AN EXCLAMATION AGAINST POPERY: OR, A Broadside against ROME.  
Occasioned by his MAIESTIES Last Gracious Speech, when he was pleased to Express His Willingness to Maintain the Truly Ancient Protestant Religion.  By R. W. D. D. 

LICENCED,  
November the 14 th'. 1678.   

PLot on, Proud Rome! and lay thy damned Design  
As low as Hell, we●ll find a Countermine:  
Wrack thy cursed Parts! and when thy utmost Skill  
Has proved unable to effect thy Will;  
Call thy Black Emissaries, let 'em go  
To summon Traitors from the Shades below,  
Where Infant Treason dates its Monstrous Birth;  
Is nursed with Care, and after sent on Earth:  
To some cursed Monks; or wandering Jesuits Cell;  
Where it thrives faster, than it did in Hell!  
Call Bloody Brutus up, Lean Cassius too;  
Let Faux, and Catesby both, be of the Crew!—  
Nay, rather than want Help, let your BULLS run;  
And Damn the Devil, if he do not come!  
Yet after all your Plots, and Hatching, we,  
(So long as CHARLES, and's Senators agree)  
Will warm our Hands at Bonfires, Bells shall Ring;  
And traitor's Knells no longer Toll, but Sing.   

We doubt not Rome, but Maugre all thy Skill,  
The Glorious GOD of our Religion will,  
In spite of all thy Art, preserve It still!  
And his peculiar Care of It to show,  
Defend in Health, It's Great DEFENDER too!   

I'th' Interim, Do thou new Crimes invent,  
And we'll contrive as Subtle Punishment.  
'Tis Autumn now with us; and every Tree,  
Instead of Fruit, may bend with Popery.  
'Twould be a Novel, though no hated Sight,  
If every Bough should bear a jesuit!   

We'll meet your Plots with Pikes, Dangers with Swords;  
And stead of long Cravats, we'll lend you Cords.  
Each Stab in Private, we'll with Use return:  
And whilst one Hangs, the other he shall Burn;  
Till Tybourn's long impoverished Squire appear  
Gay as the Idol, fills the porphyry Chair.   

Yes, Mighty CHARLES! at thy Command we'll run  
Through Seas of Rebels Blood, to save thy Crown.  
Our Wives, Estates, and Children too, shall be  
But Whetstones to our Swords, when drawn for Thee.  
We'll Hack and Slash, and Shoot, till Rome Condoles;  
And Hell itself, is cloyed with Traitor's Souls:  
Till Godfrey's wronged Ghost (which still does call  
For Shoals of Rebels to attend his Fall)  
Cries out, Dear Protestants, no more pursue  
Their Guilty Blood, my Manes have had their Due!   

This, Mighty Monarch! at thy Beck or Nod,  
Shall be effected, as Thou were't a God;  
With so much Readiness, thy Royal Tongue  
Shall hardly Speak, ere we Revenge the Wrong  
On thy cursed Enemies; who whilst they state  
Thy Death, shall feel themselves th' intended Fate;  
And by a quick Reverse, be forced to try  
The Dire Effects of their own Treachery.   

Poor Scarlet Harlot, couldst Thou stand in want  
Of a Genteel, and Generous Gallant,  
Whose Noble Soul to Baseness could not yield;  
But would have tried thy Interest in the Field,  
We had not thus thy Policies condemned;  
But thought thee worthy of a Foe, or Friend:  
Both which, with equal Estimate thou'lt find,  
Were always valued by an English Mind.  
But Thou of late, so Treacherous dost grow,  
That we should blush, to own thee either now.  
Base, and Perfidious too, thou dost appear;  
Sland'rest a Pope, and spoyl'st an Emperor.   

What! is the Eagle from the Mitre flown?  
Is there of Caesar nothing left in Rome?  
Must that Renowned City, heretofore  
Famed for her Virtues, well as for her Power;  
Instead of Consuls, Vagabonds employ?  
And suborn Felons MONARCHES to Destroy?  
Bribe Men (thro' Want made boldly desperate)  
To Fireball Cities, to their groveling Fate;  
Whilst Hellish Iesu'ts Porters Garbs profane;  
Assist the Fire, and Bless the growing Flame!   

Must Rome's Great Pope, whose Piety should run  
As an Example, thro' all Christendom;  
Whose Signal Virtues, Arguments should be  
Of his Admired infallibility?  
Does he hire Ruffains, justices to Kill;  
And send the Murderers Pardons at his Will?  
Bids them in Heretics Blood their Hands imbrue;  
Tells them withal, 'Tis Meritorious too!—   

If this thy Practice be, false Rome Farewell!—  
Go, Teach thy Doctrine to the Damned in Hell!  
Where, by Black Lucifer's Destructive Pride,  
Thou may'st in part thy Future Fate decide:  
Whilst from our City we thy Imps remove,  
To shake their Heels in some cold Field or Grove.  
Since both by Ours, and all men's else, Esteem,  
They're fitter to Converse with Beasts, than Men.   
FINIS.   

LONDON, Printed for T. G. 1678.