The Right Honourable. Edward Lord Montague. Baron of Kimbolton. Vis-count Mandevile. Earl of Manchester. And Maior General of the Parliaments Forces in the associated Counties, Norfolk, Suffolk & Essex The true portraiture of the Right Honourable Edward Lord Montague Baron of Kimbolton Viscount Mandevile Earl of Manchester and Major General of the Parliaments Forees in the Associated Counties norfolk, Suffolk, & Essex 〈◊〉 ENGLAND'S SAD POSTURE; OR, A true Description of the present Estate of poor distressed England, and of the lamentable Condition of these distracted times, since the beginning of this Civil, and unnatural Warr. Presented to the Right Honourable, Pious, and Valiant, EDWARD, Earl of MANCHESTER. You that have Eyelids, that can tears distil, View England's Posture, and then weep your fill. LONDON, Printed by Bernard Alsop, and are to be sold by Richard Harper, in Smithfield, at the Sign of the Bible. 1644. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, Pious, Valiant, and vigilant, EDWARD Earl of MANCHESTER, and Noble General, over all Military forces in our Eastern, associated Counties. RIGHT Honourable, and therefore Honourable, because truly Right, not only a lover, and practiser, but a faithful defendar of right. But that which makes your fame singugular, is that this virtue in you is so general, that where as all men are by nature, inclined to seek their own right, your Honour hath engaged, both your Life and Estate, to maintain the right of others, yea the right of our King and Country, nay which is most transcendent, the right & safety of God's cause; which is now, by unhappy occasion, in danger to suffer violence. And in this your uprightness of heart, in defence of the right of your case, you have hitherto done so rightly and Nobly, that it cannot appear in the least part, that the fairest professers of reward, nor the foulest threaten of revenge, could either draw or drive you to so much as slack your Impartial hand in these your pious proceed, much less to betray your trust: nor hath envy itself, the least moat to cast into you dish, which (Noble Earl) is now more rare than over; Europe being now in travill, to cast some poison into every dish, that is presented on the table of our distempered State, and n●… doubt hath often abused your Honourable presence in presenting great and gross Malignants, in disguised habits. And as this to the eye of the world, and to your Eternal praise, doth render you truly Honourable; so it doth happily declare, the happiness we enjoy by enjoying so happy, so vigilant, and so successful a governor, as your Honourable self is, under whom, through the blessing of God, we in these associated Counties, may more truly say, than Turtellius did to Felix we enjoy much quietness: And seeing by your Honour, worthy deeds are done for your Country we except it with all thankfulness, and alacrity of spirit; being bound to bless God, for such a blessing upon us, and not to cease praying that you may ride on and prosper. Now right Honourable, amongst other these your deep engaged servants, I the most unworthy of the least of your favours, have notwithstanding, presuming on your Clemency, dared to shelter these my deformed shadows, under the wings of your protecting substance, yet (Noble Earl) no farther than they may be capaple of favour, but if in any thing I have erred, I am there at your pleasure, to be corrected. Now in this misshapen picture, I have laboured to offer to your view, and so to the eye of the world, the most deformed form of our nations, now most miserably miserable estate; out of which 'tis possible, that your piercing cie may pick somewhat, that may be useful; but if not, I beseech your Honour to resolve, that my intents herein are honest, and the contents (if we make no other use of them) may at the least tend to our humiliation; they being no other than a glass, wherein we may see our sins, reflecting upon ourselves: and in our present miseries, read our foregoing offences: but not any way presuming to instruct, nor too far to trouble your Honour with trifles, I cease in this kind, to be any farther tedious, humbly begging pardon for this my intrusion, and I shall for ever hold it my happiness to hear of your prosperity; which in spite of all your enemies, the God of all good success, crown your Honour with, as he hath begun. So prays Your humble perioner EDWARD CALVER. THE PREFACE. THE Title of this Book, doth succinctly, and briefly, comply with the sad condition of the present times; describing the turbulent state of this land, and the many miseries, under which the genius of this Kingdom, doth now grown. Warr hath never seemed sweet to any, but to the unexperienced, who blinded with its flourish, and its glory, observe not the Tragical events, that do attend it. Of all the War the Civil is most grevous, where all the obligations of friendship, and Nature, lie cancelled in one another's blood; while Brothers, and Kindred, destroy one another, by the devouring sword: Religion being traduced to palliate these bloody acts, and trampled down by Malignants and Papists, for the defence whereof our Liberties, and Laws, we are bound unto the Parliament, to whom we own our safety and subsistence. This Kingdom doth now stand in a most sad posture; first occasioned by sin, and now punished by the justice of God, with an unnatural war, making it swim in a deluge of its own blood. Every day brings in many sad Demonstrations, corcerning this subject, the burning of houses, the pillaging of of goods, the violating of all Laws, both Divine & Human, have been Arguments written in blood, by too many swords. That which is here related in the following several particulars, and Epigrams adjoined thereunto, may be fitly called England's sad Postures, or her Glass wherein she may behold her sad distracted face, her sufferings at this present, being a compendious mixture of all distresses, endured even from the beginning of this Civil War, which being here presented unto your view; I doubt not but that it will find deserved compassion in the Reader, and move him to send up his prayers to heaven, that this bleeding Kingdom, may be once again established in Peace and Truth, as all good men do most earnestly desire. This Book being but a sad Picture of the miserable calamities of this Kingdom, drawn out by the hand of the Author. E. CALVER. THE CONTENTS. OUR Sins provoking. God's Anger smoking. The Sword proceeding. The Kingdom bleeding. Our King turmoiling. The Parliament toiling, Religion shaking. Our Laws now quaking. Delinquents Plotting. The Papists doting, Malignants Raving. True Christians Craving. Good people praying. This Author devising On these sad times or Epigramatizing. Our Sins provoking. SIN, I the most prodigious sight indeed, The Devil's offspring, most Infernal seed; The root of Ruin, death, and Hell, and care, Heavens, how endured you, when I acted there? You spotless powers, and I the most defiling, Can not agree, which caused my thence exiling, But powers Celestial, could your care in this Be so precise then, and now so remiss? My Father did but once offend at first, And was for ever, sentenced accursed: But cockered mankind disoebyes you still, And yet is favoured, suffered in his ill. Look down on England, on that divine Eden, See, how it surfeits, on the fruit forbidden, Nay, with my Father, it aspires the Crown, Whereon he dored, oh! then cast it down. The Epigram. Sin, thou hast surely drawn thy picture well, And justly claimest thy pedigree from Hell. Thou and the Devil are so near allied, That where thou actest, he doth chiefly guide: Satan that serpent, is indeed thy sire, And thou his viper art, his chief desire, Although thy hatching (most unhappy birth) Lost him the comforts, both of heaven and earth. Sin, thou indeed mayst silly man accuse, That with thy nature, thou shouldst his abuse: Man, who by nature, in God's Image shined, Should in thy Image, now the Devil find. But sin, thou Serpent, though thou hast the Art, To cozen mankind, and accuse him for't; Accuse not God though, whose proceeding must, By thy false Father, be acknowledge just. God's Anger smoking. Oh! England England, foolish England, nay Thou know'st it, and dost yet reject thy day; My goodness to thee, is so long expressed, Thou furferst with is, thou dost love the taste. Nay yet more sor did, more perverse by much, Because thou findest my long forbearance such: Thou fond thinkest me like thyself no doubt, Or else dost judge my eye of justice out. Thy sins, they are ascended, and declare Thee so rebellious, that I blush to hear; Can so much mercy, be so much withstood? Ah, it reputes me, I have done thee good. Cease then my mercy, thou in vain art shown, And stir my justice, be to England known. Those mercies wherein it could find no taste, Now make them longed for, or else lay it waste. The Epigram. Lord, Lord, 'tis true, we must though to our shame, Confess unto the glory of thy Name, That England hath been infinitely blest, In takeing from thee, though returning least. England hath been like Eden, therein growing All fruits delicious, streams of pleasures flowing. But oh fond England, thus well streamed and fruited, Hath took a surfer, and those streams polluted. England, must therefore guilty, guilty cry, Though England therefore sentenced be to die. But its accuser is its foe, nay thine, Then see his malice, let thy mercy shine. But Lord thy justice, must have course 'tis true, But with thy justice, do thy mercy show. Sin to thy judgement, England hath subjected, Let sin be slain for't, England but corrected. The Sword proceeding. Come, I must rouse now, must no longer rest, In gross oblivion, I from heaven am pressed. But is this certain? yes it is decreed, My Captain calls me, I must then proceed. The Lord of Hosts, now utters his command, And send commission down into my hand, That I to judgement, must proceed in haste, By taking vengeance, and in laying waist; Especially in England where I slept So many late long years, in durance kept, That I through length of time, neglect and dust, Was quite forgotten, and consumed with rust. But now I have commission, a decree, Of England's follies, to revenged be. Of England's blood, now must I drink my fill, And scour the rust off, with the drops Ispill. The Epigram. Infatuate weapon, oh Remorseless foe, Thou without pittre, dost thou rigour show. But senseless England, that thou thus shouldst urge A God so gentle, to use such a scourge. England, England, how wilt thou have ease? This wrath thou canst not in the sword appease; That raves and rages, as if wars did choose To make this Realm, his place of Randevouze. But sword thou spersed not, carest not who complain. To invocate thee, then is endless, vain. Alas for England Lord! 'tis thus undone; But thou hast mercy, though the sword hath none. Lord check the sword then, thou alone hast power; And sword, though thou hast licence to devour, And eat up England, must thou drink the blood Of Gods own servants, is not that too good? The Kingdom bleeding. Bleeding indeed, alas my wounds are wide, The sword makes issues, streams on every side; Yea bleed so fully, I to faint begin, My heart is wounded, and I bleed within: Nay bleed not only blood, but 'tis my grief, That I in bleeding can have no relief. No means, no Surgeon can be found, hath are, To staunch my issue, stay my bleeding heart. Oh sad condition, no salve to apply, Can stop this currant, must I bleeding die? Most wretched I, then have I such a vent, So deep a wound, when all my balm is spent. But fooolish England, that I took no heed, In time of plenty, for a time of need. I in my health built Castles in the air, But now in sickness, lo, I now despair. The Epigram. England, dear England, I must hold thee so, Dear in my thoughts, though now in deadly woe. Thy blood must doubtless soon be spent indeed, When in thee almost every vain doth bleed. Thy streams run swiftly, not by dropping shed, But streams are flowing, as if fountains bled; Fountains indeed, as well as Conduits small, Th'impartial sword, makes no respect at all. But oh thou God of England, and of war, And eke of peace, where people humbled are. The sword itself is most remorseless steel, But yet thy hand that strikes therewith, can feel. England, than England, seek unto that hand, That awful, power full, that gave the sword command, That Lord of all, that God of Hosts indeed; He order Battles, only helps at need. Our King turmoiling. You higher powers, can you so knit your brow, Upon the owner of a Crown below? That Charles, whom his dominions should obey, Should only bear the Sceptre, not the sway? Supremest powers, this may indeed be due, As my correction, if your hand I view; But if I view them, whom your just command, Hath made my subjects, may they Charles withstand? Unhappy Charles then, but you higher Chairs, Who have the rule of all Terrene affairs. Though you, and justly, overrule my Crown, Yet give me leave, to keep my subjects down. Let from your fountains, so much fullness spring, If I command not, I am then no King. Suits it with Royal dignity, that we? Should subject, to a subjects party be. The Epigram. Great King of Kings, who hast the chief command, Within whose hand, our Sovereigns' heart is spanned: Teach him to pray, for what befits him best, And then in mercy, answer his request. Lord, give him wisdom, to discern his foes, And then a weapon, to prevail on those. And let thy greatness, to his grace make dear, Not men insinuating, but sincere. And gracious Sovereign, if poor ashes may, As for your highness, to your highness pray. Esteem not men for acts, in State most fit, Who in Religion, never acted yet. 'tis feared, that the preferments, the promotion, Attends on many, takes up their devotion; And men aspiring, are the least to trust, Religion, only binds men to be just, Our Parliament toiling. Sure heavy sequel, very heard success, The Kingdom panting, almost pa●● redress; And lo we labour, to redress the same, Yea in much peril, and yet paid with blame. Labour indeed, both night and day we spend, In tedious study, England to defend: We neither pains, nor life nor living spare, Besides the burden of contempt we bore. Well may we groan then under such a weight, And we besides, dismembered by decert. Nay more, enfeebled underneath this lead, Not only members, but we want our head; We want our hopes, our hearts desire our King, Whose presence, had been precious in this thing. Unhappy project, that did thus betray, Both King and Kingdom, stealing him away. The Epigram. We read that learned Astrologers approve, Of certain houses, in the spheres above; Wherein the Planets, as they do relate, Are sure most active, most predominate. So you our lesser Planets, here below, Now in your houses, do your brighttnsse show, You in your motions, always gave a light, But now right centred, you appear most bright. Our Sun and Moon, are so declined west, That you our Stars are needful in the East. Shine then, oh shine then, till your greater light, Gets from beneath, this Canopy of night. But lesser Planets of the greater borrow, Our Suns declining, therefore breeds your sorrow: But God the fountain, whence all light begun, Makes stars to shine, in absence of the Sun. Religion Shaking. Great God, great guide, and fountain of all good, From whence it issues streams into a flood: Think, think upon me, oh thou fountains head, I am a drop, which from thy bucket slid. I am thy offspring, why art thou estranged? Dost thou not know me? Lord am I so changed? But thou knowst all things, than the fault must be, Not in thy knowledge, but alas in me. I am indeed polluted, and defiled, And have so lost the Image of thy child; That though thou knowest me, thou mayst view me rather, As a disdaineing, then indulgent Father. But, Lord thou canst not, without sorrow sure, Thy child's destruction, though defiled endure. Cleanse then, oh cleanse me, rather than reject, Lord do not ruin, though thou dost correct. The Epigram. Great God and gracious, from whose height indeed, Doth all the goodness here below proceed; Amongst the rest, Religion as the chief, Which calling to thee, cannot want relief. Though now it stammers, thou canst understand, Though now it fainteth, thou hast help at hand: And though thou hearest it, we are bound to call, For if that suffers, we must suffer all. And dear Religion, thou that hast the keys, To give us entrance, where all comfort lies. Oh fear not, fear not, thou shalt sure have aid, Thy suits are granted, though they seem delayed. Thou hast indeed abused thy keys in store, By fond trying, a forbidden door. But now thou seest, thou wert deceived therein, And seek'st reforming, thou shalt favour win. Our Laws now quaking. Shaking, and quaking, it is so indeed, Alaffe we shiver, and quiver, like a reed; Our old injunctions are recalled again, Our new prescriptions, held by some as vain. We which were wont to be England's guide, Are now so pestered, penned on every side. We who should have the sway of all the land, Condemning others, now condemned stand. Distracted England, how wilt thou have ease? Where England wilt thou prove out thy first pleas; What preservation, canst thou look to have, What justice, when we suffer, that should save? Needs must thou England be indeed confused, If rules of order may be thus abused. If we, which in thee should set all things right, Be now condemned, or disordered quite. The Epigram. England 'tis certain, thou haft long been such, With false proceeding, been abused too much. Thy Laws which should have seen thy life corrected, Have either been corrupted, or neglected. And therefore England thou must bear the blame, If now thy Laws be questioned for the same: Where justice cannot see true sentence past, It will take vengeance, on that judge at last. And you our Laws, our former Laws at least, Which could be both, in earnest, and in jest. Is it not justice, you should for it pay, That could be wrested, almost any way? But Laws have patience, suffer this a while, Until that justice, scours away the soil: And it is hoped (rising from the slain) That you new form, shall keep Court again. Delinquents plotting. Come come Complisses, shall we now obey, Who were destined, and were borne to sway? Shall We be checked, now challengd in our course, Whose wills so lately were like laws in force? See we not how a giddy headed crew Got with their betters into public view; Now take upon them as if chief of note, To charge, examine, judge, condemn, and vote. Preposterous people that were thus mistook, What heart ingenious, can such upstarts brook? If by our letters we were apprehended, We might be silent had we so offended: But as these upstarts are but late of standing, So they we trust shall not be long commanding; We have we fear not water to suffice, To quench such sparks as from mere ashes rise. The Epigram. It hath been noted evil will betid, When Stars that are held eminent do glide, But then most evil, or portending wars, When those thus gliding are Malignant stars; Some stars are fallen now, we may fatal call Stars too, from higher magnitudes let fall: And if predictions ever did appear In true productions, it is doubtless here. But you oh you that have been Lights above Or should have been, so, that declined prove, Can you be, think you, from your stations thrown, By a more feeble motion than your own: Can judgement in you be through will so clouded, Or reason under boiling rancour shrouded? Oh show your wisdoms, and confess, as fit, A power almighty in it, and submit. The Papist doting. True Mother, and yet virgin pure abode, Virgin of man, but mother of a God: A God indeed, of jesus Christ thy Son, We give thee glory for these hopes begun. We here in England amongst people blind, Have lived a long time to our grief confined; But through thy intercession now we hope To find a door of more enlargement . 'tis true we long time have invoked thy name, And thou we doubt not hast still heard the same, And hast our suits presented, but alas Our hour of penance must run out the glass. But oh! blessed virgin, Queen of heaven, and dear To God the Father, cease not to appear For our enlargement, we some comforts view; But yet uncertain, let us find them true, The Epigram. Deluded Papists, that which you report Upon our blindness, may we not retort Into your bosoms, and you justly paid, Who thus are praying to the dead for aid? What help by scripture from such can you find? But in the scriptures you may well be blind, When as the scriptures are concealed, 'tis sure, From most, that so your blindness might endure: You are possessed with a senseless Story, Which without scripture shows a Purgatory, Wherein the souls of very Saints must be, Till by the suits of living men set free. If thus the living for the dead must pray, What can you for the suits of dead men say? Fond man, have you no better helps to claim, Your hopes are weak then, and amiss do aim. Malignants Raving. Oh mserable world what times are here? What ever praying, yet no ease appearc? Our states consumed, ourselves consumed and lost. Besides a sea of guiltless blood, it hath cost. And all forsooth to satisfy some few, Some, most precise, or most prodigious crew; Or to speak truly, might we speak so far, To help to maintain a Rebellious war. Accursed be those occasioned our betraying, Into this thraldom, what no end of praying? And these perfidious Roundheads who so far Do strive to further such unnatural war. Is this Religion, you that seem so pure, That kill in public could be so demure? Find you occasion now to vent that spleen, Which in your bosoms boiled so long unseen? The Epigram. Perverse Malignants, if I had the skill, Had Art, as I have Ink within my quill, I would so paint you, that you in this book, Should find, and should confess your are mistook; Mistook indeed, could you else so mistile, Yea so miscensure, malice, and revile Those men whose lives, 'tis manifestly known, Have been by odds, more virtuous than your own? More virtuous, true, 'tis that you do envy, Because your vices are condemned thereby. Earth blinded moles, but will you blame the day, Because it doth your deeds of night bewray. Earth blinded, sure this Epithet befits; 'tis only earth doth thus distract the wits. In earthly things did you no damage find, You would remain as silent men, as blind. Good Christians craving. Sure Lord thy justice and thy Mercies strive; Thy mercy would have England kept alive. Thy justice on the other side doth cry England is guilty, guilty, let it die. Lord canst thou be thus, as it were distressed, Because that England will not seek for rest. And canst thou England not lament thy fate, When God himself seems so Compassionate. Oh England England let our suits make speed, That mercy may with justice beagreed; For it is certain till there be this peace Above, our wars will not below surcease. But gracious God whose mercy do appear, Then when thy justice seems to domincere; Sith England is not of thee yet forgot, Though thou dost scourge it, yet consume it not. The Epigram. Heavens help you Christians, you are well employed Help you to pray, for prayers will provide: You are the soldiers in this time of need That are most faithful, and most like to speed; You are both voluntary, yea and pressed, Oh ply your place, your Amunitions best. You have Rams horns, whose shrill Echoes shall Make Rome to totter, jerico to fall. Then though your weapons be condemn das slight Yet be not daunted, but maintain your fight. The noble Captain in whose cause you stand, Can where, and when, and how he list command; Then though you dare not in your own strength trust Yet call your Captain, and your conquer must. Fight then with comfort, do not fail therein; Pray without ceasing, I shall say Ames. Our Sins provoking. Lord thou with England well mayst be in ire, Yea be to England a consuming fire. Its sins are grievous, very Sodom like; Sure the are full Lord, it is time to strike. Fullness of bread, much idleness and pride, Were Sodoms sins, but therefore Sodom died. England in all these hath polluted been, Shall England live then? Lord repay its sin. Thou didst indeed great Ninivy forbear, But it repent jonah being there. Thou hast to England many jonahs' sent, But drowsy England doth not yet repent. Nay England hath thy messengers abused, Contemned thy Message, thy commands refused; Profayned thy Sabbaths; nay 'tis come to pass, That England once more falls in love with Mass. The Epigram. Thy accusations sin, are sure too just, And what with sorrow we acknowledge must, That we have nothing to thy charge to lay, But only this that thou didst us betray. Thou didst allure us till the bait we took, But now dost wound us kill us with the hook: Most subtle fisher, but most simple we, Who in thy baits, could not our bane feresee. But England England let us be more wise, See here the cause from whence our cares arise. This is indeed that deadly darling foe, Which both betrays us and consumes us so; This is that viper in our bowels bleeding, Which whiles we suffer, on our soul lies feeding: To kill this brat then, only can do good, To stop this vent, can only staunch our blood. God's Anger smoking. Ah foolish England, hadst thou but confessed Thy faults in time, thou mightst have been at rest: But as thou long time hast been lukewarm cold, Thou hast of late been desperately bold. But though thou wouldst not, yet did I lament thee, And in my mercy many warnings sent thee; Besides examples of my wrath for sin, Which pointing at thee, from all parts have been. I put my spirit of foretelling harms Upon thy teachers, who have sought by charms, Both by entreaties, and by threats to win, Or to awake thee from thy sleep in sin: But thou hast counted their reports untrue, False teachers therefore justly are thy due: That through delusions, as it is ensuing, Thou mightst be sealed up to thy utter ruin. The Epigram. Great God of Europe, God of England then, Though we have set up other Gods therein; Thou dost most justly charge us, nay 'tis much That thy forbearance, hath so long been such. Been such indeed, we long have sinned, but still Thou seemdst to wink, although we knew thy will. We had thy word, still sounding in our ears, Which though we loathed still, still thou didst forbear's. Nothing could urge thee, till we took in hand To set up Dagon where thy Ark should stand; To set up Idols in thy name and place, And bowed before them to thy very face. But this hath urged thee once more to a flood, At least in England, and that too of blood; But when this deludge, shall have washed this land, Lord rest thy Ark here, let not Dagon stand. The Sword proceeding. Proceed? 'tis certain, how can I be still? When God himself hath given me charge to kill; Can I, suppose you, in my Scabbard rest, And am by such an awful Captain pressed? But I have further summons in this thing; England, I have a warrant from thy King, From awful, powerful, angry Charles besides, Within whose keeping much command abides; He is offended at the very heart, And hath commanded I should take his part. Then England do not blame me as unkind, Though I consume thee, being thus enjoined: No no, but England, wouldst thou have release, Thou must with God then, and thy King make peace; For till they stay me by a new command I must not, will not, cannot, stay my hand. The Epigram. Thou sword of England, thou hast truly said, Thou canst not spare us till thy hand be stayed, That to accuse thee were but to increase Thy fury rather than our fears release; But sword of England though thou hast a charge, To drink in England, is the same so large, And so unbounded, that it hath no tye, But thou must drink here till thou drink us dry? If it be so, then England is accursed; But if some part sword, may assuage thy thirst: Then show this Kingdom, since thou must have blood Drink the corrupted, so thou mayst do good. But oh thou God of England, who hast sent This bloody weapon, for our punishment: Alas it oft, too often doth mistake, Then guide, or sheathe it, for thy mercy's sake. The Kingdom bleeding. My dlssolation must be doubtless near, All tokens of my fatal change appear; Bleeding and fainting, gasping yea and dying, If that some hand be not some help applying. My late chief comfort in distress my God, In my distress, now whips me with his rod. My Forts, my Holds, my Castles tumbling down, Nay more my King, endangering a Crown. My face looks pale, where beauty late sat glowing, My breast are empty whence late streams were flowing, My young men slain, my virgins drowned in tears, My songs of pleasure turned to sights and cares; Where Music sounded, Bells did sing before, Now Drums are beating hideous Cannons roar; My friends and lovers do amazed wring There helpless hands, my foes rejoice and sing. The Epigram. Sad posture sure, a spectacle wherein We may behold the image of our sin Lust hath conceived, brought forth sin, and lo Sin in conclusion brings forth death and woe. But bleeding England could we, it is true, Have bled in tears for these our sins, as due, The streams of blood which do increase so high, Had been by tears distlled, in time put by. Our Sins and want of sorrow for the same, Were then the cause from whence this deluge came. Unhappy men that we could not descry Our want of bleeding, when our eyes were dry. But England, England, is it yet too late? Cannot our tears yet this same flood abate? Oh! let us try it, tears have still done good, In deepest dangers, why not then staunch blood? Our King turmoiling. Oh heavy, heavy what a weight I bear? Are Royal Sceptres swayed with so much care? Are these the Glories and delights that wait Upon a Sceptre, prized at such a height. I am by sacred providence a head, But here lies that now which doth press like lead Those tender members which from me take life, Are with themselves now, and with me at strife. My subjects who are so my members dear. They some seduce me, others domineer; And almost all my members go about To let each others dearest blood run out. Think you a head then can be free from aching, Whose members, heart, veins, are thus bleeding, breaking. The Epigram. Deeare and dread Sovereign, and our Sun below, As from your highness' beams of brightness flow; So beams of life to us that lie beneath, And we without you very faintly breath. If such a sun may under shadows rest, Well may your subjects be in sackcloth dressed. Unhappy strait, then whereto you are brought; Oh that we could lament it as we ought. The silly subjects for a conquest strain, But still you lose, which side soever gain; And yet your Highness doth not see't redressed, Because uncertain who advise you best. Indeed dread Sovereign men of deepest wit, Most near, most dear, most far, may fail, but yet It were a wonder, England never knew, If Parliaments should not to Kings be true. Our Parliament toiling. Most gracious Sovereign, under whose command, Next under great jehovahs' charge, we stand. Your grace hath put us, with a charge in trust, We then were Traitors, should we not be just. When we enjoyed your Royal presence here, And you indeed were in your proper sphere: You then condemned such lesser lights as had Abused there stations, running retrograde. But now thy presence is from us withdrawn, Those satal stars upon your highness' fawn, And would persuade it too by wars: We are but comets, they your fixed stars; But your conjunction with them doth declare, By the effects produced what they are. Your Kingdoms all to blood, and death subjected, Which could not be so, were you well affected. The Epigram. Great counsel you may well recount your cares, And stead of ink, may sum them up in tears; That such a Court should in such danger stand, As hath been such a Pillar to the land: Yet be not daunted, sigh the cause is good, Virtue shines clearest, when 'tis most withstood. You were elected by a public call. What private aims, can then your acts forestall? Had you been guilty in some heinous matter, You might like others, have been forced to flatter; But Being guiltless, fear not falsehood sown, By such as thereby, would excuse their own. Although our Sovereign, may a while be held, By false suggestions, Lies at length will yield; And then the truth, shall be our Sovereign's guide, To prove them dross, but you the gold that's tried. Religion Shaking. Well may I totter, as if fever taken, When thus my pillars are removed, and shaken; Needs must I tremble, as most like to slide, When my upholders, are so much envied, The world indeed is with me at defiance, Because I with her must not have compliance, Because I may not with her greatness dote. Ten thousand swords are drawn to cut my throat, Besides the many stabbs and wounds I take, By such as on me a mere cloak do make: Whiles others turn me to as many terrors, By rending mein pieces into errors. Poor, true Religion how am I distressed, The world grows troubled, if I seem to rest. Am I become a burden to the same, Heaven call me home then thither, whence I came. The Epigram. Most dear Religion, and of Heaven by birth, Canst thou be persecuted thus on earth. Hath the old serpent not forgot his spleen, Which in thy tender infancy was seen? No, no, that serpent Satan prince of Hell Is now become a Dragon, and most fell; And steed of spleen, pursues thee with a flood, To overwhelm thee, and that too of blood. But dear Religion here lies thy repose, The Earth shall drink this Ocean up, thy foes And thou shalt find, in times of most distress, A hideing place, though in the wilderness. Then dear Religion, if that England may, Not once again be happy in thy stay: Oh yet despair not, God will sure prepare A biding for thee, though some other where. Our Laws now quaking. 'tis then no marvel, sure you need not wonder To see the Kingdom thus lie sighing under So much distemper, and distress when we That should conform all, thus confounded be. Needs must the building of a state decay, When thus you take its principals away. While such as gloried in our happy state, Are now bewailing there unhappy fate. Late active servants we lament to see How slow you move now, and how sad you be; Your heavy looks do cipher your distress, Our sorrows for you can be sure no less. But if our Courts and cases now adjourned, Shall into course be once again returned; We shall we doubt not prove our actions true, And find in fine, both cost and damage due. The Epigram. You upright laws of either Church or state, If there be any thus passionate? You have no reason to complain I trust, It is not you are blamed, but the unjust: The course it may be, may awhile be stayed, But upon mere necessity delayed; And if once opportunity before't, You shall have freedom and again keep Court. But if some upstart evil Courts enjoined, Be unto a perpetual sleep confined. It is but justice, nor were you to grudge, If many of your servants sleep as much; It was indeed your officers that long Have made you thought corrupted, done you wrong, Nor is it law but lawyers, that are meant, When men deluded bitter language vent. Delinquents Plotting. Fear not Complices we shall have success, All happle tokens promise us no least. Our sun is risen in our parts, which way Can we then fear but we shall have the day? Nay more our Sun doth in has strength appear, And is attractive both from far and near, Our Moon besides is at her full you see; What sad then, or what sudden change can be? Let us not then be idle, our designs Can only prosper while our Sun thus shines; If any objects seek to interpose, Let us persuade our Sun they are his foes; This is the project let it be maintained, We have already so much vantage gained By this invention, as indeed imparts, That we besides this, need no other Arts. The Epigram. Delinquents? No you do defy the name, Indeed it may be you deny the same: But sigh our states discover you uncleere; How dare you then before our Sun appear? But this doth show your want of wisdom most That you can upon mere confusion boast, And promise to yourselves a world of bliss, From signs that do decipher all's amiss. Our sun is risen in your parts we say, And therefore doubtless you must have the day: Because our Sun is risen in the west, Which is a wonder; are you thus possessed Most fond Delinquents? this doth either threat, That England's darkness shall indeed be great For still the East hath shown our day begun; And if that fails us sure our day is done. The Papist doting. Sure this befits us, here we comfort find, If these delinquents may but have their mind? So we assist them now, to work it out, They will consent as far to us no doubt. Let's not be sparing then in this design, But let's endeavour willingly to join, And freely venture what we have in store; And if that fail us, let us send for more. Our holy Father, from our Mother Rome, Can send Commission, that relief shall come; Yea from all parts, upon the earth, that lies Within his confines, which will sure suffice. We from experience here have comfort growing By aid already, from all quarters flowing; Especially our brethren from the west, Which still come swimming, in bright armour dressed. The Epigram. Presumptuous Papist, can you boast heerin, Indeed you always have deluded been, And are so strongly Catholic in will, You think Religion, to remain so still. Can you a building else suppose to rear, Upon such grownd-works as Delinquents are. To see Rome's Sceptre in our Realm bear sway, From hopes of such uncertain helps as they. Indeed your ghostly Father in his seat, Hath gulled a long time, by delusions great; And in this Kingdom hath ere now appeared A God, though like a tyrant domineered; But his deceits, and Tyranny I trust, Have here been proved so cruel and unjust, That Charles, who justly doth enjoy our Crown, Will never let the Mitre sway it down. Malignants Raving. Prodigious miseries! is this the day, For which we longed so long, and did so pray; Are thus our burdens, where we were oppressed, Our wrongs, and woes by Parliament redressed. Unhappy Parliament, it must be so, When you release not, but increase our woe. You talk of ease, but we feel greater pains, You promise freedom, but we find them chains. You cannot be contented with our treasure, And threatens too with prisons at your pleasure, But you will have our lives too in your hand, To sell away like bondslaves at command. You force us to a fight, wherein each brother, Must upon pain of hanging, kill each other, And ruinated the land, yet through pretence, So to procure our Kings, and lands defence. The Epigram. Monstrous productions, in our days indeed; And you Malignants, that abortive seed, Can you else thus like vipers kill, or worse; Your faithful, painful, tender hearted nurse? No, Kings and Queens, are nurses you will say, And so do I, but this hath been there way, A Parliament hath still, determined how: And so our Sovereign hath given order now. But low our sins have sold us for a spoil, And now our King is taken in the wile. Will you then count our Parliament unjust, Because they stand out to maintain their trust? Deluded and Malignant spirits right, Both against virtue, and yourselves to fight. You say this Court is causer of your ruin, When 'tis your sins, that are you thus pursuing. Good Christians craving. Great God who didst good Hezekiah hear, When Rabshekah was railing without fear: Though some against thy just corrections spurn, Yet hear their sighs whose bowels truly yearn: Lord thou mayst justly make our judgements worse When, though some pray, yet many more do curse, And call for vengeance with a voice more high, Then thy poor servants can for mercy cry. This Lord, we fear, yea find it so indeed, Or else thy sword sure should not thus proceed, Wert thou not more and more incensed by some. Thy servants suits could not still empty come. But Lord, thou canst both ease thy servants groans, And canst restrain the wickeds rage at once, Lord do thy mercy, and thy strength make clear, Rebuke the wicked, show thy Saints are dear. The Epigram. God speed you Brother, prosper your design, And hold your hands up, they may not decline. You act the posture, which got once the field When Israel made Amalick to yield. Some boast how keys given Peter can prevail, But you have keys, set Peter out of Jail. Oh turn those keys then, make the bolts to fly, Where Paul's, and Peter's, now in durance lie. You have the balsom, let it out be poured, By which King Hezekiah was restored. You have the only success in your hand, Oh! offer it up then, it may heal the land: Nay you have valiant Ioshua's command, Where at the sun did both return, and stand, Our Sun's declined but promiseth no morning, Oh! that you could entreat us his returning. Our Sins provoking. Unhappy England, that too late gins, To see thy follies, and to blame thy sins. Canst thou accuse us now thou feelst it smart? Who hast until now, hug'd us at the heart. Lord judge between us, we are but the seed, This land hath long sown, and still sows indeed, Shall we be blamed then, as in all the fault; Lord, this shows plainly, England still doth halt. Nay Lord, this Kingdom deals with the as ill; Thou long hast tilled it, but 'tis barren still, Or rather more unnatural and gross; Thou soused good seed, but it doth bring forth dross Canst thou then, canst thou be indulgent yet, To such a land, too, as doth all forget? Under thy mercies fruitless, and ungrate, Under thy judgements, but equivocate. The Epigram. Sin wounded England, let us see our shame; Wounded, deep wounded, but who did the same, Who were the bloody authors of this deed? Here, here, we quarrel, here we cannot read. Surely not any can this blame refuse, But yet we one another do accuse; Some few, indeed confess it was our sin, But few, or none, will see ourselves therein. Oh foolish England, can we we feel it smart, And can confess too, 'tis our due desert? Yea beg for ease, would feign have healing wrought, Yet will will not lay the plaster where it ought. We would have ease and peace, but will not see Our hearts within us, out of order be; And they're the wounds, which must be searched, before We can expect, the healing of our fore. God's Anger smoking. England thou hast held such tidings vain, As told thy sins did at my thrown complaine; But now thou seest they have assumed that place, Yea dare accuse thee to thy very face. Can not my mercies melt thee into tears? Nor yet my threatening, sink into thy ears? Nor ought awake the, till thou heardst the drum, Which beats thy executioner is come. Nay, yet thou dost not, as thou shouldst do, quake, Thou dost but slumber, art not yet awake; But under such a letergie dost lie, That it is justice, thou shouldst sleeping die. Art still unfruitful underneath my word? Art still unhumbled, nuderneath my sword? Art still revolting? England, than I must Be still in judgements, or I were unjust. The Epigram. Just God, and powerful, gracious too with all, Or else weak mankind's comfort, were but small. Were not thy justice, and thy strength at one With thy compassions, Mankind were undone. But, Lord, thou gracious simpothy sing haste, Thy justice, of thy mercies, hath a taste, And justice, doubtless, never is prevailing, But mercy stands by, at the least, bewailing. Then drowsy, drowsy England, are we sleeping, When mercy for us stands by justice weeping? Can we be careless, tearless here below? When heavens do thus bewail our overthrow? But gracious Father, whiles thy wrath is burning, Sith thus thy mercies, over us are yerning; Mercy and justice, doth in thee combine, Oh! let thy mercies, in thy justice shine. The Sword proceeding. England, as I have licence from thy God. And as thy King commands me as his tod, So I have likewise, a commission sent, For my assistance, from your Parliament; They writ unto me they are sore distressed, And that thou England, are so much oppressed, That if I be not speedily pursuing To thy assistance, all will come to ruin; Your goods, your lands, your liberries, your King, Nay, your Religion, a most precious thing, Are all in danger, ready to be lost, Or into gulfs, of deep confusion tossed. England, thou wilt not blame me then, I hope, When I am drawn forth, by this threefold rope; Canst thou account that ill done at my hands, Which God, and King, and Parliament commands? The Epigram. Sword, thy Commission it is large indeed, Needs must thou wound, and needs must England Our God, our King our Parliament commanding; Alas poor England, what can be withstanding? England, our sins have forced our God to wrath, Our God, he drawn his sword of vengeance hath, His sword is fallen into our Sovereign's hand, Yea meets moreover, with a third command. England, then let us, let us see our thrall, Our sins are the Original of all, Our sins have made our God to wrath inclined, And God hath all our miseries enjoined. Let us no longer than such shifts invent, To charge our King, or blame our Parliament: But let us wisely, lay the blame on those Our deadly sins, the cause of all our woes. Our Kingdom bleeding. Alas, I bleed, but bleeding doth no good, Because I do not bleed in tears, but blood; Yet I must bleed, the wounds are made so deep, And tears denied me, I in blood must weep. Well may I bleed, although I bleed in vain, To see so many valiant soldiers slain; To see my laws and freedoms, at this straight; To see and feel my dangers, at this height: Nay more, my King distressed, by betraying; His subjects fore distracted in obeying; Yea those his subjects, which I find most loyal, Proclaimed Rebels, under the name Royal: Besides Religion, that doth lie at stake; Must I not bleed, to see Religion shake? Dear, true Religion, without which no doubt, My dearest blood, had long ere now run out. The Epigram. The tender grape, which without pressing flows, Is like the child, obeying without blows. But England, this thy bleeding for thy sin, Cannot commend thee, having forced been. Commend thee? no, but yet, it mend the might, Couldst thou at length, yet make use of it right. The blood of children, which the rod doth draw, Makes some for ever, stand the more in awe. Bleeding sometimes, doth life itself preserve, In some diseases, nothing else will serve; He is most skilful, that thy veins hath struck, And in thy bleeding doth for healing look. Then doubtless, till he, who hath let thee blood Doth see thy bleeding, doth do thee some good, He will not staunch it; England then take heed; Thou must grow better, or else dying bleed. Our King turmoiling. Distressed Charles! can any heart conceit, A King can rest, and penned in such a straight? Our rights, our Realms, our subjects, Crown, and all; Some mourn, some torn, some totter, like to fall. But that which most our Royal heart doth break, Is that our subjects, should us so mistake, As to imagine, we have an intent, To change Religion, which we never meant. Cannot the word be taken of our grace? Nor Protestations, of a King take place? Hard hearted people, or with lies possessed, To be thus doubtful, where we faithful rest. But know subjects, they that do persuade That we regard not such a promise made, Do but possess you with deceits unknon, So to erect some project of their own. The Epigram. Dread Sovereign, when the Suns Eclipsed, we know The world doth suffer, darkness comes below. Can then you suffer, England's Sun, and we, Your subjects not distracted be? Great King, we cannot, nay believe that those, Whom you, misguided, do misse-judg your foes, More sorrow for you, reckon you more dear, And pray more for you, than some draws more near. Only, dear sovereign, that which is your care, That is, indeed, your loyal subjects fear, Change of Religion, only this; then see, Are those most Rebels, that thus careful be? Oh that your highness, could this cloud dispel, Indeed your greatness hath protested well, But men Religious, do so deeply groan, That some suspect, you bear not rule alone. Our Parliament toiling. Oh froward people, or unhappy we, That from you, can thus ill rewarded be, We seek your safety, as our souls to save, And yet some murmur, some mistrust, some rave. And dare accuse us, as the cause of all These wars, these judgements, death and thrall, For had we, say they, curbed Ambitious will, These hideous wars, had long ere now been still. But, how soever, thus your spleen to vent, You dare to utter. what we never meant; Yet God, our conscience, and good christians know You pay us hatred, for the love you own; Which God we trust, will make ere long be seen: But in the mean time, though you vent your spleen, It shall not daunt us, in our charge in trust, Having such witness, that our cause is just. The Epigram. Most Noble Champions, valiant Captains sure, Who in such onsets, thus resolved endure: Who would not freely venture, on that side, Where the Commanders, are thus faithful tried? Can the reproaches, of malignant spite, Can multitudes, against a few to fight; Threats, smiles, or losses, have your minds perverted, You had, like some, this case ere now deserted. But none of these, nor aught that might resist, Can either draw, or drive you to desist, Or yield to such conditions as you thought Would by such yielding, be too decrely bought. But some dare say, you fight against your King, But I dare say then, you lament the thing: But can they justly say so in this case When you fight for him, to redeem his grace? Religion Shaking. Oh! England, England wilt thou let me go? Canst thou be blinded in thy judgement so? Let me? alas, instead of all remorse, Thou art in Arms, to drive me out by force. Thou hast already into corners penned me, As if thou hast a full commission sent thee, From some infernal powers, would domineer, To work my utter extirpation here. But England, England, open thy eyes more wide, I may have worth, thou hast not yet descried; Thy God is with me, I am his, he mine, Where I go, he goes, we in one do join. Wilt thou then England, drive me out indeed, Because that Hell, or Rome, hath so decreed? When my departure, shall thyself betray, And drive (besides) thy God of peace away? The Epigram. Dear, dear Religion, from whose breasts, indeed, We draw the milk, which succours, most at need: Succours in want, in war, in sickness, thrall, In death, in judgement, succours soul and all. Can we that have so many years been nourished, And in thy Arms so tenderly been cherished, Prove now abortives, bastard like, or worse, And seek to banish, such a tender nurse? England, than England, this no doubt hath been A mighty aggravation of thy sin, That this true Mother, many years unknown, Hath suckled Infants, which were not her own. Were we not false borne, or begot indeed, But of this Mother, true descended seed, Can we become so cruel, as to see, Our Mother banished, sure it could not be? Our Laws now quaking. Sure we must perish; more than suffer now, What else in reason, can you hence allow? When such as on our safety, should agree, Betwixt themselves, now, at most discord be. Those fountains, where we had our issues granted, Are now so sealed up, nothing can be vented; Or if some little courrents, break away, They run too weakly, to bear wont sway. Oh than you Fountains, where should we have vent, Give us more vigour, by your joint consent; For if you keep us thus confined, confusion Is likely to be our, and your conclusion. But this were dreadful, you that are the eye, To see all ordered, under lock and key; And we your keepers, to make all things fast, Should, through confusion, lose ourselves at last. The Epigram. You laws thus quaking, which deciphers sure, You have been faulty, how can you endure, To see your change now? and within the same, The heavy charge is laid unto your shame? It is reported you have winckd at sin, And in your judgement, oft corrupted been; That gold hath been so precious in your fight, That judgement dazzled, where it glister'd bright. That poor men's cases, could not please your care, Because your wisdoms, did their purses fear, That either favour, fees, or force thereby, Hath made you constant in inconstancy. Nay 'tis reported, you have banished some, And courted more, because precise become. Then in your conscience you must needs confess, 'tis time in conscience, you should have redress. Delinquents Plotting. Up Noble spirits, let us now be stirring, Let us not venture all yet by demurring; But let us strike now, whiles the iron's hot, For now, or never must the day be got: Our force increaseth, and doth still prevail, Our foes grow weaker, and do daily fail, We have already, such on un-set given then, As hath, you see it, into corners driven them: Indeed they dote of comfort in the Scots, But we, we fear not, shall prevent their plots, And if they fail them, as they do begin, They will grow quickly miserable men: The Scots have promised (toprevent this thing) That they will never go against their King,; But, though some few may this their faith deny; The greater part, may put the lesser by. The Epigram. Hold, hold, Delinquents, boast not you too fast, You do conclude, as if all fear were passed, And you already had the day, no less, Delinquents use not to have such success. But, to speak truly, as indeed you ought, What you have gained yet, is but dearly bought; And though of conquest, you can boast it out, To gull the simple, it is yet in doubt; Nay, whatsoever you have others shown, You yet have no accquitance of your own, But guilty, do as judas did in this, Betray your Master, with a deadly kiss. And for the Scots, of whom you dare to vaunt, As if they did a Christian feeling want. They to their Sovereign, will be true, we know, Yet not adhear unto Delinquents though: The Papist plotting. Come Christian Catholics, our case is good, And many years, yea hundred years hath stood, And still shall stand, indeed how should it fall? Built on a Rock, as Christ did Peter call: And though this land, this fatal land of late Hath curbed our case, and us by act of state; Yet both the first, and most of England's Kings, Have shrouded under our Religion's wings. And for the present, though we dare not say, Our King is for us, yet our Queen we may, And though she seeks not to usurp his Crown, Yet where she smiles, we trust he will not frown. Dear Queens of England, you have shown good will Except some few, to our Religion still. And sure her Highness, who doth meetly sen So near His grace, will not our case forget. The Epigram. Oh! Royal Mary, one of England's pearls, And set within the signet of our Charles; Yea sealed in the centre of His heart; Though you possess it, do not it pervert. Dread Sovereign, pardon I beseech your Grace, Though I speak rudely, and before your face: Many good subjects, thousands, as I hear, Are jealous of you, do some danger fear. But Oh, what fear they? Oh dear Queen 'tis this That you should cause our King to do amiss, To change Religion, if not, go about, To raze his dear professed Religion out. But Gracious Sovereign, let there not he seen, Such spots as these are, in so fair a Qween, But make your subjects, who have hearts thus shaken, Unto their comfort, find they are mistaken. Malignants Raving. Great King, whose praises do through Europe ring, Of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland King, And still defender of the Christian faith, What ever damned precise rebellion saith. Oh that your Highness knew our loyal hearts, Who now lie penned up in disloyal parts; We are, indeed, enforced to aid your foes, But know dread Sovereign, this doth work our woes, If we resist, they kerb us at their pleasures, Command us, yea and rob us of our treasures; And force us oft, through their infernal spite, To speak them fair, as if their cause were right. But were your Highness, and your forces here, You soon should see our loyal hearts appear; And know dear Sovereign, it our care hath been, And Still continues, how to let you in. The Epigram. Great and dear Sovereign, I your Grace beseech, Be not misled, thus by Malignant speech, Build not upon such bare foundations laid, Your Throne will stagger, if no better stayed. Your Throne, dread Sovereign, and so your command, In righteousness established will stand, The wisest King that ever reigned, hath said it, And woe be to those wretches, have betrayed it. Great King, and gracious, be resolved that those, We call Malignants, ha' been virtues foes, Scarce one of many, ever understood To have been zealous, any for good. Heavens kerb them then, that to your Throne propound, Such props as these are, which were never found; And in much mercy, let your Highness see Your Throne by virtue must establishd bee. Good Christians craving Oh! thou preserver of mankind give care, Thou God of Abraham, God of England hear, We have thy promise, that thou wilt draw nigh, In times of trouble, if we to thee cry; We call upon thee, we beseech thy aid, Thou didst hear Abraham, when he to thee prayed, And in much mercy, answered him therein, To save a City, for the sake of ten. Lord, look on England, sure there thousands be, That unto Baal, never bowed the knee: Thine own dear servants, who do daily stand, Before thee weeping, for this woeful land. Thy servants suits, are powerful in thine ears, And thou dost surely bottle up their tears. Lord let thy spirit of compassion move Them on those waters, and their suits approve. The Epigram. Lord God of Hosts, are England's fins so great, That pardon for them, no means can entreat? What not thine own, and dearest servants cries, But still unanswered, England bleeding lies? Sure, surely Lord, thy servants cries are heard, Although their suits, may be a while deferred: Thou canst as well, from being God decline, As canst surcease, from being good to thine. Oh than you servants of the Lord proceed, Call, cry, and spare not, God will help at need; It may be that your backwardness in praying, Hath been some reason, God is thus delaying. God's anger greatly, doth against us rage, Which will not, without great entreaties suage. And you are they, and only they indeed, Whom God will hear, whose suits, are like to speed; Then cry, cry strongly, never was more need. The Neuter Temporising. But ere my Pencil let this picture go, There is a Neuter must not scape me so, Though I confess, I did till now, not mind him, Nor is it easy, as he is, to find him: To find him; no, fond fugitive indeed, He knows not where to find himself at need: So vain, and so inconstant, that each wind, Transports the man into another mind; Indeed he moves not by his soul, but sense, And so both acteth, and resolves from thence, From which it comes, that in these times of fear; He is not led by reason, but the ear. The ear indeed, for that he makes his guide; But see thereby to what the ass is tied: Now when a christian should be like a rock, And rest unmoved, he's right a weathercock, And cannot in his resolutions tarry, But daily changeth, as reports do vary. To day he hears he must be for the King, The wind to morrow, other news doth bring. For Essex prospers, which doth so divide This Neuters thoughts, he doubts on either side. From whence this Neuter doth resolve, in fine, That he will unto neither side incline; But will become a looker on, until, He sees indeed, which side shall have their will. And this he reckons, is the safest way, For then thinks he, who ever gets the day, 〈◊〉 shall find favour, doubtless, in their eyes, As one that hath been moderate, and wise. As for Religion now, 'tis so controlled, And so in doubt, he knows not what to hold; That to be zealous, in these times, therein, He counts mere folly, if not venial sin. Whiles from the world, his Athiesme to hid, He in appearance, seems on either side; With Cavaieers, is strongly for the King; With others, can protest another thing. Yea enter into Covenant, perchance To aid that side, he means not to advance. From whence it comes, that in this time of need His purse, is with his purpose, so agreed, That of one cross, this Neuter will not purge it▪ But as constraint, or very shame shall urge it. And what he parts with, goes so near his heart, As if each penny, were thereof a part; Which is apparent, when he comes to pay it, His sighs, and sordid language doth bewray it. Thus this close Neuter, Atheist I suppose, Appears, but would not what he is, disclose; But only, that way to avoid suspicion, Doth seem to sit himself to each condition. But Lukewarm Neuters, thou that countest it foll● To be Religious, or to seem too holy; Or Godless Atheist, thou who canst not lose, That prize Religion, having thine to choose. Canst thou remain now such a senseless stone? Or soulless creature, a mere looker on? Now, whiles the Kingdom, in such flames doth fri●… Hast not one drop of water to supply? Now when our Sovereign, doth in bondage live, Will't not one penny, for his freedom give. Now whiles Religion, lying at the stake, Begging assistance, doth so deeply shake. Hast neither hand to help, nor tongue to crave, Nor heart to pity, what thou canst not save? Sure thou art sordid, more than senseless far, And worse by much, than most Malignants are; They can pretend Religion for excuse, Thou canst say nothing, for thy foul abuse; But void of all Religion, all may see, Thou else to one side, wouldst adhering be. And whereas through thy irreligious wit, Thou hopest, hereafter much applanse to git; Or find much favour, at the least, 'tis plain That these thy hopes, shall prove at last but vain, For sigh thou wilt, to neither side incline, 'tis just, that both should spew thee out in fine. I Have a second part Lies glowing at my heart, Which quickly would increase To flames, might we have peace. But such a peace, it then must be Wherein we farther bliss may see; Or else those sparks must doubtless die, Which rakd up in these ashes lie. FINIS.