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92

I. Volume I

[VERSES OF MOURNING AND JOY ON THE DEATH OF ELIZABETH AND ACCESSION OF JAMES.]

[I]

[Now did the sunne like an undaunted Hart]

[_]

[From Sorrowes Joy, pp. 27—30.]

Now did the sunne like an undaunted Hart,
Even in his fall enlarge his ample browe;
Now his last beames on Spanish shore did dart,
Hurrying to Thetis his all-flaming cart,
When th' Atticke maid pearched on bared bowe,
Unhappie Atticke maide sang the sad treason
Of Tereus most wicked man,
And well as her renu'd tongue can,
Tempered her tragicke laies unto the sulleine season.
When Coridon a cruel heardgroomes boy,
Yet somewhat us'd to sing, and with his peeres
Carroll of love, and lovers sad annoy;
Wearie of passed woe, and glad of present joy,
Having instal'd his sunn'd, and ful fed steeres,
Thus to the river his blisse signified
Well as he couth, and turning all
Unto the humming rivers fall,
The woods and Eccho his song goodly dignified.
Ye goodly nymphes that with this river dwell,
All daughters of the yellow-sanded Chame,
Which deepe in hollow rockes frame out your cell,
Tell me ye nymphes, for you can surely tell;
Is death the cause of life? or can that same
Be my great'st blisse, which was my great'st annoy?
Eliza's dead, and can it be
Eliza's death brings joy to me?
Hell beeing the cause, why heavenly is the joy?
93

With floods of teares I waile that deadly houre,
When as Eliza, Eliza blessed maide,
Was married to death, and we giv'n as her dowre,
And low descending into Plutoes bower,
Scarce fils an earthen pot beeing loosely laid.
Ah is there such power, such crueltie in fate?
Can one Sunne one man see
Without, and worse then miserie?
Then farewell glorious pompe, and fickle mortals state.
And yet ten thousand times I blesse that time,
When that good Prince, that Prince of endles fame,
Both in the yeares and our joyes springing prime,
Strucke my glad eares and raisd my rugged rime
To carroll lowd and herie his honor'd name.
Ah is there such power, such bountie in fate?
Can one Sunne one man see
Worse, and without all miserie?
Then welcome constant joy, & never-changing state.
Thou blessed spirit, sit thou ever there
Where thou nowe sit'st, in heav'n, the worlds late wonder;
Now heavens joy, and with that God yfere,
Who still to thee, thou stil to him wast deare,
Leave us unto the world and fortunes thunder;
Or where thou dost that blessedness enjoy,
Bid me, O quickly bid me
Come there where thou hast hid thee,
In Joves all-blessed lap without, and bove annoy.
If not; ile live under thy sunshine rayes,
And while the Fates afoard me vitall breath
Ile spend it as thy tribute in thy praise.
Dighting, such as I can, light virelaies,
To thee, great Prince, whose life paies for her death,
Thereto doe thou my humble spirit reare,
And with thy sacred fire
My frozen heart inspire:
Chasing from thy high spirit all imperious feare.
94

Then will I sing, and yet who better sings
Of thee, then thine owne oft-tride Muse?
Which when into thy heroicke spirit springs,
The fields resound, and neighbour forrest rings,
And sacred Muses leaving their woont use
Of carroling, flying their loathed cell,
Run to thy silver sound,
And lively dauncen round:
What caren they for Helicon, or their Pegasean well?
Then thou thy selfe thy selfe historifie,
But I in willow shade will chaunt thy name,
And sing I will, though I sing sorrily,
And thee, though little, I will glorifie,
And shrilly pipe aloud, the whilst my Chame
Shall answer all againe, thy name aye lives,
While th' Oceans froathie hoare
Beats on thy Brittish shore,
And Albion threats the heavē with high whited clives.
By this the old nights head gan to be gray,
And dappled round with many a whited spot,
So that the boy through ruinous nights decay,
Saw the first birth of the new infant day,
So up he rose and to his home he got;
And all the way of James he lowdly sang,
And all the way the plaine,
Answered James againe:
That all the woods of James & th' heaven lowdly rāg.
Phin. Fletcher. Regalis.
126

THE LOCUSTS, OR APOLLYONISTS.

To the right noble Lady Townshend.
127

To my Friend the Author.

When after-times read in thy living Muse
The Shame of ours, it will be thought th' Abuse
Of this blacke age, and that this matchlesse Crime
Is th' issue of thy Braine, not of the Time.
And though the Actors in this dismall Vow
Had their deserts, yet dy'de they not till now.
Thou giv'st them life: the life thy Verses give
Is the reward of those that ought not live,
But where their Plot and they may naked ly,
And be made o're to lasting Infamy.
Begin, and who approove not thy relation,
Lik[e] Them and It, forfeit their preservation.
H. M.
128

THE LOCUSTS, OR APOLLYONISTS.

CANTO I.

1

Of Men, nay Beasts: worse, Monsters: worst of all,
Incarnate Fiends, English Italianat,
Of Priests, O no, Masse-Priests, Priests-Cannibal,
Who make their Maker, chewe, grinde, feede, grow fat
With flesh divine: of that great Cities fall,
Which borne, nurs't, growne with blood, th'Earth's Empresse sat,
Clens'd, spous'd to Christ, yet backe to whoordome fel,
None can enough, something I faine would tell.
How black are quenched lights! Fa[l'n]e Heaven's a double hell.

2

Great Lord, who grasp'st all creatures in thy hand,
Who in thy lap lay'st downe proud Thetis head,
And bind'st her white curl'd locks in caules of sand,
Who gather'st in thy fist, and lay'st in bed
The sturdy winds; who ground'st the floting land
On fleeting seas, and over all hast spread
Heaven's brooding wings, to foster all below;
Who mak'st the Sun without all fire to glow,
The spring of heat and light, the Moone to ebbe and flow:
129

3

Thou world's sole Pilot, who in this poore Isle
(So small a bottome) hast embark't thy light,
And glorious selfe: and stear'st it safe, the while
Hoarse drumming seas, and winds lowd trumpets fight,
Who causest stormy heavens here onely smile:
Steare me poore Ship-boy, steare my course aright;
Breath gracious Spirit, breath gently on these layes,
Be thou my Compasse, Needle to my wayes,
Thy glorious work's my Fraught, my Haven is thy prayse.

4

Thou purple Whore, mounted on scarlet beast,

Revel. 17. 2. 3. 4. 6.


Gorg'd with the flesh, drunk with the blood of Saints,
Whose amorous golden Cup, and charmed feast
All earthly Kings, all earthly men attaints;
See thy live pictures, see thine owne, thy best,
Thy dearest sonnes, and cheere thy heart, that faints.
Harke thou sav'd Island, harke, and never cease
To prayse that hand which held thy head in peace.
Else had'st thou swumme as deep in blood, as now in seas.

5

The cloudy Night came whirling up the skie,
And scatt'ring round the dewes, which first shee drew
From milky poppies, loads the drousie eie:
The watry Moone, cold Vesper, and his crew
Light up their tapers: to the Sunne they fly,
And at his blazing flame their sparks renew.
Oh why should earthly lights then scorne to tine
Their lamps alone at that first Sunne divine?
Hence as false falling starres, as rotten wood they shine.

6

Her sable mantle was embroydered gay
With silver beames, with spangles round beset:
Foure steedes her chariot drew, the first was gray,
The second blue, third browne, fourth blacke as jet.
The hollowing Owle her Post prepares the way,
130

And winged dreames (as gnat-swarms) fluttring, let
Sad sleep, who faine his eies in rest would steep.
Why then at death doe weary mortals weep?
Sleep's but a shorter death, death's but a longer sleep.

7

And now the world, & dreames themselves were drown'd
In deadly sleep; the Labourer snorteth fast,
His brawny armes unbent, his limbs unbound,
As dead, forget all toyle to come, or past,
Onely sad Guilt, and troubled Greatnes crown'd
With heavy gold and care, no rest can tast.
Goe then vaine man, goe pill the live and dead,
Buy, sell, fawne, flatter, rise, then couch thy head
In proud, but dangerous gold: in silke, but restlesse bed.

8

When loe a sudden noyse breakes th'empty aire;
A dreadfull noyse, which every creature daunts,
Frights home the blood, shoots up the limber haire.
For through the silent heaven hells pursuivants
Cutting their way, command foule spirits repaire
With hast to Pluto, who their counsell wants.
Their hoarse base-hornes like fenny Bittours sound;
Th' earth shakes, dogs howle, & heaven it selfe astound
Shuts all his eies; the stars in clouds their candles drown'd.

9

Meane time Hels yron gates by fiends beneath
Are open flung; which fram'd with wondrous art
To every guilty soule yeelds entrance eath;
But never wight, but He, could thence depart,
Who dying once was death to endlesse death.
So where the livers channell to the heart
Payes purple tribute, with their three-fork't mace
Three Tritons stand, and speed his flowing race,
But stop the ebbing streame, if once it back would pace.
131

10

The Porter to th'infernall gate is Sin,
A shapelesse shape, a foule deformed thing,
Nor nothing, nor a substance: as those thin
And empty formes, which through the ayer fling
Their wandring shapes, at length they'r fastned in
The Chrystall sight. It serves, yet reignes as King:
It lives, yet's death: it pleases, full of paine:
Monster! ah who, who can thy beeing faigne?
Thou shapelesse shape, live death, paine pleasing, servile raigne.

11

Of that first woman, and th'old serpent bred,
By lust and custome nurst; whom when her mother
Saw so deform'd, how faine would she have fled
Her birth, and selfe? But she her damme would smother,
And all her brood, had not He rescued
Who was his mothers sire, his childrens brother;
Eternitie, who yet was borne and dy'de:
His owne Creatour, earths scorne, heavens pride,
Who th'Deitie inflesht, and mans flesh deifi'de.

12

Her former parts her mother seemes resemble,
Yet onely seemes to flesh and weaker sight;
For she with art and paint could fine dissemble
Her loathsome face: her back parts (blacke as night)
Like to her horride Sire would force to tremble
The boldest heart; to th'eye that meetes her right
She seemes a lovely sweet, of beauty rare;
But at the parting, he that shall compare,
Hell will more lovely deeme, the divel's selfe more faire.

13

Her rosie cheeke, quicke eye, her naked brest,
And whatsoe're loose fancie might entice,
She bare expos'd to sight, all lovely drest
In beauties livery, and quaint devise:
Thus she bewitches many a boy unblest,
132

Who drench't in hell, dreames all of Paradise:
Her brests his spheares, her armes his circling skie;
Her pleasures heav'n, her love eternitie:
For her he longs to live, with her he longs to die.

14

But he, that gave a stone power to descry
'Twixt natures hid, and checke that mettals pride,
That dares aspire to golds faire puritie,
Hath left a touch-stone, erring eyes to guide,
Which cleares their sight, and strips hypocrisie.
They see, they loath, they curse her painted hide;
Her, as a crawling carrion, they esteeme:
Her worst of ills, and worse then that they deeme;
Yet know her worse, then they can think, or she can seem.

15

Close by her sat Despaire, sad ghastly Spright,
With staring lookes, unmoov'd, fast nayl'd to Sinne;
Her body all of earth, her soule of fright,
About her thousand deaths, but more within:
Pale, pined cheeks, black hayre, torne, rudely dight;
Short breath, long nayles, dull eyes, sharp-pointed chin:
Light, life, heaven, earth, her selfe, and all shee fled.
Fayne would she die, but could not: yet halfe dead,
A breathing corse she seem'd, wrap't up in living lead.

16

In th'entrance Sicknes, and faint Languour dwelt,
Who with sad grones tolle out their passing knell:
Late feare, fright, horrour, that already felt
The Torturers clawes, preventing death, and hell.
Within loud Greife, and roaring Pangs (that swelt
In sulphure flames) did weep, and houle, and yell.
And thousand soules in endles dolours lie,
Who burne, frie, hizze, and never cease to crie,
Oh that I ne're had liv'd, Oh that I once could die!
133

17

And now th'Infernal Powers through th'ayer driving,
For speed their leather pineons broad display;
Now at eternall Deaths wide gate arriving,
Sinne gives them passage; still they cut their way,
Till to the bottome of hells palace diving,
They enter Dis deepe Conclave: there they stay,
Waiting the rest, and now they all are met,
A full foule Senate, now they all are set,
The horride Court, big swol'ne with th'hideous Counsel swet.

18

The mid'st, but lowest (in hells heraldry
The deepest is the highest roome) in state
Sat Lordly Lucifer: his fiery eye,
Much swol'ne with pride, but more with rage, and hate,
As Censour, muster'd all his company;
Who round about with awefull silence sate.
This doe, this let rebellious Spirits gaine,
Change God for Satan, heaven's for hells Sov'raigne:
O let him serve in hell, who scornes in heaven to raigne!

19

Ah wretch, who with ambitious cares opprest,
Long'st still for future, feel'st no present good:
Despising to be better, would'st be best,
Good never; who wilt serve thy lusting mood,
Yet all command: not he, who rais'd his crest,
But pull'd it downe, hath high and firmely stood.
Foole, serve thy towring lusts, grow still, still crave,
Rule, raigne, this comfort from thy greatnes have,
Now at thy top, Thou art a great commanding slave.

20

Thus fell this Prince of darknes, once a bright
And glorious starre: he wilfull turn'd away
His borrowed globe from that eternall light:
Himselfe he sought, so lost himselfe: his ray
Vanish't to smoke, his morning sunk in night,
134

And never more shall see the springing day:
To be in heaven the second he disdaines:
So now the first in hell, and flames he raignes,
Crown'd once with joy, and light: crown'd now with fire and paines.

21

As where the warlike Dane the scepter swayes,
They crowne Usurpers with a wreath of lead,
And with hot steele, while loud the Traitour brayes,
They melt, and drop it downe into his head.
Crown'd he would live, and crown'd he ends his dayes:
All so in heavens courts this Traitour sped.
Who now (when he had overlook't his traine)
Rising upon his throne, with bitter straine
Thus 'gan to whet their rage, & chide their frustrate paine.

22

See, see you Spirits (I know not whether more
Hated, or hating heaven) ah see the earth
Smiling in quiet peace, and plenteous store.
Men fearles live in ease, in love, and mirth:
Where armes did rage, the drumme, & canon rore,
Where hate, strife, envy raign'd, and meagre dearth;
Now lutes, and viols charme the ravish't eare.
Men plow with swords, horse heels their armors weare.
Ah shortly scarce they'l know what warre, & armors were.

23

Under their sprowting vines they sporting sit.
Th' old tell of evils past: youth laugh, and play,
And to their wanton heads sweet garlands fit,
Roses with lillies, myrtles weav'd with Bay:
The world's at rest: Erinnys, forc't to quit
Her strongest holds, from earth is driven away.
Even Turks forget their Empire to encrease:
Warres selfe is slaine, and whips of Furies cease.
Wee, wee our selves I feare, will shortly live in peace.
135

24

Meane time (I burne, I broyle, I burst with spight)
In midst of peace that sharpe two edged sword
Cuts through our darknes, cleaves the misty night,
Discovers all our snares; that sacred word
(Lo[ck']t up by Rome) breakes prison, spreads the light,
Speakes every tongue, paints, and points out the Lord,
His birth, life, death, and crosse: our guilded Stocks,
Our Laymens bookes, the boy, and woman mocks:
They laugh, they fleer, and say, Blocks teach, and worship Blocks.

25

Spring-tides of light divine the ayre suround,
And bring downe heaven to earth; deafe Ignoraunce,
Vext with the day, her head in hell hath dro[wn']d:
Fond Superstition, frighted with the glaunce
Of suddaine beames, in vaine hath crost her round.
Truth and Religion every where advaunce
Their conqu'ring standards: Errour's lost and fled:
Earth burnes in love to heaven: heaven yeelds her bed
To earth; and common growne, smiles to be ravished.

26

That little swimming Isle above the rest,
Spight of our spight, and all our plots, remaines
And growes in happines: but late our nest,
Where wee and Rome, and blood, and all our traines,
Monks, Nuns, dead, and live idols, safe did rest:
Now there (next th'Oath of God) that Wrastler raignes,
Who fills the land and world with peace, his speare
Is but a pen, with which he downe doth beare
Blind Ignoraunce, false gods, and superstitious feare.

27

There God hath fram'd another Paradise,
Fat Olives dropping peace, victorious palmes,
Nor in the midst, but every where doth rise
That hated tree of life, whose precious balmes
Cure every sinfull wound: give light to th' eyes,
136

Unlock the eare, recover fainting qualmes.
There richly growes what makes a people blest;
A garden planted by himselfe and drest:
Where he himselfe doth walke, where he himselfe doth rest.

28

There every starre sheds his sweet influence,
And radiant beames: great, little, old, and new
Their glittering rayes, and frequent confluence
The milky path to Gods high palace strew:
Th' unwearied Pastors with steel'd confidence,
Conquer'd, and conquering fresh their fight renew.
Our strongest holds that thundring ordinaunce
Beats downe, and makes our proudest turrets daunce,
Yoking mens iron necks in his sweet governaunce.

29

Nor can th'old world content ambitious Light,
Virginia our soile, our seat, and throne,
(To which so long possession gives us right,
As long as hells) Virginia's selfe is gone:
That stormy Ile which th'Ile of Devills hight,
Peopled with faith, truth, grace, religion.
What's next but hell? That now alone remaines,
And that subdu'de, even here he rules and raignes,
And mortals gin to dreame of long, but endles paines.

30

While we (good harmeles creatures) sleep, or play,
Forget our former losse, and following paine:
Earth sweats for heaven, but hell keeps holy-day.
Shall we repent good soules? or shall we plaine?
Shall we groane, sigh, weep, mourne, for mercy pray?
Lay downe our spight, wash out our sinfull staine?
May be hee'l yeeld, forget, and use us well,
Forgive, joyne hands, restore us whence we fell:
May be hee'l yeeld us heaven, and fall himselfe to hell.
137

31

But me, oh never let me, Spirits, forget
That glorious day, when I your standard bore,
And scorning in the second place to sit,
With you assaulted heaven, his yoke forswore.
My dauntlesse heart yet longs to bleed, and swet
In such a fray: the more I burne, the more
I hate: should he yet offer grace, and ease,
If subject we our armes, and spight surcease,
Such offer should I hate, and scorne so base a peace.

32

Where are those spirits? Where that haughty rage,
That durst with me invade eternall light?
What? Are our hearts falne too? Droope we with age?
Can we yet fall from hell, and hellish spight?
Can smart our wrath, can griefe our hate asswage?
Dare we with heaven, and not with earth to fight?
Your armes, allies, your selves as strong as ever,
Your foes, their weapons, numbers weaker never.
For shame tread downe this earth: what wants but your endeavour?

33

Now by your selves, and thunder-danted armes,
But never danted hate, I you implore,
Command, adjure, reinforce your fierce alarmes:
Kindle, I pray, who never prayed before,
Kindle your darts, treble repay our harmes.
Oh our short time, too short, stands at the dore,
Double your rage: if now we doe not ply,
We 'lone in hell, without due company,
And worse, without desert, without revenge shall ly.

34

He, Spirits, (ah that, that's our maine torment) He
Can feele no wounds, laughs at the sword, and dart,
Himselfe from griefe, from suff'ring wholly free:
His simple nature cannot tast of smart,
Yet in his members wee him grieved see;
138

For, and in them, he suffers; where his heart
Lies bare, and nak't, there dart your fiery steele,
Cut, wound, burne, seare, if not the head, the heele.
Let him in every part some paine, and torment feele.

35

That light comes posting on, that cursed light,
When they as he, all glorious, all divine,
(Their flesh cloth'd with the sun, and much more bright,
Yet brighter spirits) shall in his image shine,
And see him as hee is: there no despight,
No force, no art their state can undermine.
Full of unmeasur'd blisse, yet still receiving,
Their soules still childing joy, yet still conceiving,
Delights beyond the wish, beyond quick thoughts perceiving.

36

But we fast pineon'd with darke firy chaines,
Shall suffer every ill, but doe no more,
The guilty spirit there feeles extreamest paines,
Yet feares worse then it feeles: and finding store
Of present deaths, deaths absence sore complaines:
Oceans of ills without or ebbe, or shore,
A life that ever dies, a death that lives,
And, worst of all, Gods absent presence gives
A thousand living woes, a thousand dying griefes.

37

But when he summes his time, and turnes his eye
First to the past, then future pangs, past dayes
(And every day's an age of misery)
In torment spent, by thousands downe he layes,
Future by millions, yet eternity
Growes nothing lesse, nor past to come allayes.
Through every pang, and griefe he wild doth runne,
And challenge coward death, doth nothing shunne,
That he may nothing be; does all to be undone.
139

38

O let our worke equall our wages, let
Our Judge fall short, and when his plagues are spent,
Owe more then he hath paid, live in our debt:
Let heaven want vengeance, hell want punishment
To give our dues: when wee with flames beset
Still dying live in endles languishment.
This be our comfort, we did get and win
The fires, and tortures we are whelmed in:
We have kept pace, outrun his justice with our sin.

39

And now you States of hell give your advise,
And to these ruines lend your helping hand.
This said, and ceas't; straight humming murmures rise:
Some chafe, some fret, some sad and thoughtfull stand,
Some chat, and some new stratagems devise,
And every one heavens stronger powers ban'd,
And teare for madnesse their uncombed snakes,
And every one his fiery weapon shakes,
And every one expects who first the answer makes.

40

So when the falling Sunne hangs o're the maine,
Ready to droppe into the Westerne wave,
By yellow Chame, where all the Muses raigne,
And with their towres his reedy head embrave;
The warlike Gnat their flutt'ring armies traine,
All have sharpe speares, and all shrill trumpets have:
Their files they double, loud their cornets sound,
Now march at length, their troopes now gather round:
The bankes, the broken noise, and turrets faire rebound.
140

CANTO II.

1

What care, what watch need guard that tot'ring State
Which mighty foes besiege, false friends betray,
Where enemies strong, and subtile swol'ne with hate,
Catch all occasions; wake, watch night and day?
The towne divided, even the wall and gate
Proove traitours, and the Councill' selfe takes pay
Of forraigne States, the Prince is overswai'd
By underminers, puts off friendly aid,
His wit by will, his strength by weakenes over-laid?

2

Thus men: the never seene, quicke-seeing-fiends:
Feirce, craftie, strong; and world conspire our fall:
And we (worse foes) unto our selves false friends:
Our flesh, and sense a trait'rous gate, and wall:
The spirit, and flesh man in two factions rends:
The inward senses are corrupted all,
The soule weake, wilfull, swai'd with flatteries,
Seekes not his helpe, who works by contraries,
By folly makes him wise, strong by infirmities.

3

See drousie soule, thy foe ne're shuts his eyes,
See, carelesse soule, thy foe in councell sits:
Thou prayer restrain'st, thy sin for vengeance cries,
Thou laugh'st, vaine soule, while justice vengeance fits.
Wake by his light, with wisedomes selfe advise:
What rigorous Justice damnes, sweet Mercy quits.
Watch, pray, he in one instant helps and heares:
Let him not see thy sins, but through thy teares,
Let him not heare their cries, but through thy groning feares.
141

4

As when the angry winds with seas conspire,
The white-plum'd hilles marching in set array
Invade the earth, and seeme with rage on fire,
While waves with thundring drummes whet on the fray,
And blasts with whistling fifes new rage inspire:
Yet soone as breathles ayres their spight allay,
A silent calme insues: the hilly maine
Sinks in it selfe, and drummes unbrac't refraine
Their thundring noyse, while Seas sleep on the even plaine.

5

All so the raging storme of cursed fiends
Blowne up with sharp reproach, and bitter spight
First rose in loud uprore, then falling, ends,
And ebbes in silence: when a wily spright
To give an answere for the rest intends:
Once Proteus, now Equivocus he hight,
Father of cheaters, spring of cunning lies,
Of slie deceite, and refin'd perjuries,
That hardly hell it selfe can trust his forgeries.

6

To every shape his changing shape is drest,
Oft seemes a Lambe and bleates, a Wolfe and houles:
Now like a Dove appeares with candide brest,
Then like a Falcon, preyes on weaker foules:
A Badger neat, that flies his 'filed nest:
But most a Fox, with stinke his cabin foules:
A Courtier, Priest, transform'd to thousand fashions,
His matter fram'd of slight equivocations,
His very forme was form'd of mentall reservations.

7

And now more practicke growne with use and art,
Oft times in heavenly shapes he fooles the sight:
So that his schollers selves have learn't his part,
Though wormes, to glow in dark, like Angels bright.
To sinfull slime such glosse can they impart,
142

That, like the virgine Mother, crown'd in light,
They glitter faire in glorious purity,
And rayes divine: meane time the cheated eye
Is finely mock't into an heavenly ecstasy.

8

Now is he Generall of those new stamp't Friers,
Which have their root in that lame souldier Saint,
Who takes his ominous name from

Ignatius.

Strife, and Fires,
Themselves with idle vaunt that name attaint,
Which all the world adores: These Master lyers
With trueth, Abaddonists, with Jesus paint
Their lying title. Fooles, who think with light
To hide their filth, thus lie they naked quite:
That who loves Jesus most, most hates the Jesuite.

9

Soone as this Spirit (in hell Apollyon,
On earth Equivocus) stood singled out,
Their Speaker there, but here their Champion,
Whom lesser States, and all the vulgar rout
In dangerous times admire and gaze upon,
The silly Commons circle him about,
And first with loud applause they usher in
Their Oratour, then hushing all their din,
With silence they attend, and wooe him to begin.

10

Great Monarch, ayers, earths, hells Soveraigne,
True, ah too true you plaine, and we lament,
In vaine our labour, all our art's in vaine;
Our care, watch, darts, assaults are all mispent.
He, whose command we hate, detest, disdaine,
Works all our thoughts and workes to his intent:
Our spight his pleasure makes, our ill his good,
Light out of night he brings, peace out of blood:
What fell which he upheld? what stood which he withstood?
143

11

As when from mores some firie constellation
Drawes up wet cloudes with strong attractive ray,
The captiv'd seas forc't from their seat and nation,
Begin to mutinie, put out the day,
And pris'ning close the hot drie exhalation,
Threat earth, and heaven, and steale the Sunne away:
Till th'angry Captive (fir'd with fetters cold)
With thundring Cannons teares the limber mould,
And downe in fruitfull teares the broken vapour's roul'd.

12

So our rebellion, so our spightfull threat
All molten falls; he (which my heart disdaines)
Waters heavens plants with our hell-flaming heat,
Husband's his graces with our sinfull paines:
When most against him, for him most we sweat,
We in our Kingdome serve, he in it raignes:
Oh blame us not, we strive, mine, wrastle, fight;
He breakes our troopes: yet thus, we still delight,
Though all our spight's in vain, in vain to shew our spight.

13

Our fogs lie scatt'red by his piercing light,
Our subtilties his wisedome overswaies,
His gracious love weighs downe our ranck'rous spight,
His Word our sleights, his truth our lyes displayes,
Our ill confin'd, his goodnesse infinite,
Our greatest strength his weaknesse overlaies.
He will, and oh he must, be Emperour,
That heaven, and earth's unconquer'd at this houre,
Nor let him thanke, nor do you blame our wil, but pow'r.

14

Nay, earthly Gods that wont in luxury,
In maskes, and daliance spend their peacefull daies,
Or else invade their neighbours liberty,
And swimme through Christian blood to heathen praise,
Subdue our armes with peace; us bold defie,
144

Arm'd all with letters, crown'd with learned bayes:
With them whole swarmes of Muses take the field;
And by heavens aide enforce us way to yield;
The Goose lends them a speare, and every ragge a shield.

15

But are our hearts fal'ne too; shall wee repent,
Sue, pray, with teares wash out our sinfull spot?
Or can our rage with greife, and smart relent?
Shall wee lay downe our armes? Ah, feare us not;
Not such thou found'st us, when with thee we bent
Our armes 'gainst heaven, when scorning that faire lot
Of glorious blisse (when we might still have raign'd)
With him in borrowed light, and joyes unstain'd,
We hated subject crownes, and guiltlesse blisse disdain'd.

16

Nor are we changelings: finde, oh finde but one,
But one in all thy troopes, whose lofty pride
Begins to stoope with opposition:
But, as when stubborn winds with earth ralli'de
(Their Mother earth) she ayded by her sonne
Confronts the Seas, beates of the angry tide:
The more with curl'd-head waves, the furious maine
Renues his spite, and swells with high disdaine,
Oft broke, and chac't, as oft turnes, & makes head againe:

17

So rise we by our fall: that divine science
Planted belowe, grafted in humane stocke,
Heavens with frayle earth combines in strong alliance:
While he, their Lion, leads that sheepish flock,
Each sheepe, each lambe dares give us bold defiance:
But yet our forces broken 'gainst the rocke
We strongly reinforce, and every man
Though cannot what he will's, will's what he can,
And where wee cannot hurt, there we can curse, and banne.
145

18

See here in broken force, a heart unbroke,
Which neither hell can daunt, nor heaven appease:
See here a heart, which scornes that gentle yoke,
And with it life, and light, and peace, and ease:
A heart not cool'd, but fir'd with thundring stroke,
Which heaven it selfe, but conquer'd cannot please:
To drawe one blessed soule from's heavenly Cell,
Let me in thousand paines and tortures dwell:
Heaven without guilt to me is worse then guilty hell.

19

Feare then no change: such I, such are we all:
Flaming in vengeance, more then Stygian fire,
When hee shall leave his throne, and starry hall,
Forsake his deare-bought Saints, and Angells quire,
When he from heaven into our hell shall fall,
Our nature take, and for our life expire;
Then we perhaps (as man) may waver light,
Our hatred turne to peace, to love our spight,
Then heaven shall turne to hell, and day shall chaunge to night.

20

But if with forces new to take the feild
Thou long'st, looke here, we prest, and ready stand:
See all that power, and Wiles that hell can yeeld
Expect no watchword, but thy first command:
Which given, without or feare, or sword, or sheild
Wee'le fly in heaven's face, I and my band
Will draw whole worlds, leave here no rome to dwell.
Stale arts we scorne, our plots become black hell,
Which no heart will beleeve, nor any tongue dare tell.

21

Nor shall I need to spurre the lazy Monke,
Who never sweats but in his meale, or bed,
Whose forward paunch ushers his uselesse truncke,
He barrels darkenes in his empty head:
To eate, drinke, void what he hath eat and drunke,
146

Then purge his reines; thus these Saints merited:
They fast with holy fish, and flowing wine
Not common, but (which fits such Saints)

Hence called Vinum Theologicum.

Divine:
Poore soules, they dare not soile their hands with precious mine!

22

While th'earth with night and mists was overswai'd,
And all the world in clouds was laid a steep,
Their sluggish trade did lend us friendly aid,
They rock't and hush't the world in deadly sleep,
Cloyst'red the Sunne, the Moone they overlaid,
And prison'd every starre in dungeon deep.
And when the light put forth his morning ray,
My famous Dominicke tooke the light away,
And let in seas of blood to quench the early day.

23

But oh, that recreant Frier, who long in night
Had slept, his oath to me his Captaine brake,
Uncloyst'red with himselfe the hated light;
Those piercing beames forc't drowsie earth awake,
Nor could we all resist: our flatt'rie, spight,
Arts, armes, his victorie more famous make.
Down cloysters fall; the Monkes chac't from their sty
Lie ope, and all their loathsome company;
Hypocrisie, rape, blood, theft, whooredome, Sodomy.

24

Those troupes I soone disband now useles quite;
And with new musters fill my companies;
And presse the crafty wrangling Jesuite:
Nor traine I him as Monks, his squinted eyes
Take in and view ascaunce the hatefull light:
So stores his head with shifts and subtilties.
Thus being arm'd with arts, his turning braines
All overturne. Oh with what easy paines
Light he confounds with light, and truth with truth distaines.
147

25

The world is rent in doubt: some gazing stay,
Few step aright, but most goe with the croud.
So when the golden Sun with sparkling ray
Imprints his stamp upon an adverse cloud,
The watry glasse so shines, that's hard to say
Which is the true, which is the falser proud.
The silly people gape, and whisp'ring cry
That some strange innovation is ny,
And fearefull wisard sings of parted tyranny.

26

These have I train'd to scorne their contraries,
Out-face the truth, out-stare the open light:
And what with seeming truths and cunning lies
Confute they cannot, with a scoffe to sleight.
Then after losse to crowe their victories,
And get by forging what they lost by fight.
And now so well they ply them, that by heart
They all have got my counterfeiting part,
That to my schollers I turne scholler in mine art.

27

Follow'd by these brave spirits, I nothing feare
To conquer earth, or heaven it selfe assayle,
To shake the starres, as thick from fixed spheare,
As when a rustick arme with stubborne flayle
Beates out his harvest from the swelling eare;
T' eclipse the Moone, and Sun himselfe injayle.
Had all our army such another band,
Nor earth, nor heaven could long unconquer'd stand:
But hell should heaven, and they, I feare, would hell command.

28

What Country, City, Towne, what family,
In which they have not some intelligence,
And party, some that love their company?
Courts, Councells, hearts of Kings find no defence,
No guard to barre them out: by flattery
148

They worme and scrue into their conscience;
Or with steel, poyson, dagges dislodge the sprite.
If any quench or dampe this Orient light,
Or foile great Jesus name, it is the Jesuite.

29

When late our whore of Rome was disaray'd,
Strip't of her pall, and skarlet ornaments,
And all her hidden filth lay broad displayd,
Her putride pendant bagges, her mouth that sents
As this of hell, her hands with scabbes array'd,
Her pust'led skin with ulcer'd excrements;
Her friends fall off; and those that lov'd her best,
Grow sicke to think of such a stinking beast:
And her, and every limbe that touch't her, much detest.

30

Who help't us then? Who then her case did rue?
These, onely these their care, and art appli'de
To hide her shame with tires, and dressing new:
They blew her bagges, they blanch't her leprous hide,
And on her face a lovely picture drew.
But most the head they pranck't in all his pride
With borrowed plumes, stolne from antiquitie:
Him with blasphemous names they dignifie;
Him they enthrone, adore, they crowne, they deifie.

31

As when an image gnawne with wormes, hath lost
His beautie, forme, respect, and lofty place,
Some cunning hand new trimmes the rotten post,
Filles up the worme-holes, paints the soyled face
With choicest colours, spares no art, or cost
With precious robes the putride trunck to grace.
Circles the head with golden beames, that shine
Like rising Sun: the Vulgar low incline;
And give away their soules unto the block divine.
149

32

So doe these Dedale workmen plaster over,
And smooth that Stale with labour'd polishing;
So her defects with art they finely cover,
Cloth her, dresse, paint with curious colouring:
So every friend againe, and every lover
Returnes, and doates through their neate pandaring:
They fill her cup, on knees drinke healths to th' whore;
The drunken nations pledge it o're and o're;
So spue, and spuing fall, and falling rise no more.

33

Had not these troopes with their new forged armes
Strook in, even ayre, earth too, and all were lost:
Their fresh assaultes, and importune alarmes
Have truth repell'd, and her full conquest crost:
Or these, or none must recompence our harmes.
If they had fail'd wee must have sought a coast
I'th' Moone (the Florentines new world) to dwell,
And, as from heaven, from earth should now have fell
To hell confin'd, nor could we safe abide in hell.

34

Nor shall that little Isle (our envy, spight,
His paradise) escape: even there they long
Have shrowded close their heads from dang'rous light,
But now more free dare presse in open throng:
Nor then were idle, but with practicke slight
Crept into houses great: their sugred tongue
Made easy way into the lapsed brest
Of weaker sexe, where lust had built her nest,
There layd they Cuckoe eggs, and hatch't their brood unblest.

35

There sowe they traytrous seed with wicked hand
'Gainst God, and man; well thinks their silly sonne
To merit heaven by breaking Gods command,
To be a Patriot by rebellion.
And when his hopes are lost, his life and land,
150

And he, and wife, and child are all undone,
Then calls for heaven and Angells, in step I,
And waft him quick to hel; thus thousands die,
Yet still their children doat: so fine their forgerie.

36

But now that stormy season's layd, their spring,
And warmer Sunnes call them from wintry cell;
These better times will fruits much better bring,
Their labours soone will fill the barnes of hell
With plenteous store; serpents, if warm'd, will sting:
And even now they meet, and hisse, and swell.
Thinke not of falling, in the name of all
This dare I promise, and make good I shall,
While they thus firmely stand, wee cannot wholly fall.

37

And shall these mortals creep, fawne, flatter, ly,
Coyne into thousand arts their fruitfull braine,
Venter life, limbe, through earth, and water fly
To winne us Proselytes? Scorne ease, and paine,
To purchase grace in their whore-mistres eye?
Shall they spend, spill their dearest blood, to staine
Romes Calendar, and paint their glorious name
In hers, and our Saint-Rubrick? Get them fame,
Where Saints are fiends, gaine losse, grace disgrace, glory shame?

38

And shall wee, (Spirits) shall we (whose life and death
Are both immortall) shall we, can we faile?
Great Prince o' th' lower world, in vaine we breath
Our spight in Councell; free us this our jayle:
Wee doe but loose our little time beneath;
All to their charge: why sit we here to waile?
Kindle your darts, and rage; renew your fight:
We are dismist: breake out upon the light,
Fill th' earth with sin, and blood; heaven with stormes, and fright.
151

39

With that the bold black Spirit invades the day,
And heav'n, and light, and Lord of both defies.
All hell run out, and sooty flagges display,
A foule deformed rout: heav'n shuts his eyes;
The starres looke pale, and early mornings ray
Layes downe her head againe, and dares not rise:
A second night of Spirits the ayre possest;
The wakefull cocke that late forsooke his nest,
Maz'd how he was deceav'd, flies to his roost, and rest.

40

So when the South (dipping his sable wings
In humid seas) sweeps with his dropping beard
The ayer, earth, and Ocean, downe he flings
The laden trees, the Plowmans hopes new-eard
Swimme on the playne: his lippes loud thunderings,
And flashing eyes make all the world afeard:
Light with darke cloudes, waters with fires are met,
The Sunne but now is rising, now is set,
And finds West-shades in East, and seas in ayers wet.
152

CANTO III.

1

False world how doest thou witch dimme reasons eies?
I see thy painted face, thy changing fashion:
Thy treasures, honours all are vanities,
Thy comforts, pleasures, joyes all are vexation,
Thy words are lyes, thy oaths foule perjuries,
Thy wages, care, greife, begg'ry, death, damnation:
All this I know: I know thou doest deceive me,
Yet cannot as thou art, but seem'st, conceave thee:
I know I should, I must, yet oh I would not leave thee.

2

Looke as in dreames, where th' idle fancie playes,
One thinkes that fortune high his head advances:
Another spends in woe his weary dayes;
A third see[k]es sport in love, and courtly daunces;
This grones, and weeps, that chants his merry laies;
A sixt to finde some glitt'ring treasure chaunces:
Soon as they wake, they see their thoughts were vaine,
And quite forget, and mocke their idle braine,
This sighs, that laugh's to see how true false dreames can faine.

3

Such is the world, such lifes short acted play:
This base, and scorn'd; this high in great esteeming,
This poore, & patched seemes, this rich, and gay;
This sick, that strong: yet all is onely seeming:
Soone as their parts are done, all slip away;
So like, that waking, oft wee feare w'are dreaming,
And dreaming hope we wake. Wake, watch mine eies:
What can be in the world, but flatteries,
Dreams, cheats, deceits, whose Prince is King of night and lies?
153

4

Whose hellish troopes fill thee with sinne, and blood;
With envie, malice, mischiefs infinite:
Thus now that numerous, black, infernall brood
O're-spread thee round; th'earth struck with trembling fright
Felt their approach, and all-amazed stood,
So suddain got with child, & big with spight.
The damned Spirits fly round, and spread their seede:
Straight hate, pride, strife, warres, and seditions breed,
Get up, grow ripe: How soone prospers the vicious weed!

5

Soone in the North their hellish poyson shed,
Where seldome warres, dissention never cease:
Where Volga's streames are sail'd with horse and sled,
Pris'ning in Chrystal walls his frozen seas:
Where Tartar, Russe, the Pole, and prospering Swed
Nor know the sweet, nor heare the name of peace:
Where sleeping Sunnes in winter quench their light,
And never shut their eyes in Summer bright;
Where many moneths make up one onely day, and night:

6

There lie they cloyst'red in their wonted Cell:
The sacred nurseries of the Societie:
They finde them ope, swept, deck't: so there they dwell,
Teaching, and learning more and more impietie.
There blow their fires, and tine another hell,
There make their Magazine, with all varietie
Of fiery darts; the Jesuites helpe their friends:
And hard to say, which in their spightfull ends
More vexe the Christian world, the Jesuites, or the Fiends.

7

The Fiends finde matter, Jesuites forme; those bring
Into the mint fowle hearts, sear'd conscience,
Lust-wandring eyes, eares fil'd with whispering,
Feet swift to blood, hands gilt with great expence,
Millions of tongues made soft for hammering,
154

And fit for every stampe, but truths defence:
These (for Romes use, on Spanish anvile) frame
The pliant matter; treasons hence diflame,
Lusts, lies, blood, thousand griefes set all the world on flame.

8

But none so fits the Polish Jesuite,
As Russia's change, where exil'd

Hierom Patriarch of the Greeke Church came unto Mosco in the yeare 1588. sold to Theodore Ivanovich Emperour of Russia his Patriarchal right; who presently installed into it the Metropolitane of Mosco.

Grecian Priest
Late sold his Patriarchal chaire, and right;
That now proud Mosko vants her lofty crest
Equall with Rome: Romes head full swolne with spight,
Scorning a fellow head, or Peer, but Christ,
Straines all his wits, & friends; they worke, they plod
With double yoke the Russian necks to load;
To crowne the Polish Prince their King, the Pope their God.

9

The fiends, and times yeeld them a fit occasion
To further their designes: for late a

Borrise Federowich brother to the Empresse of Russia, having by the simplicitie of that Emperour aspired to that kingdome, by murther of the chiefe Nobility, ct extirpation of the royall seed; entred as subtily as he ruled cruelly, ct died foolishly, killing himselfe whē his treasures were yet untoucht ct great, ct the chiefe City might have beene won to have stood to him.

Beast
Of salvage breed, of straunge and monsterous fashion,
Before a Fox, an Asse behind, the rest
A ravenous Wolfe, with fierce, but slie invasion
Enters the Russian court, the Lyons nest,
Worries the Lions selfe, and all his brood:
And having gorg'd his mawe with royall blood,
Would sleepe. Ah short the rest, that streames from such a food!

10

Ah silly man, who dream'st, that honour stands
In ruling others, not thy selfe! Thy slaves
Serve thee, and thou thy slaves: in iron bands
Thy servile spirit prest with wild passions raves.
Base state, where but one Tyrant realmes commands:
Worse, where one single heart serves thousand knaves.
Would'st thou live honoured? Clip ambitious wing,
To reasons yoke thy furious passions bring.
Thrice noble is the man, who of himselfe is King.
155

11

With mimicke skill, they trayne a

Griskey Strepey a Mosique, ct sometime Chorister at Precheste in Mosko, and from thence with an Embassadour passing into Polonia, and there cloystered, was taught by the Jesuites to play the King, and usurping the name of Demetrius (slaine by Borrise Federowich) under that mask with the Polonian forces, and by the revolt of the Russes was crowned Emperour.

caged beast,
And teach him play a royall Lyons part:
Then in the Lyons hide, and titles drest
They bring him forth: he Master in his art,
Soone winnes the Vulgar Russe, who hopes for rest
In chaunge; and if not ease, yet lesser smart:
All hunt that monster, he soone melts his pride
In abject feare; and life himselfe envi'de:
So whelp't a Fox, a Wolfe he liv'd, an Asse he di'de.

12

Proud of his easy crowne and straunge successe,
The [

At his first entry the counterfeit Demetrius, wan the applause and good opinion of many, and very politickly behaved himse[l]fe: but when he conceaved himselfe to be setled on the throne; he grew lascivious, and insolent, and bloody: and by a conspiracy was slaine, and his dead corps exposed to all shame and contempt.

] second beast (sprung of a baser brood)
Comes on the stage, and with great seemelinesse
Acts his first scenes; now strong 'gins chaunge his mood,
And melts in pleasure, lust, and wantonnesse:
Then swimmes in other, sinkes in his owne blood.
With blood, and warres the ice and liquid snowes
Are thaw'd; the earth a red sea overflowes.
Quarrells by falling rise, and strife by cutting growes.

13

Some fiends to Grece their hellish firebrands bring,
And wake the sleeping sparks of Turkish rage;
Where once the lovely Muses us'd to sing,
And chant th' Heroes of that golden age;
Where since more sacred Graces learn'd to string
That heav'nly lyre, and with their canzons sage
Inspirit flesh, and quicken stinking graves,
There (ah for pitty!) Muses now are slaves,
Graces are fled to heav'n, and hellish Mahomet raves.

14

But Lucifers proud band in prouder Spaine
Disperse their troopes: some with unquench't ambition
Inflame those Moorish Grandes, and fill their braine
With subtile plots; some learne of th' Inquisition
To finde new torments, and unused paines:
156

Some traine the Princes with their lewd tuition,
That now of Kings they scorne to be the first,
But onely: deep with Kingly dropsies pierc't
Their thirst drinkes kingdomes downe, their drinking fires their thirst.

15

Æquivocus, remembring well his taske,
And promise, enters Rome; there soone he eyes
Waters of life tunn'd up in stinking caske
Of deadly errours poyson'd truth with lies:
There that stale purple Whore in glorious maske
Of holy Mother Church he mumming spies,
Dismounted from her seven headed beast,
Inviting all with her bare painted breast,
They suck, steep, swell, and burst with that envenom'd feast.

16

Nor stayes, till now the stately Court appeares,
Where sits that Priest-King, all the Alls Soveraigne:
Three mitred crownes the proud Impostor weares,
For he in earth, in hell, in heav'n will raigne:
And in his hand two golden keyes he beares,
To open heav'n and hell, and shut againe.
But late his keyes are marr'd, or lost; for hell
He cannot shut, but opes, and enters well:
Nor heav'n can ope, but shut; nor heav'n will buy, but sell.

17

Say Muses, say; who now in those rich fields
Where silver Tibris swimmes in golden sands,
Who now, ye Muses, that great scepter wields,
Which once sway'd all the earth with servile bands?
Who now those Babel towres, once fallen, builds?
Say, say, how first it fell, how now it stands?
How, and by what degrees that Citie sunk?
Oh are those haughty spirits so basely shrunk?
Cesars to chaunge for Friers, a Monarch for a Monk?
157

18

Th' Assyrian Lyon deck't in golden hide,

Dan. 7. 4.


Once grasp't the Nations in his Lordly paw:
But him the Persian silver Beare defi'd,

Dan. 7. 5.


Tore, kill'd, and swallowed up with ravenous jaw;
Whom that Greeke Leopard no sooner spi'de,

Dan. 7. 6.


But slue, devour'd, and fill'd his empty maw:
But with his raven'd prey his bowells broke;
So into foure divides his brasen yoke.
Stol'ne bits, thrust downe in hast, doe seldome feed, but choke.

19

Meane time in Tybris fen a dreadfull Beast

Dan. 7. 7.


With monstrous breadth, and length seven hills o're-spreads:
And nurst with dayly spoyles and bloody Feast
Grew up to wondrous strength: with seven heads,
Arm'd all with iron teeth, he rends the rest,
And with proud feet to clay and morter treads.
And now all earth subdu'de, high heav'n he braves,
The head he kills, then 'gainst t[h]e body raves:
With Saintly flesh he swells, with bones his den he paves.

20

At length five heads were fall'ne; the sixt retir'd

Apoc. 17. 10.


By absence yeelds an easy way of rising
To th' next, and last: who with ambition fir'd,
In humble weeds his haughty pride disguising,
By slow, sly growth unto the top aspir'd:
Unlike the rest he veiles his tyrannising
With that Lambs head, & horns: both which he claimes;

Apoc. 13. 11.


Thence double raigne, within, without hee frames:
His head the Lamb, his tongue the Dragon loud proclames.

21

Those Fisher Swaynes, whome by full Jordans wave
The Seas great Soveraigne his art had taught,
To still loud stormes when windes and waters rave,
To sink their laden boats with heavenly fraught,
To free the fish with nets, with hookes to save:
158

For while the fish they catch, themselves were caught:
And as the scaly nation they invade,
Were snar'd themselves. Ah much more blessed trade
That of free Fisher swaines were captive fishes made!

22

Long since those Fisher swains had chang'd their dwelling;
Their spirits (while bodies slept in honour'd toombes)
Heavens joyes enjoy, all excellence excelling;
And in their stead a crue of idle groomes
By night into the ship with ladders stealing,
Fearles succeed, and fill their empty roomes.
The fishers trade they praise, the paynes deride:
Their narrow bottomes strech they large & wide,
And make broad roomes for pomp, for luxury, and pride.

23

Some from their skiffs to crownes and scepters creep,
Heavens selfe for earth, and God for man rejecting:
Some snorting in their hulks supinely sleep,
Seasons in vaine recall'd, and winds neglecting:
Some nets, and hookes, and baits in poyson steep,
With deathfull drugges the guiltles seas infecting:
The fish their life and death together drink;
And dead pollute the seas with venom'd stink:
So downe to deepest hell, both fish and fishers sink.

24

While thus they swimme in ease, with plenty flowe,
Each losel gets a boat, and will to sea:
Some teach to work, but have no hands to rowe;
Some will be lights, but have no eyes to see;
Some will be guides, but have no feete to goe;
Some deafe, yet ears; some dumbe, yet tongues will bee;
Some will bee seasoning salt, yet drown'd in gall:
Dumbe, deafe, blinde, lame, and maime; yet fishers all,
Fit for no other use but 'store an Hospitall.
159

25

Mean time the Fisher, which by Tibers bankes
Rul'd leasser boates, casts to enlarge his See:
His ship (even then too great) with stollen plankes
Length'ning, he makes a monstrous Argosie;
And stretches wide the sides with out-growne flankes:
Peter, and Paul his badge, this' sword, that's key
His feyned armes: with these he much prevailes,
To him each fisher boy his bonnet veyles,
And as the Lord of seas adores with strooken sayles:

26

Nor could all Seas fill up his empty mawe;
For earth he thirsts; the earth invades, subdues:
And now all earthly Gods with servile awe
Are highly grac't to kisse his holy shooes:
Augustus selfe stoops to his soveraigne lawe,
And at his stirrop close to lacky sues:
Then heavens scepter claymes, then hell and all.
Strange turne of chaunges! To be lowe, and thrall
Brings honour, honour strength, strength pride, and pride a fall.

27

Upon the ruines of those marble towres,
Founded, and rays'd with skill, and great expence
Of auncient Kings, great Lords, and Emperours,
He built his Babel up to heav'n, and thence
Thunders through all the world: On sandy floores
The ground-worke slightly floats, the walls to sense
Seeme Porphyr faire, which blood of Martyrs taints;
But was base lome, mixed with strawy Saints;
Daub'd with untemper'd lime, which glistering tinfoyle paints.

28

The Portall seemes (farre off) a lightsome frame;
But all the lights are false; the Chrystall glasse
Back't with a thick mud-wall beates off the flame,
Nor suffers any sparke of day to passe.
There sits dull Ignoraunce, a loathly dame,
160

Two eyes, both blind; two eares, both deafe shee has;
Yet quick of sense they to her selfe appeare.
Oh who can hope to cure that eye, and eare,
Which being blind, & deafe, bragges best to see, & heare!

29

Close by her children two; of each side one,
A Sonne and Daughter sate: he Errour hight,
A crooked swaine; shee Superstition.
Him Hate of Truth begot in Stygian night;
Her Feare, and falsely call'd, Devotion;
And as in birth, so joyn'd in loose delight,
They store the world with an incestuous breed,
A bastard, foule, deform'd, but num'rous seed;
All monsters; who in parts, or growth, want, or exceed.

30

Her Sonne invites the wandring passengers
And calls aloud, Ho, every simple swaine
Come, buy crownes, scepters, miters, crosiers,
Buy thefts, blood, incests, oaths, buy all for gaine:
With gold buy out all Purgatory feares,
With gold buy heaven and heavens Soveraigne.
Then through an hundred Labyrinths he leads
The silly soule, and with vaine shadowes feeds:
The poore stray wretch admires old formes, and anticke deeds.

31

The daughter leads him forth in Pilgrims guise
To visite holy shrines, the Lady Hales;
The Doves, and Gabriels plumes in purple dyes,
Cartloads of Crosse, and straunge-engendring nayles:
The simple man adores the sottish lyes:
Then with false wonders his frayle sense assayles,
Saint

Saint Fulbert sucked the brests of the blessed Virgine, so saith Bar[o]nius, Annal. 1028. n. 5.

Fulbert nurst with milke of Virgine pure,
Saint Dominicks

Dominicks books lay dry a whole night in a river. Antoninus, Sum.

bookes like fish in rivers dure;
Saint Francis birds, & wounds; & Bellarmines breeches cure.
161

32

The Hall is vastly built for large dispence;
Where freely ushers loosest Libertie,
The waiters Lusts, the Caterer vaine Expence,
Steward of th' house wide panched Gluttonie;
Bed-makers ease, sloth, and soft wanton sense;
High Chamberlaine perfumed Lecherie:
The outward Courtes with Wrong, and Bribery stink,
That holy

This is affirmed by Antonine hist.

Catherine smelt the loathsome sink
From French Avinions towers, to Tuscan Siens brinke.

33

The stately presence Princely spoyles adorne
Of vassal Kings: there sits the man of pride,
And with his dusty

Celestine 3 thus delt with Henry 6 Emperour.

feete (oh hellish scorne!)
Crownes and uncrownes men by God deifi'de.

Dan. 7. 8.

He is that seeing, and proud-speaking Horne,
Who stiles himselfe Spouse of that glorious Bride;
The

All these titles ct many more are given to the Popes by their vassals, and by them accepted and justified.

Churches Head, and Monarch; Jesses rod;
The precious corner stone; supreame Vice-God;
The Light, the Sunne, the Rock, the Christ, the Lord our God.

34

There stand the Pillars of the Papacie;
Stout Champions of Romes Almighty power,
Carv'd out as patterns to that holy See.
First was that Boniface, the cheifest flower

Boniface 3.


In Papal Paradise, who climb'd to bee
First universall Bishop-governour.
Then he, that would be Pope and Emperour too:

Boniface 8.


And close by them, that monstrous Prelate, who
Trampled great Fredericks necke with his proud durty shooe.

Alexander 3.


35

Above the rest stood famous Hildebrand,
The Father of our Popish chastitie:
Who forc't brave Henry with bare feet to stand,
And beg for entrance, and his amitie.
Finely the workman with his Dedal hand
162

Had drawne disdaine sparkling in's fiery eie,
His face all red with shame and angry scorne,
To heare his sonne lament, his Empresse mourne,
While this chast Father makes poore Asto weare the horn.

36

There stood Lucretia's Father, Husband, Brother,

Alexand. 6.


The monster Borgia, cas'd in lust and blood:
And he that fil'd his child, and quell'd his Mother:

Paul 3.


He, that was borne, liv'd, died in lust: there stood

Pius 4.


The female Pope, Romes shame, and many other

John 8, or rather Joan.


Kindled for hell on earth in lustfull flood.
These Saints accurse the married chastity,
A wife defiles: oh deep hypocrisy!
Yet use, reward, and praise twice burning Sodomy.

37

And with those fleshly stood the spirituall Bauds:
They choose, and frame a goodly stone, or stock,
Then trimme their puppet god with costly gauds.
Ah who can tell which is the verier block,
His god, or he? Such lyes are godly frauds.
Some whips adore, the crosse, the seamelesse frock,
Nayles, speare, reed, spunge; some needing no partaker,
Nor using any help, but of the Baker,
(Oh more then power divine!) make, chew, and voide their Maker.

38

By these were plac'd those dire incarnate fiends
Studied in that black art, and that alone:
One leagu'd himselfe to hell t' effect his ends,

Silvester 2 and many others.


In Romes Bee-hive to live the Soveraigne Drone:
Another musters all the Divels his friends

Gregory 7.


To pull his Lord out of his rightfull throne;
And worse then any fiend, with magicke rite
He casts into the fire the Lord of light:
So sacrific'd his God to an infernall spright.
163

39

But who can summe this holy rablement?
This prais'd the Gospel as a gainfull tale;

Leo 10.


That questions heav'ns reward, hels punishment;
This for his dish in spight of God doth call;

John 23, and 24. Henry Emperour waspoysonea in the Sacrament given by a Preist, set on by Robert King of Naples, and Robert by Clement 5. Avent.


That heaven taints, infects the Sacrament;
The bread, and seale of life perpetuall:
And pois'ning Christ, poisons with him his King;
He life and death in one draught swallowing,
Wash't off his sinfull staines in that Lifes deadly spring.

CANTO IIII.

1

Looke as a goodly Pile, whose ayrie towres
Thrust up their golden heads to th' azure sky,
But loosely leanes his weight on sandy floores:
Such is that mans estate, who looking high,
Grounds not his sinking trust on heavenly powres:
His tott'ring hopes no sooner live, but die.
How can that frame be right, whose ground is wrong?
Who stands upon his owne legges, stands not long:
For man's most weake in strength, in weaknes only strong.

2

Thus Rome (when drench't in seas of Martyrs blood,
And tost with stormes, yet rooted fast on Christ)
Deep grounded on that rocke most firmely stood:
But when, with pride and worldly pompe entic't
She sought her selfe, sunke in her rising flood.
So when of late that boasted Jesuite Priest

Drury


Gath'red his flocke, and now the house 'gan swell,
And every eare drew in the sugred spell,
Their house, and rising hopes, swole, burst, and head-long fell.
164

3

Through this knowne entraunce past that subtile Spright:
There thundring Paul retir'd he sullen found,
Boyling his restles heart in envious spight,
Gall'd with old sores, and new Venetian wound:
His thoughtfull head lean'd downe his carefull weight
Upon a chayre, farre fetch't from Dodon ground.
Thence without feare of errour they define;
For there the Spirit his presence must confine.
Oh more then God, who makes his bread, blocks, chayres divine!

4

But that true Spirit's want this false supplies:
He folds that Scorners chayre in's cloudy wings,
And paints, and gilds it fayre with colour'd lies.
But now from's damned head a snake he flings
Burning in flames: the subtile Serpent flies
To th' aymed marke, and fills with firy stings
The Papal brest; his holy bosome swells
With pride & rage; straight cals for books, lights, bells,
Frets, fumes, fomes, curses, chafes, and threatens thousand hells.

5

So when cold waters wall'd with brasen wreath
Are sieg'd with crackling flames, their common foe,
The angry seas 'gin fome and hotly breath,
Then swell, rise, rave, and still more furious grow:
Nor can be held; but, prest with fires beneath,
Tossing their waves breake out, and all o'reflow.
In hast he calls a Senate; thither runne
The blood-red Cardinalls, Friers white, and dunne,
And with, and 'bove the rest Ignatius' eldest sonne.

6

The conclave fills apace; now all are met:
Each knowes his stall, and takes his wonted place.
So downe they sit; and now they all are set:
Æquivocus, with his bat-wing'd embrace,
Clucks, broods his chickens, while they sadly treat;
165

Their eyes all met in th' holy Fathers face,
There first foresee his speech: a dusky cloud
Hangs on his brow; his eyes fierce lightnings shroud,
At length they heare it breake, and rore in thunders loud.

7

Thrice-glorious founders of Romes Hierarchy,
Whose towring thoughts and more then manly spirit
Beyond the spheares have ray'sd our Monarchy,
Nor earth, nor heaven can pay your boundlesse merit.
Oh let your soules above the loftiest sky
Your purchast crownes and scepters just inherit.
Here in your pourtraits may you ever live;
While wee (poore shadowes of your pictures) grieve
Our sloth should basely spend, what your high vertues give.

8

I blush to view you: see Priest-kings, oh see
Their lively shades our life as shades upbrayd:
See how his face sparkles in majesty,
Who that first stone of our vast Kingdome layd,

Boniface 3.


Spous'd the whole Church, and made the world his See:
With what brave anger is his cheek arrayd,
Who Peters useles keyes in Tiber flings?
How high he lookes that treades on Basilisks stings,

Julius 8.


And findes for's lordly foot no stool, but necks of Kings?

Alexander 3.


9

See where among the rest great Clement stands,

Clement 5.


Lifting his head 'bove heaven, who Angels cites
And bids them lowly stoop at his commands,
And waft tir'd soules to those eternall lights.
But what they wonne, we loose; Townes, Cities, Lands
Revolt: our Buls each petty Lamb-kin slights:
We storme and thunder death, they laugh, and gren.
How have we lost our selves? Oh where, and when
Were we thus chang'd? Sure they were more, we lesse then men.
166

10

Can that uncloist'red Frier with those light armes,

Luther.


That sword and shield, which we mocke, scorne, defie,
Wake all the sleeping world with loud alarmes,
And ever conqu'ring live, then quiet die?
And live, and dead load us with losse and harmes?
A single simple Frier? And oh shall I,
Christ, God on earth, so many losses beare
With peace and patience? Who then Rome will feare?
Who then to th' Romane God his heart and hands will reare?

11

Belgia is wholy lost, and rather chuses
Warres, flame, and blood, then peace with Rome & Spain.
Fraunce halfe fal'ne off, all truce and parl' refuses:
Edicts, massacres, leagues, threats, all are vaine.
Their King with painted shew our hope abuses,
And beares our forced yoke with scorne, and paine.
So Lyons (bound) stoop, crouch with fained awe,
But (loos'd) their Keeper seize with Lordly paw,
Drag, rend, & with his flesh full gorge their greedy maw.

12

See where proud Dandal chain'd, some scraps expecting,

Dandalus Duke of Venice was cōpeld by the Pope Clement the 5. to crouch under the table chained like a dogge, before he could obtain peace for the Venetians.


Lies cur-like under boord, and begs releife:
But now their Corno our three crownes neglecting
Censures our sacred Censures, scornes our Briefe.
Our English plots some adverse power detecting
Doubles their joy, trebles our shame and griefe.
What have we reap't of all our paines and seed?
Seditions, murthers, poysons, treasons breed
To us more spight and scorne; in them more hate & heed.

13

That fleet, which with the Moone for vastnesse stood,
Which all the earth, which all the sea admires,
Amaz'd to see on waves a Moone of wood,
Blest by our hands, frighted with suddaine fires
And Panicke feares, sunke in the gaping flood:
167

Some split, some yeeld, scarce one (that torne) retires.
That long wish't houre, when Cynthia set i' th' maine,
What hath it brought at length, what change, what gain?
One bright star fell, the Sun is ris'ne, and all his traine.

14

But Fates decree our fall: high swelling

The Card. Giure made a motion in the holy office concerning the moderating the Popes titles. But the Pope would give no way to it: as beeing no greater then the authority of Peters successour did require.

names
Of Monarch, Spouse, Christ, God, breed much debate,
And heape disdaine, hate, envy, thousand blames:
And shall I yeeld to envy, feare their hate,
Lay downe my titles, quit my justest claimes?
Shall I, earths God, yeeld to uncertaine fate?
Sure I were best with cap in hand to pray
My sheepe be rul'd: I scorne that begging way;

Paul 5 in all his conferences with the Venetians had that continually in his mouth I must be obeyed. Hist. Inter. Ven. It was the saying of Paul 5 that he was purposely set to maintaine the churches authoritie, and that hee would account it a part of his happines to dye for it. Hist. Interd. Ven.

I will, I must command; they must, they shall obay.

15

Shall I, the worlds bright Sunne, heavens Oracle,
The onely tongue of Gods owne mouth, shall I,
Of men, of faith the Judge infallible,
The rule of good, bad, wrong, and equitie,
Shall I, Almighty, Rock invincible,
Stoop to my servants, beg authoritie?
Rome is the worlds, I Romes Head: it shall raigne:
Which to effect, I live, rule, this to gaine
Is here my heaven; to loose is hells tormenting paine.

16

So said, and ceas'd: while all the Priestly Round
In sullen greife, and stupide silence sat:
This bit his lip, that nayl'd his eye to th' ground,
Some cloud their flaming eyes with scarlet hat,
Some gnash't their spightfull teeth, some lowr'd, and frown'd:
Till (greife and care driven out by spight and hate)
Soft murmurs first gan creep along the croud:
At length they storm'd, and chaf't, & thundred loud,
And all sad vengeance swore, and all dire mischeife vow'd.
168

17

So when a sable cloud with swelling sayle
Comes swimming through calme skies, the silent ayre
(While fierce winds sleepe in Æol's rocky jayle)
With spangled beames embroydred, glitters faire:
But soone 'gins lowre and grone; straight clatt'ring hayle
Fills all with noyse: Light hides his golden hayre;
Earth with untimely winter's silvered.
Then Loiol's eldest Sonne lifts up his head,
Whom all with great applause, and silence ushered.

18

Most holy Father, Priests, Kings Soveraigne,

Pope Innocent the 3 dreamed that the Lateran church at Rome was falling, but that Saint Dominick setting to his shoulders underpropt it, wherupon he confirmed his order.


Who equal'st th' highest, makest lesser Gods,
Though Dominick, and Loiola now sustaine
The Lateran Church, with age it stoopes, and noddes:
Nor have we cause to rest, or time to plaine:
Rebellious earth (with heaven it selfe to oddes)
Conspires to ruine our high envi'de state:
Yet may wee by those artes prolong our date,
Whereby wee stand; and if not chaunge, yet stay our fate.

19

When captaines strive a fort or towne to winne,
They lay their batt'ry to the weakest side;
Not where the wall, and guard stands thicke, but thinne:
So that wise Serpent his assault appli'de,
And with the weaker vessell would beginne:
He first the woman with distrust and pride,
Then shee the man subdues with flatt'ring lies;
So in one battaile gets two victories:
Our foe will teach us fight, our fall will teach us rise.

20

Our Cheife who every slight and engine knowes,

Bellarmine.


While on th' old troupes he spent his restles paines,
With equall armes assaulting equall foes,
What hath he got, or wee? What fruite, what gaines
Ensu'de? we beare the losse, and he the blowes:
169

And while each part their wit, and learning straines,
The breach repaires, and (foil'd) new force assumes:
Their hard encounters, and hot angry fumes
Strike out the sparkling fire, which lights them, us consumes.

21

In stead of heavy armes hence use we slight:
Trade we with those, which train'd in ignorance
Have small acquaintance with that heavenly light;
Those who disgrac't by some misgovernance
(Their owne, or others) swell with griefe or spight.
But nothing more our Kingdome must advance,
Or further our designes, then to comply
With that weake sexe, and by fine forgerie
To worme in womens hearts, chiefly the rich and high.

22

Nor let the stronger scorne these weaker powres;
The labour's lesse with them, the harvest more:
They easier yeeld, and win; so fewer houres
Are spent: for women sooner drinke our lore,
Men sooner sippe it from their lippes, then ours:
Sweetly they learne, and sweetly teach: with store
Of teares, smiles, kisses, and ten thousand arts
They lay close batt'ry to mens frayler parts:
So finely steale themselves, and us into their hearts.

23

That strongest Champion, who with naked hands
A Lyon tore, who all unarm'd and bound
Heap't mounts of armed foes on bloody sands;
By womans art, without or force or wound
Subdu'de, now in a mill blind grinding stands.
That Sunne of wisedome, which the Preacher crown'd
Great King of arts, bewitch't with womens smiles,
Fell deepe in seas of folly by their wiles.
Wit, strength, and grace it selfe yeeld to their flatt'ring guiles.
170

24

This be our skirmish: for the maine, release
The Spanish forces, free strong Belgia
From feare of warre, let armes and armies cease.
What got our Alva, John of Austria?
Our Captaine, Guile; our weapons ease, and peace:
These more prevaile then Parma, Spinola.
The Dutch shall yeeld us armes, and men; there dwell
Arminians, who from heaven halfe way fell:
A doubtfull sect, which hang 'tween truth, lies, heaven and hell.

25

These Epicens have sowne their subtile brayne
With thorny difference, and neat illusion:
Proud, fierce, the adverse part they much disdaine.
These must be handled soft with fine collusion,
For Calvins hate to side with Rome and Spaine,
To worke their owne, and their owne-homes confusion.
And by large summes, more hopes, wee must bring in
Wise Barnevelt to lay our plotted gin:
So where the Lyon fayles, the Fox shall eas'ly win.

26

The flowres of Fraunce, those faire delicious flowres,
Which late are imp't in stemme of proud Navar,
With ease wee may transferre to Castile bowres.
Feare not that sleeping Lyon: this I dare,
And will make good spight of all envious powres,
When that great bough most threats the neighb'ring ayre,
Then shall he fall: when now his tho[u]ghts worke high,
And in their pitch their towring p[r]ojects fly,
Then shall he stoop; his hopes shall droop, and drop, & dy.

27

Wee have not yet forgot the shamefull day,
When forc't from Fraunce and our new holds to fly
(Hooted, and chac't as owles) we ran away.
That Pillar of our lasting infamy
Though raz'd, yet in our minds doth freshly stay.
171

Hence love wee that great King so heartily,
That but his heart nought can our hearts content:
His bleeding heart from crazy body rent,
Shrin'd in bright gold shall stand our Jesuite monument.

28

This be our taske: the aged truncke wee'l lop,
And force the sprigges forget their former kind:
Wee'l graft the tender twigges on Spanish top,
And with fast knots Fraunce unto Spaine wee'l bind,
With crosse, and double knotts: wee'l still, and drop
The Romane sap into their empty mind:
Wee'l hold their heart, wee'l porter at their eare,
The head, the feet, the hands wee'l wholy steare:
That at our nod the head the heart it selfe shall teare.

29

All this a Prologue to our Tragedy:
My head's in travaile of an hideous
And fearfull birth; such as may fright the sky,
Turne back the Sun: helpe, helpe Ignatius.
And in this act proove thy new Deity.
I have a plot worthy of Rome and us,
Which with amazement heaven, and earth shall fill:
Nor care I whether right, wrong, good, or ill:
Church-profit is our law, our onely rule thy will.

30

That blessed Isle, so often curst in vaine,
Triumphing in our losse and idle spight,
Of force shall shortly stoop to Rome and Spayne:
I'le take a way ne're knowne to man or spright.
To kill a King is stale, and I disdaine:
That fits a Secular, not a Jesuite.
Kings, Nobles, Clergy, Commons high and low,
The Flowre of England in one houre I'le mow,
And head all th'Isle with one unseen, unfenced blow.
172

31

A goodly frame, rays'd high with carved stones,
Leaning his lofty head on marble stands
Close by that Temple, where the honour'd bones
Of Britaine Kings and many Princely Grands
Adorned rest with golden scutcheons:
Garnish't with curious worke of Dedal hands.
Low at his base the swelling Thamis falls,
And sliding downe along those stately halls,
Doth that chiefe Citie wash, and fence with liquid walls.

32

Here all the States in full assembly meet,
And every order rank't in fit array,
Cloth'd with rich robes fill up the crowded street.
Next 'fore the King his Heier leades the way,
Glitt'ring with gemmes, and royall Coronet:
So golden Phosphor ushers in the day.
And all the while the trumpets triumphs sound,
And all the while the peoples votes resound:
Their shoutes and tramplings shake the ayre and dauncing ground.

33

There in Astrea's ballaunce doe they weigh
The right and wrong, reward and punishment;
And rigour with soft equitie allay,
Curbe lawles lust, and stablish government;
There Rome it selfe, and us they dare affray
With bloody lawes, and threatnings violent:
Hence all our suff'rings,

The printed lies concerning the torments of their Romane Martyrs which I sawe in the study of that learned Knight Sir Thomas Hutchinson priviledged by the Pope are for their monstrous impudency incredible.

torments exquisite,
Varied in thousand formes, appli'de to fright
The harmeles yet (alas!) and spotles Jesuite.

34

But Cellars large, and cavernes vaulted deep
With bending arches borne, and columnes strong
Under that stately building slyly creep:
Here Bacchus lyes, conceal'd from Juno's wrong,
Whom those cold vaults from hot-breath'd ayers keep.
173

In place of these wee'l other barrels throng,
Stuf't with those firy sands, and black dry mould,
Which from blue Phlegetons shores that Frier bold
Stole with dire hand, and yet hells force and colour hold.

35

And when with numbers just the house gins swell,
And every state hath fill'd his station,
When now the King mounted on lofty sell,
With honyed speech and comb'd oration
Charm's every eare, midst of that sugred spell
I'le teare the walls, blow up the nation,
Bullet to heaven the stones with thunders loud,
Equall to th' earth the courts, and turrets proud,
And fire the shaking towne, & quench't with royall blood.

36

Oh how my dauncing heart leapes in my breast
But to fore-thinke that noble tragedie!
I thirst, I long for that blood-royall feast.
See where their lawes, see, Holy Father, see
Where lawes and Makers, and above the rest
Kings marshal'd in due place through th' ayer flee:
There goes the heart, there th'head, there sindged bones:
Heark, Father, heark; hear'st not those musicke tones?
Some rore, some houle, some shriek; earth, hell, and ayer grones.

37

Thus sang, and downe he sat; while all the Quire
Attune their ecchoing voices to his layes:
Some Jesuite Pietie, and zealous fire,
Some his deepe reaching wit, and judgement praise:
And all the plot commend, and all admire,
But most great Paul himselfe: a while he stayes,
Then suddaine rising, with embraces long
He hugges his sonne, while yet the passion strong
Wanting due vent, makes teares his words, and eyes his tongue.
174

38

At length the heart too full his joy dispers't,
Which mounting on the tongue, thus overflowes:
You Romane Saints, to whose deare reliques herst
In golden shrines every true Catholike bowes,
And thou of lesser gods the best and first,
Great English Thomas, ushering our vowes,

Thomas Becket.


Who giv'st heaven by thy blood, and precious merit,
I see we still your love and helpe inherit,
Who in our need rayse up so true a Romane spirit.

39

What meed (my Sonne) can Christ, or he above,
Or I beneath, to thy deservings weigh?
What heaven can recompence thy pious love?
In Lateran Church thy statue crown'd with bay
In gold shall mounted stand next highest Jove:
To thee wee'l humbly kneele, and vowe, and pray:
Haile Romes great Patron, ease our restles cares,
Possesse thy heaven, and prosper our affayres,
Even now inure thine eare to our religious prayers.

40

So up they rose as full of hope, as spight,
And every one his charge with care applies.
Equivocus with heart, and pinions light
Downe posting to th'Infernall shadowes flies;
Fills them with joyes, such joyes as Sonnes of night
Enjoy, such as from sinne and mischiefe rise.
With all they envy, greive, and inly grone
To see themselves out-sinn'd: and every one
Wish't he the Jesuit were, and that dire plot his owne.
175

CANTO V.

1

Looke as a wayward child would something have,
Yet flings away, wralls, spurn's, his Nurse abuses:
So froward man, what most his longings crave,
(Likenes to God) profer'd by God refuses:
But will be rather sinnes base drudge and slave.
The shade by Satan promis'd greed'ly chuses,
And with it death and hell. Oh wretched state,
Where not the eyes, but feete direct the gate!
So misse what most we wish, and have what most we hate.

2

Thus will this man of sinne be like to Christ,
A King, yet not in heaven, but earth that raignes;
That murthers, saves not Christians; th' highest Preist,
Yet not to wait his course, (that he disdaines)
But to advaunce aloft his mitred crest;
That Christ himselfe may wait upon his traynes.
Straunge Priest, oft heaven he sells, but never buyes:
Straunge Doctor, hating truth, enforcing lyes:
Thus Satan is indeed, and Christ by contraryes.

3

And such his Ministers all glist'ring bright
In night and shades, and yet but rotten wood,
And fleshly Devils: such this Jesuite,
Who (Loiol's Ensigne) thirsts for English blood.
He culs choice soules (soules vow'd to th'Prince of night,
And Priest of Rome) sweares them (an English brood,
But hatch't in Rome for Spaine) close to conceale,
And execute what he should then reveale:
Binds them to hell in sin, & makes heavens Lord the seale.
176

4

Now are they met; this armed with a spade,
That with a mattocke, voide of shame and feare:
The earth (their Grandame Earth) they fierce invade,
And all her bowels search, and rent, and teare,
Then by her ruines flesh't, much bolder made,
They ply their worke; and now neere hell, they heare
Soft voices, murmurs, doubtfull whisperings:
The fearfull conscience prick't with guilty stings,
A thousand hellish formes into their fancy brings.

5

This like a statue stands; cold fright congeales
His marble limbes; to th' earth another falling,
Creeping behind a barrell softly steales:
A third into an empty hogshead cralling,
Locks up his eyes, drawes in his stragling heeles:
A fourth, in vaine for succour loudly calling,
Flies through the aire as swift as gliding starre;
Pale, ghastly, like infernall sprites afarre
Each to his fellow seemes: and so, or worse they are.

6

So when in sleep's soft grave dead senses rest,
An earthly vapour clamb'ring up the braine
Brings in a meagre ghost, whose launched brest
Showres downe his naked corps a bloody raine:
A dull-blue-burning torch about his crest
He ghastly waves; halfe dead with frightfull paine
The leaden foot faine would, but cannot fly;
The gaping mouth faine would, but cannot cry:
And now awake still dreames, nor trusts his open eye:

7

At length those streames of life, which ebbing low
Were all retir'd into the frighted heart,
Backe to their wonted chanels gan to flow:
So peeping out, yet trembling every part,
And list'ning now with better heed, they know
177

Those next adjoyning roomes hollow'd by art
To lie for cellerage: which glad they hire,
And cramme with powder, and unkindled fire:
Slacke aged Time with plaints and praires they daily tire.

8

Slow Time, which every houre grow'st old and young,
Which every minute dy'st, and liv'st againe;
Which mak'st the strong man weak, the weak man strong:
Sad time which fly'st in joy, but creep'st in paine,
Thy steppes uneven are still too short or long:
Devouring Time, who bear'st a fruitfull traine,
And eat'st what er'e thou bear'st, why dost not flee,
Why do'st not post to view a Tragedie,
Which never time yet saw, which never time shall see?

9

Among them all none so impatient
Of stay, as firy Faux, whose grisly feature
Adorn'd with colours of hells regiment
(Soot black, and fiery red) betrayd his nature.
His frighted Mother, when her time shee went,
Oft dream't she bore a straunge, & monstrous creature,
A brand of hell sweltring in fire and smoke,
Who all, and's Mother's selfe would burne and choke:
So dream't she in her sleep, so found she when she woke.

10

Rome was his Nurse, and Spaine his Tutour; she
With wolvish milk flesh't him in deadly lyes,
In hate of Truth, and stubborn errour: he
Fats him with humane blood, inures his eyes
Dash't braines, torne guts, and trembling hearts to see,
And tun'de his eare with grones and shrieking cryes.
Thus nurst, bred, growne a Canniball, now prest
To be the leader of this troup, he blest
His bloody maw with thought of such a royall feast.
178

11

Meane time the Eye, which needs no light to see,
That wakefull Eye, which never winks or sleepes,
That purest Eye, which hates iniquitie,
That carefull Eye, which safe his Israel keepes,
From which no word, or thought can hidden bee,
Look's from his heaven, and piercing through the deepes,
With hate, and scorne viewes the dire Jesuite
Weary his hand, and quintessentiall wit,
To weave himselfe a snare, and dig himselfe a pit.

12

That Mounting Eagle, which beneath his throne
(His Saphire throne) fixed on Chrystall base,
Broadly dispreds his heaven-wide pineon,
On whome, when sinfull earth he strikes with 'maze,
He wide displayes his black pavilion,
And thundring, fires high towres with flashing blaze:
Darke waters draw their sable curtaines o're him,
With flaming wings the burning Angels shore him,
The cloudes, & guilty heavens for feare fly fast before him:

13

That mounting Eagle forth he suddaine calls,
Fly, winged Herald, to that Citie fly,
Whose towres my love, truth, wisedome builds and walls:
There to the Councell this foule plot descry:
And while thy doubtfull writ their wit appalls,
That great Peace-makers sense Ile open, I
Will cleere his mind, and plaine those ridling folds.
So said, so done: no place or time with-holds
His instant course, the towne he thinks, he sees, and holds.

14

There in another shape to that wise Peer
(That wisest Peer) he gives a darksome spell:
He was the states Treasure, and Treasurer,
Spaines feare, but Englands earthly oracle;
He Patron to my Mother Cambridge, where
179

Thousand sweet Muses, thousand Graces dwell:
But neither hee, nor humane wit could find
The riddles sense, till that learn'd royall mind,
Lighted from heaven, soone the knot, and plot untwin'd.

15

And now the fatall Morne approached neare:
The Sunne, and every starre had quench't their light,
Loathing so black a deed: the Articke Beare
Enjoyn'd to stay, trembling at such a sight,
Though drench't in ayrie seas, yet wink't for feare.
But hellish Faux laught at blinde heavens affright.
What? Such a deed not seen? In vaine (saith he)
You drowne your lights; if heaven envious be,
I'le bring hell fires for light, that all the world may see.

16

So entring in, reviewes th'infernall mines;
Marshals his casks anew, and ord'ring right
The tragicke Scene, his hellish worke refines:
And now return'd, booted, and drest for flight,
A watchfull Swaine the Miner undermines,
Holds, binds, brings out the Plot to view the light;
The world amaz'd, hel yawn'd, earth gap't, heaven star'd,
Rome howl'd to see long hopes so sudden mar'd:
The net was set, the fowle escap't, the fowler snar'd.

17

Oh thou great Shepheard, Earths, Heavens Soveraigne,
Whom we thy pasture-sheep admire, adore;
See all thy flocks prostrate on Britaine plaine,
Pluck't from the slaughter; fill their mouthes with store
Of incens't praise: oh see, see every swaine
'Maz'd with thy workes; much 'maz'd, but ravish't more:
Powre out their hearts thy glorious name to raise;
Fire thou our zealous lippes with thankfull laies;
Make this sav'd Isle to burne in love, to smoke in praise.
180

18

Teach me thy groome, here dull'd in fenny mire,
In these sweet layes, oh teach me beare a part:
Oh thou dread Spirit shed thy heavenly fire,
Thy holy flame into this frozen heart:
Teach thou my creeping Muse to heaven aspire,
Learne my rude brest, learne me that sacred art,
Which once thou taught'st thy Israels shepheard-King:
O raise my soft veine to high thundering;
Tune thou my lofty song, thy glory would I sing.

19

Thou liv'dst before, beyond, without all time;
Art held in none, yet fillest every place:
Ah, how (alas!) how then shall mortall slime
With sinfull eyes view that eternall space,
Or comprehend thy name in measur'd rime?
To see forth-right the eie was set i' th' face,
Hence, infinite to come I wel descry,
Past infinite no creature sees with eie:
Onely th'Eternall's selfe measures eternitie.

20

And yet by thee, to thee all live and move;
Thou without place or time giv'st times and places:
The heavens (thy throne) thou liftest all above,
Which folded in their mixt, but pure embraces
Teach us in their conjunctions chastest love,
Next to the Earth the Moone performes her races;
Then Mercury; beyond, the Phosphor bright:
These with their friendly heat, and kindly might,
Warme pallid Cynthia's cold, and draine her watry light.

21

Farre thou remoov'st slow Saturn's frosty drythe,
And thaw'st his yce with Mars his flaming ire:
Betwixt them Jove by thy appointment fly'th;
Who part's, and temper's well his Sonne and Sire;
His moist flames dull the edge of Saturnes sithe,
181

And ayry moisture softens Mars his fire.
The Heart of heaven midst of heavens bodie rides,
From whose full sea of light and springing tides
The lesser streames of light fill up their empty sides.

22

The Virgin Earth, all in green-silken weed
(Embroyder'd fayre with thousand flowres) arrayd:
Whose wombe untill'd knew yet nor plough, nor seed,
Nor midwifry of man, nor heavens ayd,
Amaz'd to see her num'rous Virgin breed,
Her fruit even fruitfull, yet her selfe a mayd:
The earth of all the low'st, yet middle lies;
Nor sinks, though loosely hang'd in liquid skies:
For rising were her fall; and falling were her rise.

23

Next Earth the Sea a testy neighbour raves,
Which casting mounts, and many a churlish hill,
Discharges 'gainst her walles his thundring waves,
Which all the shores with noyse and tumult fill:
But all in vaine; thou beat'st downe all his braves;
When thee he heares commanding, Peace, be still,
Downe straight he lowly falls, disbands his traynes,
Sinks in himselfe, and all his mountaines playnes,
Soft peace in all the shores, and quiet stillnes raygnes.

24

Thou mad'st the circling ayre aloft to fly,
And all this Round infold at thy command;
So thinne, it never could be seen with eye,
So grosse, it may be felt with every hand.
Next to the horned Moon and neighbour sky,
The fire thou highest bad'st, but farthest stand.
Straungely thou temper'st their adverse affection:
Though still they hate and fight, by thy direction
Their strife maintaines their owne, and all the worlds perfection.
182

25

For Earth's cold arme cold Winter friendly holds;
But with his dry the others wet defies:
The Ayer's warmth detests the Water's colds;
But both a common moisture joyntly ties:
Warme Ayre with mutuall love hot Fire infolds;
As moist, his drythe abhorres: drythe Earth allies
To Fire, but heats with cold new warres addresse:
Thus by their peacefull fight, and fighting peace
All creatures grow, and dye, and dying still increase.

26

Above them all thou sit'st, who gav'st all being,
All every where, in all, and over all:
Thou their great Umpire, all their strife agreeing,
Bend'st [t]heir stiffe natures to thy soveraigne call:
Thine eye their law: their steppes by overseeing
Thou overrul'st, and keep'st from slipp'ry fall.
Oh if thy steady hand should not maintaine
What first it made, all straight would fall againe,
And nothing of this All, save nothing would remaine.

27

Thou bid'st the Sunne piece out the ling'ring day,
Glitt'ring in golden fleece: The lovely Spring
Comes dauncing on; the Primrose strewes her way,
And satten Violet: Lambs wantoning
Bound o're the hillocks in their sportfull play:
The wood-musicians chant and cheerely sing;
The World seemes new, yet old by youths accruing.
Ah wretched men, so wretched world pursuing,
Which still growes worse with age, and older by renuing!

28

At thy command th'Earth travailes of her fruit;
The Sunne yeelds longer labour, shorter sleep;
Out-runnes the Lyon in his hot pursuit;
Then of the golden Crab learnes backe to creep:
Thou Autumne bid'st (drest in straw-yellow suit)
183

To presse, tunne, hide his grapes in cellars deep:
Thou cloth'st the Earth with freez in stead of grasse,
While keen-breath'd winter steeles her furrow'd face,
And vials rivers up, and seas in Chrystall glasse.

29

What, but thy love and thou, which feele no change?
Seas fill, and want: their waters fall, and grow;
The windy aire each houre can wildly range;
Earth lives, and dies; heavens lights can ebbe, and flow:
Thy Spowse her selfe, while yet a Pilgrim strange,
Treading this weary world (like Cynthia's bow)
Now full of glorious beames, and sparkling light;
Then soone oppos'd, eclips't with earthly spight
Seemes drown'd in sable clouds, buried in endles night.

30

See, Lord, ah see thy rancorous enemies
Blowne up with envious spight, but more with hate,
Like boisterous windes, and Seas high-working, rise:
So earthly fires, wrapt up in watry night,
With dire approach invade the glistring skies.
And bid the Sunne put out his sparkling light;
See Lord, unles thy right hand even steares
Oh if thou anchour not these threatning feares,
Thy Ark will sayle as deepe in blood, as now in teares.

31

That cursed Beast, (which with thy Princely hornes,
With all thy stiles, and high prerogatives
His carrion cor's and Serpents head adornes)
His croaking Frogges to every quarter drives:
See how the key of that deep pit he tournes,
And cluck's his Locusts from their smoky hives:
See how they rise, and with their numerous swarmes
Filling the world with fogges, and fierce alarmes,
Bury the earth with bloodles corps, and bloody armes.
184

32

The bastard Sonne of that old Dragon (red
With blood of Saints) and all his petty states;
That triple monster, Geryon, who bred,
Nurs't, flesh't in blood thy servants deadly hates,
And that seduced Prince who hath his head
Eyes, eares, and tongue all in the Jesuite pates;
All these, and hundred Kings, and nations, drunk
With whorish Cup of that dire witch and punk,
Have sworne to see thy Church in death for ever sunk.

33

Now from those hel-hounds turne thy glorious eyes;
See, see thy fainting Spouse swimme, sinke in teares:
Heare Lord, oh heare her grones, and shrieking cries:
Those eyes long wait for thee: Lord to thine eares
She brings heart, lips, a Turtle sacrifice.
Thy cursed foe that Pro-Christ trophies reares:
How long (just Lord) how long wilt thou delay
That drunken whore with blood and fire to pay?
Thy Saints, thy truth, thy name's blasphem'd; how canst thou stay?

34

Oh is not this the time, when mounted high

Revel. 19. 11. 12. 13. 14.


Upon thy Pegasus of heavenly breed,

Revel. 14. 20.


With bloody armes, white armies, flaming eye,
Thou vow'st in blood to swimme thy snowy steed;
And staine thy bridle with a purple dye?
This, this thy time; come then, oh come with speed,
Such as thy Israel saw thee, when the maine
Pil'd up his waves on heapes; the liquid plaine
Ran up, and with his hill safe wall'd that wandring traine.

35

Such as we saw thee late, when spanish braves
(Preventing fight with printed victorie)
Full fraught with brands, whips, gyves for English slaves,
Blest by their Lord God Pope, thine enemie,
Turn'd seas to woods; thou arm'd with fires, winds, waves,
185

Fround'st on their pride: they feare, they faint, they fly:
Some sink in drinking seas, or drunken sand,
Some yeeld, some dash on rocks; the Spanish Grand
Banquets the fish in seas, or foules, and dogs on land.

36

Oh when wilt thou unlock the seeled eyes
Of those ten hornes, and Kings, which with the Beast

Revel. 17. 12. 13. 16.


(Yet by thy hand) 'gan first to swell and rise?
How long shall they (charm'd with her drunken feast)
Give her their crownes? Bewitch't with painted lies,
They dreame thy spirit breathes from her sug'red breast,
Thy Sun burnes with her eye-reflected beames,
From her life, light, all grace, and glory streames.
Wake these enchaunted sleepes, shake out these hellish dreames.

37

Wake lesser Gods, you sacred Deputies
Of heavens King, awake: see, see the light
Bares that foule whore, dispells her sorceries,
Blanch't skin, dead lippes, sowre breath, splay foot, owl-sight.
Ah can you dote on such deformities?
While you will serve in crownes, and beg your right,
Pray, give, fill up her never fill'd desire,
You her white Sonnes: else knives, dags, death your hire.
Scorne this base yoke; strip, eat, and burne her flesh in fire.

Revel. 17. 16.


38

But thou, Greate Prince, in whose successefull raigne,
Thy Britanes 'gin renue their Martiall fame,
Our Soveraigne Lord, our joy more Soveraigne,
Our onely Charles, under whose ominous name
Rome wounded first, still pines in ling'ring paine;
Thou who hast seen, and loath'd Romes whorish shame,
Rouse those brave Sparkes, which in thy bosome swell,
Cast downe this second Lucifer to hell:
So shalt thou all thy Sires, so shalt' thy selfe excell.
186

39

'Tis not in vaine, that Christ hath girt thy head
With three fayre peacefull Crownes: 'tis not in vaine,
That in thy Realmes such spirits are dayly bred,
Which thirst, and long to tug with Rome, and Spayne:
Thy royall Sire to Kings this lecture red;
This, this deserv'd his pen, and learned veine:
Here, noble Charles, enter thy chevalrie;
The Eagle scornes at lesser game to flie;
Onely this warre's a match worthy thy Realmes, & Thee.

40

Ah happy man, that lives to see that day!
Ah happy man, who in that warre shall bleed!
Happy who beares the standard in that fray!
Happy who quells that rising Babel seed!
Thrice happy who that whore shall doubly pay!
This (royall Charles) this be thy happy meed.
Mayst thou that triple diademe trample downe,
This shall thy name in earth, and heaven renowne,
And adde to these three here there a thrice triple crowne.
FINIS.
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