 | The Massacre of Paris |  |
PROLOGUE By Mr. Mountfort.
This day we shew you the most Bloody rageThat ever did Religious Fiends engage,
A Reconcilement, with a Wedding-Feast,
While Murther' was the Treat for every Guest,
Which well may prove to Ages yet to come,
The Faith of France, the Charity of Rome,
France by the most detestable Perjury,
Enslav'd its Subjects who by Laws were free.
No Sacrament can this Great Hero bind,
Oaths are weak Shackles for his mighty Mind,
And worse than Heathens does he persecute.
His Priests want Sense and Learning to dispute;
But weak Divines by strong Dragoons confute:
And who-e're doubts of any Priestly Maggot,
The Heretick Dog must be convinc'd by Faggot.
With Rome's Religion and French Government,
What Slave so abject as to be content?
Now, idle Malecontent, what is't you'd have?
Would you be an Idolater or Slave?
What d'you murmur for, because you're free,
And this bless'd Isle enjoys its Liberty?
Cross but the Narrow Seas, and you will find
Slavery and Superstition to your mind.
Take with you all your Friends that grumble too,
The Land will happily be rid of You;
Then all as one with our Great Prince combin'd,
And his Allies by Sacred Union joyn'd:
Will such false Bloody Tyrants oppose,
Till none shall dare to own the Name of Foes?
| The Massacre of Paris | |