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Exclamation against Popery

or, a Broad-Side against Rome. Occasioned by his Majestie's Last Gracious Speech, when he was further pleas'd to Express His Zeal to Maintain the Truly Antient Protestant Religion. By R. W. [i.e. Robert Wild] Licensed, November the 14th. 1678

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EXCLAMATION AGAINST POPERY:

OR, A Broad-Side against ROME. Occasioned by his MAJESTIE'S Last Gracious Speech, when he was further pleas'd to Express His Zeal to Maintain the Truly Antient Protestant Religion.

By R. W. D. D.
[_]

LICENSED, November the 14th. 1678.

Plot on, Proud Rome! and lay thy damn'd Design
As low as Hell, we'll find a Countermine:
Wrack thy curst Parts! and when thy utmost Skill
Has prov'd unable to effect thy Will;
Call thy Black Emissaries, let 'em go
To summon Traytors from the Shades below,
Where Infant Treason dates its Monstrous Birth;
Is nurst with Care, and after sent on Earth:
To some curst Monks, or wand'ring Jesuites Cell;
Where it thrives faster, than it did in Hell!
Call Bloody Brutus up, Lean Cassius too;
Let Fa{n}e, and Catesby both, be of the Crew!—
Nay, rather than want Help, let your BULLS run;
And Damn the Devil, if he do not come!
Yet after all your Plots, and Hatchings, we,
(So long as CHARLES, and's Senators agree)
Will warm our Hands at Bone-fires, Bells shall Ring;
And Traytor's Knells no longer Toll, but Sing.
We doubt not Rome, but Maugre all thy Skill,
The Glorious GOD of our Religion will,
In spite of all thy Art, preserve It still!
And his peculiar Care of It to shew,
Defend in Health, Its Great DEFENDER too!
I'th' Interim, Do thou new Crimes invent,
And we'll contrive as Subtle Punishment.
'Tis Autumn now with us; and every Tree,
Instead of Fruit, may bend with Popery.
'Twould be a Novel, tho no hated Sight,
If every Bough should bear a Jesuite!
We'll meet your Plots with Pikes, Daggers with Swords;
And stead of long Cravats, we'll lend you Cords.
Each Stab in Private, we'll with Use return:
And whilst one Hangs, the other he shall Burn;
Till Tybourn's long impoverish't Squire appear
Gay as the Idol, fills the Porph'ry Chair.
Yes, Mighty CHARLES! at thy Command we'll run
Through Seas of Rebels Blood, to save thy Crown.
Our Wives, Estates, and Children too, shall be
But Whet-stones to our Swords, when drawn for Thee.
We'll Hack and Slash, and Shoot, till Rome Condoles;
And Hell it self, is cloy'd with Traytors Souls:
'Till Godfrey's wronged Ghost (which still does call
For Shoals of Rebels to attend his Fall)
Cryes out, Dear Protestants, no more pursue
Their Guilty Blood, my Manes have their Due!
This, Mighty Monarch! at thy Beck or Nod,
Shall be effected, as Thou wer't a God;
With so much Readiness, thy Royal Tongue
Shall hardly Speak, e're we Revenge the Wrong
On thy curst Enemies; who whilst they state
Thy Death, shall feel themselves th'intended Fate:
And by a quick Reverse, be forc't to try
The Dire Effects of their own Treachery.
Poor Scarlet Harlot, could'st Thou stand in want
Of a Genteel, and Generous Gallant,
Whose Noble Soul to Baseness could not yield;
But wou'd have try'd thy Int'rest in the Field,
We had not thus thy Policies condemn'd;
But thought thee worthy of a Foe, or Friend:
Both which, with equal Estimate thou'lt find,
VVere alwayes valu'd by an English Mind.
But Thou of late, so Treacherous do'st grow,
That we should blush, to own thee either now.
Base, and Perfidious too, thou dost appear;
Sland'rest a Pope, and spoyl'st an Emperor.
VVhat! is the Eagle from the Mitre flown?
Is there of Cæsar nothing left in Rome?
Must that Renowned City, here-to-fore
Fam'd for her Vertues, well as for her Pow'r;
Instead of Consuls, Vagabonds imploy?
And suborn Felons MONARCHS to Destroy?
Bribe Men (thro VVant made boldly desperate)
To Fire-ball Cities, to their Grov'ling Fate;
VVhil'st Hellish Jesu'ts Porters Garbs profane;
Assist the Fire, and Bless the growing Flame!
Must Romes Great Pope, whose Piety should run
As an Example, thro all Christendome;
VVhose Signal Vertues, Arguments should be
Of his Admir'd Infallability?
Does he hire Ruffains, Justices to Kill;
And send the Murd'rers Pardons at his VVill?
Bids them in Hereticks Blood their Hands embrue;
Tells them withal, 'Tis Meritorious too!—
If this thy Practice be, false Rome Fare-wel!—
Go, Teach thy Doctrine to the Damn'd in Hell!
Where, by Black Lucifer's Destructive Pride,
Thou may'st in part thy Future Fate decide:
Whil'st from our City we thy Imps remove,
To shake their Heels in some cold Field or Grove.
Since both by Ours, and all Mens just Esteem,
They're fitter to Converse with Beasts, than Men.
FINIS.