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342

A DISCOURSE By way of VISION, Concerning the Government of Oliver Cromwell.

[_]

The following verse has been extracted from the prose of this discourse.

343

[Ah, happy Isle, how art thou chang'd and curst]

1

Ah, happy Isle, how art thou chang'd and curst,
Since I was born, and knew thee first!
When Peace, which had forsook the World around,
(Frighted with noise, and the shrill Trumpets sound)
Thee for a private place of rest,
And a secure retirement chose
Wherein to build her Halcyon Nest;
No wind durst stir abroad the Air to discompose.

2

When all the riches of the Globe beside
Flow'd in to Thee with every Tide;
When all that Nature did thy Soil deny,
The Growth was of thy fruitfull Industry,
344

When all the proud and dreadfull Sea,
And all his Tributary-streams,
A constant Tribute paid to Thee.
When all the liquid World was one extended Thames.

3

When Plenty in each Village did appear,
And Bounty was it's Steward there;
When Gold walkt free about in open view,
Ere it one Conquering parties Prisoner grew;
When the Religion of our State
Had Face and Substance with her Voice,
Ere she by 'er foolish Loves of late,
Like Eccho (once a Nymph) turn'd onely into Noise.

4

When Men to Men respect and friendship bore,
And God with Reverence did adore;
When upon Earth no Kingdom could have shown
A happier Monarch to us than our own,
And yet his Subjects by him were
(Which is a Truth will hardly be
Receiv'd by any vulgar Ear,
A secret known to few) made happi'r ev'n than He.

5

Thou doest a Chaos, and Confusion now,
A Babel, and a Bedlam grow,
And like a Frantick person thou doest tear
The Ornaments and Cloaths which thou shouldst wear,
And cut thy Limbs; and if we see
(Just as thy Barbarous Britons did)
Thy Body with Hypocrisie
Painted all o're, thou think'st, Thy naked shame is hid.

6

The Nations, which envied thee erewhile,
Now laugh (too little 'tis to smile)
They laugh, and would have pitty'd thee (alas!)
But that thy Faults all Pity do surpass.
345

Art thou the Country which didst hate,
And mock the French Inconstancy?
And have we, have we seen of late
Less change of Habits there, than Governments in Thee?

7

Unhappy Isle! No ship of thine at Sea,
Was ever tost and torn like thee.
Thy naked Hulk loose on the Waves does beat,
The Rocks and Banks around her ruin threat;
What did thy foolish Pilots ail,
To lay the Compass quite aside?
Without a Law or Rule to sail,
And rather take the winds, then Heavens to be their Guide?

8

Yet, mighty God, yet, yet, we humbly crave,
This floating Isle from shipwrack save;
And though to wash that Bloud which does it stain,
It well deserves to sink into the Main;
Yet for the Royal Martyr's prayer
(The Royal Martyr pray's we know)
This guilty, perishing Vessel spare;
Hear but his Soul above, and not his bloud below.
351

[Curst be the Man (what do I wish? as though]

1

Curst be the Man (what do I wish? as though
The wretch already were not so;
But curst on let him be) who thinks it brave
And great, his Countrey to enslave.
Who seeks to overpoise alone
The Balance of a Nation;
Against the whole but naked State,
Who in his own light Scale makes up with Arms the weight.

2

Who of his Nation loves to be the first,
Though at the rate of being worst.
Who would be rather a great Monster, than
A well-proportion'd Man.
The Son of Earth with hundred hands
Upon his three-pil'd Mountain stands,
Till Thunder strikes him from the sky;
The Son of Earth again in his Earths womb does lie.
352

3

What Bloud, Confusion, Ruine, to obtain
A short and miserable Reign?
In what oblique and humble creeping wise
Does the mischievous Serpent rise?
But even his forked Tongue strikes dead,
When h'as rear'd up his wicked Head,
He murders with his mortal frown,
A Basilisk he grows if once he get a Crown.

4

But no Guards can oppose assaulting Ears,
Or undermining Tears.
No more than doors, or close-drawn Curtains keep
The swarming Dreams out when we sleep.
That bloudy Conscience too of his
(For, oh, a Rebel Red-Coat 'tis)
Does here his early Hell begin,
He sees his Slaves without, his Tyrant feels within.

5

Let, Gracious God, let never more thine hand
Lift up this rod against our Land.
A Tyrant is a Rod and Serpent too,
And brings worse Plagues than Egypt knew.
What Rivers stain'd with blood have been?
What Storm and Hail-shot have we seen?
What Sores deform'd the Ulcerous State?
What darkness to be felt has buried us of late?

6

How has it snatcht our Flocks and Herds away?
And made even of our Sons a prey?
What croaking Sects and Vermin has it sent
The restless Nation to torment?
What greedy Troups, what armed power
Of Flies and Locusts to devour
The Land which every where they fill?
Nor flie they, Lord, away; no, they devour it still.
353

7

Come the eleventh Plague, rather than this should be;
Come sink us rather in the Sea.
Come rather Pestilence and reap us down;
Come Gods sword rather than our own.
Let rather Roman come again,
Or Saxon, Norman, or the Dane,
In all the bonds we ever bore,
We griev'd, we sigh'd, we wept; we never blusht before.

8

If by our sins the Divine Justice be
Call'd to this last extremity,
Let some denouncing Jonas first be sent,
To try if England can repent.
Methinks at least some Prodigy,
Some dreadful Comet from on high,
Should terribly forewarn the Earth,
As of good Princes Deaths, so of a Tyrants birth.
373

[It is a Truth so certain, and so clear]

It is a Truth so certain, and so clear,
That to the first-born Man it did appear;
Did not, the mighty Heir, the noble Cain,
By the fresh Laws of Nature taught, disdain
That (though a Brother) any one should be
A greater Favourite to God than He?
He strook him down; and, so (said He) so fell
The Sheep which thou didst Sacrifice so well.
Since all the fullest Sheaves which I could bring,
Since all were Blasted in the Offering,
Lest God should my next Victime too despise,
The acceptable Priest I'le Sacrifice.
Hence Coward Fears; for the first Blood so spilt
As a Reward, He the first City built.
374

'Twas a beginning generous and high,
Fit for a Grand-Child of the Deity.
So well advanc'd, 'twas pity there he staid;
One step of Glory more he should have made,
And to the utmost bounds of Greatness gone;
Had Adam too been kill'd, He might have Reign'd Alone.
One Brother's death, What do I mean to name,
A small Oblation to Revenge and Fame?
The mighty-soul'd Abimelec to shew
What for high place a higher Spirit can do,
A Hecatomb almost of Brethren slew,
And seventy times in nearest blood he dy'd
(To make it hold) his Royal Purple Pride.
Why do I name the Lordly Creature Man?
The weak, the mild, the Coward Woman, can,
When to a Crown she cuts her sacred way,
All that oppose with Manlike Courage slay.
So Athaliah, when she saw her Son,
And with his Life her dearer Greatness gone,
With a Majestique fury slaughter'd all
Whom high birth might to high pretences call.
Since he was dead who all her power sustain'd,
Resolv'd to reign alone; Resolv'd, and Reign'd.
In vain her Sex, in vain the Laws withstood,
In vain the sacred plea of David's Blood,
A noble, and a bold contention, She,
(One Woman) undertook with Destiny.
She to pluck down, Destiny to uphold
(Oblig'd by holy Oracles of old)
The great Jessœan race on Juda's Throne;
Till 'twas at last an equal Wager grown,
Scarce Fate, with much adoe, the Better got by One.
Tell me not she her self at last was slain;
Did she not first seven years (a Life-time) reign?
Seven royal years t' a publick spirit will seem
More than the private Life of a Methusalem.
'Tis Godlike to be Great; and as they say
A thousand years to God are but a day:
So to a Man, when once a Crown he wears,
The Coronation Days more than a thousand years.
375

[When, Lo, e're the last words were fully spoke]

When, Lo, e're the last words were fully spoke,
From a fair Cloud, which rather ope'd, than broke,
A flash of Light rather than Lightning came,
So swift, and yet so gentle was the Flame.
Upon it rode, and in his full Career,
Seem'd to my Eyes no sooner There than Here,
The comliest Youth of all th' Angelique Race;
Lovely his shape, ineffable his Face.
The Frowns with which he strook the trembling Fiend,
All smiles of Humane Beauty did transcend,
His Beams of Locks fell part dishevel'd down,
Part upwards curld, and form'd a nat'ral Crown,
Such as the Brittish Monarchs us'd to wear;
If Gold might be compar'd with Angels Hair.
His Coat and flowing Mantle were so bright,
They seem'd both made of woven Silver Light:
Across his Breast an azure Ruban went,
At which a Medal hung that did present
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In wondrous living figures to the sight,
The mystick Champions, and old Dragon's fight,
And from his Mantles side there shone afar,
A fixt, and, I believe, a real Star.
In his fair hand (what need was there of more?)
No Arms but th' English bloody Cross he bore,
Which when he towards th' affrighted Tyrant bent,
And some few words pronounc'd (but what they meant,
Or were, could not, alas, by me be known,
Only I well perceiv'd Jesus was one)
He trembled, and he roar'd, and fled away;
Mad to quit thus his more than hop'd-for prey.
Such Rage inflames the Wolves wild heart and eyes
(Rob'd as he thinks unjustly of his prize)
Whom unawares the Shepherd spies, and draws
The bleating Lamb from out his ravenous jaws.
The Shepherd fain himself would he assail,
But Fear above his Hunger does prevail,
He knows his Foe too strong, and must be gone;
He grins as he looks back, and howls as he goes on.
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