Tyrconnel's distracted Readings upon his Irish Forces in England.
In Allusion to Mr. Cowley's Pindarick Ode upon destiny.
Hoc quoque fatale est sic ipsum expendere fatum.
Manil.
I.
Strange
and Unnatural. It's as Strange that
England should want Ireland, as it is Unnatural
for her War-like Spirits to brook their Infantry's
Assistance.
Strange
and unnatural, let's stay and see
This Pageant of a Prodigy.
Themselves. By their Barbarous, Thievish, and
Rapatious Behaviors, where ever they Marched, one
would think, they had no Officer to Command them.
Lo, of themselves, Dear Joyes, like Chess-men move,
Lo, the unbred, ill-contriv'd Machins prove
As full of Craft and Cruelty,
Of Baseness and of Butchery,
As we our self, who fear'd they wa'n't so fierce as we.
Here a proud Pawn in Irish shape l'admire,
That still designing higher,
A Dear Joy twice Whipt in Covent-Garden, for
saying he hoped to see the Streets run with Heretical
Blood on St. Clement's Day at Night, when, it
seems, the Massacre was designed to be.
(Till the Fool lost his Lot
By blabbing out their Plot,
Foretelling the design'd St. Clements flood
He hoped to see run with Heretick Blood.
Viz. For discovering the Plot; not for the
Words speaking, as the gulled Protestants were
made to believe.
For which twice Whipt, that done,
And's Gauntlet Race begun)
At the Goal end became
Another Thing and Name, Viz. The Irish Gentleman
Souldier by Father Whip and Gauntlet, was
immediately Transubstantiated into a Casheired
Scoundrel Rogue.
Another Thing and Name:
An Irish Spark, whose behaviour in his sundry
Quarters from Chester to London and Portsmouth proclaim
him.
Here I'm amaz'd at the actions of a Knight,
That does bold Plunders in no Fight;
Whose Landlords swear he has lost his Senses quite,
For he can't hear their Wrongs, nor see to do them Right.
Usurping Rooks, i. e. The Irish Priests, not content
with their own natural Motions, but endeavoured
to leap over the Bishops Heads, to make Vacancies
for their own Perswasion.
Here I, (woe's me) Usurping Rooks do blame,
For those false Moves, that thus has broke our Game;
That to their Grave the Bag, those Conquer'd Machines bring,
But above all, th'ill Conduct of the Mated King.
II.
What e'er these seem, what e'er Philosophy
And Sense and Reason tell, said I,
These Tools have Life, Election, Liberty,
'Tis their own Native Wisdom Molds their State;
Their Wit and Folly make their Fate,
They do, they do, said I, but strait,
Lo, from my enlightned Eyes, the Mists and Shadows fell,
Which hinder Spirits from being Visible;
Locusts
. It was the Opinion of that Reverend
Divine Mr. Joseph Mead, and that Immortal
Philosopher Dr. Henry Moor, that the Jesuits are
meant by the Locusts from the Bottomless Pit, in the
9th Chapter of the Revelations.
And then appear'd the Locusts come from Hell;
When Lo, I see the Jesuits play'd the Mate.
With them, alas! no otherwise it proves;
An unseen Hand makes all their Moves;
And some are Great, and some are Small,
Some climb from good, some from good Fortune fall;
Those senceless Teagues, and these Dear Joys we call
Figures, alas, of Speech, for Pop'ry plays us all.
III.
Me from the Womb, Midwife Pope Joan did take;
She cut my Navel, Wash'd me, and my Head
With her own Hands she Fashoned;
She did a Covenant with me make,
And Circumciz'd my tender Soul, and thus she spake:
Thou Bigot of my Roman Church shall be;
Hate and Renounce (said she)
Sense, Reason, Laws and Test, Justice and Truth for me.
So shalt thou great at Court be, but in War
When
Jepson, Wareing, and Tomson, were Executed
at the Gallows at Dublin for Blood's
Plot against the late Duke of Ormond, in the year
1663. some people cryed out a Rescue, a Rescue,
which was suspected; at which 10000 of the gentle
Spectators at least, run away from the Gallows,
amongst which this Famous Warrior by the name
of Colonel T---bot, spurred on to the Gates of the
City, which finding shut against him, Couragiously
ventured his Life to save it, by Swiming over the
Liffie.
Thy flight from Dublin Gallows will thee bar.
Boast thou of thy great fertile Praise,
Thy design'd Massacre will raise,
Although thou liv'st not to enjoy the Bays.
She spoke, and all my years to come
Bewitch'd took their unlucky Doom.
Their several ways of Life let others chuse;
Their several Pleasures let them use:
But I was Born for Hate and to Abuse.
IV.
With Fate what boots it to contend?
Such I begun, such am, and so must end;
The Star that did my Being frame,
Was but a Lambent Flame.
And some small Light it did dispence,
But neither Wit nor Sense,
Nor Heat, nor Influence.
No matter Talbot, let the Blind Goddess see
How Grateful thou can'st be,
For all her Elegible Gifts conferr'd on thee,
(Specifick Essences of Popery)
As Folly, Lust and Flattery,
Fraud, Extortion, Calumny,
Murther, Self-will and Infidelity,
Cowardise and Hypocricy.
Do thou Rejoyce, not Blush to be,
As all th'Inspir'd Disingenuous Men,
Charles
Martell, Son of the Whore Alpayde,
(by Pipin the French King) the Great Church
Robber, and first violater of Tythes in the Christian
World, and Will. Pen the Second: For which Martell
was Damn'd, or the Legend Lies: For Eucherie
Bishop of Orleance, in a Vision, saw him in Hell
Torments: And that Eucherie might believe what
he saw, an Angel instructed him to seek for Martell
in his Sepulchre, which he did, but found him not,
but the Place all black, and instead of Martell a
direful Serpent, as you have it in the Annals of Orleance.
And all thy Damn'd Fore-Fathers were, from Martell down to Pen.
