The Papists Lamentation for the loss of their Agent William Viscount Stafford, together with the dread they are possessed with, fearing that more will quickly follow him the same way.
Preparations will be made
For those that cursed Plots have laid,
For to be brought to Tryal fair,
And now they'r filled with dispair
Tune of, Fair Phillis your prevailing charms, or A Fig for France.
LAment, lament you Saints of Rome,
Since Stafford hath receiv'd his doom,
And we poor Souls are left behind
Perplext and troubled in the mind,
We sée that God did strangly blast,
And brought to light your Plot at last.
Sure 'tis he hates such horrid things
As Massacres, and killing Kings.
Let us lament his Rigid Fate,
Wl, o for Rome's cause we know of late
Did like a stubborn Papist dye
In hopes to live eternally,
But in our Consciences we know
It is unlikely to be so,
For God doth hate such bloody things
As Massacres, &c.
Some others daily we Expect,
That took such courses indirect,
Must follow him the self same way,
And on the Block their Heads must lay,
But if impartially we speak,
The Devil did their ruine séek,
For God doth hate such bloody things
As Massacres, &c.
See how the Stratagems of Rome,
Have wrought these bloody Actors doom,
That have been fifteen years about,
What some few years have quite brought out,
And Stafford he hath led the Van,
A Traytrous wretch and wicked man,
'Tis sure God hates such bloody things
As Massacres, &c.
This is a Tenet of our Faith
No other Church in Europe hath,
Never to rest till we have done
The work the Devil sets us on,
Yet though in Plots our lives we spend,
They'l come to nothing in the End▪
For God doth hate such bloody things
As Massacres, &c.
Though all the Wits of France and Spain
More Plots contrive. 'twill be in vain,
And let his holiness the Pope,
On whom we Papists fix our hope,
Spend all his dayes in such designs,
The Heavens will still find Countermines
And blast such wicked bloody things
As Massacres, &c,
The Protestants we plainly see,
Protections have of high degree,
That none can do them any wrong
VVho in their faith are firm & strong,
But idle worshippers do fall
By hellish Plots, in deadly thrall.
For God doth blast such bloody things
As Massacres, &c.
Then let us all renounce and fly
From this our strange Idolatry,
That our designs may prosperous be
Else 'tis in vain we plainly sée,
For who with heaven doth not advise
In vain are their conspiracies.
For God doth hate such bloody things
As Massacres, &c.
But we have stubborn hearts and do
Resolve against what's just & true,
Since Popes can Absolution give
For our misdeeds we do believe
This makes us all less care to take
Though oft it makes the Actors quake,
For God doth hate such bloody things
As massacres, &c.
'Tis strange to think what Friends we had
In England where our hearts now sad,
Were once with joy compleatly fill'd,
To think what blood would there be spill'd,
And in a moment we were lost,
Our Plots discover'd, all things crost,
For God doth hate such bloody things
As Massacres, and killing Kings.
London printed for J. Conyers at the black Ravenin Duck-lane