A POEM ON THE LATE CIVIL WAR.
By Mr. ABRAHAM COWLEY.
LONDON, Printed 1679.
The Publisher TO THE READER.
MEeting accidentally with this Poem in Manuscript, and being informed that it was a Piece of the incomparable Mr. AC's, I thought it unjust to hide such a Treasure from the World. I remember'd that our Author in his Preface to his Works, makes mention of some Poems written by him on the late Civil War, of which the following Copy is questionably a part. In his most imperfect and unfinish'd Pieces, you will discover the Hand of so great [Page] a Master. And (whatever his own Modesty might have advised to the contrary) there is not one careless stroke of his but what should be kept sacred to Posterity. He could write nothing that was not worth the preserving, being habitually a Poet and Always Inspired. In this Piece the Iudicious Reader will find the Turn of the Verse to be his; the same Copious and Lively Imagery of Fancy, the same Warmth of Passion and Delicacy of Wit that sparkles in all his Writings. And certainly no Labours of a Genius so Rich in its self, and so Cultivated with Learning and Manners, can prove an unwelcome Present to the World.
A POEM On the late CIVIL WAR.
WHat Rage does
England from it self divide,
More than the Seas from all the
World beside.
From every part the roaring Cannons play,
From every part Blood roars as loud as they.
What
English Ground but still some Moisture bears,
Of Young Mens Blood, and more of Mothers Tears.
What Airs unthickened with the Sighs of Wives,
Tho' more of Maids for their dear Lovers Lives.
[Page 2] Alas, what Triumphs can this Victory shew,
That dies us Red in Blood and Blushes too!
How can we wish that Conquest, which bestows
Cypress, not Bays, upon the Conquering Brows,
It was not so when
Henry's dreadful Name,
Not Sword, nor Cause, whole Nations overcame.
To farthest West did his swist Conquests run,
Nor did his Glory set but with the Sun.
In vain did
Roderic to his Hold retreat,
In vain had wretched
Ireland call'd him Great.
Ireland! which now most basely we begin
To labour more to lose than he to win,
It was not so when in the happy East,
Richard our
Mars, Venus's Isle possest.
'Gainst the proud Moon, he the
English Cross display'd,
Ecclips'd one Horn, and the other paler made.
When our dear Lives we ventured bravely there,
And digg'd our own to gain Christs Sepulchre.
[Page 3] That sacred Tomb which should we now enjoy,
We should with as much zeal fight to destroy.
The precious Signs of our dead Lord we scorn,
And see his Cross worse than his Body torn.
We hate it now both for the
Greek and
Iew,
To us 'tis Folishness and Scandal to.
To what with Worship the fond Papist falls,
That the fond Zealot a cursed Idol calls.
So, 'twixt their double Madness here's the odds,
One makes false Devils, t'other makes false Gods.
It was not so when
Edward proved his Cause,
By a Sword stronger than the
Salique Laws.
Tho setched from
Pharamond, when the
French did fight,
With Womens Hearts against the Womens Right.
The afflicted Ocean his first Conquest bore,,
And drove Red VVaves to the sad
Gallique Shore▪
As if he had Angry with that Element been,
VVhich his wide Soul bound with an Island in.
[Page 4] Where's now that spirit with which at
Cressey we,
And
Poictiers forced from fate a Victory?
Two Kings at once we brought sad Captives home,
A Triumph scarcely known to ancient
Rome;
Two Foreign Kings, but now alas we strive,
Our own, our own good Soveraign to Captive!
It was not so when
Agincourt was won,
Under great
Henry served the Rain and Sun,
A Nobler Fight the Sun himself ne'r knew,
Not when he stop'd his Course a Fight to view!
Then Death's old Archer did more skilful grow,
And learned to shoot more sure from th'
English bow;
Then
France was her own story sadly taught,
And felt how Caesar and how
Edward fought.
It was not so when that vast Fleet of
Spain,
Lay torn and scatter'd on the
English Main;
Through the proud World, a Virgin, terror strook,
The
Austrian Crowns and
Rome's seven hills she shook:
[Page 5] To her great
Neptune Homaged all his Streams
And all the wide-stretched Ocean was her
Thames.
Thus our Fore-Fathers Fought, Thus bravely bled,
Thus still they live, whil'st we alive are dead;
Such Acts they did that
Rome and
Caesar too,
Might Envy those, whom once they did subdue.
We're not their off-spring, sure our Heralds Lie,
But Born we know not how, as now we Die;
Their precious Blood we could not venture thus:
Some
Cadmus sure sow'd
Serpents teeth for us;
We could not else by mutual Fury fall,
Whilst
Rhine and
Sequan for our Armies call:
Chuse War or Peace, you have a Prince you know,
As fit for both, as both are fit for you.
Furious as Lightning when Wars Tempest came,
But Calm in Peace, Calm as a Lambent Flame.
Have you forgot those happy years of late,
That saw nought ill, but us that were Ingrate;
[Page 6] Such years, as if Earths youth Return'd had been,
And that old Serpent Time had Cast his Skin:
As Gloriously, and Gently did they move,
As the bright Sun that Measures them above;
Then onely in Books the Learn'd could misery see,
And the Unlearned ne're heard of Misery.
Then happy
Iames with as deep Quiet Reigned,
As in His heavenly Throne, by Death, he gained.
And least this blessing with his Life should Cease,
He left us
Charles the Pledge of future Peace.
Charles under whom, with much ado, no less
Than sixteen years, we endur'd our happiness;
Till in a Moment, in the
North we find,
A Tempest Conjured up without a Wind.
As soon the
North her Kindness did Repent,
First the Peace-Maker, and next War she sent:
Just
Tweed that now had with long Peace forgot
On which side dwelt the
English, which the
Scot:
[Page 7] Saw glittering Arms shine sadly on his face;
VVhil'st all the affrighted Fish sank down apace;
No blood did then from this dark Quarrel grow,
It gave blunt wounds, that bled not out till now!
For
Iove, who might have us'd his thundring power,
Chose to fall calmly in a Golden showre!
A way we found to Conquer, which by none
Of all our thrifty Ancestors was known;
So strangly Prodigal of late we are,
VVe there buy Peace, and here at home buy VVar.
How could a war so sad and barbarous please,
But first by slandring those blest days of Peace?
Through all the Excrements of State they pry,
Like Emp'ricks to find out a Malady;
And then with Desperate boldness they endeavor,
Th' Ague to cure by bringing in a Feavor:
The way is sure to expel some ill no doubt,
The Plague we know, drives all Diseases out.
[Page 8] VVhat strange wild fears did every Morning breed,
Till a strange fancy made us sick indeed?
And Cowardise did Valours place supply,
Like those that kill themselves for fear to die!
VVhat frantick Diligence in these Men appears,
That fear all Ills, and act o'r all their Fears?
Thus into VVar we scared our selves; and who
But
Aaron's Sons, that the first Trumpet blew.
Fond Men! who knew not that they were to keep
For God, and not for Sacrifice, their Sheep.
The Churches first this Murderous Doctrine sow,
And learn to Kill as well as Bury now.
The Marble Tombs where our Fore-fathers lie,
Sweated with dread of too much company:
And all their sleeping Ashes shook for fear,
Least thousand Ghosts should come and shroud them there.
Petitions next from every Town they frame,
To be restored to them from whom they came.
[Page 9] The same stile all, and the same sense does pen,
Alas, they allow set Forms of Prayer to Men.
Oh happy we, if Men would neither hear
Their studied Form, nor God their sudden Prayer.
They will be heard, and in unjustest wise,
The many Headed-Rout for Justice cries,
They call for Blood, which now I fear does call
For Blood again, much louder than they all.
In sensless Clamours, and confused Noise,
VVe lost that rare, and yet unconquer'd Voice:
So when the sacred
Thracian Lyre was drown'd,
In the
Bistonian VVomens mixed sound.
The wondring Stones, that came before to hear,
Forgot themselves, and turn'd his Murderers there.
The same loud Storm, blew the
Grave Mitre down;
It blew down that, and with it shook the
Crown.
Then first a
State, without a
Church begun▪
Comfort thy self dear
Church, for then 'twas done.
[Page 10] The same great Storm, to Sea great
Mary drove,
The Sea could not such dangerous Tempests move.
The same drove
Charles into the North, and then
Would Readilier far have driven him back agen.
To fly from noise of Tumults is no shame,
Ne'r will their Armies force them to the same:
They all his Castles, all his Towns invade,
He's a large Prisoner in all
England made!
He must not pass to
Irelands weeping Shore,
The Wounds these Surgeons make must yield them more:
He must not conquer his lewd Rebels there,
Least he should learn by that to do it here.
The Sea they subject next to their command,
The Sea that Crowns our Kings and all their Land.
Thus poor they leave him, their base Pride and Scorn,
As poor as these, now mighty Men, were born.
When straight whole Armies meet in
Charle's Right,
How no Man knows, but here they are and Fight.
[Page 11] A Man would swear that saw this altered State,
Kings were called Gods, because they could Create
Vain Men; 'tis Heaven this first Assistance brings,
The same is Lord of Hosts, that's King of Kings.
Had Men forsook him, Angels from above.
(The Assyrian did less their Justice move.)
Would all have mustered in his Righteous Aid,
And Thunder against your Cannon would have play'd.
It needs not so, for Man desires to right
Abused Mankind, and wretches you must fight.
Worster first saw't, and trembled at the view,
Too well the Ills of
Civil War she knew.
Twice did the Flames of old her Towers invade,
Twice call'd she in vain for her own
Severn's Aid.
Here first the Rebel Winds began to roar,
Brake loose from the just Fetters which they bore.
Here Mutinous Waves above their shore did swell,
And the first Storm of that Dire Winter fell.
[Page 12] But when the two great Brethren once appeared,
And their bright Heads like
Leda's off-spring rear'd,
When those Sea-calming Sons, from
Iove were spied,
The Winds all fled, the Waves all sunk and died!
How fought-great
Rupert, with what Rage and Skill?
Enough to have Conquered had his Cause been ill!
Comely Young Man▪ and yet his dreadful sight,
The Rebels Blood to their saint Hearts does fright.
In vain alass it seeks so weak defence;
For his keen Sword brings it again from thence:
Yet grieves heat the Lawrels thence he bore;
Alass poor Prince, they'll fight with him no more.
His Vertue will be eclipsed with too much Fame,
Henceforth he will not Conquer, but his Name:
Here—with tainted Blood the Field did stain,
By his own Sacriledge, and's Countreys Curses slain.
The first Commander did Heavens Vengeance shew,
And led the Rebels Van to shades below.
[Page 13] On two fair Hills both Armies next are seen,
The affrighted Valley sighs and sweats between;
Here
Angels did, with fair Expectance stay,
And wish'd good things to a King as mild as they;
There
Fiends with hunger waiting did abide,
And Cursed both, but spurr'd on the guilty side.
Here stood
Religion, her looks gently sage,
Aged, but much more comely for her Age!
There
Schism Old Hagg, tho' seeming young appears,
As Snakes by casting skins, Renew their years;
Undecent Rags of several Dies she wore,
And in her hand torn
Liturgies she bore.
Here
Loyalty an humble
Cross display'd,
And still as
Charles pass'd by, she bow'd and pray'd.
Sedition there her Crimson Banner spreads,
Shakes all her Hands, and roars with all her Heads.
Her knotty Hairs were with dire Serpents twist,
And every Serpent at each other hist.
[Page 14] Here stood
White Truth, and her own Host does bless,
Clad with those Armes of Proof her Nakedness.
There
Perjuries like Cannons roar aloud,
And
Lies flew thick, like Cannons smoaky Cloud.
Here
Learning and th'
Arts met, as much they fear'd
As when the
Hunns of old and
Goths appear'd.
What should they do, unapt themselves to fight,
They promised noble Pens the Acts to write.
There
Ignorance advanced, and joy'd to spy
So many that durst fight they know not why.
From those, who most the slow-soul'd
Monks disdain,
From those she hopes the
Monks dull Age again,
Here
Mercy wairs with sad but gentle look,
Never alass had she her
Charles forsook!
For
Mercy on her Friends, to
Heaven the cries,
Whilst
Iustice pulls down
Vengeance from the Skies.
Oppression there,
Rapine and
Murder stood
Ready as was the Field to drink their Blood.
[Page 15] A thousand wronged Spirits amongst them moan'd,
And thrice the Ghost of mighty
Strafford groan'd.
Now flew their Cannon thick through wounded Air,
Sent to defend, and kill their Soveraign there.
More than he them, the Bullets feared his Head,
And at his Feet lay innocently Dead.
They knew not what those Men that sent them meant,
And acted their pretence not their intent.
This was the Day, this the first Day that shew'd
How much to
Charles for our long Peace we ow'd:
By his Skill here, and Spirit we understood,
From War naught kept him but his Countries good.
In his great Looks, what chearful Anger shone,
Sad
War, and joyful
Triumphs mixed in one.
In the same Beams of his Majestick Eye,
His own Men Life, his Foes did Death espy.
Great
Rupert this, that Wing great
Willmott leads,
White-seathered Conquest, flies o'r both their Heads.
[Page 16] They charge, as if alone, they'd beat the Foe;
Whether their Troops followed them up or no.
They follow close and haste into the fight,
As swift as strait the Rebels make their flight.
So swift the Miscreants fly, as if each fear
And jealousie they framed, had met them there.
They heard Wars Musick, and away they flew,
The Trumpets fright worse than the Organs do.
Their Souls which still, new by-ways do invent,
Out at their wounded Backs perversly went.
Pursue no more, ye
Noble Victors stay,
Least too much Conquest lose so brave a day:
For still the Battail sounds behind, and Fate
Will not give all; but sets us here a Rate:
Too dear a rate she sets, and we must pay
One honest Man, for ten such Knaves as they.
Streams of Black tainted Blood the Field besmear,
But pure well coloured drops shine here and there:
[Page 17] They scorn to mix with flouds of baser veines,
Just as the nobler moisture, Oyl disdains.
Thus fearless
Lindsey, thus bold
Aubigny,
Amid'st the Corps of slaughtered Rebels lie:
More honourably then—e'r was found,
With troops of living Traytors circled round.
Rest valiant Souls in peace, ye sacred pair,
And all whose Deaths attended on you there:
You'r kindly welcomed to Heavens peaceful coast,
By all the reverend Martyrs Noble Host.
Your soaring Souls they meet with triumph, all
Led by great
Stephen their old General.
Go—now prefer thy flourishing State,
Above those murdered Heroes doleful fate.
Enjoy that life which thou durst basely save,
And thought'st a Saw-pit nobler than a Grave,
Thus many saved themselves, and
Night the rest,
Night that agrees with their dark Actions best.
[Page 18] A dismal shade did
Heavens sad Face o'r flow,
Dark as the night, slain
Rebels found below.
No gentle Stars their chearful Glories rear'd,
Ashamed they were at what was done, and fear'd
Least wicked Men their bold excuse should frame
From some strange Influence, and so vail their shame.
To Duty thus, Order and Law incline,
They who ne'r Err from one eternal Line.
As just the Ruin of these Men they thought,
As
Sisera's was, 'gainst whom themselves had fought.
Still they Rebellions ends remember well
Since
Lucifer the Great, their shining Captain fell.
For this the Bells they ring, and not in vain,
Well might they all ring out for thousands slain.
For this the Bonefires, their glad Lightness spread,
When Funeral Flames might more befit their dead.
For this with solemn thanks they tire their
God,
And whilst they feel it, mock th' Almighties Rod.
[Page 19] They proudly now abuse his Justice more,
Than his long Mercies they abu'sd before.
Yet these the Men that true Religion boast,
The Pure and Holy, Holy, Holy, Host!
What great reward for so much Zeal is given▪ Heaven.
Why, Heaven has thank'd them since as they thank'd
Witness thou
Brainford, say thou Ancient Town,
How many in thy Streets fell grovelling down.
Witness the
Red Coats weltering in their Gore,
And died anew into the Name they bore.
Witness their Men blowed up into the Air,
All Elements their Ruins joyed to share.
In the wide Air quick Flames their Bodies tore,
Then drown'd in Waves, thei'r tost by Waves to shore.
Witness thou
Thames, thou wast amazed to see
Men madly run to save themselves in thee.
In vain, for
Rebels Lives thou woulst not save,
And down they sunk beneath thy conquering Wave.
[Page 20] Good reverend
Thames, the best beloved of all
Those noble Blood, that meet at
Neptune's Hall;
London's proud
Towers, which do thy Head adorn,
Are not thy Glory now, but Grief and Scorn.
Thou grievest to see the
White named Palace shine,
Without the Beams of it's own Lord and thine:
Thy Lord which is to all as good and free,
As thou kind Flood to thine own Banks can be.
How does thy peaceful Back disdain to bear
The Rebels busie Pride at
Westminster.
Thou who thy self doest without murmuring pay
Eternal Tribute to thy Prince the Sea.
To
Oxford next Great
Charles in Triumph came,
Oxford the
British Muses second Fame.
Here Learning with some State and Reverence looks,
And dwells in Buildings lasting as her Books;
Both now Eternal, but they had Ashes been,
Had these
Religious Vandals once got in.
For
Books they know the chief
Malignants are.
In vain they silence every Age before,
For Pens of Time to come will wound them more.
The Temples decent Wealth, and modest State,
Had suffered, this their Avarice, that their Hate.
Beggary and Scorn into the Church they'd bring,
And make God Glorious, as they made the King,
O happy Town, that to Lov'd
Charles's Sight,
In those sad Times givest Safety and Delight.
The Fate which
Civil War it self doth bless,
Scarce wouldst thou change; for
Peace this happiness.
Amidst all the Joys which Heaven allows thee here,
Think on thy
Sister, and then shed a tear.
What Fights did this sad Winter see each day,
Her Winds and Storms came not so thick as they!
Yet naught these far lost Rebels could recall,
Not
Marlborough's nor
Cirencester's fall.
[Page 22] Yet still for Peace the
gentle Conqueror sues,
By his Wrath they Perish, yet his Love refuse.
Nor yet is the plain Lesson understood,
Writ by kind Heaven, in
B—and
H's—Blood.
Chad and his Church saw where their Enemy lay,
And with just Red, new marked their Holy day.
Fond Men, this Blow the injured
Crosier strook,
Naught was more fit to perish but thy Book.
Such fatal Vengeance did wronged
Charlegrove shew,
Where—both begun and ended to.
His cursed Rebellion, where his Soul's repaid
With separation, great as that he made.
—Whose Spirit moved o'r this mighty Frame,
O'th Brittish Isle, and out this Chaos came.
—The Man that taught Confusions Art,
His Treasons restless and yet noisless Heart.
His Active Brain, like
Aetna's Top appear'd,
Where Treason's forged, yet no noise outward heard.
[Page 23] 'Twas he continued what e'r bold
M—said,
And all the popular noise that
P—has made.
'Twas he that taught the
Zealous Rout to rise,
And be his Slaves for some feigned Liberties.
Him for this Black Design, Hell thought most fit,
Ah! wretched Man, cursed by too good a Wit.
If not all this your stubborn Hearts can fright,
Think on the
West, think on the
Cornish might:
The
Saxon Fury, to that far stretch'd place,
Drove the torn Reliques of great
Brutus Race.
Here they of old, did in long safety lie,
Compassed with Seas, and a worse Enemy.
Ne'r till this time, ne'r did they meet with Foes
More Cruel and more Barbarous than those.
Ye noble
Brittains, who so oft with Blood
Of
Pagan Hosts, have died old
Tamar's Flood.
If any drop of mighty
Vther still,
Or
Vther's mighty'r Son your Veins does fill.
[Page 24] Shew then that Spirit, till all Men think by you
The doubtful Tales of your great
Arthur true.
You have shewn it
Britains, and have often done
Things that have cheared the weary setting Sun.
Again did
Tamar your dread Arms behold,
As just and as successful as the Old:
It kissed the
Cornish Banks, and vow'd to bring
His richest Waves to feed the ensuing Spring;
But murmur'd sadly, and almost deny'd
All fruitful Moisture to the
Devon side.
Ye Sons of War, by whose bold Acts we see
How great a thing exalted Man may be;
The World remains your Debtor, that as yet
Ye have not all gone forth and conquered it.
I knew that Fate some wonders for you meant,
When matchless
Hopton to your Coasts the sent.
Hopton! so wise, he needs not Fortunes Aid,
So fortunate his Wisdom's useless made.
[Page 25] Should his so often tryed Companions fail,
His
Spirit, alone, and
Courage would prevail.
Miraculous Man! how would I sing thy praise,
Had any
Muse crowned me with half the
Bays
Conquest hath given to thee; and next thy Name
Should
Berkly, Stanning, Digby press to Fame.
Godolphin thee, thee
Greenvil I'd rehearse,
But Tears break off my Verse,
How oft has vanquished
Stamford backward fled,
Swift as the parted Souls of those he led!
How few did his huge Multitudes defeat,
For most are Ciphers when the Number's great.
Numbers alass of Men, that made no more,
Than he himself Ten Thousand times told o'r.
Who hears of
Stratton Fight, but must confess
All that he heard or read before was less.
Sad
Germany can no such Trophy boast,
For all the Blood these twenty years sh' has lost.
Than th' Host of Hundred-handed
Gyants bore.
So strong their
Arms, it did almost appear
Secure, had neither Arms nor Men been there.
In
Hopton breaks, in breaks the
Cornish Powers,
Few and scarce Arm'd, yet was the advantage ours.
What doubts could be, their outward strength to win,
When we bore
Arms and
Magazine within.
The violent Swords out-did the Muskets ire,
It strook the Bones, and there gave dreadful fire:
We scorned their Thunder and the reaking Blade,
A thicker Smoak than all their Cannon made.
Death and loud
Tumults fill'd the place around;
With fruitless rage; fallen Rebels bite the Ground,
The
Arms we gain'd, were
Wealth, Bodies, of the Foe,
All that a full fraught
Victory can bestow.
Yet stays not
Hopton thus, but still proceeds,
Pursues himself through all his glorious deeds.
The
Belgian Trophies on their journey wait.
The
Prince who oft had check'd proud
W—fame.
And fool'd that flying
Conquerours empty name:
Till by his loss that fertile Monster thriv'd,
This Serpent cut in parts rejoyn'd and liv'd.
It liv'd and would have stung us deeper yet,
But that bold
Greenvil its whole fury met.
He sold like
Decius his devoted Breath,
And left the Common-Wealth Heir to his Death.
Hail mighty
Ghost! look from on high and see
How much our
Hands and
Swords remember thee.
At
Roundway Heath, our Rage at thy great fall,
Whet all our Spirits and made us
Greenvils all.
One thousand Horse beat all their numerous power;
Bless me! and where was then their
Conqueror!
Coward of Fame, he flies in haste away,
Men, Arms, and
Name leaves us the
Victors Prey.
[Page 28] What meant those
Iron Regiments which he brought,
That moving Statues seem'd and so they fought.
No way for Death but by Disease appear'd,
Cannon and Mines a Siege they scarcely feared:
Till 'gainst all hopes they prov'd in this sad sight,
Too weak too stand, and yet too slow for fight.
The Furies houl'd aloud through trembling Air,
Th' astonish'd Snakes fell sadly from their Hair,
To
Lud's proud Town their hasty flight they took,
The Towers and Temples at their entrance shook:
In vain their Loss the' attempted to disguise,
And mustred up new Troops of fruitless lies:
God fought himself, nor could th' event be less,
Bright Conquest walks the Fields in all her dress.
Could this white day a Gift more grateful bring?
Oh yes! it brought bless'd
Mary to the King!
In
Keynton Field they met, at once they view
Their former Victory and enjoy a new.
[Page 29]
Keynton the Place that Fortune did approve,
To be the
noblest Scene of
War and
Love;
Through the Glad vail, Ten thousand
Cupids fled
And Chas'd the wandring spirits of
Rebels dead,
Still the lewd scent of Powder did they fear,
And scatter'd
Eastern smells through all the Air.
Look happy Mount, look well, for this is she,
That Toyl'd and Travel'd for thy Victory,
Thy flourishing Head to her with reverence bow,
To her thou owest that Fame which Crowns thee now.
From far stretcht Shores they felt her spirit, and might:
Princes and
God at any distance fight.
At her return well might sh' a Conquest have,
Whose very absence such a Conquest gave.
This in the
West, nor did the
North bestow
Less Cause their usual gratitude to show;
With much of state brave
Cavendish led them forth,
As swift and fierce as tempest from the
North.
Kiss'd at his Birth; and for their own did chuse:
So good a
Wit they meant not should excel
In
Arms, but now they see't and like it well:
So large is that rich Empire of his heart,
Well may they rest contented with a Part;
How soon he forc'd the
Northern Clouds to flight,
And struck Confusion into Form and Light!
Scarce did the Power Divine in fewer days,
A peaceful World out of a Chaos raise.
Bradford and
Leeds propt up their sinking fame,
They bragg'd of Hosts, and
Fairfax was a name.
Leeds, Bradford, Fairfax Powers are strait their own,
As quickly as they vote Men overthrown.
Bootes from his Wain look'd down below,
And saw our Victory move not half so slow.
I see the
Gallant Earl break through the Foes,
In Dust and Sweat how gloriously he shows.
[Page 31] I see him lead the Pikes; What will he do?
Defend him Heaven, Oh whither will he go?
Up to the Cannons mouth he leads! in vain
They speak loud Death and threaten till they'r ta'ne.
So
Capaneu's two Armies fill'd with Wonder,
When he charged
Iove & grappled with his Thunder.
Both Hosts with silence, and with terror shook,
As if not he, but they were thunder-strook:
The
Courage here, and
Boldness was no less,
Onely the
Cause was better and
Success.
Heaven will let naught be by their Cannon done,
Since at
Edghil they sin'd and
Burlington.
Go now your
silly Calumnies repeat,
And make all
Papists whom you cannot beat.
Let the World know some way, with whom you are vext,
And vote 'em
Turks when they overthrow you next.
Why will you die fond Men, why will you buy
At this fond rate, your Countreys slavery?
Is't liberty! what are those threats we hear,
When that's the onely why; because you will?
Fain would you make
God too thus tyranous be,
And
damn poor Men by such a stiff Decree:
Is't property? why do such numbers then▪
From God beg
Vengeance and
Relief from Men?
Why are the
Estates and
Good's seiz'd on of all
Whom
Covetous or
Malicious Men miscall?
What's more our own than our own Lives? But oh
Could
Yeoman's, or could
Bourchier find it so?
The
Barbarous Coward alway's used to fly,
Did know no other way to see men die.
Or is't
Religion? What then mean your Lies
Your Sacriledges and Pulpit Blasphemies,
Why are all
Sect's let loose, that ere had Birth,
Since
Luther's
noise wak'd the
Lethargick Earth,
The Author went no further.