University of Virginia Library

Here lies (if Hee, that never liv'd, can dye,
Or at least liv'd i' th' Tents of Destiny,)
The famous Clerke of Matchiavell's brave Art,
Who amongst all his works of the Crosse-part,
Ne're suffer'd vertue to enjoy her rest,
Yet did the Crosse & Bearer both detest:
Head of a Family, that hateth Kings:
Deep Atheist-Engineer of factious Things:
The horrid Monster of old Villany,
Craz'd in th' oblivion of a Deity;
Whose Power was the Talley of God's Wrath,
Signe of an Age stuff'd up with dregs & froth:
A gilded Knight, a rusty Christian;
Neither in purse, nor goodnes Gentleman;
A Butcher rather than Squire Militant,
As wee may guesse by the foule Harlot's Haunt,
And the true Proverb just, Birds of a Feather
Will couple still most easily together;
Whose Soule ingenerated, not infus'd,
Was never cleane, but still with spots abus'd,
As if deriv'd from Sinners first accurst;
A Lionesse his Dam, by Tigers nurst,
Some Faune his Sire, but that hee is all Beast;
Well, whosoe're begot him, had been blest,
If not so fruitfull: A feirce Radamanthus,
An earthly Pluto, worse than Hell's to daunt us,
Or a fourth Fury, or a Thing more cruell,
The Saints Scourge, Bodyes & Soules Fire & Fuell:
Abiram, Corah, Dathan, Hee alone,
Ravilliac, Garnet, Traitors Legion:
Julian reviv'd with fresh Apostacie,
I' th' Bishops Sides wounding Christianitie;
To whom compar'd, the Ragged Regiment
Of all false Knaves, moderne & ancient,
Hamden, Brook, Pym, Fole of the untam'd Beast,
And other geater Names, are now the least:
From Whom hee had the Sword, hee snatch'd the Pow'r;
Who rules by God, for him shall rule no more:
Patrubius, & Clusius evermore,
Hee shuts up Christ's, while hee opes Janus Door:
The Clowns God, worship'd, lest hee should infest
The Mart, where Justice to bee sold was prest,
Where the Cram'd Capon was just Moderatour,
Now a Law-maker, but a Law-breaker rather,
Whilst (as He sayd himselfe) hee did obtrude
The darke Decrees of a Night-multitude,
Old Lawes quite abrogated to make way
For the stolne Votes of an imperfect Fray:
A Snake, a Tyrant: in prosperitie
Scarce a true Friend, but in adversitie
A feirce Blood-sucker; a stout Leach of money
Scylla, Charybdis, of our Milke & Honey;
Rack of his Country, wch hee squees'd for wealth,
As if his dearest Friends & neighbours health
Could not have wrong enough without his load:
The Guard of Theeves, to none but Villaines good;
Who had the licence of their injurie
From Wickednes by Law made Pietie;
Good mens Goods are Malignant in their Eye;
A Scene of Curses, Shop of Perjurie,
The Angell of the Covenanting Prease,
Friend & Suborner of false witnesses;
Mæcenas of Dissemblers; Innocence
Could not escape; for himselfe would commence
Party, Accuser, Witnes, and Judge too:
A Spoiler of Church-goods, whose hands did grow
Crooked with sacriledge, not age; and what
Pompey forbore, our Antony hath got,
Taking from God, to square his lustfull Bias;
Belshassar, Achan; and false Ananias,
Only hee layd nought down, but carried all;
And on those wealthy Monuments did fall
Of our Fore-fathers Goodnes, which were meant
For Learning's rich increase & nourishment;
So that the Churche's Dugs were both drawn dry,
Learning, Religion too, both ruin'd lie:
A present ruine could not quench his ire,
But to Posteritie hee spreads his fire,
Who struck with scarrs of such devouring Chance
Shall suffer under pious Ignorance;
He's therefore justly wounded with a Word,
Provok'd & sharpned by his angry Sword.
The Preist of Venus, Church, & Sacrifice,
The common Temple of all lecheries;
Whose Genius was the lustfull Fiend, whose sleepe
Did not digest his Surfets, 'cause hee'd keepe
A Watch to Venus, sparing Bacchus rites,
To bee more fat & full for Her delights;
His body still was lively in this Crime;
A foule Priapus, and the Shame of Time;
Fruitfull Dung, rank Flesh, itching Dust; and thus
Hee that to Man-kind was still dangerous,
Became the Foe of all Church-discipline:
Nor did his bones, Lust more than Envy, pine;
His Breast did burne & boil with Wrath; his Wit
Was never elegant but in a Fit
Of most infectious Enmity, and then
Was most malicious, when it flatter'd Men:
Both Equall & Superiour, Friend & Foe,
Afflict him with intolerable Woe.
A stinking Pumpe of schisms & heresie;
A sacred Bawd, who made the Church his Stye,
In wch, with strange impietie, the best
Excluded, all Religions had their nest;
And because else this Treason would grow lame,
Like Lucifer's in birth, successe, and aime,
With so great craft hee blur'd all pietie,
As glad his Saviour to recrucifie;
For the Birth-day of Christ, and his Last Day,
Hee did not marke with black, but raz'd away:
Hee forbad Pray'rs to God in the old fashion,
And kept young Infants from Regeneration:
The hungry Soules were from the Table driven,
And not that only, but their Church & Heaven;
The Holy Martyrs Images defac'd,
And Murd'rers Statues in the Temples plac'd,
As if henceforth 't would pietie become
Rather t' inflict than suffer Martyrdome.
Nor did Hee love the Peace o' th' Commonwealth;
For when the Warrs rapt England from her health,
But to name Peace with him was an Offence;
Nor did hee study Peace of Conscience,
In this a most just Factour of the Devill,
Himselfe and others flead with the same Evill;
His own Rack, Judge of his own lewdnes; nought
But Crosse & Wheels suggested to his thought:
Whom the strong Guilt of Sin made impotent,
Weapons & Wings 'gainst his own Spirit lent,
With wch in vaine hee fought & fled himselfe,
Too weake to quell this selfe-tormenting Elfe
Victour of others oft, of himselfe never;
Who, for hee could not with a meane endeavour
Act o're his Sins, intruded to the Prease;
As if no harm, without his Wickednes:
In the King's time a feirce Oppressour; now,
Though the Scene alter'd, an Oppressour too;
Chaire-man of Scorners, Principall of Knaves;
First for the King; but when his Brother-slaves
Were spoiling Monarchy, hee favour'd them,
Now curs'd, because they love the Diadem,
As if Presbyterie could fall from Grace:
Proteus, but that his Sinns have still one face;
On every side his Mind is still the Same,
Proud to be nourish'd with his Country's flame.
The Commonwealth was to bee overthrown,
The Church with blood of Christ & Martyrs sown,
Was to be rooted out, which still grew fast,
Till this last Age mad with Reforming-hast
Succinctly cut Christianitie in two,
The King's Death, and the Clergy's Overthrow.
Nor did th' unwearied Man yeeld to this Load,
Both in Church, and in State, without his God;
For this respect to Kings an Enemy,
'Cause the Republique on their charge did lie,
And therefore hating Bishops, because they
Were the true Keepers of the Churche's Key.
Thus calling from all parts his uncleane Guests,
In Kent hee set up New Preists, whose Behests
Might confirm Wicked Men, the Good pervert;
Because to serve God with a sincere Heart,
T'obey the King, t'observe our Country-rites,
Was a cleer marke of Antichristian Sprites,
Vile Poperie, damn'd Superstition.
Thus Don of the Dogs Combination
To greedy Wolves deliuer'd up the Fold,
That Drones might drive the Shepheards from their hold,
And flea the silly Sheepe; And these were Apes
Of Handycraft, of Learning but meer Shapes,
Pure Juglers, Pulpit-pedlers, running Tides
Of Voice & Belly, and nought else besides;
Turning the Lamb-skin to a Fox-Wolfe-Hide,
While in their Throats the Widows Houses slide:
They first distract, and then the People kill,
Poor famish'd Soules for meat with poison fill,
Murder of man, of King, & God proclaime,
And the sweet Spouse of God, and Mother, name
That Whore of Babilon, this Judah, then
Urge Scripture 'gainst God, like the Devill's Men,
Without God preach God, of this World, & Hell,
No Scripture known, but what they act as well.
No Scripture, but what this blest Spirit of Light
That Judge of Texts & Chapters pleas'd to write,
Whose Doctrine was Canonicall. Take heed
Deare, harmlesse Soules! under that pleasant Weed
Of Reformation a foule Snake doth breed,
With poison'd darts will make you ever bleed.
Cease now! y' ave done enough for Hell! nor let
The ample Series of our Ills grow yet
From a bad Cause of War, Religion!

But though this Lewdnes thus did burgeon,
Yet here hee lies Ægypt's Great Plagues in Breife,
In Darknes, that deny'd the Light's releife,
Worms-meat, that caus'd a Famine of the Word,
With Furyes slash'd, that us'd a Fury's Sword;
A Draught, which earthly Fire could not make cleane;
In whom what ever Evills you might gleane,
What ever Good desire; a fruitfull Place
Of Vice, a barren Wildernesse of Grace.
If you say W[eldon] you say all. Hee needs
No Monument, so great with his own Deeds;
Posteritie shall know Him by his Fame,
If his Sinns doe not envy them that name;
No Urne can hold such a vast sinfull Heape.
Thus He that would not Heav'n, to Hell did leape;
Of Swancecomb late, but now Avernus Guest:
Who here with dropsy-thirst of blood was prest,
Now labours more; whose Genius here was fill'd
With Orphans teares into his Cups distill'd,
Hath not one drop to cool his parch'd jawes; Hee
That would not know the Blisse of Honestie,
Nor touch'd the joyes of a Soule serving Heaven,
To greater want & hunger now is driven:
Eternall flames upon those parts have seis'd,
Which flames of Lust halfe-burnt had spar'd; so eas'd
He hopes to bee in his dire punishment,
Because not all of Him to Hell was sent.
Thus by a new way of Retaliation
Revengefull Nemesis doth shift her station.
But there is hope in time, that both Sides heard,
Ignatius, and the rest of his wild Heard
Depos'd, this Man shall rule alone, a Ghost
Cathedrall, Champion of the Devill's Hoast,
Viceroy of Hell (or what may fit his merit)
A Parliament, or a Committee-spirit.
Yet this the Supreme Orders have decreed,
That Sidley, James, and the rest of that Breed,
Both high & low Apostates, bee as well
Provided by this rigid Judge of Hell,
Of prisons, gallows, gibbets, and wild-fire.
In the meane time, Great Spirits, you may inquire,
Whether your Kingdome shall be safe; take heed,
Lest your Dominions with Sedition bleed,
While such an Atlas of feirce Anarchy
Doth hold the reines, arming the Furious Fry
With a pretence of Subjects Libertie.
In other things you'll find Him true; But see,
That if the froward man grow harsh, you calme
His roughnes with an ointment in the palme:
Thus wee were pow'rfull in our Wishes too,
If but some Cleopatrula did wooe
Our Antony, and intercede to blesse
Our Prayers, like a noble Patronesse.
Read Passenger, and weepe, but lay up nought;
These are for Sand, not for a marble-vault:
No wrong is offered here to Antony,
Except that 't is no vulgar Elogie.
But wee had some regard unto the fame
Of Reformation, though but a meer name,
And to our Country too, lest men should say
It were not England, but wild Africa.
Nor could wee suffer Christianitie
To greive with such Exemplar Villanie;
And 't is provided by a strict Decree
This nor in Church, nor Chappell, publish'd bee.