THE SCOTS apostasy.  
IS't come to this? what? shall the cheeks of Fame  
Stretched with the breath of learned lowdens' name  
Be flagged again, and that great piece of sense  
As rich in loyalty, as Eloquence,  
Brought to the Test, be found a trick of State?  
Like chemists tinctures proved Adulterate?  
The devil sure such language did achieve,  
To cheat our unforewarned grandam Eve;  
As this Impostor found out to besot  
Th' experienced English to believe A Scot.  
Who reconciled the Covenants doubtful sense?  
The Commons Argument, or the city's Pence?  
Or did you doubt persistence in one good  
Would spoil the fabric of your Brotherhood,  
Projected first in such a forge of sin,  
Was fit for the grand devils hammering.  
Or was't Ambition that this damned fact,  
Should tell the world you know the sins you act.  
The infamy this super-Treason brings,  
Blasts more than Murders of your sixty Kings.  
A crime so black as being advisedly done,  
Those hold with this no Competition.  
Kings only suffered then, in this doth lie,  
Th' Assacination of Monarchye.  
Beyond this sin no one step can be Trod  
If not t' attempt deposing of your God.  
Oh were you so engaged that we might see,  
Heavens angry lightning 'bout your ears to flee;  
Till you were shriveld into dust, and your cold land,  
Parched to a drought beyond the Libyan sand;  
But ti's reserved, and till heaven plague you worse  
Be Objects of an epidemic curse.  
First may your Brethren to whose viler ends,  
Your power hath banded cease to count you friends;  
And prompted by the Dictate of their reason  
Reproach the traitors; though they hug the Treason.  
And may their jealousies increase and breed,  
Till they confine your Ships beyond the Tweed.  
In foreign Nations may your loathed Name be,  
A stigmatising brand of infamy.  
Till forced by general hate you cease to room  
The world, and for a plague go live at home;  
Till you resume your poverty, and be  
Reduced to beg where none can be so free,  
To grant; and may your scabby Land be all,  
Translated to a general hospital.  
Let not the Sun afford one gentle ray,  
To give you comfort of a summer's day.  
But as a Guerdon for your traitorous war,  
Live cherished only by the Northern star.  
No stranger deign to visit your rude Coast,  
And be to all but banished Men, as lost.  
And such in Hightening of the infliction due,  
Let provoked Princes send them all to you.  
Your State a Chaos be, where not the Law;  
But Power, your lives and liberties may awe.  
No Subject 'mongst you keep a quiet breast,  
But each man strive through blood to be the best;  
Till for those Miseries on us you've brought,  
By your own sword, our just revenge be wrought.  
To sum up all— let your Religion be,  
As your Allegiance, masked hypocrisy.  
Until when Charles shall be composed in dust,  
Perfumed with epithets of good and just;  
He saved; Incensed Heaven may have forgot,  
To afford one act of mercy to a Scot.  
FINIS.