University of Virginia Library

Is this the Heav'nly Crown? Are these the Joys
Which bellowing Priests did promise with such noise;
Charming my Fears with such lewd Words as these,
A Saint, a Martyr, Bliss, Eternal Ease?
Such promised Glories were for meaner Deeds.
He's trebly blest by whom our Monarch bleeds.
Curs'd Priests did me with other Fools delude,
Brib'd with their Gifts of the Beatitude.
Had I that Life so unadvis'dly lost,
'Tis not your fawning Jesuitish Host,
Should e'er prevail on my misguided sense,
To smother Guilt with Vows of Innocence:
Nor thou, false Friend, as false to me or more,
Then all thy Oaths for Coleman's Life before;
With thy true Catholick protesting Breath,
Should'st e'er betray me to a pejur'd Death.
Blinded with Zeal, what, did we once admire
A Sulph'rous Soul, by Jesuits set on Fire;
A Headstrong, Stupid, Rash Bigotted P---
Declar'd the open Enemy to Sense.
Weak are the Sacred Ties that should attend
The Name of Sov'raign, Brother, and of Friend;
This Pious Samson would with Joy o'er throw
The Universe, and perish by the Blow;
His Plots, tho known, yet will he ne'er give o'er,
But still Intreagues with his dear Babel Whore;
So much infected by that Fatal Bitch,
He's all broke out in Scabby Zeal and Itch.
Could we distinctly view his Tainted Soul,
That all the Relicks of S--- were small,
Compar'd with th'Scars of his P--- Spiritual:
'Tis not the pow'rful Force of Jordan's Streams,
Nor his dear Purgatorys cleansing Flames,
Can e're remove from his polluted Soul:
The least remains of a Disease so foul:
You'll say, 'tis hard that such a one as he
Should be depriv'd of Naamans Remedy;
But there's distinction to be made, I hope,
'Twixt those that worship Rimmon and the Pope.
Amends for my intended Crimes I make,
If Charles from his Lethargick Sleep I wake,
But such a Dose of Opiats they have given
To Rouse him were a Miracle for Heaven;
I hope, tho when he hears what I can tell,
Success may Crown my Embassy from Hell.
I'll boldly name those that pursue his Life,
And 'mongst his Subjects fester endless Strife;
Their Friends and their Advisers I'll reveal,
Those Holy Men that toucht with pious Zeal,
Are such Well-wishers to the Common Weal.

Y--- most Belov'd, and boldest Friend is he,
VVho knows he must succeed by Gadbury;
Yet some with wonder are surpriz'd to find
That in the Loyal Ague of his Mind,
His hot Fit comes in such a proper time,
VVhose cold one thought the Covenant no Crime.
The next a Slave to his Ambitious Pride,
Must be the chief, tho of the falling side.
This Hot-brain'd Machiavel once vainly strove,
For what he ne're can hope the Peoples Love.
But foil'd he flies for Refuge to the Throne,
Trusting to th'Bladders of his VVit alone,
VVithout one Honest Thought to fix them on.

The Third a VVrack of the divided Chits.
Better than Jilting VVhore he Counterfeits;
But not his Treach'rous Eyes dissolv'd in Tears,
Nor the false Vizard his Ambition wears,
Can blind the VVorld, or hide what must be seen,
His Practices with J--- and Maz---n.
Vote on, poor Fools! ye Commons vent your Spleen
Sure France and Y--- are a sufficient Screen:
A Tax at home's a Project Old and Dull.
He'll find new ways to keep the Coffers Full:
The French shall some of our fled Gold restore,
They suck like Leeches, but they ruin more
When they Spue back part of th'infected Ore:
'Tis his Contrivance too, by Change of Air,
To ease our Monarch of his Fears and Care
They jointly toil to make thy burden light,
Knowing that Quiet is thy chief Delight,
They therefore haste and hurry thee to fight.
No Matter C--- thy Enemies they'l fright,
One Stamps, one Talks, one VVeeps thy foes to flight,
I come (dread Lord) from the dark Shades below
To give thee timely notice of the Blow.
Which thov may'st yet prevent; think well of those
Whom now (mistaken) you believe your Foes.
They who against your Will wou'd fix your Crown,
Giving your Riches, Happiness, Renown;
Which Metamorphose should accepted be,
Because redeem'd from Want and Infamy.
(Observe poor Wanderer, how thou walk'st alone,
Might is the Atlas that supports thy Throne)
Haste to comply, defer it not too long,
Thou can'st not stem a Current that's so strong.
Trust to th'Affections of thy Britains bold,
Give them but leave thy Honour to uphold;
Tho Bessus, yet a Cæsar thou may'st be,
Opprest with Trophies of their Victory.