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The Shorter Poems of Ralph Knevet

A Critical Edition by Amy M. Charles

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[34] Prodigyes
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333

[34] Prodigyes

Wee heare of dire portents, and Prodigies,
Sad meteours of bloud, and fire,
The signes of heavenly ire,
Forewarners of the Earths calamityes,
Summons that call men in,
To give account for sinne
Presageing Death, and devastations
To Cittyes proud, and sinfull Nations.

Et penitus toto divisos orbe Brittannos.

Wee, who were Sep'ratists from the whole world,

Divided from the spacious maine,
By Neptunes wat'ry chaine,
Are now divided in our selves, and hurl'd
Into a sea of dangers,
Become a mocke to strangers,
Who whilome were their scourge, and terrour,
Such is our folly, and our errour.
The petulant proud French, Th' unstedfast Scot,
The Irish ever false, and bloudy;
And the rude Danes study,
Us utterly to ruine: 'Tis our lot
To have false freinds good store,
But Adversaryes more;
Yea every Nation doth envuye us,
Threatning to spoyle us, and destroy us.

334

And as if the whole world could not suffice,
And serve, for the production
Of our destruction,
Wee torne are with domesticke enemityes,
Our Preists invectives preach,
Strife, and dissention teach:
Pulpittes, with pulpitts are at jarres:
Are not these more then civill warres?
Like th' Elements, before the World was made,
Wee mixte are, and embroyled all,
In strife unnaturall:
The Anabaptist is through zeale starke mad,
And though Hee fairely doth professe,
The height of holynes,
Religion's very soule hee quittes,
For too much heate hath craz'd his wittes.
His noddle brings new Antichrists to light,
The purple Babylonian whore,
Is spoken of no more,
As if shee were become a Convertite;
Our rev'rent mitered Preists
Are now termd Anti-christs
As if they were Beasts more profane,
Than that upon the Vaticane.
A Clergy proud, and too licentious,
Ever more ready tithes to gather,
Then to preach truths, and rather
Conformable, then conscientious,
Neclecting for to give
Bread truely nutritive
To hungry soules, may chiefely owne
The troubles of this realme, and crowne.

335

I thirst, and daily pray for publicke peace,
But if it bee displeas'd Heavens will,
That Earth shall drinke bloud still
And that our sorowes shall not yet surcease,
Grant (Lord) that I may bee
Ever at peace, with thee:
So I no Prodigyes shall feare,
Though Death himself like one appeare.