THE Double Deliverance: On the never to be forgotten Fifth of November. A POEM.
Olim haec meminisse juvabit.
LICENSED November 3. 1690.
I.
WElcom, O welcom, thou
auspicious Morn,
See from the
East the Radiant Beams arise,
To gild the
Mountains, and the
Plains adorn:
Not
Health to
Bed-rid, Liberty to
Slaves,
Drink to the fev'rish
Throat that craves,
Can half so welcom be, or so surprize,
As is this
wish'd-for Morning to our Eyes.
Ah
Sluggish Man, for shame awake,
And of the Common Joy partake.
See on the Leafless Boughs the Birds are sate,
Each with his pretty warbling Note,
Singing their Great Creator's Praise;
Thy Sloath the winged Choir upbraid:
Shake, Shake off downy Sleep, and raise
Thy Gratitude as high as humane Thought
Is capable, or by the Church is taught;
To Day be grateful Thoughts and Songs thy Trade.
II.
To Times long past, I would not say forgot,
First cast thine Eye;
remember, oh! remember,
The
Cursed Hellish Powder Plot,
Intended to be acted in
November.
Let no false Medium blind thine Eyes,
Nor think 'twas
Cecil's Artifice;
A Trick of State, by Policy design'd,
Let no such Stories cheat thy Mind;
Rubbish may oft be thrown on Things of Worth,
But time at length will bring the Matter forth.
III.
The
Romish Yoke (which long our Shoulders gall'd)
Thrown off, we then began to see
The worth of Native
English Liberty,
And were the Happy Nation call'd.
But some too envious of our peaceful State,
Who to a false
Religion made pretence,
Resolv'd to Undermine it in the litt'ral Sence,
Had one of them to
Pluto's Court been sent,
To turn th'
Infernal Volumes o'er;
Examine the
Archives of
Hell,
And there in search of Plots a Twelve-month dwell,
He could not find in all their Store,
A curst Design so closely Impudent;
For
Belzebub with all his Court was sate,
When News was brought of this Intent;
The
Furies roar'd, and all were griev'd at Heart,
To see poor Man outdo 'em in their Art.
IV.
Under the Room where
English Senators
Do meet, the Nations Business to Discourse,
A Celler was, dark, long, and unobserv'd:
All Qualities which for their Business serv'd:
This hir'd; great store of Powder first is laid,
Faggots o'er that, lest all should be betraid.
Thus having all (they thinking) in their power,
Each Plotter smiles, and waits the wish'd-for hour,
But
Pity is a Quality so good,
And so incorporate with Flesh and Blood.
Howe'er so cruel we to others are,
Those of our own Perswasion we must spare.
A Letter's sent, to let a Person know
Their Friendship, and to bid him shun the
Blow.
This by mistake's delivered wrong, and none
Could solve the Riddle, —
Until to
Royal James the thing was known.
His piercing Wit soon found the Plot was deep:
In times of Danger 'tis not safe to sleep.
After some Search, the dark Design is found,
While Fear and Shame the Plotters do confound.
V.
Happy Mistake— and much more happy he,
Who could through all the dark
AEnigma see.
How great Confusion else must have been made?
Poets and Painters, who in Fancy Trade,
Could never an Idea frame,
How great would be the Horrour of the same.
For this
Escape, Thanks first to Heaven is due,
Next after that, Most
Learned Prince, to You.
The Traitors who so fail'd in all their Parts,
Yet found 'em Halters fit for their Deserts.
The
Popes have lately made
Canonization
Much such a Trick as
Transubstantiation.
More Criminals did ne'er at
Tyburn groan,
Than Saints in
Roman Kalendar are shown.
Let
Faux and
Garnet, pass for Saints at
Rome,
We'll think 'em
Rogues and
Villains here at Home.
VI.
No leaky Vessel in the
Irish Seas,
Could suffer more than has the Church and
State,
From close
Cabals, and private
Plots of late.
But he was sure the Oracle of Truth,
That spoke and utter'd from his Sacred Mouth,
The Church upon a Rock was Seated sure,
And should all Tempests and all Storms endure;
And what he said is come to pass.
But now omit we all the
Close Intrigues,
Of
Solemn Covenants, and
Holy Leagues;
Of
Private Clubs, and
Dark Association,
Which have so lately Plagu'd the
English Nation.
And passing over these Unwholesom Streams,
Come to the Reign of
Abdicated James.
VII.
Never at
Roman Triumphs was there known
More Joy, than at his Coming to the Throne.
Our Love of him did all our Fears destroy,
And little Babes were taught to shout for Joy.
But ah! — As we too often see
A Morning promising and fair,
The Sun shine bright, Serene the Air;
But suddenly some envious Cloud
Shall all
Sol's Charming Lustre shroud,
And Storms and Tempests fill the Sky:
So 'twas with us when he began
To listen to the
Romish Crew,
And must whatever they Commanded do.
Nay, though he at his
Coronation Swore,
Oppress'd
Ch. of
Engl.
Eusebia's Rights he would Maintain,Yet pardon me, Crown'd Heads, his Oath he broke,
And all his former
Promises forsook.
The
Priests o'er him did such Ascendants gain,
That, Poor
Ʋnhappy Prince, he was constrain'd
To humour them, and forfeit all his Store
To cherish his
Bald Pated Train.
Those who, in spight of all his Foes,
Would his
Prorogative Maintain,
Whilst
They behind the Curtain laugh'd to see,
Th' Effects of his Accursed
Bigottry.
Oh,
Bigottry, thou Witchcraft of a Man!
What Prince (but such a one) would e'er permit
Such Swarms of Priests to be about the Court;
Nay, with him in his Councils sit?
His Bosom Thoughts were not his own,
But must to
Confessor be known.
Of these there were a numerous Sort,
Who hearing that the Harvest would be Great,
From
Doway and St.
Omers hither fled;
Of
Jesuits first a mighty Breed,
Who are the great Incend'ries of the State;
Of
Benedictines not a few,
And of the Mortifi'd
Franciscan Crew;
Who in hard Fair, hair Shirts, and Nastiness,
Do all their Worship and Religion place,
A greater Number than can well be thought.
These, like to
Locusts, overspread the Land,
And yet we wanted
Moses powerful Wand
To drive the Vermine from us; nay, at last,
Warm'd by Court Smiles, they were so bold
To seize our
Churches; and, pretend to hold
Them by a better Title than was ere
Pretended by the Possessor.
By a pretended Form of Law they cast
Our Students out, and in their Colledges
Their dull Unthinking Blockheads brought.
Blasphem'd our Worship, and in ev'ry Town
They brought their
Breaden Idol down;
And we were aw'd and brav'd by such as these.
The Clouds grew black and lowring, and we all
Expected when the
Mighty Storm would fall.
VIII.
Thus was our Case— Relief we knew not where
To find, but only to our God by Prayer:
At last our Hopes grown Languid with suspence,
We heard of the Intentions of the Prince;
Nassaw the Great, the Generous, and the Brave,
The only
Prince in
Europe, not a Slave,
Came to our Aid— and with successful Arms
Dissolv'd the Spells, and Countercharm'd the Charms.
Th'affrighted
Priests their private Cells forsake,
And
Publick Masses all forbear to make,
But to poor sordid Shifts themselves betake.
Some
Peers, and others, fill'd with Guilt or Fear,
Betake themselves to flight, yet know not where.
Forsaken by his
Friends, the
K— retires,
Returns again— while Shoutings fill the Air;
But still uneasie in his own Desires,
Retires again—
And to a Foreign Crown for Shelter flies,
Whose Cursed Counsels caus'd his Miseries.
IX.
Ʋnhappy Prince — How Cruel was thy Fate,
To suffer Priests thy Soul to captivate?
No
Prince that ever took them for his Friends,
But found they serv'd their own dear Interest;
Thy Crown was Sacrific'd to their base Ends.
How in thy Peoples Love hadst thou been blest,
If
croaking Jesuits had been from thy Breast?
The bold
AEgyptian Frogs came not so near,
They Din'd with
Pharaoh, but had not his Ear,
Nine of the Ten of
AEgypts Plagues were light,
To that one single
Plague of
Jesuit.
X.
Go on,
Great William, till thy very Name
Serves to Eclipse
Great Alexander's Fame.
Poets have too much flatter'd his Deserts,
He o'ercame Nations, but You conquer Hearts.
Thou
Moses, Gideon, David of our Land,
Go on, and know no End of thy Command:
May distant
Nations to thy
Sceptre bow,
And
Lawrels still be fresh upon thy
Brow.
FINIS.
London Printed, and Sold by R. Taylor, near Stationers-Hall, 1690.