Packington's Pound.
1
When the Joy of all Hearts, and Desire of all Eyes,
In whom our chief Refuge and Confidence lies,
The Protestant Bulwark against all Despair,
Has depriv'd us at once of her self, and her Heir,
That hopeful young thing,
Begot by a King,
And a Queen whose Perfections o'er all the World ring;
A Father whose Courage no Mortal can daunt,
And a Mother whose Virtue no Scandal can taint.
2
When Jefferies resigns up the Purse and the Mace,
Whose impudent Arrogance gain'd him the Place;
When, like Lucifer, thrown from the height of his Pride,
And the Knot of his Villany's strangely unty'd;
From the Chancery bauling
He turn'd a Tarpawlin,
Men still catch at any thing when they are falling:
But to hasten his Fate, before he could scour,
He was taken at Wapping, and sent to the Tow'r.
3
When Confessor Petre does yield up the Game,
And proves to the worst of Religions a shame,
When his cheating no more o'er our Reason prevails,
But is blasted like that of his true Prince of Wales;
Which was his Contrivance,
And our wise King's Connivance
To establish the Papists, and Protestants drive hence:
But their Cobweb Conception is brought to the Test,
And the coming of Orange has quite spoil'd the Jest.
4
When Peterborough, noted for all that is ill,
Was urg'd by his Wife to the making his Will,
At the hearing which words he did stare, foam and roar,
Then broke out in cursing, and calling her Whore;
And for two hours at least,
His Tongue never ceas'd,
He rail'd at Religion, and damn'd the poor Priest;
And his Friends, who had hope to behold him expire,
Are afraid by this Rout they shall lose their desire.
5
Young Salisbury, fam'd in this great Expedition,
Not for going to War, but obtaining Commission;
'Tis no Mystery to me that his Courage did fail,
When the greatest of Monarchs himself did turn tail:
So if he took flight
With his Betters by Night,
I am apt to believe the pert Spark was i'th'right;
For the Papists this Maxim do ev'ry where hold,
To be forward in boasting, in Courage less bold.
6
Nor should Bellasis, Powis, nor Arundel throng,
But each in due place have his Attributes sung:
Yet since 'tis believ'd by the strange turn of times
They'll be call'd to an account for their treasonable Crimes,
While the damn'd Popish Plot
Is not yet quite forgot,
For which the Lord Stafford went justly to pot;
And to their great comfort I'll make it appear,
They that gave 'em their freedom, themselves are not clear.
7
Wi. Williams, that Friend to the Bishops and Laws,
As the Devil would have it, espous'd the wrong Cause;
Now loath'd by the Commons, and scorn'd by the Peers,
His Patent for Honour in pieces he tears:
Both our Britons are fool'd,
Who the Laws over-rul'd,
And next Parliament each will be plaguily school'd:
Then try if your Cunning can find out a Flaw,
To preserve you from Judgment according to Law.
8
Sir Neddy Hale's Actions I shall not repeat,
Till by Ax or by Halter his Life he compleat;
Pen's History shall be related by Lobb,
Who has ventur'd his Neck for a snack in the Job:
All their Priests and Confessors,
With their dumb Idol-Dressers,
Shall meet the Reward that is due to Transgressors;
And no Papists henceforth shall these Kingdoms inherit,
But Orange shall reap the Reward of his Merit.
