THE RUNAWAYS RETURN: OR, The Poor Penniless Pilgrim.  
WHat, Come again? Where have you Roving been?  
And what Rare Sights i'th' Country have you seen?  
What News from thence? Did you the Plague Outrun?  
Or tell me truly, Was it not Begun  
Before you came? Or is your Money spent  
Which you had in your Pockets when you went?  
Will not the Country Trust? Your Credit's bad;  
Is there no Entertainment to be had?  
That to our City, daily Day by Day,  
You flock as fast, as when you Ran away!  
Doth Homespun Joan, or Countrey-Tom deny  
You for to Lodge, or in their Barn to lie?  
It was the Plague did drive you out from hence,  
And now the Plague o'th' Purse, I fear from thence:  
What Fury dogs, and haunts you up and down,  
First from the City, to the Country Town?  
But when you're there, you are afraid to stay,  
And with a nimble pace do Run away;  
Like as the fearful Hare, or Swift-foot Deer,  
Doth fly before the Hounds: Your Panniek Fear  
Doth cause you with a swift and nimble pace,  
To Run away, and flee from place to place,  
For supposed Safety; yet you are much worse,  
Having both Plague of Body, and of Purse:  
They that eat Scylla, stern Charybdis shall  
With sucking billows cause them catch a fall.  
Did not you know that Gods Almighty Hand  
Was great enough to cover all the Land?  
Or from His Presence did you think to Run?  
Or His Swift Arrows did you think to Eat?  
No, no, they're Speedy, and will overtake  
The Fearful Sinner, although he do make  
As quick a Flight, as doth the Sun i'th' Sky,  
Yet they like Lightning, do more faster fly.  
What have you got by Running up and down,  
And Roving up and down from Town to Town?  
But spent your Money, Credit, and good Name,  
And now are forced to your Endless shame,  
To this Infected place as fast to Run,  
Which few Months since, Fear caused you for to Eat.  
Doth not God's Mighty Hand stretch over all  
Empires and Kingdoms of Earth's Massy Ball?  
And if you Wandered all the World about,  
Can not His hand of Justice find you out?  
To stop God's Wrath, is not to Run away,  
But humbly at His Footstool for to pray;  
Confess our Faults, Repent, and Turn to God,  
Then would He ease us of His heavy Rod;  
Withdraw the Plague, and Love us dearly too,  
And this I' me sure our Gracious God would do.  
God's golden wings of Safety cover all  
Who trust in Him, when twice Ten thousands fall  
At their right hand; His silver feathers will  
Them safely shelter, when His hand shall kill  
All such as dare not to His Mercy stand,  
But seeks to hid them from His wide-spread hand:  
When from Infected London you did Run,  
Thinking God's Visitation for to Eat;  
And in the Country wandered up and down,  
From place to place, and eke from Town to Town;  
And could find none that would you Entertain,  
With Empty Pockets turned back again;  
So that it seems in London those might stay  
Who had no Money, you might Run away:  
But now your Purse is Penniless, you drive  
Into our City, as Bees to their Hive;  
You may be gone the same way that you went,  
Unto the Country Loobies, where you spent  
Your Money, and your Credit, Go, be gone,  
And eat your Christmas Pie with Dull Sir John;  
With Sir John Lackwit Latin, who Ran away,  
And left his Sheep for to be made a Prey.  
It was your Duties to have Nourished  
The bodies of the Poor; the other Fed  
Their Souls with Food, and not to go away,  
But in their Troubles by them for to stay.  
Now if your Purse or Credit will hold out,  
You may go Wander all the World about;  
We are as glad your Backside for to see,  
As for to have your Paltrey Company:  
Return, Return, unto your Country Joan,  
For Little Kindness here you shall have shown.  
FINIS.   

LONDON, Printed for the Author, M.DC.LXV.