Eliza An Epick poem. In Ten books. By Sir Richard Blackmore Rivers &c |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. | BOOK V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
 | Eliza |  |
117
BOOK V.
When Great Eliza, to Britannia's Throne
From a base Prison rais'd, Illustrious shone:
Reform'd Religion, like returning Morn,
With dawning Beams did Albion's Isle adorn;
And chasing Rome's Infernal Shades away,
Diffus'd a radiant Promise of the Day.
With pure Religion from her Youth embu'd,
The Pious Queen Cœlestial Truth pursu'd.
With a sincere Devotion she ador'd
The Christian Founder, and obey'd his Word;
But impious Rome's Idolatry abhor'd.
Since watchful Heav'n so oft did interpose,
To guard her from the Rage of Papal Foes;
Had oft inclin'd, with providential Care,
A cruel Court, her precious Life to spare;
And had at last, the Tempest over-blown,
In Peace advanc'd her to th'Imperial Throne;
Mov'd by Cœlestial Piety, she thought
She should Divine Religion's Cause promote.
Should that reform'd and purer Church restore,
Which her bless'd Brother did assert before;
And which to persecute with Sword and Fire,
Fierce Roman Zeal Maria did inspire.
To pure Belief Britannia to convert,
Was the Concern, which nearly touch'd her Heart.
This was the Heav'nly End she had in view,
Which she with Care and Conduct did pursue.
To the bless'd Task unwearied did attend;
For Princes only can their People mend.
From a base Prison rais'd, Illustrious shone:
Reform'd Religion, like returning Morn,
With dawning Beams did Albion's Isle adorn;
And chasing Rome's Infernal Shades away,
Diffus'd a radiant Promise of the Day.
With pure Religion from her Youth embu'd,
The Pious Queen Cœlestial Truth pursu'd.
With a sincere Devotion she ador'd
The Christian Founder, and obey'd his Word;
But impious Rome's Idolatry abhor'd.
Since watchful Heav'n so oft did interpose,
To guard her from the Rage of Papal Foes;
Had oft inclin'd, with providential Care,
A cruel Court, her precious Life to spare;
And had at last, the Tempest over-blown,
In Peace advanc'd her to th'Imperial Throne;
Mov'd by Cœlestial Piety, she thought
She should Divine Religion's Cause promote.
Should that reform'd and purer Church restore,
Which her bless'd Brother did assert before;
118
Fierce Roman Zeal Maria did inspire.
To pure Belief Britannia to convert,
Was the Concern, which nearly touch'd her Heart.
This was the Heav'nly End she had in view,
Which she with Care and Conduct did pursue.
To the bless'd Task unwearied did attend;
For Princes only can their People mend.
Some Lords, who felt the Anguish and the Pain
Of Wounds inflicted in the former Reign;
Did now with hot, revengeful Passion burn,
To make the Oppressors suffer in their turn:
These injur'd Men, thus Human Nature's made,
To use her Pow'r, the Pious Queen perswade:
Without Distinction, Pity, or Respect,
To treat the cruel, persecuting Sect:
They urge, the Tyrants, who had never shown
Bowels of Mercy, could have Right to none.
That those should now their just Reward receive,
Who did Britannia of her Sons bereave,
And of Infernal Hate, the horrid Tokens leave.
Who in their Neighbours Ruin did engage,
With Salvage Fierceness, and relentless Rage.
Fam'd Roman Saints, who with Religious Spoil,
And Meritorious Murders, fill'd the Isle:
Who tortur'd, burnt, massacr'd, ruin'd all
That would not Rome, the World's great Empress call,
And to her Wafer-God in low Prostration fall.
Of Wounds inflicted in the former Reign;
Did now with hot, revengeful Passion burn,
To make the Oppressors suffer in their turn:
These injur'd Men, thus Human Nature's made,
To use her Pow'r, the Pious Queen perswade:
Without Distinction, Pity, or Respect,
To treat the cruel, persecuting Sect:
They urge, the Tyrants, who had never shown
Bowels of Mercy, could have Right to none.
That those should now their just Reward receive,
Who did Britannia of her Sons bereave,
And of Infernal Hate, the horrid Tokens leave.
Who in their Neighbours Ruin did engage,
With Salvage Fierceness, and relentless Rage.
Fam'd Roman Saints, who with Religious Spoil,
And Meritorious Murders, fill'd the Isle:
Who tortur'd, burnt, massacr'd, ruin'd all
That would not Rome, the World's great Empress call,
And to her Wafer-God in low Prostration fall.
119
They did the Danger to the Queen display,
That would attend a mild and gentle Way:
If those around her Person she employ'd,
Who hate her Worship, and her Friends destroy'd,
She would her Friends dismay, revive her Foes,
And tempt them to disturb her Realm's Repose.
That faithless Zealots of the Roman Breed,
To Crowns reform'd, were Traytors by their Creed.
That their Religion plunges them in Blood,
And makes them call the blackest Actions good.
That while she gave them Posts of Pow'r and Trust,
She deadly Vipers in her Bosom nurst.
That thus her Sacred Life she did expose
To the known Mercy of her cruel Foes.
That all should lose their Heads, who had embu'd
Their impious Hands in Sacred Martyrs Blood.
That Albion's Queen should act an open Part,
Should Rome's renounce, and her own Faith assert.
That all the Roman Shrines should be destroy'd,
And fierce Maria's Laws be render'd void.
That would attend a mild and gentle Way:
If those around her Person she employ'd,
Who hate her Worship, and her Friends destroy'd,
She would her Friends dismay, revive her Foes,
And tempt them to disturb her Realm's Repose.
That faithless Zealots of the Roman Breed,
To Crowns reform'd, were Traytors by their Creed.
That their Religion plunges them in Blood,
And makes them call the blackest Actions good.
That while she gave them Posts of Pow'r and Trust,
She deadly Vipers in her Bosom nurst.
That thus her Sacred Life she did expose
To the known Mercy of her cruel Foes.
That all should lose their Heads, who had embu'd
Their impious Hands in Sacred Martyrs Blood.
That Albion's Queen should act an open Part,
Should Rome's renounce, and her own Faith assert.
That all the Roman Shrines should be destroy'd,
And fierce Maria's Laws be render'd void.
But the Great Cecil, a discerning Head,
In Glorious Edward's Court, and Councils bred,
More mod'rate Maxims to Eliza gave,
Which might Religion and her Empire save.
He thought rough Methods would the State embroil,
And with seditious Uproar fill the Isle.
That if the Pious Monarch should at once
Pure Christian Faith Profess, and Rome's renounce;
Should she at once Church-grievances redress,
And Anti-christian Romanists suppress,
Their Temples raze, their Altars overturn,
And with Contempt their Sacred Reliques spurn:
This soon the Roman Bigots would alarm,
Exasperate their Priests, and make their Vot'ries Arm;
Who lately cheer'd, and favour'd by the Crown,
Were num'rous, strong, and formidable grown,
And might in Arms prove dang'rous to the Throne.
That three great Pow'rs, Ausonia, France, and Spain,
Would Rome's Religion, and Decrees maintain.
That Britain's green, unsettled Government,
Her Factions growing, and her Treasure spent,
Could not collect sufficient Force to bear,
At once a Forreign, and Domestick War.
Therefore the Queen should with mild Means asswage
The great Disease, which sharper would enrage.
By soft and gentle Steps, should to the Cure
Slowly advance, and sooth the angry Sore,
'Till milder grown, and for the Lance mature.
Harsh Methods with the Zealots should forbear,
Manage their Doubts and Jealousies with Care,
And not incense, and drive them to Despair.
Should treat the greatest Leaders of the Sect,
Not with Caresses, nor with Disrespect,
The Mean between Endearment and Neglect.
Should in the Ship allow them some Command,
But never let them in the Steerage stand.
That on her Favour they may still depend,
Serve her as Queen, and love her as a Friend.
Safely, mean time, she might slow Changes make,
And by degrees their Church in pieces take.
'Till she had pull'd the Roman Fabrick down,
Their Altars ruin'd, and restor'd her own.
Thus Cecil, Bacon of Immortal Name,
Bedford, Northampton, all advis'd the same.
In Glorious Edward's Court, and Councils bred,
More mod'rate Maxims to Eliza gave,
Which might Religion and her Empire save.
He thought rough Methods would the State embroil,
And with seditious Uproar fill the Isle.
That if the Pious Monarch should at once
Pure Christian Faith Profess, and Rome's renounce;
120
And Anti-christian Romanists suppress,
Their Temples raze, their Altars overturn,
And with Contempt their Sacred Reliques spurn:
This soon the Roman Bigots would alarm,
Exasperate their Priests, and make their Vot'ries Arm;
Who lately cheer'd, and favour'd by the Crown,
Were num'rous, strong, and formidable grown,
And might in Arms prove dang'rous to the Throne.
That three great Pow'rs, Ausonia, France, and Spain,
Would Rome's Religion, and Decrees maintain.
That Britain's green, unsettled Government,
Her Factions growing, and her Treasure spent,
Could not collect sufficient Force to bear,
At once a Forreign, and Domestick War.
Therefore the Queen should with mild Means asswage
The great Disease, which sharper would enrage.
By soft and gentle Steps, should to the Cure
Slowly advance, and sooth the angry Sore,
'Till milder grown, and for the Lance mature.
Harsh Methods with the Zealots should forbear,
Manage their Doubts and Jealousies with Care,
And not incense, and drive them to Despair.
Should treat the greatest Leaders of the Sect,
Not with Caresses, nor with Disrespect,
The Mean between Endearment and Neglect.
Should in the Ship allow them some Command,
But never let them in the Steerage stand.
That on her Favour they may still depend,
Serve her as Queen, and love her as a Friend.
121
And by degrees their Church in pieces take.
'Till she had pull'd the Roman Fabrick down,
Their Altars ruin'd, and restor'd her own.
Thus Cecil, Bacon of Immortal Name,
Bedford, Northampton, all advis'd the same.
Britannia's Queen, as Heav'nly Seraphs, Wise,
Gracious, and Good, was pleas'd with this Advice.
She by degrees did her great Ends promote,
For Moderation she a Vertue thought.
She knew, that rash Attempts, and Zeal too warm,
Would sooner ruin Albion, than reform.
She ne'er imagin'd, that to be Discreet,
From want of Courage came, or want of Wit.
None yet to her the Secret did reveal,
That those who keep a Temper, lose their Zeal,
That none but those who Wound, are fit to Heal.
The Queen believ'd the Steady, Wise, Sedate,
Were fittest Men for Counsellors of State.
That States-men of an over-heated Brain,
And Bigots of a persecuting Strain,
Do in Religion desp'rate Measures take,
And ruin Kingdoms for a Party's sake.
She therefore cooler Counsels did approve,
Did step by step in Reformation move.
As when Physicians by discreet Degrees,
Attack an old and obstinate Disease,
Good Med'cines so apply'd, the Sick restore,
Which rough Attempts may kill, can never cure.
So the Wise Queen by wary Methods strove
Britannia's great Distempers to remove,
When deeply rooted, and invet'rate grown,
They undermin'd the Church, or shook the Throne.
Gracious, and Good, was pleas'd with this Advice.
She by degrees did her great Ends promote,
For Moderation she a Vertue thought.
She knew, that rash Attempts, and Zeal too warm,
Would sooner ruin Albion, than reform.
She ne'er imagin'd, that to be Discreet,
From want of Courage came, or want of Wit.
None yet to her the Secret did reveal,
That those who keep a Temper, lose their Zeal,
That none but those who Wound, are fit to Heal.
The Queen believ'd the Steady, Wise, Sedate,
Were fittest Men for Counsellors of State.
That States-men of an over-heated Brain,
And Bigots of a persecuting Strain,
Do in Religion desp'rate Measures take,
And ruin Kingdoms for a Party's sake.
She therefore cooler Counsels did approve,
Did step by step in Reformation move.
As when Physicians by discreet Degrees,
Attack an old and obstinate Disease,
Good Med'cines so apply'd, the Sick restore,
Which rough Attempts may kill, can never cure.
122
Britannia's great Distempers to remove,
When deeply rooted, and invet'rate grown,
They undermin'd the Church, or shook the Throne.
Th'illustrious Confessors in Prisons thrown,
Who lay impatient of the Martyr's Crown,
Did the Pollutions of the Dungeon chuse,
Rather than thine, O Rome! and Life refuse,
Rather than yield to thy bewitching Charms,
Or be defil'd in thy adult'rous Arms;
Were by the Queen, freed from their pond'rous Chains,
Their foul Apartments, and tormenting Pains.
They did with Praise the Queen's Indulgence own,
Who Freedom gave, which robb'd them of a Crown.
Who lay impatient of the Martyr's Crown,
Did the Pollutions of the Dungeon chuse,
Rather than thine, O Rome! and Life refuse,
Rather than yield to thy bewitching Charms,
Or be defil'd in thy adult'rous Arms;
Were by the Queen, freed from their pond'rous Chains,
Their foul Apartments, and tormenting Pains.
They did with Praise the Queen's Indulgence own,
Who Freedom gave, which robb'd them of a Crown.
The Gospel, which a Pris'ner was, no less
Than those, who did its Sacred Truth profess,
Was next enlarged, and suffer'd to display
Immortal Light, and Beatifick Day:
More than Ægyptian Darkness to dispel,
The complicated Shades of Rome and Hell.
Rome stop'd with Art, this Heav'nly Source of Light,
With Art conceal'd it from the People's Sight,
Which all her foul Impostures would detect,
And make Mankind with Scorn her Yoke reject.
She therefore did, her Empire to secure,
Confine the Foe, that would subvert her Pow'r.
But now the Sacred Volumes open laid,
O'er all the Isle convincing Light convey'd,
And soon to Truth unnumber'd Converts made.
The Usurpations of apostate Rome,
Her impious Frauds did naked now become.
Enlighten'd Albion from her Fetters broke,
And from her Neck cast off the Roman Yoke.
From Pagan Rights, and Superstition freed,
She purg'd her Tempels, and reform'd her Creed.
As when some vile, invidious Persons stop
A Crystal Brook, and dam the Current up,
The Fields around, defrauded of Supply,
Are chopt with Drought, and lose their verdant Dye:
If some just Neighbours, Friends to publick Good,
Remove th'obstructing Dam, and free the Flood,
The flowing Water o'er the Vally spreads,
And with a welcome Tide regales the thirsty Meads.
Each joyful Field caress'd by fruitful Streams,
With verdant Births, and gay Conception teams.
So when Eliza's Hand in Rome's Despight,
Drew up the Sluces of imprison'd Light,
Outgush'd a Torrent of Cœlestial Day,
Which under Floods of Light, did all Britannia lay.
Christ's Vine-yard smil'd, and every Heav'nly Vine,
Bore noble Clusters, bless'd with gen'rous Wine.
Than those, who did its Sacred Truth profess,
Was next enlarged, and suffer'd to display
Immortal Light, and Beatifick Day:
More than Ægyptian Darkness to dispel,
The complicated Shades of Rome and Hell.
Rome stop'd with Art, this Heav'nly Source of Light,
With Art conceal'd it from the People's Sight,
Which all her foul Impostures would detect,
And make Mankind with Scorn her Yoke reject.
She therefore did, her Empire to secure,
Confine the Foe, that would subvert her Pow'r.
123
O'er all the Isle convincing Light convey'd,
And soon to Truth unnumber'd Converts made.
The Usurpations of apostate Rome,
Her impious Frauds did naked now become.
Enlighten'd Albion from her Fetters broke,
And from her Neck cast off the Roman Yoke.
From Pagan Rights, and Superstition freed,
She purg'd her Tempels, and reform'd her Creed.
As when some vile, invidious Persons stop
A Crystal Brook, and dam the Current up,
The Fields around, defrauded of Supply,
Are chopt with Drought, and lose their verdant Dye:
If some just Neighbours, Friends to publick Good,
Remove th'obstructing Dam, and free the Flood,
The flowing Water o'er the Vally spreads,
And with a welcome Tide regales the thirsty Meads.
Each joyful Field caress'd by fruitful Streams,
With verdant Births, and gay Conception teams.
So when Eliza's Hand in Rome's Despight,
Drew up the Sluces of imprison'd Light,
Outgush'd a Torrent of Cœlestial Day,
Which under Floods of Light, did all Britannia lay.
Christ's Vine-yard smil'd, and every Heav'nly Vine,
Bore noble Clusters, bless'd with gen'rous Wine.
The Kingdom thus dispos'd, the Pious Queen
Did Britain's noble Lords and States convene.
With their Concurrence did by Law restore,
The pure Belief that Albion own'd before;
When her fam'd Brother Britain's Throne possess'd,
And with paternal Care his Kingdom bless'd.
The Garden Christ enclos'd when here below,
Thro' which he bad his living Waters flow,
Which Flowers from Heav'n transplanted did adorn,
And Golden Fruit on Trees Immortal born;
Was soon o'er-run, O ignominious Sloth!
By thy curss'd Henbane of luxuriant Growth.
O Rome! who did'st pollute the Fountain's Head,
Which endless Life in Crystal Streams convey'd.
The Pious Queen did with successful Care
Th'infected Waters purge, and made their Current clear.
Of every baneful Tree, and noxious Weed
Of Rome's Plantation, she the Garden freed,
And sow'd the Sacred Ground with new Cœlestial Seed.
A Seed which cheer'd with Heav'n's prolifick Streams,
And with the Sun of Righteousness his Beams,
A glorious Harvest brought in Hell's Despight,
Of Bliss eternal, and immortal Light.
Not Rome with all her Vigilance could stop
The swift Production of the Heav'nly Crop;
Britannia's present Joy, and future Hope.
Thus the Good Queen, like her bless'd Lord before,
To their first Use his Temples did restore.
O'er-turn'd their Seats, who there prophanely sold
Unhallow'd Ware, and barter'd Toys for Gold.
She scourg'd the greedy Money-changers home,
And broke the Market, and base Trade of Rome.
Did Britain's noble Lords and States convene.
With their Concurrence did by Law restore,
The pure Belief that Albion own'd before;
124
And with paternal Care his Kingdom bless'd.
The Garden Christ enclos'd when here below,
Thro' which he bad his living Waters flow,
Which Flowers from Heav'n transplanted did adorn,
And Golden Fruit on Trees Immortal born;
Was soon o'er-run, O ignominious Sloth!
By thy curss'd Henbane of luxuriant Growth.
O Rome! who did'st pollute the Fountain's Head,
Which endless Life in Crystal Streams convey'd.
The Pious Queen did with successful Care
Th'infected Waters purge, and made their Current clear.
Of every baneful Tree, and noxious Weed
Of Rome's Plantation, she the Garden freed,
And sow'd the Sacred Ground with new Cœlestial Seed.
A Seed which cheer'd with Heav'n's prolifick Streams,
And with the Sun of Righteousness his Beams,
A glorious Harvest brought in Hell's Despight,
Of Bliss eternal, and immortal Light.
Not Rome with all her Vigilance could stop
The swift Production of the Heav'nly Crop;
Britannia's present Joy, and future Hope.
Thus the Good Queen, like her bless'd Lord before,
To their first Use his Temples did restore.
O'er-turn'd their Seats, who there prophanely sold
Unhallow'd Ware, and barter'd Toys for Gold.
She scourg'd the greedy Money-changers home,
And broke the Market, and base Trade of Rome.
125
Rome's haughty Head, the eldest Son of Pride,
Who with our Princes did their Pow'r divide;
Who Albion rul'd with Arbitrary Sway,
And made our proudest Kings their Laws obey.
Britannia's States with just Contempt depose,
Impatient of their Wrongs, and various Woes:
They pull the Purple Tyrant from his Throne,
And now no Pow'r, but their Eliza's own.
Who with our Princes did their Pow'r divide;
Who Albion rul'd with Arbitrary Sway,
And made our proudest Kings their Laws obey.
Britannia's States with just Contempt depose,
Impatient of their Wrongs, and various Woes:
They pull the Purple Tyrant from his Throne,
And now no Pow'r, but their Eliza's own.
The black Brigades, that did on Rome depend,
Assert her Power, and impious Cause defend:
The standing Legions of the Roman Court,
Who did her Empire in our Isle support:
These bloodly Troops Eliza did Disband,
And made them subject to her sole Command.
And wond'rous 'tis, that jealous Kings endure,
And in their Bosom nurse a forreign Pow'r.
The Holy Drones devour'd Britannia's Isle,
Plunder'd their Hives, and suck'd their Neighbours Toil.
Poor Albion felt a complicated Pest,
Bore all the Plagues of Ægypt in the Priest:
These Roman Locusts long to Spoil innur'd,
Each fruitful Tree, and verdant Plant devour'd.
Like a black, lazy Fog, Rome's Priest-hood lay
On all the Land, and choak'd Cœlestial Day.
Infernal Darkness covers all the Isle,
Whence bounding Beams, their Labour lost, recoil.
Triumphant Night here made her black Abode,
And pond'rous Shades did mournful Albion load.
The Roman Vermin turgid with the Blood
Suck'd from Britannia's Veins, their native Food,
With pamper'd Bellies crawl'd, and loathsom Feet,
Thro' every Palace, and thro' every Street.
The grievous Plague did every Place molest,
As well the Court, as Cottages infest.
They poison'd every Stream, and every Flood,
And turn'd Britannia's Rivers into Blood.
This complicated Woe, the Roman Priests,
Whose hostile Troops a forreign Leader lists,
To guard his strong Ecclesiastick Forts,
The great Monastick Pow'r, that Rome supports:
The Citadels she wisely does erect,
To curb the conquer'd Natives, and protect
The Settlements, which she abroad has made,
Where she, and her Religion are obey'd:
These standing Troops, that bridled Albion's Land,
And made us own a forreign Lord's Command,
The Pious Queen with glorious Courage broke,
And freed her Kingdom by the noble Stroke.
For now she wore an Independent Crown,
Rul'd Church and State, and call'd her Realm her own.
A great Example this to Princes set,
To free their Thrones, and break the Roman Net.
Assert her Power, and impious Cause defend:
The standing Legions of the Roman Court,
Who did her Empire in our Isle support:
These bloodly Troops Eliza did Disband,
And made them subject to her sole Command.
And wond'rous 'tis, that jealous Kings endure,
And in their Bosom nurse a forreign Pow'r.
The Holy Drones devour'd Britannia's Isle,
Plunder'd their Hives, and suck'd their Neighbours Toil.
Poor Albion felt a complicated Pest,
Bore all the Plagues of Ægypt in the Priest:
These Roman Locusts long to Spoil innur'd,
Each fruitful Tree, and verdant Plant devour'd.
Like a black, lazy Fog, Rome's Priest-hood lay
On all the Land, and choak'd Cœlestial Day.
Infernal Darkness covers all the Isle,
Whence bounding Beams, their Labour lost, recoil.
Triumphant Night here made her black Abode,
And pond'rous Shades did mournful Albion load.
126
Suck'd from Britannia's Veins, their native Food,
With pamper'd Bellies crawl'd, and loathsom Feet,
Thro' every Palace, and thro' every Street.
The grievous Plague did every Place molest,
As well the Court, as Cottages infest.
They poison'd every Stream, and every Flood,
And turn'd Britannia's Rivers into Blood.
This complicated Woe, the Roman Priests,
Whose hostile Troops a forreign Leader lists,
To guard his strong Ecclesiastick Forts,
The great Monastick Pow'r, that Rome supports:
The Citadels she wisely does erect,
To curb the conquer'd Natives, and protect
The Settlements, which she abroad has made,
Where she, and her Religion are obey'd:
These standing Troops, that bridled Albion's Land,
And made us own a forreign Lord's Command,
The Pious Queen with glorious Courage broke,
And freed her Kingdom by the noble Stroke.
For now she wore an Independent Crown,
Rul'd Church and State, and call'd her Realm her own.
A great Example this to Princes set,
To free their Thrones, and break the Roman Net.
Now in the Church, a Den of Thieves before,
The Britons Heav'n, as Heav'n commands, adore.
Eas'd of her Pagan Ceremonial Load,
Divine Religion all her Graces show'd.
Shining with Gems, in gaudy Garments dress'd,
With superstitious Luxury oppress'd,
Glitt'ring with Tinsel, and with Paint besmear'd,
She, as a gay Adulteress, appear'd.
But now the adventitious Lustre gone,
Her Pomp and State suppress'd, Religion shone,
Stripp'd of false Beauties, brighter by her own.
She shews her Form Divine, her Heav'nly Charms,
And Pious Breasts with pure Devotion warms.
The Britons Heav'n, as Heav'n commands, adore.
Eas'd of her Pagan Ceremonial Load,
Divine Religion all her Graces show'd.
127
With superstitious Luxury oppress'd,
Glitt'ring with Tinsel, and with Paint besmear'd,
She, as a gay Adulteress, appear'd.
But now the adventitious Lustre gone,
Her Pomp and State suppress'd, Religion shone,
Stripp'd of false Beauties, brighter by her own.
She shews her Form Divine, her Heav'nly Charms,
And Pious Breasts with pure Devotion warms.
We now no more permit the Roman Priest,
To turn Divine Religion into Jest.
No more the Mimicks at the Altars stand
Shewing their Holy Tricks, and Pious Slight of Hand.
No more they cringe, and from their artful Throats,
Like Pagans, mutt'ring strange, mysterious Notes,
Conjure their Wafer to become a God,
And charm their Saviour from his bless'd Abode.
Such an Affront, since Nature first began,
Was never offer'd, or to God, or Man.
No Creed did ever so licentious grow,
Or brought insulted Reason down so low.
Nothing did greater Prejudice create,
Or more the Honour of the Church abate.
Nothing more made the Pagan World condemn,
And with Derision treat the Christian Scheme.
Britannia's Sons convinc'd, and undeceiv'd
No more their wild Absurdities believ'd.
They would no more adore their Wine and Meat,
Or (monst'rous Worship!) their Redeemer eat.
They would no more, by Rome's Command, at once
Suppress their Reason, and their Sense renounce.
No more a tame and blind Submission pay,
And her Commands without Reserve obey.
The Peoples pious Zeal each Temple frees
From pictur'd Gods, and tawdry Deities.
From their high Places with officious Care
Their gaudy Images Reformists bear.
And in the Flames with loud Applause consume
Th'Abominations of polluted Rome.
To turn Divine Religion into Jest.
No more the Mimicks at the Altars stand
Shewing their Holy Tricks, and Pious Slight of Hand.
No more they cringe, and from their artful Throats,
Like Pagans, mutt'ring strange, mysterious Notes,
Conjure their Wafer to become a God,
And charm their Saviour from his bless'd Abode.
Such an Affront, since Nature first began,
Was never offer'd, or to God, or Man.
No Creed did ever so licentious grow,
Or brought insulted Reason down so low.
Nothing did greater Prejudice create,
Or more the Honour of the Church abate.
Nothing more made the Pagan World condemn,
And with Derision treat the Christian Scheme.
Britannia's Sons convinc'd, and undeceiv'd
No more their wild Absurdities believ'd.
They would no more adore their Wine and Meat,
Or (monst'rous Worship!) their Redeemer eat.
128
Suppress their Reason, and their Sense renounce.
No more a tame and blind Submission pay,
And her Commands without Reserve obey.
The Peoples pious Zeal each Temple frees
From pictur'd Gods, and tawdry Deities.
From their high Places with officious Care
Their gaudy Images Reformists bear.
And in the Flames with loud Applause consume
Th'Abominations of polluted Rome.
Officious Fame did early Tidings bring
To haughty Rome's Ecclesiastick King,
Of what new Scenes in Albion did appear,
And how his Empire was demolish'd there.
Hearing the Loss of fair Britannia's Isle,
The purple Pontiff did with Choler boil.
He found his Veins with Indignation swell,
And felt within the Fire and Rage of Hell.
Legions of speenful Spirits fill'd his Breast,
And dire Revenge his troubled Soul possest.
As the vast Rage of vanquish'd Lucifer,
When dreadful Thunder charg'd his flying Reer,
When by th'Almighty's conq'ring Squadrons driv'n
O'er the blue Plains, and from the Brow of Heav'n
Push'd into Hell, he saw his ruin'd Host
Plung'd in hot Vengeance, and for ever lost.
Such was the Rage the Roman Monarch felt,
Such Pain and Anguish in his Bosom dwelt;
When first he knew Britannia's Sons had shook
From their uneasy Necks, the Roman Yoke.
To haughty Rome's Ecclesiastick King,
Of what new Scenes in Albion did appear,
And how his Empire was demolish'd there.
Hearing the Loss of fair Britannia's Isle,
The purple Pontiff did with Choler boil.
He found his Veins with Indignation swell,
And felt within the Fire and Rage of Hell.
Legions of speenful Spirits fill'd his Breast,
And dire Revenge his troubled Soul possest.
As the vast Rage of vanquish'd Lucifer,
When dreadful Thunder charg'd his flying Reer,
When by th'Almighty's conq'ring Squadrons driv'n
O'er the blue Plains, and from the Brow of Heav'n
Push'd into Hell, he saw his ruin'd Host
Plung'd in hot Vengeance, and for ever lost.
Such was the Rage the Roman Monarch felt,
Such Pain and Anguish in his Bosom dwelt;
129
From their uneasy Necks, the Roman Yoke.
With an elated, pontificial Air,
He roll'd his Eyes, and rising from his Chair,
Vastly disturb'd the Pontiff walk'd around,
And with his Crosier often struck the Ground;
And thus, so Fame reports, he spoke aloud:
And is Eliza then my Foe avow'd?
Has Heresy so great a Conquest won?
Is fair Britannia from my Empire gone?
And does a wild Phanatick Spinstress dare
Against the Sacred Rights of Rome declare?
A giddy Girl affront Saint Peter's Chair?
Did she not only mount Britannia's Throne,
While yet our Will and Pleasure was unknown,
Before she sought our Favour to obtain,
Or first address'd to Rome for Leave to reign?
But does th'audacious Woman now presume
To change the pure Religion too of Rome?
Does she (enormous Wickedness!) rebel,
Bold to declare for Heresy and Hell?
Shall I my Title to Britannia quit,
And on her Throne let this Usurper sit?
This young Enthusiast: Death? shall she defile
The Sacred Shrines of Rome, pollute the Isle,
And fill her Sacrilegious Hands with Spoil?
Shall Heresy, that lately lay as Dead,
Warm'd in Eliza's Bosom reer her Head,
Display her Vipers, and her Venom spread?
Shall this new Monster, swoln with Roman Blood,
By Hell engender'd out of Slime and Mud,
Midst pois'nous Weeds and Plants, Religion's Bane,
On the curss'd Banks of the foul Lake Lemaine,
Which does thy Fame, Avernus, far excel,
Is a more plain and broader Road to Hell;
Shall this fell Monster's Breath Britannia blast?
Her rav'ning Jaws lay our Dominions waste?
Must she our Temples enter uncontroul'd,
And on the Sacred Ground her loathsome Limbs unfold?
Must she be worshipp'd, where our Statues stood,
And round her Altars twist her vip'rous Brood?
Shall she erect her odious, hissing Head,
And thro' our Domes her foul Contagion spread?
And will no British Champion now engage,
Able to quell th'Infernal Monster's Rage?
Is no brave Hero in Britannia found,
To give this Dragon's Head a deadly Wound?
If this be Albion's Fate, my self will prove
A second George, this Monster to remove.
He roll'd his Eyes, and rising from his Chair,
Vastly disturb'd the Pontiff walk'd around,
And with his Crosier often struck the Ground;
And thus, so Fame reports, he spoke aloud:
And is Eliza then my Foe avow'd?
Has Heresy so great a Conquest won?
Is fair Britannia from my Empire gone?
And does a wild Phanatick Spinstress dare
Against the Sacred Rights of Rome declare?
A giddy Girl affront Saint Peter's Chair?
Did she not only mount Britannia's Throne,
While yet our Will and Pleasure was unknown,
Before she sought our Favour to obtain,
Or first address'd to Rome for Leave to reign?
But does th'audacious Woman now presume
To change the pure Religion too of Rome?
Does she (enormous Wickedness!) rebel,
Bold to declare for Heresy and Hell?
Shall I my Title to Britannia quit,
And on her Throne let this Usurper sit?
This young Enthusiast: Death? shall she defile
The Sacred Shrines of Rome, pollute the Isle,
And fill her Sacrilegious Hands with Spoil?
Shall Heresy, that lately lay as Dead,
Warm'd in Eliza's Bosom reer her Head,
Display her Vipers, and her Venom spread?
130
By Hell engender'd out of Slime and Mud,
Midst pois'nous Weeds and Plants, Religion's Bane,
On the curss'd Banks of the foul Lake Lemaine,
Which does thy Fame, Avernus, far excel,
Is a more plain and broader Road to Hell;
Shall this fell Monster's Breath Britannia blast?
Her rav'ning Jaws lay our Dominions waste?
Must she our Temples enter uncontroul'd,
And on the Sacred Ground her loathsome Limbs unfold?
Must she be worshipp'd, where our Statues stood,
And round her Altars twist her vip'rous Brood?
Shall she erect her odious, hissing Head,
And thro' our Domes her foul Contagion spread?
And will no British Champion now engage,
Able to quell th'Infernal Monster's Rage?
Is no brave Hero in Britannia found,
To give this Dragon's Head a deadly Wound?
If this be Albion's Fate, my self will prove
A second George, this Monster to remove.
Should this contagious Heresy obtain,
And unmolested in Britannia reign;
Should this proud Woman, Rome's Imperial Right
By Force usurp'd, maintain in Rome's Despight;
We should not only lose that fruitful Isle,
From whence we drew such Wealth and noble Spoil,
But neighb'ring Countries will th'Infection take,
And Revolutions in our Empire make.
It will more Kingdoms to Defection draw,
And make them lose to Rome their Pious Awe.
The haughty Maid, I therefore must depose,
And from her Oaths and Vows her Subjects loose.
The rash Usurper shall my Terror dread,
And hear my Thunder roll around her Head.
Could the Great Men, that once this Crosier sway'd,
Ador'd by all Men, and by all obey'd;
Make mighty Nations tremble with their Frowns,
And to precarious Kings distribute Crowns?
Could they oft make repenting Monarchs come,
To beg Forgiveness at thy Court, O Rome?
And humbly prostrate at thy Feet, implore
Thy gracious Lords, their Scepters to restore;
To reinstate them in their vacant Throne,
And make their Subjects their Obedience own?
And shall my high Commands be disobey'd?
My Throne insulted by a Frantick Maid?
No, she shall find Rome does not idle grow,
I now decree th'irrevocable Blow;
Like Heav'n's, my Stroke is certain, tho' 'tis slow.
She'll know, when I chastise her black Offence,
How dreadful 'tis Christ's Vicar to incense.
The hardy Rebel shall her Error own,
Who with consummate Malice rarely known,
Provokes the Thunder of the triple Crown.
And when she feels my Hand's destructive Weight,
She plung'd in deep Distress, will cry too late
For my Compassion on her woeful State.
I to her Pray'r inexorably deaf,
And with her Ruin pleas'd, will mock her idle Grief.
And unmolested in Britannia reign;
Should this proud Woman, Rome's Imperial Right
By Force usurp'd, maintain in Rome's Despight;
We should not only lose that fruitful Isle,
From whence we drew such Wealth and noble Spoil,
But neighb'ring Countries will th'Infection take,
And Revolutions in our Empire make.
131
And make them lose to Rome their Pious Awe.
The haughty Maid, I therefore must depose,
And from her Oaths and Vows her Subjects loose.
The rash Usurper shall my Terror dread,
And hear my Thunder roll around her Head.
Could the Great Men, that once this Crosier sway'd,
Ador'd by all Men, and by all obey'd;
Make mighty Nations tremble with their Frowns,
And to precarious Kings distribute Crowns?
Could they oft make repenting Monarchs come,
To beg Forgiveness at thy Court, O Rome?
And humbly prostrate at thy Feet, implore
Thy gracious Lords, their Scepters to restore;
To reinstate them in their vacant Throne,
And make their Subjects their Obedience own?
And shall my high Commands be disobey'd?
My Throne insulted by a Frantick Maid?
No, she shall find Rome does not idle grow,
I now decree th'irrevocable Blow;
Like Heav'n's, my Stroke is certain, tho' 'tis slow.
She'll know, when I chastise her black Offence,
How dreadful 'tis Christ's Vicar to incense.
The hardy Rebel shall her Error own,
Who with consummate Malice rarely known,
Provokes the Thunder of the triple Crown.
And when she feels my Hand's destructive Weight,
She plung'd in deep Distress, will cry too late
For my Compassion on her woeful State.
132
And with her Ruin pleas'd, will mock her idle Grief.
Such Language, so 'tis said, and so believ'd,
Vented his Passion, and his Rage reliev'd.
Then the Arch-Priest on deep Revenge intent,
To his chief Servants to attend him sent.
On his high Throne th'elated Pontiff sate,
His Crosier'd Lords, high Officers of State,
And Potentates in Red around him wait.
Then was Eliza's black Indictment read,
As one that had renounc'd the Christian Head:
In Heresy so contumacious grown,
That she had pull'd the Roman Altars down,
And dar'd assert an Independent Crown.
Her Condemnation was pronounc'd aloud,
With great Applauses of the Mitred Crowd.
Then thro' the Roman World they made it known,
That Albion's Queen had forfeited her Crown.
That she of impious Heresy had been
By Rome condemn'd, and was no more a Queen.
That all her Subjects from their Bonds were loos'd,
And ow'd no Homage to a Prince depos'd.
That whosoe'er to serve her should presume,
Were all black Traytors judg'd to Heav'n and Rome,
And Hell's eternal Vengeance was their Doom.
Thus did the furious Roman Pontiff rage,
And with Church-Weapons War with Albion wage.
From Rome's high Hills, thus on the Royal Maid
His Light'nings flew, and wrathful Thunder plaid.
Vented his Passion, and his Rage reliev'd.
Then the Arch-Priest on deep Revenge intent,
To his chief Servants to attend him sent.
On his high Throne th'elated Pontiff sate,
His Crosier'd Lords, high Officers of State,
And Potentates in Red around him wait.
Then was Eliza's black Indictment read,
As one that had renounc'd the Christian Head:
In Heresy so contumacious grown,
That she had pull'd the Roman Altars down,
And dar'd assert an Independent Crown.
Her Condemnation was pronounc'd aloud,
With great Applauses of the Mitred Crowd.
Then thro' the Roman World they made it known,
That Albion's Queen had forfeited her Crown.
That she of impious Heresy had been
By Rome condemn'd, and was no more a Queen.
That all her Subjects from their Bonds were loos'd,
And ow'd no Homage to a Prince depos'd.
That whosoe'er to serve her should presume,
Were all black Traytors judg'd to Heav'n and Rome,
And Hell's eternal Vengeance was their Doom.
Thus did the furious Roman Pontiff rage,
And with Church-Weapons War with Albion wage.
From Rome's high Hills, thus on the Royal Maid
His Light'nings flew, and wrathful Thunder plaid.
133
When first the Queen did this loud Tempest hear,
Serene her Breast, and placid was her Air.
Brought up with Danger, and in Suff'ring bred,
She no uneasy or weak Passion fed,
But drew her Life out in an even Thread.
Fortune in every Shape she overcame,
That often chang'd, the Queen was still the same.
She unelated met its flowing Tide,
She undisturb'd beheld the Flood subside.
Nor glorious Conquest, nor an adverse Stroke,
The equal Balance of her Temper broke.
As Alpine Hills which o'er the Clouds arise,
And reer their Heads amidst contiguous Skies,
Enjoy serene, uninterrupted Day,
And floating Tempests all beneath survey;
Their lofty Peaks no threat'ning Meteors wear,
Nor pond'rous Fogs, which cloud inferiour Air:
The stedfast Heaps the raging Winds defy,
So deep they fix their Roots, and raise their Heads so high.
Eliza so her Heav'nly Mind possest,
Sedate in Danger, and in Storms at rest.
Serene her Breast, and placid was her Air.
Brought up with Danger, and in Suff'ring bred,
She no uneasy or weak Passion fed,
But drew her Life out in an even Thread.
Fortune in every Shape she overcame,
That often chang'd, the Queen was still the same.
She unelated met its flowing Tide,
She undisturb'd beheld the Flood subside.
Nor glorious Conquest, nor an adverse Stroke,
The equal Balance of her Temper broke.
As Alpine Hills which o'er the Clouds arise,
And reer their Heads amidst contiguous Skies,
Enjoy serene, uninterrupted Day,
And floating Tempests all beneath survey;
Their lofty Peaks no threat'ning Meteors wear,
Nor pond'rous Fogs, which cloud inferiour Air:
The stedfast Heaps the raging Winds defy,
So deep they fix their Roots, and raise their Heads so high.
Eliza so her Heav'nly Mind possest,
Sedate in Danger, and in Storms at rest.
From Rome's Displeasure great Disorders rose,
Which interrupted oft her Realm's Repose.
Rome sought with indefatigable Toil
To wound Religion, and the State embroil.
New Troubles in Britannia to create,
Which with Convulsions grip'd th'uneasy State.
A thousand Ways the restless Faction strove
From Albion's Throne Eliza to remove.
In curss'd Cabals the bloody Priests prepare
Against her open, or clandestine War.
Scotia's young Queen, the Gallick Dauphin's Bride,
Did in the loose Parisian Court reside,
Albion's next Heiress by the Female Side.
Her strict Adherance to the Roman Cause,
Among the Bigots gain'd her great Applause.
She was the Idol, which they did adore,
They long'd to see their Darling wafted o'er
To Albion's Empire, from the Gallick Shore.
That they their Worship might again impose,
And into Martyrs kindly turn their Foes.
Lukewarm Reformists of a medly Kind,
Half of the Roman Leven, half refin'd,
With these, their Int'rests and their Labour join'd.
Weary of Rest, they court the Roman Yoke,
The Slaves demand the Chains, from which they broke.
For want of Servitude uneasy grown,
They wish again a Tyrant on the Throne.
Which interrupted oft her Realm's Repose.
Rome sought with indefatigable Toil
To wound Religion, and the State embroil.
New Troubles in Britannia to create,
Which with Convulsions grip'd th'uneasy State.
A thousand Ways the restless Faction strove
From Albion's Throne Eliza to remove.
134
Against her open, or clandestine War.
Scotia's young Queen, the Gallick Dauphin's Bride,
Did in the loose Parisian Court reside,
Albion's next Heiress by the Female Side.
Her strict Adherance to the Roman Cause,
Among the Bigots gain'd her great Applause.
She was the Idol, which they did adore,
They long'd to see their Darling wafted o'er
To Albion's Empire, from the Gallick Shore.
That they their Worship might again impose,
And into Martyrs kindly turn their Foes.
Lukewarm Reformists of a medly Kind,
Half of the Roman Leven, half refin'd,
With these, their Int'rests and their Labour join'd.
Weary of Rest, they court the Roman Yoke,
The Slaves demand the Chains, from which they broke.
For want of Servitude uneasy grown,
They wish again a Tyrant on the Throne.
That Romanists should Roman Masters love,
Does not surprize, or Admiration move.
But that Reformists (such would these be thought)
Should with such Zeal the Cause of Rome promote,
Should help a Roman Tyrant to Enthrone,
Should pull their Queen, their own Religion down,
And wish their Country ruin'd and undone:
This presses Reason with such Violence,
So contradicts our Nature, and our Sense,
That Ages past no such Examples give,
And those to come, with Pain will this believe.
This monst'rous Brood Religion's great Disgrace,
The Stain and Scandal of the British Race;
Amazing Deed! with Rage Infernal fir'd,
Against their Country, Queen, and God conspir'd.
Some by mistaken Notions were misled,
Others were poor, and Traytors turn'd for Bread.
They made to Lands or Merit no Pretence,
Of Zeal intemp'rate, but of mod'rate Sense.
Desp'rate of Fortune, profligate of Life,
The needy Crew stir'd up seditious Strife.
As Ruffians set their Neighbour's House on Fire,
That they some wealthy Plunder may acquire,
And in the Uproar unobserv'd retire.
So these vile Wretches Albion would embroil,
To load their Shoulders with the publick Spoil.
Does not surprize, or Admiration move.
But that Reformists (such would these be thought)
Should with such Zeal the Cause of Rome promote,
Should help a Roman Tyrant to Enthrone,
Should pull their Queen, their own Religion down,
And wish their Country ruin'd and undone:
This presses Reason with such Violence,
So contradicts our Nature, and our Sense,
135
And those to come, with Pain will this believe.
This monst'rous Brood Religion's great Disgrace,
The Stain and Scandal of the British Race;
Amazing Deed! with Rage Infernal fir'd,
Against their Country, Queen, and God conspir'd.
Some by mistaken Notions were misled,
Others were poor, and Traytors turn'd for Bread.
They made to Lands or Merit no Pretence,
Of Zeal intemp'rate, but of mod'rate Sense.
Desp'rate of Fortune, profligate of Life,
The needy Crew stir'd up seditious Strife.
As Ruffians set their Neighbour's House on Fire,
That they some wealthy Plunder may acquire,
And in the Uproar unobserv'd retire.
So these vile Wretches Albion would embroil,
To load their Shoulders with the publick Spoil.
These, who the Queen's Religion did profess,
Did Roman Ruffians in their Arms caress.
And tho' they swore Allegiance to her Crown,
They labour'd hard to undermine her Throne.
They did the Church divide, disturb the State,
And bore the Queen, e'en more than Roman Hate.
From their black Mouths envenom'd Arrows flew,
And curss'd Invectives did the Queen pursue.
They monst'rous Maxims taught, unknown to Fame,
That Moderation would the World inflame.
That Temper was in Politicks a Vice,
And to be Prudent, was to be Unwise.
A thousand Ways they wound Eliza's Name,
Her Conduct now, and now her Justice blame;
And with seditious Fire Britannia's Realm inflame.
Black Libels labour'd in the Forge of Hell,
Off-springs of Malice inexpressible,
Slanders invented by consummate Spite,
Our Bonners such, such Scotia's Leslys write:
Did every Day affront the Pious Queen,
Britannia's Prop, and pure Religion's Screen.
With strange Fecundity their teeming Brain
New Falshoods hatch'd, her Honour to disdain.
The Lords Anointed their black Tongues revile,
And spread their odious Poison thro' the Isle.
With sly Suggestions now, now bolder grown,
With open Slanders they affront the Throne.
All our Misfortunes this invidious Tribe,
To want of Counsel, or of Care ascribe.
Whate'er Disgrace Britannia's Arms receive,
They greater make, and greedily believe.
With Marks of Joy and Triumph in their Face,
They all bad Tidings eagerly embrace.
And with unnatural Strains of Pleasure hear
Reports, that make their Country's Ruin near.
But when Eliza's Arms Victorious prove,
Good Heav'ns! what Indignation does it move?
What troubled Looks, what an uneasy Air,
What Disappointment do their Faces wear?
How great is now their Grief? their Anguish how sincere?
What Pains they take, what Arts and Shifts they use,
The Honour of Britannia to reduce?
To make th'Advantage mean and little show;
Against their Country partial for the Foe.
Did Roman Ruffians in their Arms caress.
And tho' they swore Allegiance to her Crown,
They labour'd hard to undermine her Throne.
They did the Church divide, disturb the State,
And bore the Queen, e'en more than Roman Hate.
From their black Mouths envenom'd Arrows flew,
And curss'd Invectives did the Queen pursue.
They monst'rous Maxims taught, unknown to Fame,
That Moderation would the World inflame.
That Temper was in Politicks a Vice,
And to be Prudent, was to be Unwise.
136
Her Conduct now, and now her Justice blame;
And with seditious Fire Britannia's Realm inflame.
Black Libels labour'd in the Forge of Hell,
Off-springs of Malice inexpressible,
Slanders invented by consummate Spite,
Our Bonners such, such Scotia's Leslys write:
Did every Day affront the Pious Queen,
Britannia's Prop, and pure Religion's Screen.
With strange Fecundity their teeming Brain
New Falshoods hatch'd, her Honour to disdain.
The Lords Anointed their black Tongues revile,
And spread their odious Poison thro' the Isle.
With sly Suggestions now, now bolder grown,
With open Slanders they affront the Throne.
All our Misfortunes this invidious Tribe,
To want of Counsel, or of Care ascribe.
Whate'er Disgrace Britannia's Arms receive,
They greater make, and greedily believe.
With Marks of Joy and Triumph in their Face,
They all bad Tidings eagerly embrace.
And with unnatural Strains of Pleasure hear
Reports, that make their Country's Ruin near.
But when Eliza's Arms Victorious prove,
Good Heav'ns! what Indignation does it move?
What troubled Looks, what an uneasy Air,
What Disappointment do their Faces wear?
How great is now their Grief? their Anguish how sincere?
What Pains they take, what Arts and Shifts they use,
The Honour of Britannia to reduce?
137
Against their Country partial for the Foe.
Once thro' Augusta pass'd an erring Fame,
The Cause unknown, from whence at first it came.
That Scotia's Queen, whose Right to Albion's Throne
The Gallick King protected, as his own:
Who in Lutetia lately had proclaim'd,
And Scotia's Daughter Queen of Britain nam'd:
Had Gallia left, and with a potent Fleet
Did on the Seas Eliza's Navy meet.
The last was vanquish'd, and Maria's Host
They said was Landing on Britannia's Coast.
The spreading Fame was groundless, 'tis allow'd,
But this the Temper of the Faction show'd.
Immoderate Pleasure all their Looks confest,
Unbridled Transports strove within their Breast,
Brake thro' their Eyes, and scorn'd to be supprest.
With what an arrogant, revengeful Air,
With what licentious Language did they dare
Insult the Queen, the Government affront,
And all the Bounds of Modesty surmount?
With Menaces and Insolence unknown,
They treat the firm Adherents to the Crown.
Intoxicated with too full a Draught
Of new fermenting Joy, their usual Craft,
And Mask laid by, they openly proclaim'd
The trayt'rous End, at which the Faction aim'd.
Th'expected Revolution turn'd their Head,
And too strong Pleasure downright Phrenzy bred.
The Cause unknown, from whence at first it came.
That Scotia's Queen, whose Right to Albion's Throne
The Gallick King protected, as his own:
Who in Lutetia lately had proclaim'd,
And Scotia's Daughter Queen of Britain nam'd:
Had Gallia left, and with a potent Fleet
Did on the Seas Eliza's Navy meet.
The last was vanquish'd, and Maria's Host
They said was Landing on Britannia's Coast.
The spreading Fame was groundless, 'tis allow'd,
But this the Temper of the Faction show'd.
Immoderate Pleasure all their Looks confest,
Unbridled Transports strove within their Breast,
Brake thro' their Eyes, and scorn'd to be supprest.
With what an arrogant, revengeful Air,
With what licentious Language did they dare
Insult the Queen, the Government affront,
And all the Bounds of Modesty surmount?
With Menaces and Insolence unknown,
They treat the firm Adherents to the Crown.
Intoxicated with too full a Draught
Of new fermenting Joy, their usual Craft,
And Mask laid by, they openly proclaim'd
The trayt'rous End, at which the Faction aim'd.
Th'expected Revolution turn'd their Head,
And too strong Pleasure downright Phrenzy bred.
138
Oh! how they glory'd that the Time was come,
When by Resumption all the Plagues of Rome,
Which were by impious Alienations gone,
Should be again anext to Albion's Throne.
A Time would bring our banish'd Suff'rings back,
And of our Woes full Restitution make.
Lost Servitude recover, and restore
The glorious Chains, Britannia wore before.
Sink pure Religion, and the Nation free
From all ignoble Marks of Liberty.
When Britain's Sons might in Oppression rest,
With Rome's kind Lords, and Gallia's Friendship blest,
Enrich'd by Robbers, and with Whips carest.
How were they pleas'd to bring a Queen from France,
One finely bred, one that could Sing and Dance?
For rough unpolish'd Britain cannot breed
A Princess fit, in Empire to succeed.
Besides, they boasted France would be our Friend,
Would guard our Navy, and our Coasts defend.
Would still espouse the Quarrels of our Court,
And with her Arms Britannia's Rights support.
Notions so strange, their over-heated Brain,
Passions so wild, their Breasts did entertain.
But then convinc'd of this untrue Report,
No Art their sinking Spirits could support.
Thus disappointed of their Friends Relief,
Words are not able to express their Grief.
When by Resumption all the Plagues of Rome,
Which were by impious Alienations gone,
Should be again anext to Albion's Throne.
A Time would bring our banish'd Suff'rings back,
And of our Woes full Restitution make.
Lost Servitude recover, and restore
The glorious Chains, Britannia wore before.
Sink pure Religion, and the Nation free
From all ignoble Marks of Liberty.
When Britain's Sons might in Oppression rest,
With Rome's kind Lords, and Gallia's Friendship blest,
Enrich'd by Robbers, and with Whips carest.
How were they pleas'd to bring a Queen from France,
One finely bred, one that could Sing and Dance?
For rough unpolish'd Britain cannot breed
A Princess fit, in Empire to succeed.
Besides, they boasted France would be our Friend,
Would guard our Navy, and our Coasts defend.
Would still espouse the Quarrels of our Court,
And with her Arms Britannia's Rights support.
Notions so strange, their over-heated Brain,
Passions so wild, their Breasts did entertain.
But then convinc'd of this untrue Report,
No Art their sinking Spirits could support.
Thus disappointed of their Friends Relief,
Words are not able to express their Grief.
Their Hopes eluded of their Darling Queen,
Their Triumphs sunk, and chang'd the chearful Scene.
They rave, that ling'ring Gallia makes delay,
Does not their Idol to their Arms convey.
Does all their Hopes, and all their Joy retard,
And does not more their earnest Crys regard.
They hop'd to see Brigades from Gallia's Soil,
Lodg'd in the Bowels of their native Isle.
That these kind Neighbours would their Aid afford,
To lay Britannia waste with Fire and Sword.
Now disappointed of their black Design,
Refusing Consolation, they repine.
This one would judge does all Belief exceed,
And yet Britannia did such Monsters breed.
These late Reformists of a Mungrel Race,
Who unsincerely did our Faith embrace,
Whom only Worldy Int'rest did convert,
Of Rome's Religion, or of none at Heart.
These to reform'd Religion did pretend,
And Britain's Church with wond'rous Heat defend.
But tho' they seem'd the Champions of her Cause,
They shun'd her Worship, and despis'd her Laws.
They in her Sacred Temples never pray'd,
Nor at her Altars once Attendance pay'd.
For to the British Church their Court they make,
Not for Religion's, but for Faction's sake.
Their Triumphs sunk, and chang'd the chearful Scene.
139
Does not their Idol to their Arms convey.
Does all their Hopes, and all their Joy retard,
And does not more their earnest Crys regard.
They hop'd to see Brigades from Gallia's Soil,
Lodg'd in the Bowels of their native Isle.
That these kind Neighbours would their Aid afford,
To lay Britannia waste with Fire and Sword.
Now disappointed of their black Design,
Refusing Consolation, they repine.
This one would judge does all Belief exceed,
And yet Britannia did such Monsters breed.
These late Reformists of a Mungrel Race,
Who unsincerely did our Faith embrace,
Whom only Worldy Int'rest did convert,
Of Rome's Religion, or of none at Heart.
These to reform'd Religion did pretend,
And Britain's Church with wond'rous Heat defend.
But tho' they seem'd the Champions of her Cause,
They shun'd her Worship, and despis'd her Laws.
They in her Sacred Temples never pray'd,
Nor at her Altars once Attendance pay'd.
For to the British Church their Court they make,
Not for Religion's, but for Faction's sake.
Against the Pious Queen these Men inveigh'd,
Th'important Secrets of the State betray'd.
A private trayt'rous Commerce did support,
With the young Queen, and Gallia's watchful Court.
Sollicitations they did still renew,
And Gallia's King with endless Pray'rs pursue,
To send his Arms, Eliza to subdue.
To seize the Isle ripe for Defection grown,
And fix Maria on Britannia's Throne.
The subtile Gaul the Faction did befriend;
They on his Pow'r, as their chief Prop, depend.
They oft Assistance did receive from France,
Which knew their Int'rest did her own advance.
And now to aid them strongly she inclin'd,
Often to Land on Albion's Shores design'd.
But still entangled with Domestick Cares,
Intestine Broils, or Fears of forreign Wars:
She could no Season favourable find
To put in Practice, what she long design'd.
Th'important Secrets of the State betray'd.
A private trayt'rous Commerce did support,
With the young Queen, and Gallia's watchful Court.
140
And Gallia's King with endless Pray'rs pursue,
To send his Arms, Eliza to subdue.
To seize the Isle ripe for Defection grown,
And fix Maria on Britannia's Throne.
The subtile Gaul the Faction did befriend;
They on his Pow'r, as their chief Prop, depend.
They oft Assistance did receive from France,
Which knew their Int'rest did her own advance.
And now to aid them strongly she inclin'd,
Often to Land on Albion's Shores design'd.
But still entangled with Domestick Cares,
Intestine Broils, or Fears of forreign Wars:
She could no Season favourable find
To put in Practice, what she long design'd.
The Faction grown impatient of delay,
For Gallia's Forces would no longer stay,
Resolv'd by Force to pull Eliza down,
And on Maria's Head to place the Crown:
The Priests their Trayt'rous Juntos did convene
To raise Rebellion, and dethrone the Queen.
Much in their num'rous Friends they did confide,
Much on the Zeal of their great Lords rely'd.
Peircy descended from a Noble Root,
Whose Branches laden with illustrious Fruit,
In Ages past adorn'd Britannia's Isle,
And next, the Lord of Westmorlandia's Soil,
Were Peers of Valour, and with Passion warm'd
Against Eliza, and the Faith reform'd.
Fierce Dacres of the North, a Papal Lord,
No less Eliza, and her Church abhor'd,
For Gallia's Forces would no longer stay,
Resolv'd by Force to pull Eliza down,
And on Maria's Head to place the Crown:
The Priests their Trayt'rous Juntos did convene
To raise Rebellion, and dethrone the Queen.
Much in their num'rous Friends they did confide,
Much on the Zeal of their great Lords rely'd.
Peircy descended from a Noble Root,
Whose Branches laden with illustrious Fruit,
In Ages past adorn'd Britannia's Isle,
And next, the Lord of Westmorlandia's Soil,
Were Peers of Valour, and with Passion warm'd
Against Eliza, and the Faith reform'd.
141
No less Eliza, and her Church abhor'd,
To these the Faction Application made,
And their pretended Jujuries display'd.
With their envenom'd Breath the Priests enrage,
And in Rebellion these great Lords engage.
They told them Rome, to sanctify their Cause,
Depos'd Eliza by her Sacred Laws.
That she a stubborn Heretick condemn'd,
No longer might their Soveraign be esteem'd.
Her Subjects from Allegiance were absolv'd,
And on Maria's Head the Crown devolv'd.
That they a proud Usurper should dethrone,
Who sways a Royal Scepter, not her own.
That thus their Loyalty they would reveal
To Queen Maria, and to Heav'n their Zeal.
That 'twas their bounden Duty to expel
From Albion's Isle the Colonies of Hell.
To raise Divine Religion's drooping Head,
Dispel Calvinian Fogs, and Rome's bright Lustre spread.
That this would vanquish Heresy, and send
Back to her gloomly Cell the foul Infernal Fiend.
That Britain, by this great Heroick Deed,
From the pernicious Hydra would be freed.
That this was therefore, what the Briton's ow'd,
Both to their native Country, and their God.
That if for want of Courage they declin'd
The meritorious Task, which Heav'n enjoin'd;
Should they the Golden Hour supinely miss,
Which offer'd Laurels now, and future Bliss,
They would deserve their ignominious Chain,
And all th'Oppressions of Eliza's Reign,
That dreadful Vengeance would their Heads pursue,
And all the heavy Plagues and Curses due
To those, who own a proud Usurper's Sway,
And both their Country, and their Faith betray.
And their pretended Jujuries display'd.
With their envenom'd Breath the Priests enrage,
And in Rebellion these great Lords engage.
They told them Rome, to sanctify their Cause,
Depos'd Eliza by her Sacred Laws.
That she a stubborn Heretick condemn'd,
No longer might their Soveraign be esteem'd.
Her Subjects from Allegiance were absolv'd,
And on Maria's Head the Crown devolv'd.
That they a proud Usurper should dethrone,
Who sways a Royal Scepter, not her own.
That thus their Loyalty they would reveal
To Queen Maria, and to Heav'n their Zeal.
That 'twas their bounden Duty to expel
From Albion's Isle the Colonies of Hell.
To raise Divine Religion's drooping Head,
Dispel Calvinian Fogs, and Rome's bright Lustre spread.
That this would vanquish Heresy, and send
Back to her gloomly Cell the foul Infernal Fiend.
That Britain, by this great Heroick Deed,
From the pernicious Hydra would be freed.
That this was therefore, what the Briton's ow'd,
Both to their native Country, and their God.
That if for want of Courage they declin'd
The meritorious Task, which Heav'n enjoin'd;
142
Which offer'd Laurels now, and future Bliss,
They would deserve their ignominious Chain,
And all th'Oppressions of Eliza's Reign,
That dreadful Vengeance would their Heads pursue,
And all the heavy Plagues and Curses due
To those, who own a proud Usurper's Sway,
And both their Country, and their Faith betray.
Language, like this, these Noble Britons fir'd,
And with seditious Heats their Breasts inspir'd.
So much their Priesthood did their Conscience sway,
They boldly follow'd, where they led the way;
And thought it Treason now, their Soveraign to obey.
That highly 'twould advance their Country's Good,
To waste it with the Sword, and lay it all in Blood.
That bless'd by Rome their Arms must needs succeed,
And Heav'n would crown the meritorious Deed.
They took the Field, and brandishing their Arms,
They spread the Terror of their loud Alarms.
Of Scotia's Queen they Proclamation made,
And their bold Engsigns in the North display'd.
Hoping Great Nobles would from Scotia come,
To aid their Queen, and serve the Cause of Rome.
The Faction thus Rebellious War proclaim'd,
And with licentuious Tongues their Friends inflam'd.
The Roman Bigots run exclaiming loud,
Maria reigns, and round their Leaders crowd.
Thus reer'd Rebellion her Infernal Head,
With sounding Trumpets her Battalions led,
And bloody Banners on the Hills display'd.
And with seditious Heats their Breasts inspir'd.
So much their Priesthood did their Conscience sway,
They boldly follow'd, where they led the way;
And thought it Treason now, their Soveraign to obey.
That highly 'twould advance their Country's Good,
To waste it with the Sword, and lay it all in Blood.
That bless'd by Rome their Arms must needs succeed,
And Heav'n would crown the meritorious Deed.
They took the Field, and brandishing their Arms,
They spread the Terror of their loud Alarms.
Of Scotia's Queen they Proclamation made,
And their bold Engsigns in the North display'd.
Hoping Great Nobles would from Scotia come,
To aid their Queen, and serve the Cause of Rome.
The Faction thus Rebellious War proclaim'd,
And with licentuious Tongues their Friends inflam'd.
The Roman Bigots run exclaiming loud,
Maria reigns, and round their Leaders crowd.
143
With sounding Trumpets her Battalions led,
And bloody Banners on the Hills display'd.
The Queen, on Albion's Safety still intent,
Her Arms to quell the Insurrection sent.
Sussex the Loyal Squadrons did command,
And march'd with speed to Northern Humber's Land.
As by Consent the Time and Place were set,
On the Brigantian Plains the Armies met.
The Gen'rals drew the Battel in Array,
And War its Iron Terrors did display.
The Loyal Troops began their fierce Attack,
And by the Rebels twice were driven back:
But at the third they forc'd them to retreat,
With a great Slaughter did their Troops defeat,
And soon a signal Vict'ry did compleat.
By this Disgrace, the rest outrageous grew,
Left open Arms, and to clandestine flew.
Her Arms to quell the Insurrection sent.
Sussex the Loyal Squadrons did command,
And march'd with speed to Northern Humber's Land.
As by Consent the Time and Place were set,
On the Brigantian Plains the Armies met.
The Gen'rals drew the Battel in Array,
And War its Iron Terrors did display.
The Loyal Troops began their fierce Attack,
And by the Rebels twice were driven back:
But at the third they forc'd them to retreat,
With a great Slaughter did their Troops defeat,
And soon a signal Vict'ry did compleat.
By this Disgrace, the rest outrageous grew,
Left open Arms, and to clandestine flew.
I enter here, great Prince, a spacious Field,
That does ten thousand Shapes of Horror yield.
Which way soe'er I cast my Eyes around,
Some dismal Prospect does my Sight confound.
Amazing Forms, Variety of Fear,
And Tragick Scenes on ev'ry Hand appear.
Here holy Villains in Cabals are seen
Consulting, how to Murder Britain's Queen.
Here Traytors hold sure Poison in their Hand,
Here bloody Ruffians with their Daggers stand.
By various Ways they did the Queen invade,
And for her Life a thousand Snares were laid.
Dangers where e'er she went, and Deaths unseen,
Thick as her Guards, surround the pious Queen.
The rising Sun ne'er past th'Horizon's Line
But saw against her Life some black Design.
If one curs'd Plot eluded miss'd Success,
Th'unwearied Faction did a new one dress:
Fresh Dangers, link'd in one continu'd Chain,
Threat'ned her Life, and gave us endless Pain.
The Series is too long to be exprest;
This Instance take, a Measure of the rest.
That does ten thousand Shapes of Horror yield.
Which way soe'er I cast my Eyes around,
Some dismal Prospect does my Sight confound.
Amazing Forms, Variety of Fear,
And Tragick Scenes on ev'ry Hand appear.
Here holy Villains in Cabals are seen
Consulting, how to Murder Britain's Queen.
Here Traytors hold sure Poison in their Hand,
Here bloody Ruffians with their Daggers stand.
144
And for her Life a thousand Snares were laid.
Dangers where e'er she went, and Deaths unseen,
Thick as her Guards, surround the pious Queen.
The rising Sun ne'er past th'Horizon's Line
But saw against her Life some black Design.
If one curs'd Plot eluded miss'd Success,
Th'unwearied Faction did a new one dress:
Fresh Dangers, link'd in one continu'd Chain,
Threat'ned her Life, and gave us endless Pain.
The Series is too long to be exprest;
This Instance take, a Measure of the rest.
Parreus, one scarce known of what Descent,
Who had in lewd luxurious Courses spent
His small Estate, turn'd Robber to supply
His wasteful Lusts, and was condemn'd to die.
The Queen, who Mercy to a Fault has shown,
Gave him that Life, which hazarded her own.
Th'ungrateful Monster, by the Faction prest,
(The horrid Guilt his own black Mouth confest)
And won by Gold, and promis'd Heav'nly Joy,
Engag'd in Oaths Eliza to destroy.
His Conscience started on a cool Review,
And like a Harpy at his Bosom flew.
It grip'd him with Remorse, and set to show
The frightful Prospect of his Hellish Vow.
Th'enormous Guilt of faithless Hands embru'd
Both in his Queen's and Benefactor's Blood,
Appear'd so black, the Traytor backward flew,
And to th'atrocious Deed did great Reluctance shew.
But then conversing with the Mitred Priest
To be confirm'd, the Pious Casuist
With soothing Words his Conscience did asswage,
Strok'd down its Fierceness, and appeas'd its Rage.
Who had in lewd luxurious Courses spent
His small Estate, turn'd Robber to supply
His wasteful Lusts, and was condemn'd to die.
The Queen, who Mercy to a Fault has shown,
Gave him that Life, which hazarded her own.
Th'ungrateful Monster, by the Faction prest,
(The horrid Guilt his own black Mouth confest)
And won by Gold, and promis'd Heav'nly Joy,
Engag'd in Oaths Eliza to destroy.
His Conscience started on a cool Review,
And like a Harpy at his Bosom flew.
It grip'd him with Remorse, and set to show
The frightful Prospect of his Hellish Vow.
Th'enormous Guilt of faithless Hands embru'd
Both in his Queen's and Benefactor's Blood,
145
And to th'atrocious Deed did great Reluctance shew.
But then conversing with the Mitred Priest
To be confirm'd, the Pious Casuist
With soothing Words his Conscience did asswage,
Strok'd down its Fierceness, and appeas'd its Rage.
He told him, since Eliza was become
A Heretick, and so adjudg'd by Rome;
She could no Title to Britannia own,
But as a Tyrant fill'd another's Throne.
Th'Assassination of th'usurping Queen,
At such a distance was remov'd from Sin,
That 'twas a Pious and Heroick Deed
Worthy of Heav'n, to make the Tyrant Bleed.
That Saints and Heros were by Heav'n design'd
To free from Plagues and Monsters, Human Kind.
With Monsters, worse than Tyrants, none were curst,
That of all Tyrants Britain's was the worst.
But to remove all Jealousy of Guilt,
In case her Blood by his bless'd Hand was spilt,
And fully to confirm his wav'ring Mind,
The Pious Priest did this expedient find.
He for his Son a Pardon did procure
From Rome's proud Head, who claims transcendent Pow'r
With Heav'n's most Sacred Precepts to dispense,
And purge the blackest Actions from Offence.
To give the worst of Crimes Divine Desert,
And bloody Villains into Saints convert.
He with his Holy, Apostolick Seal,
Approv'd and authoriz'd the Traytor's Zeal.
And on the Wretch the Honour did confer,
Of Rome's immediate Executioner.
When to his Son these Pow'rs the Prelate brought,
Be free, he cry'd, from every anxious Thought.
Here ample Pow'rs are to Pareus giv'n,
Take this Commission, take this Seal of Heav'n;
Take too this Dagger, by the Pontiff blest,
With the strong Vertue of our Shrines possest,
It has a thousand Reliques touch'd at least.
Take it, and let the curs'd Eliza feel
Deep in her Heart the consecrated Steel.
Then in his Arms he his dear Son embrac'd,
Kiss'd him with Tenderness, and bad him haste
To Albion's Isle, and with a steddy Mind
Perform the glorious Task by Heav'n enjoin'd.
Go, then he cry'd, discharge the solemn Vow,
And purchase Heav'n by one Religious Blow.
And when thy Hand attempts the noble Deed,
May Heav'n thy Holy Enterprize succeed.
A Heretick, and so adjudg'd by Rome;
She could no Title to Britannia own,
But as a Tyrant fill'd another's Throne.
Th'Assassination of th'usurping Queen,
At such a distance was remov'd from Sin,
That 'twas a Pious and Heroick Deed
Worthy of Heav'n, to make the Tyrant Bleed.
That Saints and Heros were by Heav'n design'd
To free from Plagues and Monsters, Human Kind.
With Monsters, worse than Tyrants, none were curst,
That of all Tyrants Britain's was the worst.
But to remove all Jealousy of Guilt,
In case her Blood by his bless'd Hand was spilt,
And fully to confirm his wav'ring Mind,
The Pious Priest did this expedient find.
He for his Son a Pardon did procure
From Rome's proud Head, who claims transcendent Pow'r
With Heav'n's most Sacred Precepts to dispense,
And purge the blackest Actions from Offence.
To give the worst of Crimes Divine Desert,
And bloody Villains into Saints convert.
146
Approv'd and authoriz'd the Traytor's Zeal.
And on the Wretch the Honour did confer,
Of Rome's immediate Executioner.
When to his Son these Pow'rs the Prelate brought,
Be free, he cry'd, from every anxious Thought.
Here ample Pow'rs are to Pareus giv'n,
Take this Commission, take this Seal of Heav'n;
Take too this Dagger, by the Pontiff blest,
With the strong Vertue of our Shrines possest,
It has a thousand Reliques touch'd at least.
Take it, and let the curs'd Eliza feel
Deep in her Heart the consecrated Steel.
Then in his Arms he his dear Son embrac'd,
Kiss'd him with Tenderness, and bad him haste
To Albion's Isle, and with a steddy Mind
Perform the glorious Task by Heav'n enjoin'd.
Go, then he cry'd, discharge the solemn Vow,
And purchase Heav'n by one Religious Blow.
And when thy Hand attempts the noble Deed,
May Heav'n thy Holy Enterprize succeed.
On his Infernal Purpose fully bent,
The desp'rate Ruffian to Britannia went,
And oft about Eliza's Court was seen,
Watching a Season to assault the Queen.
Oft he design'd to strike the fatal Blow,
But he as often let the Season go.
For when her Royal Majesty he saw
Her God-like Looks imprinted such an Awe,
And so enervated the Traytor's Hand,
It wanted Force the Weapon to command.
At last detected, he his Crime confess'd,
And Rome's Illustrious Martyr-roll encreass'd.
This threat'ning Stroke, the Queen in Danger vers'd
Escap'd, and more too long to be rehears'd.
So long, so great the Labour was to chase
Rome's Priests away, their Worship to efface,
And fix reform'd Religion in it's Place,
The desp'rate Ruffian to Britannia went,
And oft about Eliza's Court was seen,
Watching a Season to assault the Queen.
Oft he design'd to strike the fatal Blow,
But he as often let the Season go.
For when her Royal Majesty he saw
Her God-like Looks imprinted such an Awe,
147
It wanted Force the Weapon to command.
At last detected, he his Crime confess'd,
And Rome's Illustrious Martyr-roll encreass'd.
This threat'ning Stroke, the Queen in Danger vers'd
Escap'd, and more too long to be rehears'd.
So long, so great the Labour was to chase
Rome's Priests away, their Worship to efface,
And fix reform'd Religion in it's Place,
He said. And grateful Thanks Mauritius paid
For the Narration, which the Briton made.
And now the Dishes on the Table set,
The Prince invites the British Chief to Eat.
They sate. The Gen'rals on each side were plac'd,
The Belgians one, and one the British grac'd.
They Eat with Pleasure, and their Goblets crown'd
With gen'rous Nectar went in Healths around:
While Martial Drums did beat, and chearful Trumpets sound.
At close of Day each Warrior to his Tent,
Pleas'd with the Noble Entertainment, went.
For the Narration, which the Briton made.
And now the Dishes on the Table set,
The Prince invites the British Chief to Eat.
They sate. The Gen'rals on each side were plac'd,
The Belgians one, and one the British grac'd.
They Eat with Pleasure, and their Goblets crown'd
With gen'rous Nectar went in Healths around:
While Martial Drums did beat, and chearful Trumpets sound.
At close of Day each Warrior to his Tent,
Pleas'd with the Noble Entertainment, went.
The End of the Fifth Book.
| Eliza | |