm in Gilead? is there no Physician there? Why then is not the health of the daughter of my people recovered? 
FINIS.