A LETTER TO THE Bishop of Munster; Containing a panegyric OF HIS heroic achievements, IN heroic VERSE.  LIV. Orat. 
Injurias& non redditas, causam hujusce esse belly audisse videor.  
London, Printed in the Year 1666.   

 portrait of bishop 
TRES-ILLVSTRE ET TRES-EXCELLENT PRINCE, CHRISTOPHLE-BERNARD DE GALEN, EVESQVE DE MVNSTER, PRINCE DV saint EMPIRE. Le Prince est apresent en guerre avec less estates Generau●● des Grou●●● vnies des Pays-bas à l'occasion des places d'Etdeler et de Berkel●    

A LETTER TO THE Bishop of Munster, &c.  

REnowned Prince, Master of Might and mitre,  
With sword of Flesh, and sword of Spirit fighter;  
Ride on and prosper:( Sir) where you are Head  
That Army's by a Prince and Prophet lead,  
Moses and Aaron: In a word you are  
Both Mars and Mercury, council and war.  
Your Camp consists of Christian Souldiers right,  
And bravely do under Christs Banner fight.  
Who ever sees you in the Field must grant  
That now the Church is truly militant.  
The French and Dutch, pure saints are in this fray,  
That fight against the Church, are they not pray?  
But they have found on both sides to their loss  
The Bishops Crosier, France and Holland's across.  
whilst your bright two edged Sword, if I may say  
Like that of paradise? turns every way.  
You sight with here both babylon and Mecha,  
struggling with divers Nations like Rebecka.  
Holland has all, that's no Religion; France  
Has complemented Christ to a Romance.  
You're come to do, what Mortal hardly can,  
Christen a Jew, and a Samaritan.  
The frantic French, for so it seemed you good,  
To cure their frenzy you baptized in blood.  
And for the Dutch, on a hard task you fall,  
Yet cut their sluices, you baptize 'em all.  
The Faith's Defender promised to appear,  
Great Brittan's Monarch to be God-father:  
God-father did I say? unworthy Elves,  
He comes to make 'em answer for themselves.  
He did last year baptize their Admir'ltie  
As God did the egyptians i'th' read Sea.  
But you( great Sir) you have 'em every way,  
As Prince you beat, as Priest you make 'em pray;  
And glad they can get quarter on their knees,  
'tis doubly fought, Paul's Sword and Peter's keys;  
As for their Plumb-broth, though I taste it not,  
I'm sure the Bishop set his foot i'th' pot.  
All Winter they in troubled waters fished,  
A merry Christmas many times was wished.  
But as to you Sir Heaven has strowed your way  
With dust of Diamonds, and Pearls that lay  
Thick as the piles of grass; where could ye go  
But through th' Almighty's treasury of Snow?  
The crystal waves conspired for want of Wood  
To make themselves your Bridge o'er their own flood.  
The half starved Dutch a much worse bargain got,  
A winter was too could, service too hot.  
Yet to this comfort oft they did resort,  
The season though severe, the dayes were short:  
And yet to such of them as dared to fight  
They were so long they thought 'twould ne're be night.  
Some sought for long, what others found too soon,  
Such as were got in a dead sleep by noon:  
They never heard the pampered Pransers stamp,  
Nor waked they at the thunder of the Camp.  
endymion did but wink, to these, whose eyes  
Morpheus had locked up with his leaden keys.  
'tis not a Cucko storm, no, no, ware head  
cries out the trembling boor, when it hails led:  
Flemmings look to't, here comes a new Spring tide,  
Y' had need besluice yourselves on Flanders side.  
Here comes the Bishop with a deluge round ye,  
Not to confirm ye, hang ye, but confounded ye.  
Has laid his hands upon your heads, I trow  
You never thought to have been Bishopt so.  
You must expect so long as he abides  
In Flanders, he will soundly lace your sides.  
Flanders will serve him for Lawn-sleeves he says,  
But he'l have Holland for his Surplices.  
He'l make ye writ again, if at these rates  
He humble ye, The poor distressed States.  
Address your suite then to the Myter'd man,  
And lowly fall before your Diocesan.  
The mouths of Cannons speak his loud Oration,  
Believe it Boors, 'tis a sharp Visitation.  
Who e're till now our eyes the witness be  
Had thought t'have seen Holland a Bishops See?   
FINIS.