Apostasy Punished: OR, A New Poem on the Deserved Death OF IONAS ROWLAND, THE RENEGADO, Lately Executed at MOROCCO.  
A Certain Englishman, who did of late  
Change his Religion and his Christian state,  
Becoming of a Moor and a Pagan high,  
To be an Object for sad Destiny;  
A thing that's against the Rules of Nature,  
To go about to destroy a Creature:  
Since 'tis read, He that denies his Master here,  
Will scarce find him when mounting through the air;  
A case so very rare, and to so strange,  
'Twill cause discourse upon the Old-Exchange:  
That such a wretch in England should be born.  
And to become each Man and Woman's scorn.  
Surely the Planets were at variance, when  
That he was born one of the Sons of Men:  
Not one of them owns him, but all do say,  
It was his will that he did go astray.  
Thus we see, and so understand again,  
That Man is but poor, and but born in vain:  
That of all things does not get mighty grace,  
To run by that gay charm his humane Race;  
Else the Beasts are in a better sort than he,  
And are removed from pain for to be free;  
While vicious Man his own ruin seeks,  
And by no means any true virtue keeps:  
The Fox when he's pursued avoids the Snare,  
As doth the Coney and the timorous Hare;  
And the Mole under earth near a Country Town,  
Vvoned be taken till Rustic knocks him down:  
The Sparrow and the Lark, even they  
The Fowler's Net and Gin they won't obey;  
And the Horse too, by Nature's potent force,  
Without all danger moves on his wont course.  
Thus Birds and Beasts all of them discover,  
From Duck to Drake, from Pheasant to the Plover;  
How they avoid Ill, and so seek their Good,  
By Nature's light, and species of their Blood;  
But only Man, that silly Creature, he  
Seeks not by Reason's way for to be free.  
But still pursues such courses as be sad,  
And so the World does see he's only Mad:  
An experienced thing which we do know,  
Demonstrated by this the Renegado;  
Who from his Master run, because did fear,  
His Gild might let him Blood when at Tangier:  
His Soul did give him, the most high Alarms,  
For all his Mistress, and her potent Charms;  
Gild like a Conjurer when his Spirit does raise,  
Another Artist can't lay it by his ways:  
So Vengeance did this Villain pursue,  
To make the power of Heaven in all things true;  
That it and it alone, has now of late,  
Made him to die a death Unfortunate:  
I would not had him come to an untimely end,  
'Twas the desire of every Man and Friend;  
Yet it was much to be feared, soon or late,  
That Fate would o'ertake him in his Moorish state,  
To make him an Example of, that all  
May escape Heaven's anger, great and small;  
That men from their Religion may not turn,  
But rather die, or rather choose to burn:  
Heaven grant amidst all our Knowledge high,  
May know thee so well, shall we live and die?  
Then let what will come, or what show its face,  
The Saint in Rags is yet in Golden Lace:  
And he only is the mighty happy Man,  
That still continues a good Christian:  
A Favourite to the Powers above and below,  
As water by winds are tossed too and fro:  
While other men that their own ways pursue,  
They have not conversation, nor things true;  
But careless are, and that of their dear life,  
And so move on in great and daily strife,  
In mighty pains and travels of the brain,  
In very small esteem, and lesser fame,  
Till Death he comes and sets the business right,  
And draws the Curtain of the gloomy Night,  
And plants them in Regions high and low,  
For thither all mankind they still must go.  
Thus have I drawn the story here at large,  
By way of Figure, and from Nature's charge,  
That none of us such evils should commit,  
Lest to by Fate we also should be hit:  
For if in Vice we do our Anchor cast,  
The Pitcher will come broken home at last;  
Then all is lost, and every Man undone  
For ever and ever, beyond the brighter Sun:  
Therefore let each man his Conscience keep clean,  
Then will its Vision by the world be seen,  
And he himself be happy while below,  
Till that to Heaven and its joys does go.   
FINIS.  

Printed by T. H. for the Author. 1682.