University of Virginia Library

A Plea for PREROGATIVE:

OR, Give Cæsar his due. Being the Wheele of Fortune turn'd round: Or, The World turned topsie-turvie.

A Plea for Prerogative: OR, Give Cæsar his due.

The Divel's horne-mad, Religion here should florish,
Or England constantly the Truth should nourish:
And He (contriving with the Romish Sect)
They soon a hellish stratagem project,
That with a strange blast of a Powder-blow,
Into the Ayre the Parliament to throw,
And with a whirle-winde terrour to appall
Gods Word profest, the Court, the State and all
Records, Lawes, Statutes, Grants, Decrees and Charters,
Men, women, children (piece-meale torne in quarters;)
Magnifique Buildings, pompous Monuments;
Illustrious guildings, sumptuous ornaments;
King, Prince, Peeres, Commons, with one puffe should caper,
And (in a moment) turn'd to ayre and vapour.
The Divell and Rome are all starke mad at this,
That they, their great desired aime should misse,
Devis'd more mischiefes from th'infernall pit,
To make us this deliverance to forget,
And be ingratefull to that power above,
Who this great danger from us did remove;
For Sathan knowes, that base ingratitude
Doth all, and every damned vice include;
And therefore 'tis the totall of transgressions
To be unthankfull for Gods gracious blessings:
There's nothing else drawes down th'Almighties hate,
It hath dismembred wretched Englands state;
Pride, avarice, lust, hath broke our happy peace,
And daily do our sins, and shames increase.
He's a wise man (that without danger) can
Serve God his King, and be an honest man;
For (in these dayes) to speak truth and do right,
Is paid with scandall, danger and despight.
Thus vice is entred, vertue is thrust out,
And Fortunes Wheele is madly turn'd about;
Peace, Love, Religion and Obedience
Are vertues of exceeding excellence;
Yet as the Picture in the Wheele doth show,
They are turn'd downwards in the spokes below,
Whilst Malice, War, Sects and Disloyalty
Are in the upper spokes, exalted high,
And true Obedience neuer did refuse,
To give to God and Cæsar both their dues;
Though she be humble, free from arrogance,
Yet her humility doth her advance:
And though she be trod downe, I make no doubt
But Fortunes Wheel will shortly turn about:
Disloyalty doth proudly over-top her,
And makes a glistring guilded shew of copper,
Full of corruption, basenesse and deceit,
Deluding and most feigned counterfeit.
Some do complain of Fortune and blinde chance,
And do their hands and eyes t'wards heaven advance;
And cry, O God (which madst the glorious Sun,)
What hath poore England 'gainst Religion done,
That all her goodnesse topsie turvie lyes
Derided, jeer'd at, wrong'd by contraries?
Religion was the sacred bond and tye,
The rule and square how men should live and dye;
The ground and sole foundation of the Law;
The good mans sword and shield, the bad mans awe;
Twas one entire in Majesty high stated,
Now broken, fractur'd, rent and dislocated;
Divided into Sects, in pieces shatter'd;
And (like a Beggers cloake) all patch'd and totterd.
And what hath England done to worke all this?
Nothing at all, but doing all amisse;
Esteeming earths corrupted fading drosse,
And slighting heaven, and true Religions losse.
These are the causes, these for vengeance cals;
This makes high climers to have loest fals,
When men seeke Honour with ambicious guile,
My little wit doth at their follies smile;
That though they seeme most glorious, great and stout,
Yet Fortunes Wheele will quickly turne about.
The potent Pope and Conclave of that Sect,
Did (and do) daily stratagems project.
The mungrill Papist, the Arminian,
The consubstanciall misled Lutheran;
The Anabaptists, Brownists, Arians,
Scismaticall Disciplinarians.
These, and more Sects of Seperatists beside,
Do from Religion to opinion slide;
And as they from each other disagree,
In various fashions God is serv'd we see.
Th'eternall Word's high Majesty is such
(That man can never honour it too much,)
Is turnd unto the lowest spoke o'th Wheele,
And too too few the overthrow doth feele.
The King, who is the Lords anointed knowne,
Whose Crownes and Kingdomes (under God's) his owne;
I will not say't t'oppresse, but true and just
To guide all under his great charge and trust;
Though he (next Christ) imediate power hath;
And his resisters merit heav'ns hot wrath:
Yet this is not remembred, very few
Will render Cæsar what is Cæsars due;
Which is obedience, loyalty and love
(Because his power is from the power above;)
But Church and State, are by the rabble rout
Abus'd; thus Fortunes wheele is turn'd about.
Religion (true) that ought to be the tye
From God to man, that man should rule thereby,
Is made a stable, a very staulking-horse,
Wherein each beast doth run a beastly course.
Religion now each ignoramus whirles
Into the fancies of fooles, boyes and girles,
Who dare talke of Misterious Canticicles
(Better then Bishops can) in their Conventickles.
They can finde out Daniels prophetique meaning,
And from the Bible they have so much gleaning,
That they dare venture with their quirks and quips
To expound Saint John and his Apocalips.
Thus they thinke we, and we thinke they are out,
But Fortunes wheele I hope will turne about.
Sects up are mounted, and their impudence
And ignorance hath drove Religion hence;
As once the Papists, in Queene Maries raigne,
The Protestant profession did disdaine;
When swords and halters, and tormenting flames,
Exiles, imprisonments, and all th'extreames
That hell or Roman mischiefe could devise,
The Gospell to suppresse by tyrannize;
And now the Almighty hath this Kingdome grac'd,
That Popish superstition is defac'd:
A crew of new Sects are sprung up of late,
As bad as Papists were to Church and State;
Whose barren knowledge seemes all things to know,
Who would all rule, and learning overthrow;
Whose wisdomes still are in the wane, most dull;
Whose ignorance is alwayes at the full;
Whose good workes are invisible, so good
Not to be seene, felt, heard, or understood:
Of these mad Sects, ther's too too many a wigeon,
That doth despise the Protestant Religion;
And worse then Papists they deride and flout,
But Fortunes wheele, I guesse, will turne about.
Peace (the same day that Christ rose from the grave)
Was the first gift He his Disciples gave;
And that his Peace should still with them remain

Ioh. 20. 19 26.

He (eight dayes after, gave them Peace again;
That Peace which passeth understanding all,

Phil. 4. 7.

Is racketed and bandied like a ball:
Warre, strife, contention, mischiefe and debate
Opposeth Peace, and seekes to ruinate
Faire England, by the meanes of men accurst,
Who wrong her most whom she hath bred and nurst.
And now against her Peace th'have madly fought,
But Fortunes wheele I know will turn about.
Love is the Livery, cognizance, and Crest
Christ gives his servants, who are ever blest;

Joh. 13. 35

Th'immortall God, left glorious heaven above,
And was made mortall (O transcendent Love!)
Nay more, he for his enemies did dye,
And rise, that they might live eternally.
He cald them brethren (so their loves to win)

Heb. 2. 12.

And made himselfe like them, in all but sin.
He cals each true beleeving soule his brother;
And lov'd us so, cause we should love each other:
But all this love which he bestow'd so free,
Is back repaid with Malice, as we see:
The Wheele doth shew us how the case doth stand,
Malice and hatred hath the upper hand;
Our words and works do shew we love him not;
Our love to one another is forgot;
We say and do the most part to this end
(He that so lov'd us) how we may offend;
And stead of loving one another, as
Our blessed Saviours last Commandment was,
With malice we would cut each others throats;
Which shewes we do not wear Christs livery coats:
And as Himselfe hath long agoe foretold,
Th'increase of sin makes many mens love cold.
Thus man his malice against man doth spout,
God grant the Wheele may quickly turne about.
Nor shall my Muse in this taske further run;
I wish the King and Parliament had done;
That as his Majesty is knowne to be
Gods chiefe vicegerent in his soveraignty;
So He with them may All as one combine
To settle things, both Humaine and Divine;
That we may be held free from all offence,
And gaine him hither, and not drive him hence
With Libels, tumults, and a wretched rout,
For which I'le hope the Wheele will turn about.