IRELANDS Complaint of the Armies hypocrisie. With his Excellencies entring unconquer'd LONDON: In a Discourse between two freinds Donatus and Perigrin. With the slighting of the Communicable Line.
Donat.
WEll met friend
Perigrin, from whence cam'st thou,
Perig.
From wretched
Ireland, I landed now;
Donat.
How stands the state of that distressed Nation,
Perig.
'Tis almost lost, a powerfull inundation
Hath overwhelm'd it in a Sea of wo?
And I am hither come to let you know
How much they thank you for each fast and prayer
In their behalf, if they could live by aire
Without the help of money or of men,
They would requite your breath with breath agen.
Donat.
We have been ever ready to relieve them
In words not having other aid to give them.
Perig.
'Tis true indeed, but give me leave to tell ye
Words are to weak to fill an empty belly
Donat.
We ment our Army should their losse restore
Perig.
When the Steed's stoln, youl shut the stable door.
Donat.
The trumpet sounds, stand by my friend here's one,
Whose conquest must through
London streets be known.
Perig.
Who's this that comes in triumph, is the war
Donat.
Now finisht. 'Tis that famous Conquerour
Sir
Thomas Fairfax, Whose victorious hand
Makes
England stoop to his supream command,
Perig.
Is he a King or Pope, or can there be
Another that dares own supremacy,
Donat.
He is neither King nor Pope, yet he is one
That alters government, puls Bishops down,
And Elders to, the hated Presbyters,
Seem now as odious as the Bishops were.
He sets up a new light which doth arise
Beyond the apprehension of weak eyes
For these are a peculiar people grown,
A reall Priesthood, these are they alone
Which are of all believers, truly sainted
And every preaching souldier is acquainted
With Jesus Christ, who offers grace to all
Yet none may come unlesse the
Father call,
Who fils them with the Spirit in such measure
That they may fall, and rise at their own pleasure.
Repentance is a superstitious thing
And 'tis as frivolous to have a King,
One musters legions of foule crimes within
And makes discovery of each secret sin:
The other doth not bear the sword in vain
Whereby he should his Regall power maintain,
It was not given him to be a scourge
To good men, but the wicked land to purge
From cruell humours, which they understand
Who wrested it by force out of his hand,
Not knowing who resisteth power shall
Procure themselves damnation sad withall,
The Kings word is with power, then who may
Tax him with what he please to do or say:
Suppose the King were wicked is it fit
To tell him so, Gods Word doth not permit
Such insolence, but doth enforce us rather
To yield obedience to our Kingly Father
But now that holy Writ is of no force,
Our government is chang'd from bad to worse.
Perig.
Pray what became of that strict Covenant,
Betwixt the Brethren and your Parliament.
Donat.
(Alasse) they made so many Oaths before,
And broke them all, 'tis but one trespasse more,
They'll
add yet to the former, for where sin
Aboundeth most, there grace must needs begin,
Perig.
But do your Londoners not blush to see
A plain discovery of their perjury.
How shall a stranger trust their word or oath
When for advantage they will forfet both?
Donat.
Know they have trusted in so many gods,
Which in the end will prove revengfull rods
For whosoever doth too much rely
One any humane help, doth deifie
The means, wherein they trust to finde redresse,
Seeth none but God can free us in distresse:
Poor
England was opprest, and therefore went
To seek deliverance in a Parliament
The which pretended a true Reformation;
Which was begun with a deep Protestation:
But Oaths are words, and words are all but winde,
Soon after they themselves in Cov'nant bind,
To aid the Parliament against their King;
And to that end they Plate and Money bring
Wherewith great Forts and Bulworks were erected
The whilst poore
Ireland was quite neglected,
The tithe of what they one their Rampiers spend
Might free some thousand wretched souls, and end
Their cruell sufferings, but 'tis too late,
Pray God their fall prove not proud
Englands fate.
Perig.
But when this conquering Army had subdude,
The King and that malignant multitude,
They might have gone and set that Nation free,
And there be crown'd with glorious victory.
Donat.
Why, these are they, which are our faiths directors,
To seek out Heaven, these are our Kings protectors.
Whose meaning is to fix him on his Throne,
In time, but first they will be paid their own
Areares, nor do they purpose to disband
Whilst all the Law remayneth in their hand,
The States are as unwilling to restore
The power they have usurp'd six years or more,
Besides some inward guilt doth whisper this
And tels them they have done some things amisse,
And if they should be lesser, then they are
There is a retribution day I feare,
Wherein they shall be summon'd to make good
By satisfaction those sad streams of bloud
The which by their commission was exhausted,
And those huge sums of money vainly wasted,
The Londoners have now the only cause,
(Who must be subject to new Lords, new Laws)
To fetch their King, but they were over-ruled,
And now begin to fear they have been fooled
Betwixt Sir
Thomas, and the Parliament;
Nor do they now their doings well resent.
The Forts and Guards are in the Amies power,
And so is the
Militia and the Tower:
And yet the King remayns no better still
Then a poor pris'ner to the Armies will.
And thus we see no comfort can be given
But what proceeds from the great King of Heaven,
Who doth mans extremity fore-see,
By which he works his opportunity:
And will I hope, when things are at the worst,
Restore them better then they were at first.
Nulla dies sine linea. Or the Slighting of the Works.
ANd must the hedge be pulled down?
Of this blest Reformation?
And may the Maids to
Islington,
Passe free without invasion?
Now (Noddles) to your Cels again
Breeds vermin to be idle:
Black
Tom will teach you another strain,
Hee'l make you champe the bridle.
And hey let us sing, and the bels merry ring
The King of the Line is abolisht
Edwards
is sped, the Birds they are fled
The Cage must be demolisht.
Home Sutlers to your holes again
Pack to your nasty allies:
Your Summer-houses long enough
You'ue had, go try your talleys.
The Excize-man frighted quite away,
Butchers you need not prize them;
You need not lift sheep o're the Works,
For fear they should Excize them.
And hey?
Manwring is fast enough in hold,
A sad and true presagement
That against the old decrepit Line
There was some strong ingagement.
You Citizens you need not feare
While you are in your quarter:
Your Journeymen should ware for ware
With your
Madonna's barter.
And hey let us sing, and the Bels merry ring,
The King of the Line is abolisht:
Edward is sped, the Birds they are fled,
The Cage must be demolisht.
FINIS.