 | The Sad Condition of a Distracted Kingdome |  |
The Parliament thus ended, now begins
Our misery, and we may thank our sins,
Or rather curse 'em, that have brought these woe's
On England, made our selves domestick foes
Vnto our selves. No fights with France and Spaine,
Though we successive warfare with those twaine
Have lately wagde, issued so large a flood,
As these uncivill broyles of English blood.
One onely Sidney slaine, i'th Belgck fights,
But numbers numberlesse of Lords and Knights
Have perisht in these Conflicts. Let us look
VVith gushing eyes on Linsey, Daubeny, Brook,
Northampton, Denbigh, Greenvill, Grandison,
Should we count all, when would the list be done.
Nor can the Conquerour true Trophee raise,
As mournfull Cipres not triumphant baies
Become the victour, whose felicity
Is purchast, with his Countries misery.
Great Rome abhor'd any triumphant Car
Should grace successes of a Civill VVar;
VVhere so much blood, as might whole Regions get
Pollutes the Chariot, and the Consuls seat.
Have we no doubts of Holland, France, and Spaine?
Are the Irish quiet? No hopes to regain
The Electorall rights? Or will we not? That we
So prodigall in mutuall murthers be?
Our England is a shambles; our selves keep
The Butchershop: and are our selves the sheep.
And when at last we almost all are slain,
VVho'l keep us safe from Holland France and Spain?
Our misery, and we may thank our sins,
Or rather curse 'em, that have brought these woe's
On England, made our selves domestick foes
Vnto our selves. No fights with France and Spaine,
Though we successive warfare with those twaine
Have lately wagde, issued so large a flood,
As these uncivill broyles of English blood.
One onely Sidney slaine, i'th Belgck fights,
But numbers numberlesse of Lords and Knights
Have perisht in these Conflicts. Let us look
VVith gushing eyes on Linsey, Daubeny, Brook,
Northampton, Denbigh, Greenvill, Grandison,
Should we count all, when would the list be done.
Nor can the Conquerour true Trophee raise,
As mournfull Cipres not triumphant baies
Become the victour, whose felicity
Is purchast, with his Countries misery.
Great Rome abhor'd any triumphant Car
Should grace successes of a Civill VVar;
VVhere so much blood, as might whole Regions get
Pollutes the Chariot, and the Consuls seat.
Have we no doubts of Holland, France, and Spaine?
Are the Irish quiet? No hopes to regain
The Electorall rights? Or will we not? That we
So prodigall in mutuall murthers be?
Our England is a shambles; our selves keep
The Butchershop: and are our selves the sheep.
And when at last we almost all are slain,
VVho'l keep us safe from Holland France and Spain?
| The Sad Condition of a Distracted Kingdome | |