The Turne of Time, OR, The Period of Rebellion Dedicated, to the infamous Members late Sitting at Westminster.
1.
NOw now, your gone I vow,
and all your treasons blasted.
Vengeance no longer will allow
what seaven yeares hath lasted.
Then shut up shop, and take your heeles,
and with all speed away.
Pride, totters, and Rebellion reeles;
hey for
Ʋtopia.
2.
Your damned plots, and jealousies,
your Schismes, and your feares,
Your Oaths and your conspiracies
apparantly appeares.
Then put to Sea, avoid delay
for CHARLES, must once more Reigne.
You are but dead if that you stay,
or ere returne againe.
3.
Ther's some that say; you went away
because a stinking vault,
Beneath your House of mischiefe lay;
O privie! much in fault,
To drive away so rare a crew
by thy most noisome smell.
In Pilgrims weeds we will thee view,
no lakes, but holy Cell;
4.
But sie no, it is not so,
no execrement could drive
The Saints from their Seraglio,
who for a crowne durst strive.
It was the feare, of CHARLES, returne,
that sent the Members packing.
The tripple tree, they fear'd to see;
they hate the thought of racking.
5.
Since you intend; ne're to
depend,
a Presbeterian mule;
Bridled, and Saddled doth attend,
a bonny blew Capt Fule.
Will lackey by you, till you come,
within the sight of
a City in the heart of
Scotland.
Scone,Where
Mahomets Elizium,
you shall possesse alone.
6.
O rare! mee thinks, the Devill winks,
and all the powers below;
Are puzel'd, Machavill he thinks,
his sonnes, doe stupid grow.
And
Cattaline is angry much,
that traytors worse then be:
Should fall when as, their hopes were such;
with
Nimrod, great to be.
7.
Now all your plots, joyn'd with the
Scots,
doe not the least availe you;
For why, these hardy Northern fots,
meane shortly to assaile you.
Their high Sanhedrim angry are,
Their Coblers, ahd Sow-gelders,
Must not the sweets of England share;
and be adopted, Elders.
8.
Nor is this all, like to befall;
beave
Poyer's Myrmidons,
Resolved are, for buriall,
like
Mars, his dearest sonnes.
And to the death for to oppose,
your trayterous commands
They sweare 'tis fit, you should not fit
while
Pembrooke, Castle stands.
9.
Your most adulterated Church
the Synods prostitute,
You now alas leave in the lurch,
for
Marshall, is growne mute;
Her vitiation, we deplore,
her sorrow is our truth.
But shortly we will her restore,
to her first forme, and truth.
10.
This most unexpiated sin,
will sure your ruine be;
And sincke you all for what hath bin,
to hells profundity.
Medea like to cure our ill,
our age for to renew.
You did our ancient order kill,
and yet we want, a new.
11.
While you your
Babell doe erect,
in one hand ther's a sword;
Your enterprise for to protect,
by all men so abhord.
And in the other hand you beare
a trowell stones to lay;
But now the Walles, you never reare,
your workmen want their pay.
12.
While that the King, was governing,
ere your damn'd treasons was.
Loyalty was a golden thing,
aud England walled with brasse.
But we are now, of nothing sure,
but Blasphemies and errors.
And are in nothing now secure,
but that we know, our terrors:
13.
Cheare up againe, dread Soveraigne,
now lockt up in a cage.
Behold to set thee up againe,
in Warlike equipage.
All England ready are to rise;
the
Scots too, needs will fight.
And for the time to come be wise,
ner'e more resigne thy right.
14.
And
Hammond, thou
Aegyptian Dog;
thou monster of mankind,
Thou worse then a
Molostain Hog,
who bearest a
Iudas mind.
Prepare thy selfe, to die a death,
no traytor ever knew.
By tortures to resign thy breath,
in all the peoples view.
15.
His Majestie, thy livery,
upon his eye doth weare;
Both black and blew, beaten by thee,
O Devill! void of feare,
His fate is poore, two varlets base,
doe only on him wait.
O direfull execrable case!
is this King CHARLES his Fate.
16.
But
Harry Martin laughs at this,
and
Say doth say 'tis well.
Cromwell, esteemes it his chiefe blisse,
of
Hammonds guize, to tell.
Tom Fairfax, sweares this makes for him,
Ranisborow skips for joy,
And
Barkstead, drinks bowels to the brim,
healthes, to the Kings anoy.
17.
But
Martin now, thy fate I vow,
is very neare at hand.
What strength, the pocks will thee alow,
which hath eate up thy land.
And shortly, will thy body too;
now summon up to save thee.
Else
Gregory, will claime his due
and then the Devill have thee.
18.
And
Nol, thy end, is ne're at hand,
thy Kingdome is departed.
Thou must no longer rule the land,
but as a Rogue be Carted.
And by a Carmans blessed guide,
visit the fatall tree.
Then there's an end of all thy pride,
and thy base treacherie.
19.
Ye twins is mischiefe
Say, and
Tom,
two Rebells, chief'st in action;
To pluck King CHARLES, his glory from,
and so support your faction.
Behold a Sledge, an Axe, and fire,
a hangman, ready too.
Stands ready to give you your hire,
who all Ils, durst to doe.
20.
And
Rainsborow, thy Reigne is our,
great Admirall at Sea,
It were a sinne thy fall to doubt,
O Skipper! of Degree.
And
Barkstead, thou ere long alas;
white-hall, must yield perforce,
Great Kings ner'e built that stately Masse,
to shelter foot, and horse.
21.
The turne of time, we now have seen
Rebellion's, on the ground;
While we crie God save King and Queene;
let Drums, and Trumpets found.
Let all the people now sing loud
in mirthfull joyous sort.
Hang all the Parliants base crow'd
but God preserve the Court.
FINIS.