Englands Passing-Bell
The source for this document is https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo/A42738.0001.001
Project Note
This is licensed under Creative Commons CC BY-NC-ND. This license allows reusers to copy and distribute the material in any medium or format in unadapted form only, for noncommercial purposes only, and only so long as attribution is given to the creator.
The source of this document is the Early English Books Online (EEBO-TCP) website. Those books were transcribed in a character for character manner and can be very cumbersome to read since there was no standard spelling during that time. Many spelling variations such as "unlesse", "vnlesse", and "vnles" regularly appear.
This project was conceived to clean up those books as much as possible and make them more accessible to the interested reader, leading to the creation of a massive list of variant spellings and their corrections. This was used to clean up the text, but is of course only as complete as the list itself. Because of the nature of the original transcription, some words have missing characters or places where the original language (e.g., Greek) was not transcribed. This effort does not change that. Be aware that the original transcription can also be faulty and in some cases entire sentences may be missing.
Although this is no substitute for a properly compared, proofed, and scholarly edition, I believe that the result is a document which is far more accessible, particularly for searching for terms using standard spelling. The document has been cleaned and presented in what I hope is a pleasing and useful format for the vast majority of Christian brothers and sisters who just want access to read these spiritually nourishing works.
However, a word of warning: The Puritans were a very diverse group of people and their age was characterized with godliness, but also much upheaval, disputation and strife. They disagreed on many doctrines and some of these works contain less orthodox or Scriptural views than others. The reader is strongly advised to read with discernment, particularly if it is unknown whether author is trustworthy.
This project took a huge amount of time and skill to bring to fruition. I would particularly like to thank David Jonescue for the initial list of Puritans he found on EEBO and the concept behind this project as well as the continuous, unceasing efforts toward seeing this complete. Without his labor, this would not be available. Alex Sarrouf was invaluable in providing the initial list of over 7,000 spelling variations he had identified and corrected, as well as continuing to review more than 16,000 additions to that list for any typos.
Logan West
(with David Jonescue and Alex Sarrouf)
www.puritansearch.org
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 : OR, ENGLANDS Passing-Bell.
Psal. 80: 3.
Turn us O God to thee again,
For we too long have swerv'd:
Cause thou thy face on us to shine,
And we shall be preserved.
Quarles Eleg.
Offended Justice often strikes by turns,
Edom
beware, for thy next neighbor burns:
LONDON, Printed in the Year M. DC. LXXIX.
TO THE READER.
REader, perhaps my melancholy
Quill
May dote; but let
Melpom'ne
weep her sill.
Bear with her weakness, grudge not at her
Tears;
It springs not from her
Envy,
but her
Fears:
She is no hired
Naenia;
her moans
Are like to purchase little else than stones.
Then give her leave to mourn upon these
Rocks;
To ease her troubled heart to
Stones
and
Stocks.
Her sad abodings do not imprecate:
But wish and warn thee to anticipate:
And if there may no
loyal method
be
Form'd to prevent thy hanging-
Destinie
Immure thy soul within those gracious
Arms,
That may protect thee from the
Syrenes charms.
ENGLAND'S PASSING-BELL.
I Am no
Prophet,
no, nor
Prophet's Son;
Yet dare pretend unto a
Vision;
Pretend, say I? nay, 'tis no mere pretence,
Pretences do but juggle
Conscience.
I pray for peace, yea, I could die for it too
A willing
Sacrifice,
if that would do.
But what I do foresee, I dare foretell,
God is now ringing
ENGLANDS Passing-Bell,
The sound is in mine ears, the doleful
Toul
Strikes strange amazement on my trembling Soul.
She gasps for breath, her
Optick nerves
are cracked.
Eyes sunk into their holes, her spirits racked
On fatal
Tenters,
and her
Pulses
beat
To her oppressed soul a faint
Retreat.
Alas the day! these threatening symptoms call
Her
Friends
to mind her of a
Funeral.
O thou the God of life, commiserate
Thy foolish people's self-undone estate!
Calm all these
Paroxismes,
and allay
Those mortal heats; so will I ever pray.
'Wake sottish
Island!
let thy ruins teach
Thy Sons and Daughters to bewail the
Breach.
Where are thy
Noah's, Daniel's
and
Job's?
Are these the men, that in their linsie
Robes
Chant their Devotions? th' Angels of the
Choir,
Whose very
Noses
threat their
shirts
with fire;
Whose
Bacchanalian
zeal's a flame they stole
Not from the
Altar,
but
Maeonian
coal.
Are these the men, that with their
Pipes
can do
The
Counter-wonder
on a
Jericho?
Ah! poor bewitched Land! how long wilt be
Before thy banished Wits return to thee?
The
Cup
is in thine hand, hath touched thy lips;
Thou wring'st thy mouth at some distasteful sips:
Fain wouldest thou plead,
enough;
ay, so would I,
Or drink it in thy stead, and for thee die.
But what e're be the hopes that buoy thy mind,
Unless I dream, the
dregs
are yet behind.
On whose unhappy heads this
Lot
shall fall
God knows, the wrathful
fate
doth threaten all.
Let him that thinks he's with a
Bargain
blest,
Know, the last
Nail
may double all the rest.
There are some few within thee that begin
To smite the thigh,
and to confess their sin.
Others that think it safer to compound,
To shark and shuffle while the Cup goes round.
But if I know ought of thy constitution,
Or of the Products of a Revolution,
Compose the present
Frights,
and 'twill appear
The
Frogs
now quasht will be as bold as e're.
These brows of brass, these
iron sinews
may
Shine like the gold, and bend like kneaded clay,
Whilst an hot
Furnace,
preaching to the
sense,
Applys the terror of a Providence;
But once withdraw the coals, and you may see
These
Metals
have not lost their Property.
But as for
Jonah,
who's now
Tarsus
bound,
Let him remember who a
Jonah
found.
Let
Demas
know too, that his
present world
Will cheat his fond
love,
when he shall be hurled
By an
Ejectment
from that dear
possession,
That lay in right of Heaven's
Sequestration.
And
Judas
may be sure, his treacherous
Kiss
Shall be repay'd with lips as foul as his.
Haman
must also know, the
Gibbet
's up;
Where
Mordecai
should dine, there he may sup.
'Twas not for lack of eyes the
Jews
were grown
So strangely blind, that naught but
Babylon
Could make them see; nor isit for lack of eyes
I grope at noon, and fall, and cannot rise;
But 'tis this
Babylon
the Mystical
Hath blinded me; nay, which is worst of all,
She is my mated
Incubus,
and hence
I am rid by her bewitching influence.
O pity me, all ye that ever saw
A
Sampson
snared by a
Delilah!
Were
Moses
here, sure he would sigh with me
For their dear sakes; whose sin and slavery
Was once like mine: Or could I but produce
A
Jeremiah,
his eye should be the sluice
To weep me out a bitter
Lamentation,
And to condole a bleeding dying
Nation.
With tears of blood I could sit down and mourn
On my dear Children's most unhappy Urn▪
Thousands of sprightly youth, whose breasts and bones
Were richly filled, have breathed their fruitless moans
Under that wrathful hand that did dispense
The bloody arrows of the
Pestilence.
Sure death had never such a Table spread
In any age, for ought we hear or read.
How greedily he fed on rich and poor,
As though he never meant to feast it more!
Wit, wealth, or beauty, honor, sex or age,
Made no distinction in his mortal rage.
O cruel death! could not thy heart relent
At those dear Infants that thy fury rent
From tender mother's breasts! Could not their groans
Have pierced thy heart, that might have pierced stones?
Heaps upon heaps of choicest friends I saw;
Our
Glory
's now become our
Golgotha.
Could not the Ancients venerable Hairs,
(The silver
Symbole
of their age and cares)
Have awe'd thy bold attempt? or pleaded pity,
Who were the
Eyes
and
Pillars
of the City.
Nor could thy sacrilegious hands forbear
To rob our Churches of their
Common-Prayer.
Th' affrighted
Levite
durst not for his head,
Appear between the
Living and the Dead.
On him (poor
Soul!
) thou charged'st the extent
Of his own Law, of
five miles Banishment.
O King of terrors great! how couldest thou quell
The sacred virtue of his powerful
spell,
Against thy
sudden stroke?
or who should care
For his forsaken
Flock,
whose
Fleece
they are?
Now was not this enough? but must it be
But the
Praeludium
to thy
Tragedy?
Whence isit, thou wert in combination found
With
Mars
and
Neptune,
for a vantage ground?
What! had poor Mortals over-matched thee? or
Hadst thou a
Fit
to hear the
Cannons
roar?
To toss their shattered bones, and serve them in,
As carved
Messes,
unto
Triton
's shrine?
Or wasit to prove how far thy power would do,
To feast not only
Worms,
but
Fishes
too?
Was ever blood so prodigally spent?
Whole
Hecatombs
seemed little to present.
Neptune
himself could not but blush to see
Thy greedy Altar's
Anthropophagie.
Did not the
Passing-Bell
go sad enough?
That Cannons hellish mouths must speak how rough
And grim a Ghost thou art? for this, will I
Ne're hope to bribe thee when I come to die.
O Death! what is my sin, that still I hear
Those ruthful sighings to torment my ear?
Behold the Fatherless and Widows eyes,
The woeful
Relicts
of thy Sacrifice.
Would God,
say they,
our dearest blood had run
In those dear veins, from which our blood begun;
Then had we been as happy as the dead,
And never have pin'd for lack of daily bread.
Ah me! methink with grief and shame I see
The hostile rage of the proud
enemy
Insulting on our shores, who durst not peep,
Had they not found us in so dead a
sleep.
Then might
Philistines
with advantage come,
When
Sampson
's shorn, and lulled with
Opium.
Oh! then who could but rent his heart to see
Our Glory led into captivity?
Those floating
Eulwarks,
and of
Royal
race,
The envy of the world, that never gave place
To a superior, nor could e're be mated
By those of whom they were both feared and hated;
That like a thunder, brake the thickest clouds
Of bold assaults, and scattered all the crowds
Of martial force, that could command their way,
And dash their foes like pots of glass or clay.
With what reproach and ignominious boasts
Led they their captive
prey
to foreign coasts!
Then farewell
Royal Charles!
yet this shall be
Our joy and triumph still, that here is
He
By whose great name th'rt called; let
Shadows
go,
(The
substance
being come) sithit must be so.
Might here my sorrows end, I'd never lament
As one undone; but ah! my
Fate
is bent
To rack my guilty bones, and to devise
New methods, that her fury may comprize
All the sad stories of the Ages past,
As though this
scene
were to us both the last.
From
Plague
and
Sword,
my mournful eyes I roll
On that amazing mirror, which my soul
So trembles to behold; my
Strength,
my
Crown,
My
Hope,
my
Magazeen,
which now was grown
From
Troy novant,
to
Troy le grand,
is now
My
Troy l'extinct;
thus must the mighty bow
When God will humble them, and
lick the dust
When once he smites; for sure this God is just.
But Oh! th' unhappy day that dawn'd in
Flames,
Flames
that contemned all the floods of
Thames.
What! could no Engines art nor power prevail?
Were
Samson
's Foxes turned tail to tail?
'Twas some
strange God,
no doubt, that should require
So chargeable an
Offering
made by fire.
London
and
Sodom
may sit down together,
And now condole the
Ashes
of each other.
For sin they perished both, and both by
Fire,
But here's the odds; Efficients did conspire
In different methods; that from Heaven came,
This from beneath: a black and hellish flame,
A spark of
Faux
's Cell, infernal coals
Matur'd for service in some
Stygian
holes.
How did the hungry flames devour their prey!
And lick up stones like straw! and force their way
Through all obstructions, Nature, Art, or Might
Had raised to check their desolating flight!
With what stupendous terror did they roll
From street to street, disdaining all control!
As though the lungs of wide-mouthed
Aeolus
Had been in
sacred Oath
to drive them thus!
What horror, think you, what distractions then
Seiz'd on the heart of our poor Citizen!
What bitter cries, complaints and lamentations!
While some bewail their own loss, some the
Nations!
Some die for very grief, and others curse
The late indulgence of a faithful
Nurse.
Alas! no tongue nor pen can e're express
The Hurries, Hazards, and the sad distress.
Was ever grief like mine!
Deeps call to Deeps:
And what one Judgment spares, the second sweeps.
This
Scald,
I doubt, I shall bear in my face
Unto my
grave,
with grief and sore disgrace.
And now, if
Plague
and
Sword,
and
Fire
wont do
To melt the heart, and let the
captive
go;
More like to be a
Poison
than a
Purge.
Good God! avert whatever it may be;
Avenge not on us our Iniquity.
Sin
has gone
big;
but ah! we knew it not:
She's now in
Travel,
and her
reckonings
out;
The
fore springs
come, which threatens what may be
The
Birth,
if God permit
Deliverie.
Lord strangle thou the
Monster
in the womb,
And let the
Mothers
bowels be its Tomb.
But if my wandering
Muse
should chance to fly
Within the compass of that
Royal eye,
Whose very
Aspect
gives her life or death,
And for whose sake this
Die
she ventureth;
She will confess 'tis bold to soar so high,
To trip on
Crowns;
the beams of
Majesty
May shine too hot for such
Icarian
wings,
And melt the
Copper
of her feeble strings.
She has no wanton nor prestigious
Lyricks
To fawn on Kings with flattering
Panegyrics.
But her true loyal heart she'l never betray,
Though she cannot vent it in the
Courtiers
way.
Nor will she e're bethink her sworn
Allegiance,
Or boggle at her duty of
obedience;
Although the
Persians
have contrived their
snare,
And made it
criminal
if found at
Prayer.
Pardon,
dread Sovereign,
if some rambling fit
Transport her honest zeal, and so commit
A sin
Poetical;
Her
Pegasus
Is Saddle-galled, and therefore hobbles thus.
She gads eccentrick; hence it is she hovers
On every Pinacle that hope discovers;
Under these gracious wings my
Dove
may find
Protection, if propitiously inclined.
I hate those
Tongues,
whose
morsels
make them loyal,
To serve their
Int'rest
on the Favor Royal.
I only wish their
Lips
may never show
Those bloody
Teeth
that just within them grow.
Nor that those
Hooded Moths
may ever sit
So near the
Crown
as to dishonor it.
I will ever pray the
King
may know his
Friends,
And fully understand his
Flatterers
ends.
The Kingdom groans, although her King be come!
Why! what's the matter? sure he's welcome home.
Alas! she's sick, and of some strange disease,
Which neither
Kings
nor Parliaments can ease,
Until that God, whom th'
Atheist
doth contemn,
Do purge the
Blood
of our
Jerusalem.
I will say no more here, but
God save the King,
From whom, or whatsoever may mischief bring!
And what if I let loose my scribbling
Fancy,
To give a piece of her poor
Chronomancie
Unto her
Honorable Senate,
who
If God incline their hearts, great things may do.
O Sirs! ye are our wise
Physicians,
and
Ye have the sickest
Nation
now in hand
That e're had men: The first step to a cure
Is to know the cause of what we do endure.
The cause is complicated both in
Civil
And
Spiritual
respects; a twisted evil,
Deep
Labyrinths
we are in; our strong foundations
Do shake and tremble; dismal Desolations
Seem to attend us: Lord! avert this
cup,
And let thy bloody En'mies drink it up.
Ye're our
Physicians,
Sirs! Oh! cast the
state
Of your sick
Patient,
and prevent that
Fate
Her Enemies threaten, and her fears suggest,
And all Posterities shall call you
blest.
O cast abroad your wise and prudent eyes,
And pity, pity
England
's miseries.
Let not the
Canaanite
reproach and laugh
To see us breaking of that
Golden staff
On our own
Shoulders,
which might else have been
Our Rod to rule, and reins to hold them in.
Our costly
Pills
indeed have purged the
Purse,
But our disease is growing worse and worse.
Poor
England
's hour is come! a Trinity
Of wrestling
Int'rests
in her bowels lie.
Two
Opposites
might happy
Union
know,
If well concenter'd in some
Tertio.
Three
Contradictories
will never be
Espoused in a fair consistencie.
Those that consult the peace and good of
State,
I think (as case stands) must accommmodate.
Sirs! pity those poor
hearts
that cannot see
With any other eyes than those that be
Their own; some squeamish stomachs turn at
Cheese,
Which I would not give for all our
Coquus Fees.
Were all confined to one Dish, and no other,
You'd poison me with what you feed my brother.
When you can pare all Bodies to one stature,
And club the Elements into one nature,
And make all faces of the same complexion,
(which will scarce be even at the Resurrection)
Then may you find all Consciences agreed
In nice
Punctilio
's, and our judgments freed
From quaint
Idea's,
which not understood,
Have bred us this dissenting
Brotherhood.
Religion
is that
Primum Mobile
Of States and Kingdoms, yea, their Int'rests be
Mov'd in their Politick
Circungyrations,
Upon this golden
Pole,
the soul of Nations.
Lord! so co-ordinate each gliding
Sphere,
As that their motions may not interfere.
Two parallel lines are never like to greet,
Till
Capricorn
with sultry
Cancer
meet.
If each would stoop to other, you might see
Our
Tabernacl's
handsome
Canopy.
Our
First
is up; where are the Builders now?
Come! shut the
Roof,
and let the
Rafters
bow.
Is it impossible such storms should rise
From
Hell
or
Rome,
as may convince our eyes?
Our
Walls
will tumble if they want a
Cover;
Why! 'tis but mud, though it be varnisht over.
All ope' at top? nay, every
Thief
may enter,
And scale our naked
Walls;
who's mad to venture
His Life and Fortunes on such
Guards,
and let
His
Jewels
hazard such a
Cabinet?
Well! in this naked case, I will pray, I will sing
To him that is both
Walls
and
Covering.
Alas! poor
London!
who can see thine
Ashes,
And not sit down and score those angry lashes
Thy righteous Judge hath in just wrath inflicted
For that whereof thou hadst been long convicted?
Thy
Prophets
were not dumb, but thou wert deaf:
They warned in season; but thy unbelief
Was warning-proof: like knotty crooked wood,
They ruled and hew'd thee for a common good,
Until their hearts did ache, and arms did tire;
At last thou art condemned to the
Fire.
Thou couldest out-face the frowns of
Pestilence.
Daring provoked Justice to commence
In hotter Plagues: That
Cup
is filled thee now,
That hath abashed thy proud and shameless brow▪
Old
Sodom
was in our young
London
found,
Yea, more than
Sodom
did in her abound,
And now if any will of
London
hear,
To
Sodom
he may go, and find her there.
In thee was found the blood of
Martyrs,
yea,
The murdered blood of
Royal Majesty.
Oaths, Drunk'ness, Lust, and ravenous Oppression,
Pride and Deceit, the spots of high Profession.
In thee was found the woman
Jezebel,
With those infernal
Locusts
that compel
Her
Proselytes
to commit Fornication;
Which were sad
Omens
of thy Desolation.
And now,
my Daughter,
may we come to treat
With that poor
Rag
that's left? or art too great
Yet to incline thy stubborn ear? Remember
In
Sixty-six
thou hadst a hot
September.
He that thy
Remnant,
like a smoking
Brand,
Then snatched out of the fire, with the same hand
Can crush what he hath saved; nay, look thou to it,
Lest perad venture he indeed may do it.
True
Penitentials
might have prevented
That fearful breach that's now in vain lamented.
The Buckets of thine eyes had checked the
Flames,
If well applied, 'fore all the Powers of
Thames.
But
Epimetheus
doth but aggravate
And rake the wound▪ by being wise too late.
Yet for the future, if thou wilt be wise,
And re-espoused, thus I do advise.
Thine
Ashes
steeped in penitent tears may
Make thee a
Lie
to wash thy shame away.
Thou hast been in the smoke, (and wash thou must);
Both in the smoke of
Fire,
and smoke of
Lust.
Wash therefore, make thee clean, and thou shalt be
As in the days of thy Virginity.
Thy
Bricks
are fallen, wilt thou change them for
The
Hewen Stone?
and turn the
Sycomore
Into the
Cedar?
yea, and be it so!
And let thine
Ashes
to a
Phoenix
grow!
But yet I doubt, thy pregnant hopes may prove
A
Babel
's project, unless God above
Unite thy
Languages,
and undertake
Both to begin, and a full end to make:
Be both thy
Builder,
and thy
Corner-stone,
And raise thee in a
Model
of his own.
Lord! rear thy
London
's Walls, and purge her blood,
And let her know thou hast chastiz'd for good.
Make her thy
Zion,
thine
Immanuel
's
Land,
And let her
Ruins be under thine hand.
The
World
is God's great
Wheel,
his Providence
The hand that turns it; its
intelligence,
The
Wheel
's in motion; but the
rising side
Will still pursue their
chase,
till they bestride
The whole Circumference; and then beginning
To take their turn again they fall a whining;
Complain of Envy, Pride, Revenge, Oppression,
Which just before was but their own ambition.
Rebekah
's
Twins!
we catch each others
heel,
And never observe the
Dog
that's in the
wheel.
Lord! shall we e're have wit enough to know
To poise ourselves in
Aequilibrio?
Sure God hath set his Ministers for
Lights
In a blind, giddy world; the
Rechabites
Of an apostate age; but sure I am,
There are too many of the seed of
Cham,
Yet can
Canonical Adoption
lurch,
And so are naturaliz'd
Sons of the Church.
The
Clergy
's God's inheritance; but these
Are
Pliny
's Insects, Worms that spoil the
Bees,
Those sweet industrious creatures;
Aesop
's Dogs,
That starve the Ox, but will not touch the
Hogs,
Whose blushing Carbuncles, and purple faces,
Are no
Crown Jewels,
nor the
Churches Graces.
Will a debauched
Clergy
e're invest
Your Cause with an applauded Interest
In sober minds? Will a sulphureous zeal,
In things confessed indifferent, ever heal
Our dismal breaches? or what! do you hope
To make us your
Peace-offering
to the
Pope?
But I have better thoughts; yet pray take heed
Lest you and we both offered be indeed.
While we contend for
shadows,
there are
those
That will their greedy clutches interpose,
And seize that
Morsel,
which preserved, might be
The
Medium
of our Correspondencie.
What! are we
Artick
and
Antartick?
must
The
Mother
separate the
Babes
she nursed?
Did one womb bare us? and what! are we now
No nearer kin at all, than
I, and thou?
Sirs! isit not bold enough to set your
Post
By God's? to introduce a ragged Host
Of
Ceremonies,
borrowed of that
Groom,
(For the most part) that keeps his
Stall
at
Rome?
But would you back to
Egypt
shuffle too,
In hopes to feast it on their flesh-pots? you
May chance to change your
wood
for worser
Timber;
Nay, there's a
Red Sea
too, as I remember,
'Twixt us and them, where
Pharaoh
and his
Host
Were buri'd once: although his restless
Ghost
Still haunt our shores, and with his
Magic
strive
To serve his
Capias
on's,
Dead or alive.
Are
Egypt
's Leeks such Dishes! let me tell ye,
Their
Tale of Bricks
may chance to fill your belly!
Sirs! you that bear so stiff from
Scylla,
may
In a
Charibdis
cast yourselves away.
'Twill vex you sure (yet help it while you can)
When you are placit behind the
Veteran.
Turn
Capuchins
then, if your guts will bear it;
Though you have won it, let your
Lord-Danes
wear it.
Your
Rubric, Articles,
and
Canon-Law,
You may set back with the
Apocrypha.
Some
Mendicancy
of unbounded
Order
May be your
Monitor,
and my
Recorder.
Nay, were it not for our
Faith's Great Defender,
Whose prudent jealousy hath been so tender
E're this, (for ought I know)
Miter
and
Crown.
This piece of
Logic
I cannot understand,
No Bishop, if no ceremony;
and
No King,
if there no
Lordly Bishop be;
I must confess they are Parables to me.
Nay, in the fancy of my jealous Reason
Its consequence speaks little less than
Treason.
But be it so, I never will impeach you,
Nor yet presume for 'tis in vain) to teach you
what's the
conclusion
of your Syllogism
(If I might urge this piece of Catechism)
But this?
no ceremony, then no King;
And what's a
ceremony
but a thing
So adiaph'rous, that his
Lordship
may
Pro libitu,
impose or throw away?
This
Papal
Oracle in its Essaies
Was practically known in
Becket
's days.
And is the
Crown
then but a
ceremony?
Will you believe St.
Thomas
and his
Chrony
Who had near proved it once? shall th'
Scepter
be
But a poor
Pinacle
of a
Bishops See?
I dread those Politicks that do advise
To perch the
Miter
on State-dignities!
Nay, let the
Crosiers staff
and
Lawn-sleeves
lie
Some
Orbs
beneath the
Sphere
of Majesty.
And may I now presume to speak a word
To those my
Brethren,
that are thus abhorred?
Ye are the
Salt,
Sirs! that hath lost its savor
With men, at least, and therefore lost their favor.
But like unsav'ury
Salt,
though ye are cast,
It may be 'tis their mouths are out of taste.
If so, they may come orit, when they have tried
That
cellar
which they have so magnify'd.
For my part, I think yours to be the cheaper,
And far the better too, for the
House-keeper.
But since 'tis so, that out at doors you must,
And trampl'd on be, both by
Law
and
Lust,
I hope you will not murmur, but reflect,
And own that
Hand,
that doth these
Heels
direct.
Although your eager
spirits
have been fed
On those
crude humors
that the times have bred,
Which have dissolved your sweet
consistencies
Into that
brine,
which now leaks at your eyes:
Yet when this
brine
is boiled and scum'd, who knows
How the good
Steward
may of it dispose?
Rome! Rome!
thine Hour is coming thoughit be long;
Thy
Matins
sung, turn to thy
Even song.
Thou struggl'st hard to grasp within thy wings
The Churches
Dowry,
and the
Crowns
of Kings;
To brood those Chickens thou didst never hatch,
That so thou mayest thy prey at pleasure catch.
Thou crouchest low a
Favorite
to be,
And boastest highly of thy loyalty.
But yet these
Visards
thou dissemblest with,
Are cut one inch too short to hide thy teeth.
We cannot forget thy love in
Eighty-eight,
When thy kind
Visit
cast us on that straight.
The poor
Waldenses,
and cold
Piedmont
Have felt thy mercy, with sharp Comments on it.
Let
Ireland
's Tears, and
England
's long experience
Produce their Records of thy vowed
Allegiance.
Thy Sacrifices in Queen
Mary's
days;
Thy faith and service proved so many ways
To her Successors;
Faux
's Loyalty
In that unparalleled Conspiracy;
Thy secret
Hit
at our late
Sovereign
's Head,
Which at one blow struck his three Kingdoms dead;
The dismal ashes of our City Royal;
All these bespeak thee trusty, kind, and loyal.
May sindg thy Plumes, and chance to fire thy Nest.
Muntzer
no doubt had played the man, if we
Had better fee'd his sacred Fealty.
Our happy
War,
with its triumphant feats;
Our lingering
Treaties,
and undoing cheats;
Our beggared subject, yet indebted
Prince,
Are of your loyal hearts clear evidence.
Whole Volumes here each word doth comprehend;
More I could say too, had I time to spend.
England
's a Vine, a sour and barren one;
Her Judgments come, God seems to cut her down.
Had I a
Stentor
's lungs, I'd stretch them here,
To rouse those stupefied souls, that fear
But what they feel, whose
Dreams
are sweeter to 'um
Than
Life
or
Gospel,
till their
Dreams
undo 'um.
We have undone ourselves; I will say no more,
For 'tis not words that will our
Paths restore.
'It is sport enough for
Gath
and
Askelon,
To see our emulous zeal to carry on
Their grand designs, and with what art we spin
Our selves a
Halter
to be hanged in.
What! hath their
Curfue
ring'd us all to bed?
Shall they that strike us thus, next strike us dead?
Good God! what ails us? are we all run mad?
Is there no sober party to be had?
O bring us so far to ourselves, as we
May once devolve the care and cure on thee!
Nay, may a
Bethlehem
bring us to our wits,
To
Bethlehem
let us go to cure these
Fits.
The
Bethlehem
we were in 'bout Forty-three.
I am for peace, let false and bloody minds
Be
Cyrus
-like, rewarded in their kinds▪
But I am condemned, it's like, by good and bad;
My
Muse
is peevish, froward, bold and mad.
'It is true, she's apt to speak her fears, but so
As she may timely caution
Friend and Foe.
Let none be grieved at her sad
Presages,
Or think her melancholy spirit rages.
When times of laughter come, she'l laugh with you;
And when you sing, she'l strike in
consort
too▪
But oh! let not her
counsel
be her
crime,
Though it may seem to you
born out of time.
We know who 'twas that breathed on
Israel
's bones,
He that can form him
children
out of
stones.
He that saved
Peter
on the raging Seas
Will save his Church too, when and how he please.
Then be content, let Faith and Patience be
Your Life, your Refuge, and your Victory.
The RIDDLE.
THere was a Man, (l've heard my
Grandsire
say)
That had two Sons that in his bosom lay:
The first was
Bat,
a sober loving youth,
But through much weakness, very slow of growth;
The other
Ned
a lusty jocund child,
But that he proved extremely high and wild
These grew together;
Ned
was Father's Boy;
Who knew it well, and therefore did employ
His wits and interest against his Brother
To get his
Birth-right:
yea, sware to his
Mother
To be his
Guardian,
and as tender of him
As she could be, who did so dearly love him.
So 'twas agree'd through much ado; but
Ned
Grew proud and high, which great
Dissensions
bred.
In short, the
House
fell into such a flame
Of strife between the
Master
and the
Dame,
That all the
Neighbourhood
began to ring;
Some wept to hear it, other some did sing.
Among the rest there was one neighbor
Cross,
Who's always wont to gain by others loss.
This
Cross
(they say) had an old servant been
Unto the
House
these Children lived in,
But justly long before had been cashier'd
For several urgent causes that appeared.
This Villain, seeing these broils thus begun,
Hopes now to reel the yarn that he had spun▪
Works with both
Parties,
but at such a distance,
That neither was the near for his assistance:
How e're it was, at length 'twas thus agreed;
Ned
must away, and so the
House
be freed.
Then
Cross
with
Bat
and's
Mother
would collogue;
But they defy him for an arrant Rogue.
Some say,
Had it not been for such as he,
These sparks had never fired the Family.
Few of his Neighbors have a good word for him;
No more but
Ned
swears that he doth abhor him▪
Thus scann'd on all hands, he must hide his face,
And act his part by those that are in place;
And so he did, until the House did grow
Too hot for
Father, Ned,
and
Mother
too.
Thus
Bat
is left alone, shakes every limb,
For fear of what was now attending him.
By secret
Packets
then he did implore
His
Father
's powerful presence, to restore
His dving hopes: The
Father
mounts his steed,
His wings are impt with pity, joy, and sheed.
But with the
Father
home comes busling
Ned,
Calls all his own, his Mother being dead.
(Though
Bat
were promised,
Ned
should never more
Presume to set his foot within the door.)
Bat
over-joy'd to see his
Father
come,
Rings out the Bells to bid him welcome home.
Ned
makes some offers to capitulate;
Being forced thereto, but after some debate,
The bus'ness comes to this, poor
Bat
must be
What
Ned
will have him, nay, for ought I see
He'd rather that he might not be at all,
Poor love,
you will say,
and but this brother all.
The
Father
being grieved to see this strife
Between his Children, looks him out a
Wife
To rule the stubborn lads; the
Mother law
Takes
Bat
in hand, and swears she'l whip him raw.
The
Bed
's prepared, where both these
Boy
's must lie,
To lull them into
Uniformity.
Ned
leaps in first, and with him
Spot
his
Cur,
He puts off never a
Rag, Cloak, Boots,
nor
Spur.
Poor
Bat
would fain lie down too by his Brother:
He shuts in one foot now, and then the other;
Intreats for room, but
Ned
begins to thunder,
That if he would lie there, he must lie under.
Hard terms,
you will say, but melancholy
Bat
(Had that been all) would scarce have stuck at that,
But through disorders and excess in drink,
(Which was his life) his very skin did stink;
His clothes were all with
mire
and
vomit
dressed,
That
Bat
cries out,
Sure
Ned!
th'hast foul'd thy Nest.
Is this the fashion thou intend'st to lie?
Thy
Dog
may like it well, but so cannot I.
But weeps, and bids
Good night,
and looks about
For some dark corner, where to cry it out.
But
Ned
's offended thus to hear him roar,
And bid's his
Mother
turn him out at door.
Now
Bat
must wander; yet I have heard him say,
That while he lives he will do no worse than pray
For
Father, Mother,
and for
Ned,
all three,
And for the rest of his dear Family.
Where's
Cross
this while? has he been idle? no:
He hands his fails as every wind doth blow.
When
Ned
was come, thought he,
There's none that can
Be so well spar▪d, to be his Gentleman
As I; by this, and one trick more, I know
I shall be chosen for his
Bed fellow;
Then Art shall fail me, if it be not sed,
In few days more,
Cross
is as good as
Ned.
And to this end, he first accuses
Bat
Of Frenzv, Murder, Theft, and who knows what!
Which
Ned
liked well; on whose report it was
(Some say) that
Bat
's Ejectment came to pass.
Howe're it was, it seems that
Ned
and
Cross
Were well enough agreed, though 'twere too gross
To hold an open correspondency
Which might to their Designes destructive be.
These
Tragedies
premised,
Cross
thinks he may
Begin to scrape, and make some fresh Essay
To prove his loyalty; but some cry out,
Nay, he's a Thief;
others reply,
no doubt
But we may trust him now; he has been tried,
'It is
Bat'
s the greater Thief,
Cross
is be-lie'd.
But most affirm, that
Bat
's the honest man;
And
Cross
's cringing is but to trepan.
These were shrewd rubs, at last, in the smooth
Run
Of
Cross
's hopes; but what is thus begun
Canit linger now, for when the Ulcer's gone
Unto a rotten Suppuration,
It struggles hard for vent, and so did this,
Resolving to attempt it,
Hit or miss.
First, he engaged th' unhappy
Family
In an unlucky brawl, with two or three
Of their malignant Neighbors; some say 'twas
The Ghost of an old grudge revived, a mass
Of scurrilous reproaches, and such things
As soon produced these bloody
Quarrellings;
But that which did these furious feuds advance
(Most say) was claim to an Inheritance.
However 'twere,
Cross
serves his Interests here;
Nay, boasts it too, that he had brewed the
Beer
Wherewith he hop▪d shortly to entertain
Such other
Friends
as once came out of
Spain.
Most of the Family were grieved to see
This cursed
Villain
's pride and treachery▪
It were too sad and tedious to tell
All those defeats and mischiefs that befell
This poor divided House, how
Mogonde
swagger'd.
And sharkt and robbed, till both were almost beggared;
The
Stables
plundered, and the
Garners
fired
By such Accomplices as
Cross
had hir'd.
And isit not strange, that such a Rogue as he
Should thus bewitch so brave a Family!
Well!
Ned
may know, if ever he be wise,
What clouds they are that thus be-night his eyes.
The Bill of Request.
THere is a
Woman
(Sir) and she a
Friend
That lies in
Travel,
and is like to end
Her own life and her
Babes
at once; her case
Is often spread before the Throne of Grace;
Her
Midwives
also have almost undone her,
And left her worse than when they first began her▪
'Twill cost her bitter
Throws
(poor
Heart
) I doubt,
If ever she have strength to weatherit out.
Your Prayers are desired for such an one,
That you would mind her
case
before the
Throne.
Pray give this
Bill
to one that is devout
Among the
Priests,
if you can find him out.
ROMANZI.
'TWas when the Heaven's winged
Charioteer
Was swiftly racing in his high carier
Through
Cancer's
hot
Ascendent,
whose fierce beams
Exhal'd from parched Earth those sweating steams
Which left her surface, (like a
Niobe
Bakit to a crust) cursed with an
Atrophie.
And when, besides the Torrid Influence
Of Aestive Rays, the dire malevolence
Of three Celestial
Heroes
did conspire
In their
Trine-aspect,
to incense the fire.
That I descending from the lofty brow
Of a steep Hill, where just beneath did grow
A shady
Grove,
which the fair
Dryades
Had lately chosen for their
Chap'l of ease;
And fast by,
Neptune
comb'd his powder'd Locks
In the course teeth of sharp and craggy Rocks.
I heard (methought) the sighs of deep despair
From off the
Grove,
refract the gentle air.
At these strange
Echo's
being moved, I stood
Amuz'd a while, at length drew to the
Wood;
Where the first words that met my ear, were these,
After a sigh:
Ay! they do what they please!
Would ever men, that were not worse than mad,
(Yea, mauger all those
cautions
we have had)
Have done as we have done? but 'tis too late,
Now that the steed is gone, to shut the Gate.
To whom replied another, with an Oath,
Nay now, no doubt, but we shall thrive forsooth▪
Our En'mies we have thrice quite overthrown,
And forced their mourning Widows to atone
Our
Grace
and
Favor;
men could never have done
More bravely, and have won what we have won.
Old
Noll
the
Tyrant
would have gnasht to see
The rich successes of his Enemy
In his old
Field,
recounting what it cost him,
Yo do what we have done; yea, what it lost him
In not improving what his Tyrannie
Had gained, when he had brought them on the knee.
But what! we could not choose but prosper thus,
While God and man did so encourage us.
Indeed the Oracle spake plain, methought,
But that we deemed it as a thing of naught,
An accident in
London'
s first Oblation,
Whose Gifts and whose Devotions acceptation
Was witnessed by fire; I think she may
Expound the
Omen
now without a Key.
Provisions we had store, but wisely cookt;
Great wages too, but that tis most on it bookt.
Such care our
Commissaries
had, it's sed
Our very Powder-casks were ballasted.
In short, most honestly 'twas rigg'd and man'd,
Like to go through what e're we took in hand.
Well, well, Marinus!
said the other,
you
Can jest it out, as you are wont to do.
Iest!
said Marinus,
could I get my Pay,
It were a jest indeed, the merriest day
That I, or my poor wife and babes have seen
Since the first hour that we divorcit have been.
I would redeem their
Pledg,
and set them free
From thy contentious, Parish-charity.
The other grieved to hear this well known story,
Breaks this Discourse:
Where's then,
says he,
the glory
Of your great Victories? The glory,
said Marinus;
Nay, you may see, when those that undermine us
Have done their
shuffle
and begin to
cut,
Into whose hands the
Master-Trumps
are shut.
There's nothing vext me more than this, that we
Must thus adventure Life and Liberty
To take a
Prize,
which then must be conducted
By us their
Convoys,
as they were instructed.
—Take you
Monsieurs!
must our Vict'ry make
Courtiers
of you, and us
slaves
for your sake?
Is this the way to raise our Country credit?
And to eternalize his fame that did it!
Hold!
said the other,
now you seem to rage;
Passion can hardly keep due Equipage.
Passion!
quoth he,
I take him for an Ass,
Or for an
Angel,
that in such a case
Can rule his Passions; but I will say no more,
Since I cannot say but what was known before.
The other whom by his discourse I take
To be a Country-man, reply did make:
It is observed,
said he,
though but by few,
We never thriv'd since that
Black Bartholomew;
Then plucked we out our
Eyes,
and thought to see
By a
Canonical Ophthalmistry.
But now we'r into Ditch, who everit were
That led us thus: but hark methink I hear
The
Pixie
laugh; but we shall cry (I doubt,
Or something worse) before we scramble out.
Ho!
said Marinus,
if it be but so,
Turn something in and out, and that will do.
Turn something in and out!
said th' other,
ay,
Were that but done, we might hit out the way.
But how shall this be done? Be done?
said he,
Why! 'tis half done already!
Out
there be
Coats turned enough; might they again turn
In
Body and sleeve, our hopes might here begin.
What hath this beetle brow'd suspicion spy'd
In them or theirs, it's still so evil ey'd?
Since that most black and dreadful day of
Bats,
That pipit our Fathers off to bring these Rats?
That's not the business,
said the Country-man,
There's still a jealous head, though nothing can
Be proved; I doubt, from that kind Principle,
On which
Cain
on his righteous Brother fell:
They must be
Lord's,
and rule like
Kings;
but not
By
Canon Law,
but by their
Cannon-shot.
But what! let these alone, a few years more
May this mad
Priesthood
to their wits restore.
But there's a
cloud
which hath been gathering
About these six years; if it chance to wring
It self upon our shores, our case may be
The parallel of a sad
Germany.
Besides those home-bred
vipers
which we hug
In our own breasts, where they have drawn the Dug
So dry, that now they draw our very blood:
And here's the curse; it is not understood.
Not that we do bethink our
Sovereign Lord
The utmost that our
Lands
or
Lives
afford.
But when our
Plough-shares
must perverted be
Into
Stilletoes
for an
Enemy:
This makes me fret, and wish my limber
goad
(In a just call) might do as
Shamgar's
did.
Our
Senators
(they say) are in a maze;
They stare on us, and we on them do gaze.
But 'tis no wonder; 'twas once so with
Saul;
We fight with God, and therefore needs must fall.
Our
Foes
are greedy, early, strong and wise,
They're on their way, e're we can find our Eyes.
Our Eyes are locked up in a
Pix (they say)
Where 'twill be hard to get without the
Key.
Lord help us!
Sir
our Story's like to be
Our poor
Posterities
dismal Tragedy▪
Thus we sit here, and in complaining spend
Our wretched Hours and Thoughts, and to what
END?
The ECCHO.
THine
House
is foul; Lord, wilt thou sweep?
We weep; Lord sweep; But with what
Broom?
Fast then, and throw the
Shrub
away.
The POSTSCRIPT.
READER! 'tis now almost six years twice told
My Muse conceived; so that this
Brat's
born old▪
Yet even then it had
Nativity;
But ever since hath mist
Epiphany;
I took it for
still born,
and buried it,
As smothered by an
Epileptick
fit.
But since that time, it seems its
Ghost
hath walked;
And with some
Friends
familiarly talked.
I do not know whereof it might complain;
But this they say, they'll dig it up again
In hopes to make the
Bones
and
Dust
to speak,
Which so long lay in silence, and to break
The nap of this poor
Dormouse.
I confess
It's not grown out of season, more or less;
Much of what then did look like
Prophesy,
Late actions have turned into
History.
So that to read aright, thou must begin
Eleven years back, and think how things were then.
Yet some things here thou wilt find, which I have reason
Enough to think will never be out of season.
And once more may I speak but what I think,
You will find the bitterest cup is yet to drink.
The
Ball
is up, by that the
Game
is out,
Those that survive will wish for death, I doubt:
When that cursed
Fox
that's now unkennel'd shall
Turn head against the
Chase▪
we stand or fall.
Ah me! methinks I see the bloody Field;
But here's my comfort; Heaven is my shield.
I smell the
Battle,
and you will shortly see
How you are juggl'd to your
Destinie.
When God shall heal the sickness of this Nation,
And purge her
Blood
by an Evacuation,
Yea, when our veins shall weep their fountains dry,
And shed those crimson Tears, which from the eye
Might have been better spared; then shall we know
With what a God
England
hath had
to do.
FINIS.