The Papists Lamentation for the loss of their Agent William Viscount Stafford, together with the dread they are possessed with, fearing that more will quickly follow him the same way.  

Preparations will be made  
For those that cursed Plots have laid,  
For to be brought to trial fair,  
And now they're filled with despair   
Tune of, Fair Phillis your prevailing charms, or A Fig for France.  
 man holding a cross  six men seated around a table; a seventh man stands behind it, holding a (olive? palm?) branch  

LAment, lament you Saints of Rome,  
Since Stafford hath received his doom,  
And we poor Souls are left behind  
perplexed and troubled in the mind,  
We see that God did strangely blast,  
And brought to light your Plot at last.  
Sure 'tis he hates such horrid things  
As Massacres, and killing Kings.   

Let us lament his Rigid Fate,  
Wl, o for Rome's cause we know of late  
Did like a stubborn Papist die  
In hopes to live eternally,  
But in our Consciences we know  
It is unlikely to be so,  
For God doth hate such bloody things  
As Massacres, &c.   

Some others daily we Expect,  
That took such courses indirect,  
Must follow him the self same way,  
And on the Block their Heads must lay,  
But if impartially we speak,  
The Devil did their ruin seek,  
For God doth hate such bloody things  
As Massacres, &c.   

See how the Stratagems of Rome,  
Have wrought these bloody Actors doom,  
That have been fifteen years about,  
What some few years have quiter brought out,  
And Stafford he hath lead the Van,  
A traitorous wretch and wicked man,  
'tis sure God hates such bloody things  
As Massacres, &c.   
 two men bearing standards  a man seated in a chair  

This is a Tenet of our Faith  
No other Church in Europe hath,  
Never to rest till we have done  
The work the Devil sets us on,  
Yet though in Plots our lives we spend,  
They'l come to nothing in the End▪  
For God doth hate such bloody things  
As Massacres, &c.   

Though all the Wits of France and Spain  
More Plots contrive. 'twill be in vain,  
And let his holiness the Pope,  
On whom we Papists fix our hope,  
Spend all his dayes in such designs,  
The Heavens will still find Countermines  
And blast such wicked bloody things  
As Massacres, &c,   

The Protestants we plainly see,  
Protections have of high degree,  
That none can do them any wrong  
Who in their faith are firm& strong,  
But idle worshippers do fall  
By hellish Plots, in deadly thrall.  
For God doth blast such bloody things  
As Massacres, &c.   

Then let us all renounce and fly  
From this our strange Idolatry,  
That our designs may prosperous be  
Else 'tis in vain we plainly see,  
For who with heaven doth not advice  
In vain are their conspiracies.  
For God doth hate such bloody things  
As Massacres, &c.   

But we have stubborn hearts and do  
Resolve against what's just& true,  
Since Popes can Absolution give  
For our misdeeds we do believe  
This makes us all less care to take  
Though oft it makes the Actors quake,  
For God doth hate such bloody things  
As massacres, &c.   

'tis strange to think what Friends we had  
In England where our hearts now sad,  
Were once with joy completely filled,  
To think what blood would there be spilled,  
And in a moment we were lost,  
Our Plots discovered, all things crost,  
For God doth hate such bloody things  
As Massacres, and killing Kings.    

London printed for J. Conyers at the black Ravenin Duck-lane