The Protestants Vade Mecum Or, Popery Display'd in its proper Colours, In Thirty Emblems, Lively representing all the Jesuitical Plots Against this Nation, and More fully this late hellish Designe Against his Sacred Majesty. Curiously engraven in Copper-plates |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
Emblem XIII. Sir Edmundbury Godfrey taking Dr. Oates his Examination.
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| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
 | The Protestants Vade Mecum |  |
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Emblem XIII. Sir Edmundbury Godfrey taking Dr. Oates his Examination.
Now Rome the egg thy Cockatrice hath laid,Is pash'd; and all thy villanies betray'd.
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Woe unto them that joyn house to house, that lay field
to field, till there be no place, that they may be
placed alone in the midst of the earth.
ISAIAH, Chap. 4. v. 8.
Blest happy day,
And happier thou that didst betray
The Machinations of false bloody Rome;
Thou'st wash'd thy Soul,
In thus reversing Englands fatal doom,
As pure and white
As glorious light,
When it the dusky Clouds controul.
No streak
Nor ray
Shall ever break
From night,
To cloud thy everlasting day:
Sun-beams shall Crown
Thy head,
And vast renown
Fold thee for ever in her glitt'ring Arms,
And endless Fame
Shall keep thy name
Fresh and untouch'd from future harms.
When dead,
Like blossom'd flowers in their early bud,
Thou shalt smell sweet, and in the dust be good.
What can we give
Too much, to him who taught us all to live?
Deform'd and crooked were the lines of Fate,
Which you have ras'd, and made the Legend streight.
'Twas well for England that it ever bore
A Soul which did its Liberty restore.
Blest Constellations in Conjunction were,
And thou wert born under a happy star:
Nature that fram'd thee of pure flesh and blood,
Sent thee into the World to do it good.
Now the Conspirers in confusion roul,
And they could wish they ne'er had had a Soul;
Did not the grand deluding Pope each day,
With hopes of Pardon, lead 'em still astray.
Poor mis-led slaves,
Why are you so benum'd, so Cheated all,
That with your loads of sins unmov'd you fall
To your untimely graves?
As if on earth
Salvation had its happy birth.
You'l find too late, when Natures debt is due,
Hell cheats the Pope, the Pope deludeth you.
In liquid flames you'l be together cram'd,
Where when too late
You see your fate,
You'l tast the Sentence to be ever damn'd.
And happier thou that didst betray
The Machinations of false bloody Rome;
Thou'st wash'd thy Soul,
In thus reversing Englands fatal doom,
As pure and white
As glorious light,
When it the dusky Clouds controul.
No streak
Nor ray
Shall ever break
From night,
To cloud thy everlasting day:
Sun-beams shall Crown
Thy head,
And vast renown
Fold thee for ever in her glitt'ring Arms,
And endless Fame
Shall keep thy name
Fresh and untouch'd from future harms.
When dead,
Like blossom'd flowers in their early bud,
Thou shalt smell sweet, and in the dust be good.
What can we give
Too much, to him who taught us all to live?
Deform'd and crooked were the lines of Fate,
Which you have ras'd, and made the Legend streight.
52
A Soul which did its Liberty restore.
Blest Constellations in Conjunction were,
And thou wert born under a happy star:
Nature that fram'd thee of pure flesh and blood,
Sent thee into the World to do it good.
Now the Conspirers in confusion roul,
And they could wish they ne'er had had a Soul;
Did not the grand deluding Pope each day,
With hopes of Pardon, lead 'em still astray.
Poor mis-led slaves,
Why are you so benum'd, so Cheated all,
That with your loads of sins unmov'd you fall
To your untimely graves?
As if on earth
Salvation had its happy birth.
You'l find too late, when Natures debt is due,
Hell cheats the Pope, the Pope deludeth you.
In liquid flames you'l be together cram'd,
Where when too late
You see your fate,
You'l tast the Sentence to be ever damn'd.
You're taught indeed, and 'tis a Romish guile,
To Murder Kings, and at the Action smile:
Farther you're prompted by the Roman State,
If you're discover'd ere your zealous hate
Can reach his life,
Not to discover it at any rate;
Not to own Blood, though in your guilty hand
The Dagger's found that did his death command.
Your Priest forgives you though the act was foul,
And on his bloody sleeve you pin your Soul.
Pardon'd by him, you All Not guilty plead;
And thus they wheadle you till you are dead.
To Murder Kings, and at the Action smile:
Farther you're prompted by the Roman State,
If you're discover'd ere your zealous hate
Can reach his life,
Not to discover it at any rate;
Not to own Blood, though in your guilty hand
The Dagger's found that did his death command.
Your Priest forgives you though the act was foul,
And on his bloody sleeve you pin your Soul.
Pardon'd by him, you All Not guilty plead;
And thus they wheadle you till you are dead.
| The Protestants Vade Mecum | |