UPON THE EXECUTION Of the Late Viscount STAFFORD.  

I.  
SHall every Jack and every Jill,  
That rides in State up Holborn-Hill  
By aid of Smithfield Rhymes defy  
The Malice of Mortality?  
And shall Lord Stafford die forgot?  
He that would needs be such a Sot,  
To die for love of a damned Plot?  
No, Viscount, no; believe it not,   

II.  
Diana's Temple, all in flame,  
Advanced th' Incendiaries Name;  
Ruffians, and Bawds, and Whores, and Theives,  
In Ballad Records live new lives,  
And shall a Lord because a Traitor,  
In such an Age so given to flatter,  
Want that which others, Saints to him,  
Near want to ●ame them▪ Words and Rhyme.   

III.  
Oh Sir, the Papishes, you know  
Have much more gratitude than so;  
For this same Lord that broke the Laws  
Of God and Man, to serve their Cause,  
Shall live in Prayers, and Almanacs  
Beyond what Ballad-Monger make;  
And some years hence, you'll see, shall work  
Such Miracles, would turn a Turk.   

iv  
Blessed is that Man that has a Box  
To save the Sawdust in, that soaks  
His tainted Blood, or can besmear  
One corner of his Muckender;  
Oh! then, some Ages hence they'll cry  
Lo, Stafford's blood, and shed for why?  
For notihng but because he sought  
To kill his Prince, and shame the Plot.   

V  
Now they that die for crimes like these,  
The Papists send to Heaven with ease.  
For they secure 'em safe from Hell,  
Which once believed, the rest is well.  
A strange belief, that Men should think  
That were not drunk with worse than Drink;  
That such Rewards as Deifying,  
By Treason should begained and Lying!   

VI  
The Man that for Religion dies  
Has nothing more before his Eyes,  
But he that dies a Criminal  
Dyes with a load, and none can call  
Religion that which makes him dream  
Obduracy can hid his shame.   

VII.  
The Pope may do what he conjectures  
As to the business of his Pictures,  
The Colours ne'er can hid the Crimes,  
Stories will read to after Times.  
And 'twill be found' the Hangman's hands,  
Will strangely blur the Pope's commands.   

VIII.  
Had he but shown some Christmas Gambles,  
And Headless took St Denis Rambles,  
The Plot had been a damnable thing,  
And down had gone the Scaffolding,  
But cause his Lordship this forgot,  
Men still believe there is a Plot.   

IX.  
Where was St. Dominic, a sleep?  
Where did St Frank, his Kennel keep?  
That on a business so emergen,  
They did not briskly tease the Virgin?  
To let his Lordship play a Prank  
Her Grace becoming, and his Rank?   

X.  
But they that Heaven and Earth command,  
You see sometimes they're at a stand;  
For rruth to tell ye, should the Saints,  
Be bound to hear all fool's complaints;  
Their lives would be as void of mirth  
In Heaven, as formerly on Earth.   

XI.  
Now Ballad-wise before he's dead,  
To tell ye what the Sufferer said;  
He both defended, and gainsaid,  
Held up his hands and cried and prayed  
And swore he ne'er was in the Plot,  
No, by his Vicountship, God wots.   

XII.  
Come come, Sir, had it not been better  
To have died to death common debtor?  
And that upon your lasting Stone,  
This Character had been alone?  
Here lies a very Honest Lord,  
True to his King, true to his word.   

XIII.  
But those, of your Religion,  
Are now a days so damned high flown,  
You think that nothing makes a Saint  
But Plot refined, and Treason Acquaint;  
And Heaven accepts no Offerings,  
But ruined Kingdoms, murdered Kings.   

XIV.  
Now you that knew who were his Judges,  
Who found him Guilty without grudges,  
Who gave him over to the Block,  
And how he shamed to save the stroke,  
If you believe the speech he made ye,  
L'strange, and Payton's shame degrade ye   

XV.  
They used all Arts that could cajole,  
You may be sure, his silly Soul;  
And were those promises performed,  
With which his conscience they had charmed,  
Who would betray a cursed Plot,  
To be when dead, the Lord knows what?   

XVI.  
But if those jolly Promises  
Do send thee into little ease,  
As certainly they must undo thee,  
What ever Fools and Knaves said to thee;  
Then Phlegeus-like in Hell condole,  
And curse them that betrayed thy Soul.   

XVII.  
Now God preserve our Noble King,  
And bless all them that thus did bring  
Unto the Block that silly Head,  
That cared not what it did or said.  
And all good Men may Heaven defend,  
From such a vile untimely End.    

LONDON, Printed by D. M. December, 29, 1680.