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. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
Emblem XXVII. The Lady Powis chiding Mr. Dangerfield.
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| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
 | The Protestants Vade Mecum |  |
106
Emblem XXVII. The Lady Powis chiding Mr. Dangerfield.
No Rage like Womans unrelenting Will,When she doth lust for Blood and cannot kill.
107
How long ye simple ones will ye love simplicity, and the
scorners delight in their scornings, and fools hate knowledge.
PROV. Chap. 1. v. 22.
Strange is the nature of the Romish beast,
That without blood cannot enjoy true rest.
But stranger far
Of those which follow her to open War.
How in confusion do they daily roul!
What various Troubles do invade the Soul!
No minutes ease;
Nor ought to please,
Can in their hearts possession find;
Unruly Throbs,
With sighs and sobs,
Do minutely assault the mind.
As winds confin'd
Within the bowels of the earth,
Rumble about till it a passage find,
And in convulsions force a dang'rous birth;
But when broak through,
With less ado,
It rangeth ore the world at will;
To whirlwinds bore,
It ruines more
Than Earthquakes, and doth swister kill.
But the storm past,
How mild at last,
And how serene the Clowds appear;
As if their rage
Had been t'asswage
The many troubles we have here.
But the past storm doth point at other things,
Subjects must bleed,
And fall with speed,
Because it could not reach at Kings.
Now in a diff'rent passion she doth move,
She preacheth profit first, then gifts and love:
Sooths him by all the pleasing charms of life;
Blows up the fire,
And doth admire,
As much as can become anothers Wise:
Reads the vile Dictates ore
Of th'Romish Whore,
And wheedles him not to believe it sin,
Since what is done
By th' Churches Son,
Is a sure way bright Heav'n to win.
He is convinc'd, and Blood is his intent,
Murther's his aim, on Murther he is bent;
The good old man
Suspecting not the Thief,
Thought not his span
Of life could ere be shortned by belief:
But had not Heav'n the thread in safety put,
The moment he came in it had been cut.
But Heav'n instead
Of one came arm'd to strike him dead,
Wip'd off that shape of Fiend which Rome had giv'n,
And made his heart an Essence sent from Heav'n.
So th' hungry Wolf that came resolv'd to kill,
Return'd a Lamb, and trembled at the ill.
That without blood cannot enjoy true rest.
But stranger far
Of those which follow her to open War.
How in confusion do they daily roul!
What various Troubles do invade the Soul!
No minutes ease;
Nor ought to please,
Can in their hearts possession find;
Unruly Throbs,
With sighs and sobs,
Do minutely assault the mind.
As winds confin'd
Within the bowels of the earth,
Rumble about till it a passage find,
And in convulsions force a dang'rous birth;
But when broak through,
With less ado,
It rangeth ore the world at will;
To whirlwinds bore,
It ruines more
Than Earthquakes, and doth swister kill.
But the storm past,
How mild at last,
And how serene the Clowds appear;
As if their rage
Had been t'asswage
The many troubles we have here.
But the past storm doth point at other things,
112
And fall with speed,
Because it could not reach at Kings.
Now in a diff'rent passion she doth move,
She preacheth profit first, then gifts and love:
Sooths him by all the pleasing charms of life;
Blows up the fire,
And doth admire,
As much as can become anothers Wise:
Reads the vile Dictates ore
Of th'Romish Whore,
And wheedles him not to believe it sin,
Since what is done
By th' Churches Son,
Is a sure way bright Heav'n to win.
He is convinc'd, and Blood is his intent,
Murther's his aim, on Murther he is bent;
The good old man
Suspecting not the Thief,
Thought not his span
Of life could ere be shortned by belief:
But had not Heav'n the thread in safety put,
The moment he came in it had been cut.
But Heav'n instead
Of one came arm'd to strike him dead,
Wip'd off that shape of Fiend which Rome had giv'n,
And made his heart an Essence sent from Heav'n.
So th' hungry Wolf that came resolv'd to kill,
Return'd a Lamb, and trembled at the ill.
Could they mould hearts as they have fram'd the mind,
Or could they act those ills they have design'd;
Could they strike all whom they decree for fate,
A day would a whole Town depopulate.
Did they range on, not contradiction meet,
Cursings not Blessings should th'adverse party greet.
'Tis true, they strive with an unbounded will,
And 'tis Romes Birthright to destroy and kill.
Still daily Plots they hatch, lay hourly snares,
To trap the guiltless Souls at unawares.
Like envious men they dig a pit for all,
Into the which themselves untimely fall.
Or could they act those ills they have design'd;
Could they strike all whom they decree for fate,
A day would a whole Town depopulate.
Did they range on, not contradiction meet,
Cursings not Blessings should th'adverse party greet.
'Tis true, they strive with an unbounded will,
And 'tis Romes Birthright to destroy and kill.
Still daily Plots they hatch, lay hourly snares,
To trap the guiltless Souls at unawares.
Like envious men they dig a pit for all,
Into the which themselves untimely fall.
| The Protestants Vade Mecum | |