THIS LAST AGE'S LOOKING-GLASS: OR ENGLAND'S SAD ELLIGIE.  
By S. H.  
Quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus,  
Aspiciunt occulis superi mortalia Justis.  
Printed at York by Stephen Bulkley, 1642. With Licence.   

COURTEOUS READER.  
IF thou look for a large Epistle to this little Pamphlet, thy expectation is Frustrate; for I am afraid to fall into the Citizens of MINDAS' disease, that my Book should run out at the Portall. If thou find any thing Worth thy Reading, make Use of it; Look not at the rudeness either of the Phrase or the Verse, but the well-meaning of the Author. Look not for Polished Lines, but Matter pointing at the Times. It is the first Born, if it miscarry or prove Abortive it will be an obstruction to the Second Birth, to hinder the bringing forth; But however, if thou Like it, take it; if not, leave it and begun; So Farewell.  
Thine as Thou Usest Him, S. H.   


Seeing.  
WHat Age is this that we behold?  
Where war is bought, & peace is sold  
When we look each one at his own,  
Reaping the seeds others have sown:  
O how we make our Crystal Eyes!  
Of Villainies vile to be the Spies:  
We see the Moat, but not the Beam,  
Other faults great, ours small we deem.  
As the Eagle we are quick of sight,  
Bringing another's deeds to light;  
But as blind beetles we cannot see,  
Our own sad woeful misery.  
We wail the Judgement, and the Rod,  
But not our sins offending God;  
We as the Dog, look at the stone,  
But at our sins, few or none  
Will once look back, and see the thing  
That doth God's vengeance swiftly bring.  
We see, neither cause, nor sender,  
But vengeance for wrath we render,  
We see all things but what we should,  
Lord cast us in a better mould,  
And grant mine Eyes may see the thing,  
That may please God and eke my King.   

Hearing.  
WHat Age is this wherein I Hear?  
Such sound of Treason in mine Ear,  
Such contumelies, and such Lies,  
As deafs mine Ears and blinds mine Eyes.  
Of stern War such dreadful rumours,  
But to satiate some men's humours;  
Whose sole delight is only blood,  
That they may bathe in Crimson flood.  
If they laugh, who weep they care not,  
Yea, to ruin all they spare not.  
Is't Religion, or Reason?  
That keeps no Time, Tune, or Season;  
What Blasphemies do some relate?  
Against Our God, our King, and State;  
Some cry out of Church Government,  
Some to ruin the Temple are bend,  
And some cannot endure to Hear  
The Sound o'th' Organ in their Ear,  
Nor yet our Church's Bells sweet sound,  
They do their fiery zeal confound.  
The Charmers Voice they will not Hear,  
His Tongue not chained to their Ear:  
But God grant I may Hear the thing,  
That Sound may well to God and King▪   

Smelling.  
WHat Age is this wherein I Smell?  
Such noisome stench from hateful Hell;  
Such unsavoury poisoned Weeds,  
That in this Land Infection breeds;  
Infecting so the healthful Air,  
Raising stern Storms for Wether fair.  
Are these the Nosegays of Delight?  
Please they the Sense, the Nose, or Sight,  
Me thinks the stench ascends the Brain,  
Poisoning the Stomach and each Vain▪  
Diffusing venom through the Joints,  
And at Destruction only points;  
Putting the Body out of frame,  
Making all things seem not the same.  
Oh! how it poisoned hath my Nose,  
To Smell the Hemlock for the Rose,  
For odoriferous Scents most Sweet,  
To Smell the Channel in the Street.  
For Practise, I have found but show;  
Mark how this newfound Age doth grow:  
Me thinks now here I smell a Knave,  
That speaks this thing, and that would have;  
But Lord grant me my Smelling well,  
That I with God and King may dwell.   

Tasting.  
WHat Age is this wherein I rest?  
To Taste things baske for what are best,  
Sour things for pleasant do not well,  
For vain shadows the substance sell;  
This bargain is a bad exchange,  
Good soils leaving, on Heathes to range:  
To drink puddle in stead of Meed,  
May danger in the body breed.  
It cannot well my Tasting relish,  
The Dish of Treason it is Hellish;  
Hath no Savour to good Palates,  
Resembling right to weedy Salads  
That have a rank and noisome Taste,  
Most fit on Dunghill to be cast,  
That neither relish well, nor feed,  
Let us detest this fruitless seed:  
Oh how I have my Coin laid out  
For fruitless food (I fear, I doubt)  
My Mouth it is clean out of season,  
To see Men live so void of Reason;  
To Taste all things they do refrain,  
But what are tempered in their Brain.  
But God grant I may Taste the thing,  
That relish may my God and King.   

Touching.  
WHat Age is this wherein I stand?  
That I should now lift up a Hand  
'Gainst Him, whom God did sole Anoint,  
I'll racked be from joint to joint,  
And each Limb be pulled asunder,  
Before I make the World wonder  
At such vile traitorous Acts of mine,  
My thoughts and deeds I will refine,  
And in that mould my Actions frame,  
That may me spotless leave to Fame.  
Oh let that Hand for ever rot,  
That 'gainst my Liege doth Act a Plot  
That may his patiented Spirit move,  
Or any way estrange his Love;  
Nor in the Land let any Live,  
That would His Grace ill Council give.  
Shall any harp upon that string?  
To take up Arms against their King,  
The Lords Anointed for to touch,  
A wicked Heart I have none such.  
I hate the ways of such a wight,  
they are not pleasing in God's sight.  
God grant I may touch on that string,  
That may please God and eke my King.   

Common Senses.  

WHat Age is this, say Common Sense?  
Worse cannot be by consequence;  
I see few Men that look at Peace,  
or strive to make the Wars to cease:  
they do pretend Peace in their Words,  
Whilst they are brandishing their Swords:  
I Hear no tidings of Concord,  
Look down upon us now O Lord;  
Each Day brings forth more cruel things.  
In each Ear woeful tidings Rings.  
I Smell nothing that pleasant is,  
Sorrow is near, but far is Bliss;  
For beauty burning, for sweet smells stink,  
For pleasant Wine, we Worm would Drink.  
I Taste nothing that gives content,  
Our sweet meats now we must Repent,  
We had the Dainty fare of Peace,  
But now we must forgo our ease.  
My Touch and Feeling I have lost,  
These things too dear have me cost,  
I Touch nothing but am defiled,  
With Chaff for Corn, I am beguiled.  
Will Common Sense nothing avail?  
Will not the naked Truth prevail?  
These things are strange, and very rare,  
Lord free this Land of broken ware;  
O smite these Rebels in the Head,  
And with dread Thunder, strike them Dead,  
That all may See, Touch, Taste, and Hear,  
And Learn our God to dread and Fear,  
That I and All, may quickly Smell,  
That God and King them all will quell.   

Stay, Let me wonder once again,  
What Floods of Tears run down amain?  
What woeful shrieks, what trembling Hands?  
What Fear to lose, Lives, Goods, and Lands?  
Oh how we Weep, we Mourn, and Wail,  
though it do us but small avail,  
To See the Times thus distracted,  
To hear Laws, that are enacted,  
'Gainst Subjects Liberties and Rights:  
Alas poor Souls, Oh woeful wights,  
That once so fairly flourished,  
Are now quite Dead and Perished.  
What Age is this wherein we live?  
All takes away, and none will give,  
Takes what our chiefest Joys increase,  
Our choicest Gem, our Jewel Peace,  
This Nations chiefest Ornament,  
Yet none do Sorrow or Repent.  
Some muddy makes the Crystal stream,  
Others of better times do dream.  
But as for me i'll serve and fear,  
The Lord my God, and King most dear.   

O woeful age that ere was seen,  
How near to falling have we been?  
Sometimes by sword of Foreign foe,  
Sometimes home broils, Domestic woe,  
We have been scourged with famine great,  
The poor have died for want of meat.  
Yea further Gods most heavy hand,  
With Pestilence hath plagued this land.  
But still in safety we have slept,  
For sinful crimes we have not wept:  
But to ourselves have cried peace,  
Living securely▪ and at ease:  
When as our sins are as the sand,  
'Gainst God himself we warlike stand.  
But mark we now, how times do turn;  
In staed of mirth we now must mourn.  
One grief another up doth call,  
Our drink is tears mingled with gall,  
Sorrow we do, we cannot speak,  
Our hearts with grief are like to break  
Some are possessed with Jealous fears,  
drunk with worm would tearse.  
But I'm resolved firmly still,  
To keep Gods and my Sovereign's will.   

Yea stranger still doth seem this Age,  
The poor oppressed, the wicked rage,  
With Murders, Rapines, and with Theft,  
This Land is polled, and nothing left.  
No man living scarcely can say,  
This is mine own, for't I did pay,  
He that hath felt the smart can tell  
That strongest bears away the Bell:  
Yet some fatted to the slaughter  
Spend their time in Mirth and Langhter,  
Merrily quaffing off their Wine,  
Vainly spending precious Time;  
Though Sword be drawn and Bow be bend,  
And all the wicked must be shent,  
How idly still their days are spent.  
Their hearts are heard, they'll not relent;  
But putting off the evil day,  
To turn from sin they do delay,  
In sinful crimes, they live and die,  
Which in their bosoms hidden lie:  
God's word by them is set by light,  
Those sacred Lines do dim their sight.  
But firm and constant I will prove,  
My God to fear, my King to love.  
Was ever Age in such a case?  
To bring forth such a Rebels Race,  
To sheathe his Sword in's Fellows side,  
To Lie, Dissemble, and cog beside,  
Judas-like each other betray,  
For Peace few Preach, for Love few Pray,  
We, are taught a quite contrary way,  
None caring what they speak or say.  
It's as common to vent Treason,  
As 'tis to speak sense and Reason.  
Ye flinty stones? what? not relent?  
To see this sad, and dire Event  
Of times wicked inclination,  
Which threats ruin to this Nation.  
Our Sins the Skies have Ascended,  
Yet our lives are not Amended,  
Still drawing down Gods ireful rod,  
Procureing enmity with God,  
without whose friendship there's no peace,  
Nor hope of (Judgements great) release.  
But a fearful expectation,  
Of destruction, to this Nation.  
But Lord thy favour let me find,  
That God and King may have my mind.   

Alas poor age, what is the cause?  
Force guides thee now, and not the laws,  
That formerly have ruled this Land,  
All guided were by their command,  
But how are they infringed now?  
Old statutes to the new must bow,  
Surely there was no wisdom then,  
This Age hath got far wiser men,  
True it is, but is't not most strange?  
That these times should so quickly change,  
And be as though they ne'rc had been:  
The oldest man this true hath seen.  
Sins are the sole procureing things,  
That alterations always brings,  
Yet this full little is regarded,  
Though sin's never unrewarded:  
Yet till we feel the woeful smart,  
We will not lay our sins to heart.  
We put our trust in horses strength,  
Measuring God by our own length,  
To our Nets thus Sacrificing,  
Not regarding evils rising.  
Lord grant on thee I may depend,  
And serve my god and King to th'end.   

Did ever age know such a thing?  
For Songs of Joy, we Sorrow sing;  
Our joyful notes are changed quite,  
And mournful tunes we Sing each night,  
With frights and fears we stand aghast,  
To see these times, and what is Past:  
But when we think of times to come  
We stricken speechless are and dumb;  
Our peace is turned into war,  
We one with other seek to jar,  
Envy hath up her Kingdom set,  
Hatred this Nation hath beset,  
Divisions great from Sects do spring,  
Which have divided People and King,  
All truly are at variance;  
Oh sad estate, oh woeful chance,  
And silence up our mouths have shut,  
Pride and arrogance bravely strut:  
Yea beggars ride, Kings go on foot,  
Swollen ambition rules, look too't.  
Each one dare not trust another,  
Brother persecutes the brother:  
But I detest such tunes to sing,  
I'll love my God and my good King.   

An age indeed to see the times,  
Bespread with ribauldries, and rhymes:  
Striking at sceptres, yea Kings wounding,  
Royal Monarchy confounding:  
Seeking to eclipse his name,  
Whose worth shall outlive time and fame.  
Yea flourish still and fairly shine,  
'Mongst men on earth ane Saints divine:  
His peaceful reign begot a story,  
To Crown his years with lasting glory.  
Which evil tongues can never blast,  
But shall all Ages far out last.  
Nay here their malice doth not bound,  
What Sacred things have they left sound?  
With strange Sects we are divided,  
Law and Gospel are derided;  
Decent order is neglected,  
Church government disrespected,  
All ceremonies now must down,  
They with Garlands their actions Crown.  
Great distractions full this Land,  
Tell me then? Can this Kingdom stand?  
I'm dumb Lord teach me what to say,  
That I to God for King may pray.   

Now having taken this short view,  
Of things not good, yet too too true:  
Of things not heard in times before,  
Which ages now may well deplore;  
No Age that's past can parallel  
These times wherein we live and dwell;  
Yea after Ages shall admire,  
Flourishing England now on fire.  
Let us now look another way,  
And unto God Almighty pray.  
Lord look down from Heaven and see,  
This Nations woeful misery:  
Behold our languishing Estate,  
Let not our sorrow come too late.  
We are at the pit ready to fall,  
From sinking, Lord do us recall:  
Make up the breaches, thou'rt the Man  
Of the distressed Physician.  
If thou hold off, what are we then?  
Most miserable of all Men.  
O succour Lord, and help us send,  
Thou art our God, be thou our friend.  
That I in heart and voice may sing,  
To God be praise, and to my King.   

Help Lord for thou art only he,  
Or else we never shall agree,  
We are arrived at that height,  
That thou alone canst make us strait;  
O we are rend and wounded sore,  
Our wounds increase still more and more;  
Each one seeking to have his will,  
But few the Law for to fulfil;  
It is a curb that keeps us in,  
We strive to free us from this gin,  
Lord cut off those rotten Members,  
That of these broils are the senders,  
That in this Land run to and fro,  
To hatch the Eggs of wretched woe,  
Whose hearts and minds are wholly bend,  
To cause this Land sadly lament,  
Sowing seditious wicked seed,  
Thou Lord root out that sinful Breed;  
And let the World see and wonder,  
At them struck dead, with thy Thunder.  
But let them live in Joys increase,  
That love the Olive branch of Peace,  
Who Joy to hear of Zions Joy,  
Let no dire mischief them annoy,  
But let them live and flourish still,  
And guard them strongly from all ill.  
Lord teach my heart to praise thy name,  
Let tongue and voice eke do the same,  
Let Charles glory through England ring,  
Let Subjects say, God Save the King.     
FINIS.