Your soaring souls they meet with triumph, all
Led by great Stephen their old general.
Go,, now prefer thy flourishing state
Above those murder'd heroes' doleful fate;
Enjoy that life which thou durst basely save,
And thought'st a saw-pit nobler than a grave.
Thus many sav'd themselves, and night the rest,
Night, that agrees with their dark actions best.
A dismal shade did Heaven's sad face o'erflow,
Dark as the night slain rebels found below:
No gentle stars their chearful glories rear'd,
Asham'd they were at what was done, and fear'd
Lest wicked men their bold excuse should frame
From some strange influence, and so vail their
shame.

To Duty thus, Order and Law incline,
They who ne'er err from one eternal line;
As just the ruin of these men they thought,
As Sisera's was, 'gainst whom themselves had fought.
Still they rebellion's ends remember well,
Since Lucifer the great, their shining captain,
fell.

For this the bells they ring, and not in vain;
Well might they all ring out for thousands slain:
For this the bonfires their glad lightness spread,
When funeral flames might more befit their dead:
For this with solemn thanks they tire their God,
And, whilst they feel it, mock th' Almighty's rod;
They proudly now abuse his justice more,
Than his long mercies they abus'd before.
Yet these the men that true religion boast,
The pure and holy, holy, holy, host!
What great reward for so much zeal is given?
Why, Heaven has thank'd them since as they
thank'd Heaven.

Witness thou, Brentford, say, thou ancient town,
How many in thy streets fell groveling down:
Witness the red-coats weltering in their gore,
And dy'd anew into the name they bore:
Witness their men blow'd up into the air
All elements their ruins joy'd to share);
In the wide air quick flames their bodies tore,
Then, drown'd in waves, they're tost by waves to
shore :

Witness thou, Thames, thou wast amaz'd to see
Men madly run to save themselves in thee;
In vain, for rebels' lives thou would'st not save,
And down they sunk beneath thy conquering wave.
Good, reverend Thames' the best-belov'd of all
Those noble blood that meet at Neptune's hall;
London's proud towers, which do thy head adorn,
Are not thy glory now, but grief and scorn.
Thou griev'st to see the white nam'd palace shine,
Without the beams of its own lord and thine:
Thy lord, which is to all as good and free,
As thou, kind flood! to thine own banks canst be.
How does thy peaceful back disdain to bear
The rebels' busy pride at Westminster!
Thou, who thyself dost without murmuring pay
Eternal tribute to thy prince, the Sea.

To Oxford next great Charles in triumph came,
Oxford, the British Muses' second fame.
Here Learning with some state and reverence looks,
And dwells in buildings lasting as her books;
Both now eternal, but they'ad ashes been,
Had these religious Vandals once got in.
Not Bodley's noble work their rage would spare,
For books they know the chief malignants are.
In vain they silence every age before;

For pens of time to come will wound them more!

What fights did this sad Winter see each day, Her winds and storms came not so thick as they! Yet nought these far-lost rebels could recall, Not Mariborough's nor Cirencester's fall. Yet still for peace the gentle conqueror sues; By his wrath they perish, yet his love refuse. Nor yet is the plain lesson understood, Writ by kind Heaven in B- and H-'s blood. Chad and his church saw where their enemy lay, And with just red new mark'd their holy-day. Fond men! this blow the injur'd crosier strook; Nought was more fit to perish, but thy book. Such fatal vengeance did wrong'd Charlegrove shew, Where both begun and ended too His curs'd rebellion; where his soul's repaid With separation, great as that he made.

whose spirit mov'd o'er this mighty frame O'th' British isle, and out this chaos came.

the man that taught confusion's art; His treasons restless, and yet noiseless heart. His active brain like Etna's top appear'd, Where treason's forg'd, yet no noise outward heard. 'Twas he contriv'd whate'er bold M― said, And all the popular noise that P― has made; 'Twas he that taught the zealous rout to rise, And be his slaves for some feign'd liberties : Him for this black design, Hell thought most fit; Ah! wretched man, curs'd by too good a wit!

If not all this your stubborn hearts can fright,
Think on the West, think on the Cornish might:
The Saxon fury, to that far-stretch'd place,
Drove the torn relics of great Brutus' race:
Here they of old did in long safety lie,
Compass'd with seas, and a worse enemy;
Ne'er till this time, ne'er did they meet with foes
More cruel and more barbarous than those.
Ye noble Britons, who so oft with blood
Of Pagan hosts have dy'd old Tamar's flood;
If any drop of mighty Uther still,

Or Uther's mightier son, your veins does fill ;
Show then that spirit, till all men think by you
The doubtful tales of your great Arthur true :
You 'ave shown it, Britons, and have often done
Things that have cheer'd the weary, setting Sun.
Again did Tamar your dread arms behold,
As just and as successful as the old :
It kiss'd the Cornish banks, and vow'd to bring
His richest waves to feed th' ensuing spring;
But murmur'd sadly, and almost deny'd
All fruitful moisture to the Devon side.
Ye sons of war, by whose bold acts we see
How great a thing exalted man may be;
The world remains your debtor, that as yet
Ye have not all gone forth and conquer'd it.
I knew that Fate some wonders for you meant,
When matchless Hopton to your coasts she sent ;
Hopton! so wise, he needs not Fortune's aid,
So fortunate, his wisdom's useless made :
Should his so often-try'd companions fail,
His spirit alone, and courage, would prevail.

Nay, such bold lyes to God himself ye vaunt,
As if you'd fain keep him too ignorant.

Limbus and Purgatory they believe,
For lesser sinners; that is, I conceive,
Malignants only: you this trick does please;
For the same cause ye 'ave made new Limbuses,
Where we may lie imprison'd long, ere we
A day of judgment in your courts shall see.
But Pym can, like the pope, with this dispense,
And for a bribe deliver souls from thence.

Their councils claim infallibility:
Such must your conventicle-synod be;
And teachers from all parts of th' Earth ye call,
To make 't a council oecumenical.

They several times appoint from meats' t' abstain
You now for th' Irish wars a fast ordain;
And, that that kingdom might be sure to fast,
Ye take a course to starve them all at last :
Nay, though ye keep no eves, Fridays, nor Lent,
Not to dress meat on Sundays you're content;
Then you repeat, repeat, and pray, and pray,
Your teeth keep sabbath, and tongues working-
day.

They preserve relics: you have few or none,
Unless the clout sent to John Pym be one;
Or Holles's rich widow, she who carry'd
A relic in her womb before she marry'd.

They in succeeding Peter take a pride:
So do you; for your master ye 'ave deny'd.
But chiefly Peter's privilege ye choose,
At your own wills to bind and to unloose.
He was a fisherman; you'll be so too,
When nothing but your ships are left to you:
He went to Rome; to Rome you back ward ride,
(Though both your goings are by some deny'd)
Nor is 't a contradiction, if we say,
You go to Rome the quite contrary way.
He dy'd o' th' cross; that death's unusual now;
The gallows is most like 't, and that 's for you.

They love church-music; it offends your sense, And therefore ye have sung it out from thence; Which shows, if right your mind be understood, You hate it not as music, but as good: Your madness makes you sing as much as they Dance who are bit with a tarantula. But do not to yourselves, alas! appear The most religious traitors that e'er were, Because your troops singing of psalms do go; There's many a traitor has march'd Holborn so. Nor was't your wit this holy project bore; Tweed and the Tyne have seen those tricks before. They of strange miracles and wonders tell : You are yourselves a kind of miracle; Ev'n such a miracle as in writ divine We read o'-th' Devil's hurrying down the swine. They have made images to speak: 'tis said, You a dull image have your speaker made; And, that your bounty in offerings might abound, Ye 'ave to that idol giv'n six thousand pound. They drive-out devils, they say: here ye begin To differ, I confess you let them in.

They maintain transubstantiation; You, by a contrary philosophers-stone, To transubstantiate metals have the skill, And turn the kingdom's gold to ir'n and steel. I' th' sacrament ye differ; but 'tis noted, Bread must be flesh, wine blood, if e'er 't be voted. They make the pope their head; y' exalt for him, Primate and metropolitan, master Pym;

Nay, White, who sits i' th' infallible chair,
And most infallibly speaks nonsense there;
Nay, Cromwell, Pury, Whistler, sir John Wray,
He who does say, and say, ands ay, and say;
Nay, Lowry, who does new church-government
wish,

And prophesies, like Jonas, 'midst the fish ;
Who can such various business wisely sway,
Handling both herrings and bishops in one day:
Nay all your preachers, women, boys, and mer,
From master Calamy to mistress Ven,
Are perfect popes, in their own parish, grown;
For, to out-do the story of pope Joan,
Your women preach too, and are like to be
The whores of Babylon as much as she.

They depose kings by force: by force you'd do

it,

But first use fair means to persuade them to it. They dare kill kings: and 'twixt ye here's the strife,

That you dare shoot at kings to save their life:
And what's the difference, pray, whether he fall
By the Pope's Bull or your Ox general?
Three kingdoms thus ye strive to make your own,
And, like the pope, usurp a triple crown.

Such is your faith, such your religion;
Let's view your manners now, and then I've done.
Your covetousness let gasping Ireland tell,
Where first the Irish lands, and next ye sell
The English blood, and raise rebellion here
With that which should suppress and quench it
there.

What mighty sums have ye squeez'd out o' th' city!
Enough to make them poor, and something witty.
Excise, loans, contributions, poll-monies,
Bribes, plunder, and such parliament privileges,
Are words which you ne'er learnt in holy writ,
Till th' spirit, and your synod, mended it.
Where's all the twentieth part now, which hath
been

Paid you by some, to forfeit the nineteen?
Where's all the goods distrain'd, and plunders past?
For you're grown wretched pilfering knaves at

last;

Descend to brass and pewter, till of late,
Like Midas, all ye touch'd must needs be plate.
By what vast hopes is your ambition fed?
'Tis writ in blood, and may be plainly read:
You must have places, and the kingdom sway;
The king must be a ward to your lord Say.
Your innocent speaker to the Rolls must rise;
Six thousand pound hath made him proud and wise.
Kimbolton for his father's place doth call,
Would be like him ;-would he were, face and all!
Isaack would always be lord-mayor; and so
May always be, as much as he is now.
For the five members, they so richly thrive,
That they would always be but members five.
Only Pym does his natural right enforce,
By th' mother's side he's master of the horse.
Most shall have places by these popular tricks,
The rest must be content with bishoprics.
For 'tis 'gainst superstition you're intent;
First to root out that great church-ornament,
Money and lands: your swords, alas! are drawn
Against the bishop, not his cap, or lawn.
O let not such lewd sacrilege begin,
Tempted by Henry's rich, successful sin!
Henry! the monster-king of all that age;
Wild in his lust, but wilder in his rage.

Expect not you his fate, though Hotham thrives
In imitating Henry's tricks for wives;
Nor fewer churches hopes, than wives, to see
Buried, and then their lands his own to be.
Ye boundless tyrants! how do you outvy
Th' Athenians' Thirty, Rome's Decemviry!
In rage, injustice, cruelty, as far
Above those men, as you in number are.
What mysteries of iniquity do we see!
New prisons made to defend liberty!

Our goods forc'd from us for property's sake;
And all the real nonsense which ye make!
Ship-money was unjustly ta'en, ye say;
Unjustlier far, you take the ships away.
The High Commission you call'd tyranny:
Ye did! good God! what is the High Committee?
Ye said that gifts and bribes preferments bought:
By money and blood too they now are sought.
To the king's will, the laws men strove to draw:
The subjects' will is now become the law.
'Twas fear'd a new religion would begin :
All new religions, now, are enter'd in.
The king delinquents to protect did strive :
What clubs,pikes, halberts, lighters, sav'd the Five!
You think th' parl'ment like your state of grace;
Whatever sins men do, they keep their place.
Invasions then were fear'd against the state;
And Strode swore last years would be eighty-eight.
You bring-in foreign aid to your designs,
First those great foreign forces of divines,
With which ships from America were fraught;
Rather may stinking tobacco still be brought
From thence, I say; next, ye the Scots invite,
Which you term brotherly-assistance, right;
For England you intend with them to share:
They, who, alas! but younger brothers are,
Must have the monies for their portion;
The houses and the lands will be your own.
We thank you for the wounds which we endure,
Whilst scratches and slight pricks ye seek to
• viz. 1642.

cure;

We thank you for true real fears, at last,
Which free us from so many false ones past;
We thank you for the blood which fats our coast,
As a just debt paid to great Strafford's ghost;
We thank you for the ills receiv'd, and all
Which yet by your good care in time we shall;
We thank you, and our gratitude's as great
As yours, when you thank'd God for being beat.

THE CHARACTER OF AN HOLY-SISTER,

SHE that can sit three sermons in a day,
And of those three scarce bear three words away;
She that can rob her husband, to repair
A budget-priest, that noses a long prayer;
She that with lamp-black purifies her shoes,
And with half-eyes and Bible softly goes;
She that her pockets with lay-gospel stuffs,
And edifies her looks with little ruffs;
She that loves sermons as she does the rest,
Still standing stiff that longest are the best;
She that willlye, yet swear she hates a lyar,
Except it be the man that will lie by her;
She that at christenings thirsteth for more sack,
And draws the broadest handkerchief for cake;
She that sings psalms devoutly next the street,
And beats her maid i' th' kitchen, where none
see 't;

She that will sit in shop for five hours space,
And register the sins of all that pass,
Damn at first sight, and proudly dares to say,
That none can possibly be sav'd but they
That hang religion in a naked ear,

And judge men's hearts according to their hair;
That could afford to doubt, who wrote best sense,
Moses, or Dod on the commandements;
She that can sigh, and cry "Queen Elizabeth,"
Rail at the pope, and scratch-out "sudden death :"
And for all this can give no reason why:
This is an holy-sister, verily.