The Protestants Vade Mecum Or, Popery Display'd in its proper Colours, In Thirty Emblems, Lively representing all the Jesuitical Plots Against this Nation, and More fully this late hellish Designe Against his Sacred Majesty. Curiously engraven in Copper-plates |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
Emblem VIII. King Charles the First Murdered.
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| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
 | The Protestants Vade Mecum |  |
30
Emblem VIII. King Charles the First Murdered.
Now let the Nation mourn, none can revokeThe bloody Sentence, since this fatal stroke
Puts on our thraldom with the Romish yoke.
31
For what is the hope of the Hypocrite though he hath gained, when God taketh away his Soul?
JOB, Chap. 27. v. 8.
Ah fatal day! let it for ever be
Dark and obscure,
Let night indure
To perpetuity;
Let not one ray
Nor streak of day
Appear:
But let dull night
O'recome the light,
And in grim horrour let us view it here.
For round the world
Confusion's hurl'd,
And strange Convulsions shake the Earth;
The hollow Womb
Of ev'ry Tomb
Groan'd when he lost his Royal breath.
Ah! curs'd Impostor, may thy 'ssential part,
Loaden with Tortures, toss'd from flame to flame,
May Hells plagues there, on Earth thy cursed name
Fright all who crack'd the cordage of his heart.
And Rome,
Thou monstrous Pile,
Rear'd up in Blood, and in confusion built;
The blackest doom
That e're Religion gave, and yet did smile,
Was, that thy blood should be thus basely spilt.
Religion, O 'tis sin to name
a double guilt,
Nay, but to think, she could destroy a frame
Which God had built.
'Twas Hell
Joyn'd with the darling off-spring of its hope,
The bloody Pope,
Which did this mischief to the world foretel:
Thus Herod sought our Saviour to destroy,
To rob the World of its Immortal joy:
Blood-thirsty Rome
'S as vile become,
And its Inhabitants as thirsty are,
As that Judea's King,
Who sought to bring
The world into a pannick fear:
He would have robb'd the soul of its blest part,
And this has touch'd the body to the heart.
I'th' weeping Crowd,
Methinks I spy
A Traytor lye,
Which laughs aloud,
And cries,
Now Rome
Thy glorious happy day is come,
That thou may'st act thy villanies;
Now shall thy Off-spring have a happy birth,
And thy delusions compass all the Earth.
Now shall we be
From trouble free,
And live under Romes Sov'raignty.
Thus spoke the Jesuit, when the stroak was giv'n
That sent a Martyr and a King to Heav'n.
Dark and obscure,
Let night indure
To perpetuity;
Let not one ray
Nor streak of day
Appear:
But let dull night
O'recome the light,
And in grim horrour let us view it here.
For round the world
Confusion's hurl'd,
And strange Convulsions shake the Earth;
The hollow Womb
Of ev'ry Tomb
Groan'd when he lost his Royal breath.
Ah! curs'd Impostor, may thy 'ssential part,
Loaden with Tortures, toss'd from flame to flame,
May Hells plagues there, on Earth thy cursed name
Fright all who crack'd the cordage of his heart.
And Rome,
Thou monstrous Pile,
Rear'd up in Blood, and in confusion built;
The blackest doom
That e're Religion gave, and yet did smile,
Was, that thy blood should be thus basely spilt.
Religion, O 'tis sin to name
a double guilt,
Nay, but to think, she could destroy a frame
Which God had built.
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Joyn'd with the darling off-spring of its hope,
The bloody Pope,
Which did this mischief to the world foretel:
Thus Herod sought our Saviour to destroy,
To rob the World of its Immortal joy:
Blood-thirsty Rome
'S as vile become,
And its Inhabitants as thirsty are,
As that Judea's King,
Who sought to bring
The world into a pannick fear:
He would have robb'd the soul of its blest part,
And this has touch'd the body to the heart.
I'th' weeping Crowd,
Methinks I spy
A Traytor lye,
Which laughs aloud,
And cries,
Now Rome
Thy glorious happy day is come,
That thou may'st act thy villanies;
Now shall thy Off-spring have a happy birth,
And thy delusions compass all the Earth.
Now shall we be
From trouble free,
And live under Romes Sov'raignty.
Thus spoke the Jesuit, when the stroak was giv'n
That sent a Martyr and a King to Heav'n.
Ill must we hope, and ill th'event will be,
When Blood shall bring a man to Sov'raignty:
Strange desperations do strange actions bring,
But 'tis more strange to level at a King.
Heav'n made him Sacred, and that hand will be
That strikes him, damn'd to perpetuity.
The Agents all, Protector and the Pope,
(Though Heav'n has giv'n 'em yet a little scope)
Must dye and perish without any hope.
When Blood shall bring a man to Sov'raignty:
Strange desperations do strange actions bring,
But 'tis more strange to level at a King.
Heav'n made him Sacred, and that hand will be
That strikes him, damn'd to perpetuity.
The Agents all, Protector and the Pope,
(Though Heav'n has giv'n 'em yet a little scope)
Must dye and perish without any hope.
| The Protestants Vade Mecum | |