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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 actious 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 wail 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 2
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!

The temple's decent wealth, and modest state,
Had suffer'd ; this their avarice, that their hate :
Beggary and scorn into the church they'd bring,
And made God glorious, as they made the king:
O happy town, that to lov'd Charles's sight,
In those sad times, gav'st safety and delight,
The fate which civil war itself doth bless sness.
Scarce would'st thou change for peace this happi-
'Midst all the joys which Heaven allows thee here;
Think on thy sister, and then shed a tear.
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 Marlborough'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 monoise 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 torm 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 focs
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 mightierson, 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.

Miraeulous man how would I sing thy praise,
Had any Muse crown'd me with half the bays
Conquest hath given to thee; and next thy name
Should Berkely, Stanning, Digby, press to fame.
Godolphin' thee, thee Grenville ! I'd rehearse,
But tears break off my verse —
How of has vanquish'd Stamford backward fled;
Swift as the parted souls of those he led !
How few did his huge multitudes defeat,
For most are cyphers when the number's great!
Numbers, alas! of men, that made no more
Than he himself ten thousand times told Ö'er.
Who hears of Streatton-fight, but must confess
All that he heard or read before was less;
Sad Germany can no such trophy boast,
For all the blood this twenty years she 'as lost.
Vast was their army, and their arms were more
Than th’ host of hundred-handed giants bore.
So strong their arms, it did almost appear
Secure, had neither arms nor men been there.
In Hop on breaks, in break the Cornish powers,
Few, and scarce arm’d, yet was th’ advantage
outs :
What doubts could be, their outward strength to
win,
When we bore arms and magazine within 2
The violent sword's outdid the musket’s ire ;
It strook the bones, and there gave dreadful fire :
We scorn'd their thunder; and the reeking blade
A thicker smoke than all their cannon made;
Death and loud tumults fill'd the place around
With fruitless rage; fall'n rebels bite the ground !
The arms we gain’d were wealth, bodies o' th' foe,
All that a full-fraught victory can bestow!
Yet stays not Hopton thus, but still proceeds;
Pursues himself through all his glorious deeds:
With Hertford and the prince he joins his fate
(The Belgian trophies on their journey wait);
The prince, who oft had check'd proud W-'s
fame,
And fool'd that flying conqueror's empty name ;
Till by his loss that fertile monster thriv'd;.
This serpent cut in parts rejoin’d and liv'd:
It liv'd, and would have stung us deeper yet,
But that bold Grenville its whole fury met;
He sold, like Decius, his devoted breath,
And left the commonwealth heir to his death.
Hail, mighty ghost' look from on high, and see
How much our hands and swords remember thee!
At Roundway Heath, our rage at thy great fall
Whet all our spirits, and made us Grenvilles all.
One thousand horse beat all their numerous power;
Bless me! and where was then their conqueror 2
Coward of fame, he flies in haste away;
Men, arms, and name, leaves us, the victors' prey.
What meant those iron regiments which he brought,
That moving statues seem’d, and so they fought?
No way for death but by disease appear'd,
Cannon, and mines, and siege, they scarcely fear'd:
Till, 'gainst, all hopes, they proved in this sad
fight
Too weak to stand, and yet too slow for flight.
The Furies howl'd aloud through trembling air;
Th' astonish’d snakes fell sadly from their hair:
To Lud's proud town their hasty flight they took,
The towers and temples at their entrance shook.
In vain their loss they attempted to disguise,
And mustered up new troops of fruitless lyes:
God fought himself, nor could th' event be less;
Bright Conquest walks the fields in all her dress.

Could this white day a gift more grateful bring”
Oh yes! it brought bless'd Mary to the king !
In Keynton field they met; at once they view
Their former victory, and enjoy a new : *
Keynton, the place that Fortune did approve,
To be the noblest scene of war and love.
Through the glad valé ten thousand Cupids fled,
And chas'd the wandering spirits of rebels dead;
Still the lewd scent of powder did they fear,
And scatter'd eastern smells through all the air.
Look, happy mount' look well for this is she,
That toll'd and travell'd for thy victory:
Thy flourishing head to her with reverence bow;
To her thou ow'st that fame which crowns thee
now.
From far-stretch'd shores they felt her spirit and
might; -
Princes and God at any distance fight.
At her return well might she a conquest have!
Whose very absence such a conquest gave.—
This in the West; nor did the North bestow
Less cause their usual gratitude to show: :
With much of state brave Cavendish led them
forth,
As swift and fierce as tempest from the north ;
Cavendish ' whom every Grace, and every Muse,
Kiss'd at his birth, and for their own did chuse:
So good a wit they meant not should excel
In arms; but now they see 't and like it well:
So large is that rich empire of his heart,
Well may they rest contented with a part.
How soon he forc'd the northern clouds to flight,
And struck confusion into form and light !
Scarce did the Power Divine in fewer days
A peaceful world out of a chaos raise.
Bradford and Leeds prop'd up their sinking fame;
They bragg'd of hosts, and Fairfax was a name.
Leeds, Bradford, Fairfax' powers are straight their
own, -
As quickly as they vote men overthrown:
Boötes from his wain look'd down below,
And saw our victory move not half so slow.
I see the gallant earl break through the foes ;
In dust and sweat how gloriously he shows'
I see him lead the pikes; what will be do
Defend him, Heaven! oh, whither will he go?
Up to the cannons' mouth he leads! in vain
They speak loud death, and threaten, till they're
ta'en. - -
So Capaneus two armies fill'd with wonder,
When he charg’d Jove, and grappled with his thun-
der:
Both hosts with silence and with terrour shook,
As if not he, but they, were thunder-strook.
The courage here, and boldness, was no less;
Only the cause was better, and success.
Heaven will let mought be by their cannon done,
Since at Edgehill they sinn'd, and Burlington.
Go now, your silly calumnies repeat,
And make all papists whom you cannot beat!
Let the world know some way, with whom you're
vext,
And vote them Turks when they o'erthrow you
next -
why will you die, fond men! why will you buy
At this fond rate your country's slavery
Is 't liberty? What are those threats we hear?"

* A line is here evidently wanting; but the defect is in all the copies hitherto known.

Why do you thus th' old and new prison fill?
When that's the only why; because you will
Fain would you make God too thus tyrannous be,
And damn poor men by such a stiff decree.

Is 't property? Why do such numbers, then,
From God beg vengeance, and relief from men?
Why are th” estates and goods seiz'd-on, of all
Whom covetous or malicious men miscall?
What's more our own than our own lives? Butoh
Could Yeomans or could Bourchier find it so?
The barbarous coward, always us’d to fly,

Did know no other way to see men die.

or is’t religion ? What then mean your lyes,
Your sacrileges, and pulpit blasphemies?
Why are all sects let loose that ere had birth,
Since Luther's noise wak'd the lethargic Earth?

The Author went no further.

THE PURITAN AND THE PAPIST. A SATIRE.

So two rude waves, by storms together thrown,
Roar at each other, fight, and then grow one.
Religion is a circle; men contend,
And run the round in dispute, without end:
Now, in a circle, who go contrary,
Must, at the last, meet of necessity.
The Roman Catholic, to advance the cause,
Allows a lye, and calls it pia fraus;
The Puritan approves and does the same,
Dislikes nought in it but the Latin name:
He flows with his devices, and dares lye
In very deed, in truth, and verity.
He whines, and sighs out lyes with so much ruth,
As if he griev'd 'cause he could ne'er speak truth.
Lyes have possess'd the press so, as their due,
Twill scarce, I fear, henceforth print Bibles true.
Lyes for their next strong fort ha' th' pulpit chose;
There they throng out at th' preacher's mouth and
nose,
And, howe'er gross, are certain to beguile
The poor book-turners of the middle isle;
Nay, to th' Almighty's self they have been bold
Tolye; and their blasphemous minister teld,
They might say false to God; for if they were
Beaten, he knew’t not, for he was not there.
But God, who their great thankfulness did see,
Rewards them straight with another victory,
Just such an one as Brentford; and, sans doubt,
Will weary, ere’t be long, their gratitude out.
Not all the legends of the saints of old,
Not vast Baronius, nor sly Surius, hold
Such plenty of apparent lyes as are
In your own author, Jo. Browne Cleric. Par.
Besides what your small poets said or writ,
Brookes, Strode, and the baron of the saw-pit:
With many a mental reservation,
You'll maintain liberty:—Reserv'd “your own,”
For th’ public good the sums rais'd you’ll disburse;
-Reserv'd “the greater part, for your own purse.”
You'll root the Cavaliers out, every man;
—Faith, let it be reserv'd here “ifye can.”
You'll make our gracious Charles a glorious king;
-Reserv'd “in Heaven”—for thitherye would bring
His royal head; the only secure room -
Porkings; where such as you will never come.
To keep th' estates o' th' subjects you pretend;
-Reserv'd “in your own trunks.” You will defend
WOL. vii.

The church of England, 'tis your protestation;
But that's “New”-England by a small reserva-
tion.
Power of dispensing oaths the Papists claim;
Case hath got leave of God to do the same:
For you do hate all swearing so, that when
You've sworn an oath, ye break it straight again.
A curse upon you! which hurts most these na-
tions,
Cavaliers' swearing, or your protestations?
Nay, though oaths be by you so much abhor'd,
Y’allow “God damn me” in the Puritan Lord.
They keep the Bible from laymen; but ye
Avoid this, for ye have no laity.
They in a foreign and unknown tongue pray,
You in an unknown sense your prayers say ;
So that this difference 'twixt you does ensue,
Fools understand not them, not wise men you.
They an unprofitable zeal have got
Of invocating saints, that hear them not:
'Twere well you did so; nought may more be fear'd,
In your fond prayers, than that they should be
heard. -
To them your nonsense well enough might pass,
They'd ne'er see that i' th' divine looking-glass.
Nay, whether you’d worship saints is not known,
For ye 'ave as yet, of your religion, none.
They by good-works think to be justifi'd :
You into the same errour deeper slide;
You think by works too justify'd to be,
And those ill-works—lyes, treason, perjury.
But, oh! your faith is mighty; that hath been,
As true faith ought to be, of things unseen:
At Wor'ster, Brentford, and Edgehill, we see,
Only by faith, ye ‘ave got the victory.
Such is your faith, and some such unseen way,
The public faith at last your debts will pay.
They hold free-will (that nought their souls may
bind)
As the great privilege of all mankind:
You're here more moderate; for 'tis your intent
To make 't a privilege but of parliament.
They forbid priests to marry: you worse do;
Their marriage you allow, yet punish too;
For you'd make priests so poor, that upon all
Who marry scorn and beggary must fall.
They a bold power o'er sacred scriptures take,
Blot out some clauses, and some new ones make:
Your great lord Jesuit Brookes publicly said,
(Brookes, whom too little learning hath made mad)
That to correct the Creed ye should do well,
And blot out Christ's descending into Hell.
Repent, wild man! or you 'll ne'er change, I fear,
The sentence of your own descending there.
Yet modestly they use the Creed; for they
Would take the Lord's Prayer root and branch
away :
And wisely said a levite of our nation.
The Lord's-Prayer was a popish innovation.
Take heed, you’ll grantere long it should be said,
An’t be but to desire your daily bread.
They keep the people ignorant: and you
Keep both the people and yourselves so too.
They blind obedience and blind duty teach :
You blind rebellion and blind faction preach ;
Nor can I blame you much, that ye advance
That which can only save you, ignorance;
though, Heaven be prais'd 't has of been proved
well,
Your ignorance is not invincible :
-

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' to 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-
dav.
They preserve relics: you have few or mone,
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 backward 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, and say, 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 men,
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.

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Enough to make them poor, and something witty.
Excise, loans, contributions, poll-monies,
Bribes, plunder, and such parliament priv'leges,
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 so grown wretched pilfering knaves at
ast;
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 2
'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 Decemviryl 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 year” 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 cure;

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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 will lye, 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 mone 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.

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