The Discontented CONFERENCE BETWIXT The two great ASSOCIATES, WILLIAM Archbishop of Canterbury, AND THOMAS Late Earl of STRAFFORD.  
Printed in the Year 1641   
Straff. 
GOD save your Grace: How do you do?  Cant. 
My Lord, I thank you, well as you.  Straff. 
I have not seen your Grace of late  
So full of mirth,  auspicate  
Some good event, and such as we  
May by it find our liberty;  
The Proverb him unwise doth hold,  
Who loves his fetters, though of gold.  Cant. 
Last night (my Lord) some nobler dream  
Than did to sanguine, choler, phlegm,  
Or unto melancholy own  
Its birth, did on my fancy grow:  
Me thoughts I was in Oxford, where  
Lord Chancellors name and power I bear;  
What shouts Saint JOHN'S there to me gave,  
My gladded ears yet ringing have;  
I heard their labouring joys, and throng  
Of praises both in prose and song.  
And as, me thoughts, from thence I came  
To Lambeth, I still heard the same  
S● loud that Echo from Whitehall  
Returned them to my Lambeths' wall.  Straf 
In such a dream, O who would keep  
A noise to break your Grace's sleep!  
And though dreams err, yet may this be  
To you a happy prophecy,  
And such a One as may prove true,  
And fair unto myself, as you.  
For so by one compact of wit,  
Our Counsels were together kni●  
So close, so even they did go  
To work the Commonweal its woe,  
We cannot well ourselves define  
What plot was yours, or which was mine,  
They were each others Inmates, twins  
That vied which most should number sins;  
Both slept, both waked at once, and whether  
They lost ●r won both 〈◊〉 together.  Cant. 
My Lord, you rage,  Straf. 
You cannot call  
Truth a disease, or rage at all:  
Truth neither can, nor will deceive you.  Cant. 
Farewell my Lord, for I must leave you.  Straf. 
Yet stay a while, and give to me  
Once more your Benedicitee;  
I must confess I did begin  
To chide, but now forget my spleen.  Cant. 
It doth increase my joy, and sure  
The joy may well your praise procure:  
How think you? Would this Kingdom flout,  
To hear we two were falling out?  
Come, be yourself; relate at length  
What armed Recusants, what new strength  
May come from Ireland, to relieve  
Our dying faction.  Straf. 
Never grieve  
My settled Soul; I do not know  
That root on which one hope might grow;  
But in conclusion there must be  
A rope for you, an axe for me.  Cant. 
Was this your so well grounded guess  
Of our increasing happiness?  
Ends thus your boasting, that you could  
Get money, men, or what you would,  
To curb the insolence of those  
That were, or would become our foes?  
False strafford's Earl.  Straf. 
Stop there, your Grace  
His tongue doth troth too round a pace;  
Look, look abroad, can you now see  
No Patent, no Monopolee;  
All your projects, all your fine  
Devices sick as Medium wine.  
Can now no more laud's, lawdlesse might,  
The Parson from the Pulpit fright,  
The Subject from the Kingdom? What  
Can ruin do which you did not?  Cant. 
There's something yet undone, 'tis true,  
But shortly to be done to you:  
Each Guard you have (for 'tis the will  
Of Fate to have you guarded still)  
Shall serve the minister of your doom,  
Your Executioner, not your Groom:  
Your head that mastered so much art,  
Ere long shall from your shoulders part;  
Your blood your scarlet must new die,  
Your Spurs fall off, your Ermines fly,  
And of so great, so feared a Name,  
Scarce left a man that loves your Fame.  Straf. 
So, so (my Lord) my heart is glad  
I own that grief your Grace can mad;  
Your Head, no doubt, is grown the lighter  
Since disinvested of the Mitre;  
It was too proud a weight, and known  
To nurse bad thoughts, 'tis better gone.  
The Shepherds on their sheephooks laugh,  
And do upbraid your Crosiers staff;  
No more, your now deaf Chaplains hark  
What hour shall speak you Patriarch.  Cant. 
Farewell, farewell, your Time calls on,  
Speak thoughts more sanctified, or none;  
'tis you must lead the way, and I  
Shall follow after by and by.  Str●f. 
My lifes short knarled thread doth stand  
Expecting Fates impartial hand:  
Heaven hath my thoughts, (my Lord) yet stay,  
Shall we ne'er meet again?  Cant. 
We may.  
There's room enough in heaven for two  
Have more transgressed than I or you;  
But I what place and time forbear  
To name, 'tis GOD knows when and where.  
FINIS.