〈…〉 STORM And DEATH OF THE PROTECTOR Ensuing the same.  

IN that Prodigious wind, when lately died  
This Nations Scourge, that Barbarous Regicide,  
Heaven did proclaim with a most dreadful Breath,  
Its Vengeance on the Tyrant at his Death.  
He that all other Villains did excel,  
Was not to go with common signs to Hell.  
Comets light Princes to their Sepulchers:  
His end in storms, was like a Conjurers.  
As first was Rome, founded was our New State,  
And just like Hero was our first tyrant's fate:  
Wolf nursed Romulus, together drew,  
By Liberty proclaimed an Impious Crew  
Of banished Thieves, and bloody Fugitives,  
Such that their neighbours scorned to give them wives:  
Strengthened with these, having his Brother slain,  
Committed Rape, with war began his reign.  
To Jupiter he prays for Victory,  
And with Religion cloaked his Cruelty,  
Till in a Tempest from his Subjects snatched,  
He was with Thunder to the Shades dispatched:  
In Romulus his steps, and by his Crimes,  
Up to the Throne Britain's Usurper climbs:  
The holy Hypocrite, first Heaven to mock,  
Then brings his Righteous Sovereign to the Block!  
God's Worship he forbids, his Priests reviles,  
His Temples robs, pulls down, or else defiles.  
To keep what he usurped by our own Jars,  
Upon his peaceful neighbours forceth Wars;  
Assaults their Towns, only to give those Graves,  
Whose generous Souls repined to be his Slaves.  
At length of Orphant's Tears and Christian blood,  
Which he had spilled, the Cry became so loud,  
Incensed Heaven with a Tempestuous wind,  
Swept from the Earth this Locust of mankind.  
And after death, as wicked Romulus  
Was deified, so are there some with us,  
That style this Monster Hero, Hercules',  
His Puny Upstart Successor to please.  
How base are Flatterers! Even Wickedness  
Shall panegyrics find, if't have success.    

On the late STORM, &c.  

REsign we must, Hell his damned Soul doth claim,  
In Storms as hideous as his cursed Fame:  
His dying screiks affrighted makes 〈…〉 le;  
Trees are turned down for his Inferna● Pile,  
And about him round for Gibbets, Roots are tossed:  
In such a Storm Great Vandermast was lost.  
Ma●● room then for him, Hell, who killed his King,  
And ●rom Rebelling's fallen to Bellowing.  
From the top on's Pride this Monster now lies dead,  
With ruined Soul, and Curses 'bout him spread.  
His latter Fury from God's Temple rent  
A Sacred 
* Dr. He 〈…〉.  Priest, a murdered Innocent.  
Houses from Towns, Corns from their fields lie rest,  
This as his latest Legacy he left.  
The Ocean which so long our Isle confined,  
No bounds could give to his ambitious mind:  
Our Bonds enlargement was his earnest toil:  
To a s●d Prison hath he turned our Isle.  
Under both Tropics are his Mischiefs spoke,  
He ruined England, yet would he Flanders yoke.  
In uncivil broils he did this Land engage:  
The Noblest still were Objects of his Rage.  
New ways of Treason he his country showed,  
And then conducted Regicides abroad.   

Ungrateful man! no tears we can allow  
To him that gave us whips and scourges too.  
Usurpers fear and tremble, now you see,  
The great'st of Villains from the Grave's not free.  
Nature herself took notice of his Death,  
And jocouned swelled the Sea with such a breath,  
That to remotest Shores her Billows rolled,  
And the near Fate of this Great Rebel told.    

London, Printed in the Year of our Lord, 1659.