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Distressed Sion Relieved

Or, The Garment of Praise for the Spirit of Heaviness. Wherein are Discovered the Grand Causes of the Churches Trouble and Misery under the late Dismal Dispensation. With a Compleat History of, and Lamentation for those Renowned Worthies that fell in England by Popish Rage and Cruelty, from the Year 1680 to 1688. Together with an Account of the late Admirable and Stupendious Providence which hath wrought such a sudden and Wonderful Deliverance for this Nation, and Gods Sion therein. Humbly Dedicated to their Present Majesties. By Benjamin Keach

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1685.

But of my joys I must forbear to sing,
A doleful noise seems in my Ears to ring,
And still grows louder; sure 'tis from the West;
What's that I see? a cruel savage Beast!
A Man? no sure a Monster; though he came
Of Humane Race, he don't deserve that name,
A cursed Spirit of th' Infernal Legion,
A Lord Chief Justice of the Lower Region.
I cannot rest, hot strugling rage aspires,
And fills my Free-born Soul with Noble Fires.
My Muse soars high, and now she doth despise
What e're below attempts to Tyrannize.
Ah! but again she faints; how shall I tell
What to those poor mistaken Souls befel.
The dismal news of Rapine, Spoil, and Blood
Shed in those Parts, which ran ev'n like a Flood,
Works strange Effects in my afflicted Soul,
For grief my Bowels do within me rowl.

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In biting Satyr I could even contemn,
That Villanous Judge who Innocents did condemn;
Who on the Bench did nought but what he knew
Would gratifie the bloody Popish Crew.
Though nature seems assistance to refuse,
Revenge and Anger both inspire my Muse.
Shall the Wretch live? why is he spar'd so long?
Justice seems to complain of having wrong;
Th' Infernal Dæmons, angry seem to say,
Dead or alive we him will fetch away,
And at his stay they all seem to repine,
That to their vengeance we don't him resign.
But Ah! his Blood can never recompence
His ruining so many Innocents.
And it may seem the wonder of the time,
And some are apt to think, may be a crime,
That we no more regard their memory,
Who for their Countries welfare dar'd to dye.
Poor Hearts! who seeing we were drawing nigh
To Vassalage and ROMISH Tyranny,
Resolv'd to save Religion and the Laws,
But mist; and fell into this Tygers Claws,
Whose mind upon the prey was wholly bent,
Pitying none, though ne're so Innocent;
But like an hungry Wolf, or furious Bear
Without remorse the harmless Lambs did tear.
No time of preparation would he give
To many; nor Petitions would receive.
Nor would he hear their Wives and Childrens cry,
But scoft and laught at them in misery;

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And though they pity beg'd with sighs and groans,
He was relentless to their tears and moans,
Beg'd that distressed Widdows he'l not make,
But save their Husbands lives for Jesus sake.
It being plain, most of those who were there,
Designed well, though taken in a snare.
But with what rage did he upon them fall,
Swearing, He'd make examples of 'um all,
Cry'd, On that Sign-post take and hang them up,
The Rogues shall all taste of this bitter Cup:
Whereby this bloody Wretch destroyed more
In a few Weeks, than Bonner did before
In full three years, many as faithful men
As suffered by Popish fury then.
He hang'd 'um up by two, by three, by seven,
Whose Blood aloud for vengeance cries to Heav'n.
Their Bodies likewise cut to pieces were,
Their Quarters hang'd o'th' Hedges here and there,
Their Flesh was given to be Meat for Crows,
And all because they Antichrist oppose;
And were resolv'd never to bend the Knee
To Images, nor turn to Popery;
Nor ever Slaves or Vassals to become
Unto the Pope, and Scarlet Whore of Rome;
Whom Christ commands (his Saints, so to reward
As she has done to them) in's Holy Word.
Their ends were right, but they mistook their call,
And therefore God did suffer them to fall;
They did disdain those Yokes with generous scorn,
Which were by other servile Spirits born.

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‘They saw the threatning Storm approach from far,
‘Fearing a thousand mischiefs worse than War,
‘And therefore rushing on th' impetuous waves,
‘Would rather die like Men than live like Slaves.
‘To save Me and the Land they bravely try'd,
‘Fail'd in th' attempt, and then as bravely dy'd.
‘In vain would envious Clouds their Fame obscure,
‘Which to Eternal Ages shall endure.
‘If ill designs some to the Battel drew,
‘Must all be scandalized for a few?
‘If fawning Traytors in their Councils sate
‘'Tis base to mock, rather lament their Fate.
‘Though Heav'n for England's Sins refuse to bless
‘Their great Design with the desir'd success,
‘'Tis an unequal, brutish Argument,
‘Always to judge the cause by the event;
‘Thus the unthinking giddy multitude,
‘An Innocent may Criminal conclude.
But woe to those who in cold Blood did kill,
And thereby did their own revenge fulfil.
The High-ways like a Slaughter-house became,
Or bloody Shambles, to their Enemies shame;
What multitudes of men did they destroy
And hang on Trees, which did so much annoy
The People round about, it made them cry,
O Lord defend us from Rome's cruelty.
But this Relation gives me little ease,
I must some other way seek to appease
My overflowing Passion; therefore I
Some of those Hero's Names cannot pass by

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Until I drop some tears upon their Hearse,
That the next Age may mourn for them in Verse.
Brave Colonel Holmes, Wise, Valiant and Sincere,
Who didst to Sion true affection bear,
Thy worthy Name shall not forgotten be,
But shall recorded be in History
To after Ages; nor can thy Arrears
Be duly paid without a Flood of tears.
Great Soul! thy Life thou seemedst to despise,
Rather than ask it of thine Enemies.
Much less didst thou in any sort incline
Others to charge, to save that Life of thine.
How didst thou grieve and publickly bewail
Thy undertaking should so strangely fail?
But yet Prophetically didst Divine,
It would revive again in little time,
Though by what means it brought about should be,
It was impossible thou couldst then fore-see,
And thy Prediction now is come to pass,
Though by thy Foes it then contemned was.
And now the sad Spectators wondring saw,
The Horses long refuse the Sledge to draw;
The poor dumb Beasts by Heavens Instinct are
Made sharp Reprovers, whilst the lash they bear;
And seem to say, These men are innocent,
They must not die, God will not give consent,
And therefore he doth strangely us restrain
From drawing them, though lasht and lasht again.
What other voice there was I cannot see
In this amazing wondrous Prodigy.

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Yet all these warnings from the Foe are hid,
For dye they must, and dye they also did;
Although on foot to slaughter they must drudge,
To gratifie a most Tyrannical Judge.
Nor did the Gallant Father fall alone,
He in the Cause lost a Religious Son.
Poor Captain Holmes, few young men like to thee,
Did hazard all to set their Countrey free
From Rome's curst Yoke, and cruel Slavery.