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         Ames, Richard, d. 1693.
      
       
         
           1692
        
      
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         11920913
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         50958
         
           
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             The Jacobite conventicle a poem.
             Ames, Richard, d. 1693.
          
           [4], 22, [2] p.
           
             Printed for R. Stafford,
             London :
             1692.
          
           
             Attributed to Richard Ames. Cf. BM.
             Advertisement: p. [2] at end.
             Reproduction of original in British Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Jacobites -- Poetry.
        
      
    
     
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           THE
           
             Jacobite
             Conventicle
          
           .
        
         
           A
           POEM
           .
        
         
           
             For
             Fools
             are
             Stubborn
             in
             their
             Way
             ,
          
           
             As
             Coins
             are
             hardned
             by
             th'
             Allay
             ,
          
           
             And
             Obstinacy's
             ne'r
             so
             stiff
             ,
          
           
             As
             when
             't
             is
             in
             a
             wrong
             belief
             .
          
           
             Hudibras
             ,
             Part
             3.
             
             Canto
             2.
             
          
        
         
           LONDON
           :
           Printed
           for
           
             R.
             Stafford
          
           ,
           1692.
           
        
      
       
         
         
         
           THE
           PREFACE
           .
        
         
           IN
           the
           days
           of
           Whig
           and
           Tory
           ,
           when
           the
           
             Loyal
             Pulpits
          
           sounded
           with
           Harrangues
           of
           Obedience
           and
           Submission
           ,
           and
           the
           poor
           Dissenter
           was
           forced
           to
           creep
           by
           Owl-light
           into
           some
           private
           House
           to
           Worship
           his
           God
           in
           Secret
           ,
           when
           loud
           Hems
           Echoed
           through
           the
           Churches
           ,
           by
           way
           of
           Approbation
           ,
           to
           a
           
             Clinching
             Period
          
           against
           the
           Cromwellians
           and
           new
           Anti-royallists
           ,
           and
           the
           Meeters
           drag'd
           through
           the
           Streets
           by
           Constables
           and
           Watchmen
           ,
           when
           that
           bouncing
           Loyalty
           took
           place
           of
           all
           the
           other
           Vertues
           ,
           and
           none
           were
           to
           be
           Saved
           out
           of
           the
           Pale
           of
           the
           
             Church
             of
             England
          
           :
           Who
           would
           have
           thought
           to
           have
           seen
           such
           a
           change
           of
           Affairs
           ?
           
             But
             above
             all
          
           ,
           to
           have
           seen
           a
           Conventicle
           (
           that
           word
           of
           odious
           sound
           )
           composed
           of
           a
           few
           Discontented
           Persons
           ,
           who
           yet
           call
           themselves
           the
           
             Church
             of
             England
             
             Protestants
          
           ;
           surely
           Copernicus
           was
           not
           much
           in
           the
           wrong
           ,
           when
           he
           said
           the
           World
           went
           round
           ,
           and
           the
           Sun
           stood
           still
           ;
           but
           Conscience
           ,
           they
           say
           ,
           is
           a
           Sacred
           thing
           ,
           and
           ought
           not
           to
           be
           Violated
           ;
           but
           at
           the
           same
           time
           ,
           is
           it
           not
           a
           great
           Riddle
           ,
           that
           Man's
           Conscience
           should
           boggle
           at
           a
           
             Lawful
             Oath
          
           ,
           and
           yet
           be
           quiet
           enough
           under
           an
           Vnlawful
           Debauch
           ,
           pretend
           Loyalty
           to
           Government
           ,
           and
           yet
           run
           counter
           to
           all
           its
           commands
           ,
           Fast
           and
           Revel
           on
           the
           days
           Appointed
           for
           Fasting
           and
           Humiliation
           ,
           say
           they
           are
           of
           an
           Established
           Church
           ,
           and
           yet
           meet
           in
           an
           Vnlawful
           Conventicle
           ;
           aver
           they
           Love
           their
           Countrey
           ,
           and
           yet
           wish
           well
           to
           the
           
             French
             Dragoons
          
           ?
           If
           these
           are
           not
           so
           many
           contradictions
           ,
           let
           the
           World
           judg
           ,
           for
           they
           whose
           minds
           can
           swallow
           such
           Contrarieties
           ,
           are
           fit
           to
           believe
           Transubstantiation
           ,
           and
           undoubtedly
           will
           prove
           as
           
             Errand
             Biggots
          
           to
           the
           
             Church
             of
             Rome
          
           ,
           should
           another
           
             Revolution
             happen
          
           ,
           as
           they
           are
           now
           (
           
             to
             what
             they
             falsly
             call
             themselves
             the
             true
             Members
             of
          
           )
           
             The
             Church
             of
             England
          
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
           THE
           Jacobite
           Conventicle
           .
        
         
           
             TEdious
             have
             been
             our
             hopes
             ,
             and
             long
             our
             Prayers
             ,
          
           
             Within
             the
             compass
             of
             the
             
               three
               past
               Years
            
             ,
          
           
             How
             oft
             in
             private
             have
             we
             met
             to
             Mourn
             ,
          
           
             And
             whine
             and
             snivel
             for
             Our
             Lord's
             Return
             ?
          
           
             Our
             Wishes
             too
             ,
             how
             strangely
             were
             they
             crost
             ,
          
           
             When
             the
             
               French
               Fleet
            
             drew
             near
             the
             
               English
               Coast
            
             ,
          
           
             When
             we
             expected
             our
             Deliverance
             near
             ,
          
           
             From
             
               Choaking
               Oaths
            
             and
             Taxes
             so
             Severe
             ;
          
           
           
             A
             glimps
             of
             Heaven
             we
             having
             then
             in
             view
             ,
          
           
             But
             ah
             !
             how
             soon
             that
             gawdy
             Scene
             withdrew
             ,
          
           
             Leaving
             a
             dismal
             Prospect
             in
             its
             room
             ,
          
           
             Of
             thousand
             Miseries
             are
             yet
             to
             come
             ;
          
           
             Must
             still
             our
             thoughts
             endure
             the
             wracking
             pain
             ,
          
           
             Always
             to
             hope
             ,
             and
             wish
             ,
             but
             yet
             in
             vain
             ?
          
           
             Nay
             ,
             Heaven
             it self
             ,
             to
             add
             to
             our
             Dispairs
             ,
          
           
             Seems
             to
             neglect
             and
             put
             by
             all
             our
             Prayers
             :
          
           
             Is
             there
             no
             hopes
             that
             wretched
             ,
             cheated
             we
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             Once
             more
             taste
             of
             Luscious
             Liberty
             ;
          
           
             Once
             more
             be
             thought
             the
             Favourites
             of
             the
             Nation
             ,
          
           
             And
             trample
             o're
             the
             Men
             of
             Abdication
             ?
          
           
             Those
             Rogues
             ,
             who
             to
             increase
             their
             guilty
             score
             ,
          
           
             Found
             out
             a
             word
             was
             never
             heard
             before
             .
          
           
             Yet
             there
             a
             time
             may
             come
             ,
             (
             but
             when
             it
             will
             ,
          
           
             Exceeds
             the
             reach
             of
             Learned
             
             Gadb'ry's
             Skill
             )
          
           
             When
             Loyalty
             shall
             meet
             in
             due
             regard
             ,
          
           
             And
             those
             that
             dare
             be
             honest
             ,
             find
             reward
             .
          
           
             The
             time
             may
             come
             —
             when
             Right
             will
             have
             its
             place
             ,
          
           
             And
             lie
             no
             longer
             under
             Black
             Disgrace
             .
          
           
           
             To
             Skill
             in
             Stars
             ,
             tho
             I
             make
             no
             presence
             ,
          
           
             Methinks
             I
             view
             it
             in
             the
             
               Present
               Sense
            
             ;
          
           
             Methinks
             I
             see
             th'
             Approaching
             smiling
             Years
             ,
          
           
             Roul
             on
             a-pace
             to
             recompence
             our
             Tears
             .
          
           
             Fly
             fast
             ,
             ye
             Weeks
             ,
             ye
             Months
             ,
             post
             quickly
             on
             ,
          
           
             And
             settle
             J
             —
             once
             more
             upon
             his
             Throne
             .
          
           
             But
             hold
             —
             to
             what
             strange
             Notions
             am
             I
             brought
          
           
             By
             the
             too
             strong
             Impulses
             of
             my
             thought
             ?
          
           
             To
             Church
             I
             'll
             go
             —
             that
             word
             ,
             Good
             Heaven
             ,
             forgive
             ,
          
           
             The
             Church
             shall
             be
             my
             Odium
             while
             I
             live
             :
          
           
             I
             hate
             the
             Priest
             ,
             who
             has
             a
             Double
             Face
             ,
          
           
             Religion's
             Scandal
             ,
             and
             his
             Gown
             's
             Disgrace
             .
          
           
             Give
             me
             the
             Man
             with
             Conscience
             void
             of
             blame
             ,
          
           
             Is
             in
             all
             Turns
             of
             Government
             the
             same
             ,
          
           
             Who
             hates
             Rebellion
             ,
             nor
             can
             Treason
             bless
             ,
          
           
             And
             does
             not
             judge
             of
             Actions
             by
             Success
             :
          
           
             That
             Man
             should
             never
             starve
             while
             I
             was
             able
             ,
          
           
             I
             'de
             serve
             him
             with
             my
             Purse
             ,
             my
             Bed
             ,
             my
             Table
             ;
          
           
             His
             Doctrine
             I
             much
             sooner
             would
             believe
             ,
          
           
             Than
             a
             
               Spruce
               Bishop's
            
             in
             his
             white
             Lawn
             Sleeve
             :
          
           
           
             Such
             Men
             I
             've
             heard
             ,
             and
             hope
             to
             hear
             agen
             .
          
           
             Bless
             me
             !
             't
             is
             late
             —
             the
             Clock
             has
             just
             struck
             ten
             ,
          
           
             But
             hold
             —
             Before
             to
             
               Fetter
               .
               Lane
            
             I
             go
             ,
          
           
             'T
             is
             requisite
             the
             Entrance-word
             I
             know
             :
          
           
             Last
             Sunday
             't
             was
             
               Commandement
               the
               fifth
            
             ,
          
           
             And
             now
             St.
             Germains
             is
             the
             Shibboleth
             :
          
           
             'T
             is
             so
             —
             and
             now
             with
             eager
             steps
             I
             fly
          
           
             To
             the
             true
             Church
             of
             
             England's
             Ministry
             ,
          
           
             To
             hear
             a
             sort
             of
             Men
             who
             ever
             knew
             ,
          
           
             Still
             to
             be
             faithful
             ,
             loyal
             ,
             firm
             and
             true
             ,
          
           
             Who
             from
             their
             Souls
             detest
             the
             swearing
             Vice
             ,
          
           
             Eeither
             to
             get
             or
             keep
             a
             Benefice
             .
          
        
         
           
             Thus
             I
             in
             Temple-Cloysters
             walking
             ,
          
           
             O're-heard
             a
             Man
             t'
             himself
             a
             talking
             :
          
           
             But
             if
             for
             Lye
             you
             this
             will
             Chalk
             ;
          
           
             At
             least
             I
             thought
             he
             thus
             would
             talk
             ;
          
           
             For
             by
             a
             
               Discontented
               Phiz
            
             ,
          
           
             One
             sometimes
             reads
             a
             Thought
             which
             lies
             ,
          
           
             Full
             Fifteen
             Fathom
             under
             Water
             :
          
           
             If
             this
             is
             false
             ,
             thank
             
               Erra
               Pater
            
          
           
           
             For
             in
             his
             Book
             ,
             the
             
               Fourteenth
               Chapter
            
             ,
          
           
             About
             an
             
               Astrological
               Rapture
            
             ,
          
           
             He
             says
             ,
             —
             But
             why
             do
             I
             thus
             strive
          
           
             To
             tell
             you
             what
             you
             wont
             believe
             ?
          
           
             But
             I
             my self
             being
             somewhat
             curious
             ,
          
           
             Did
             follow
             this
             
               Old
               Huncks
               Penurious
            
             ,
          
           
             Through
             
               Streets
               ,
               Lanes
               ,
               Alleys
            
             and
             By-ways
             ,
          
           
             More
             than
             are
             found
             in
             
             Stow's
             Surveys
             ,
          
           
             Traversing
             almost
             as
             much
             Ground
             ,
          
           
             As
             on
             
               New-Market
               Heath
            
             is
             found
             ,
          
           
             Leading
             me
             such
             a
             dainty
             jaunt
             ,
          
           
             As
             if
             one
             on
             an
             Errand
             sent
             ,
          
           
             Missing
             his
             way
             ,
             which
             did
             not
             hap
             well
             ,
          
           
             Should
             go
             by
             Lambeth
             to
             White-Chappel
             ;
          
           
             How'ere
             at
             last
             ,
             in
             
               Lane
               of
               Fetter
            
             ,
          
           
             Than
             which
             ,
             there
             is
             not
             many
             better
             ,
          
           
             In
             Magpye-court
             ,
             or
             Yard
             ,
             or
             Alley
             ,
          
           
             For
             which
             't
             was
             ,
             Faith
             ,
             I
             cannot
             tell
             ye
             ,
          
           
             He
             stopt
             at
             Door
             ,
             which
             stood
             at
             jar
             ,
          
           
             And
             whisp'ring
             softly
             in
             the
             Ear
             ,
          
           
             Of
             one
             whose
             looks
             declar'd
             Suspicion
             ,
          
           
             Receiv'd
             into
             the
             House
             Admission
             :
          
           
           
             I
             seeing
             this
             ,
             with
             Confidence
             ,
          
           
             Whate're
             might
             be
             the
             consequence
             ,
          
           
             Went
             boldly
             up
             ,
             and
             gave
             the
             Sign
             ,
          
           
             (
             
               The
               Word
               I
               mean
            
             )
             and
             so
             got
             in
             ;
          
           
             But
             by
             their
             jealous
             Looks
             and
             Eyes
          
           
             I
             plainly
             read
             their
             strange
             Surprize
             ,
          
           
             To
             see
             one
             to
             their
             Meeting
             come
             ,
          
           
             Whom
             they
             believ'd
             was
             
               none
               of
               Them
            
             ;
          
           
             They
             Star'd
             —
             and
             I
             forgot
             to
             Blush
             ,
          
           
             But
             boldly
             to
             the
             midst
             I
             rush
             ,
          
           
             And
             sate
             me
             down
             upon
             a
             Hassock
             ,
          
           
             Expecting
             Clergy-man
             in
             Cassock
             ,
          
           
             That
             
               Holy
               Smith
            
             who
             blows
             the
             Coals
          
           
             Of
             Discontent
             ,
             and
             Saves
             their
             Souls
             ,
          
           
             By
             telling
             them
             that
             no
             Salvation
          
           
             Can
             be
             to
             Men
             of
             Abdication
             ,
          
           
             And
             that
             a
             Hell
             is
             still
             appointed
          
           
             For
             those
             resist
             the
             
               Lord
               's
               Anointed
            
             .
          
           
             But
             he
             ,
             it
             seems
             ,
             was
             not
             come
             yet
             ,
          
           
             But
             staid
             behind
             to
             take
             a
             Whet
          
           
             Of
             
               White
               Wine
            
             ,
             in
             a
             brimming
             Taster
             ,
          
           
             In
             Mem'ry
             of
             his
             
               Absent
               Master
            
             ,
          
           
           
             Which
             might
             his
             Spirits
             better
             quicken
             ;
          
           
             But
             now
             the
             Plot
             begins
             to
             Thicken
             ,
          
           
             Folks
             to
             the
             Place
             in
             Clusters
             Trolling
             ,
          
           
             (
             As
             Snow-balls
             gather
             by
             their
             Rolling
             ,
          
           
             So
             fast
             ,
             altho
             the
             Room
             was
             Large
             ,
          
           
             'T
             was
             cram'd
             as
             full
             as
             
               Gravesend
               Barge
            
             ,
          
           
             '
             Tho
             different
             Sexes
             ,
             different
             Ages
             ,
          
           
             (
             For
             some
             were
             Youths
             and
             some
             were
             Sages
             )
          
           
             Made
             up
             this
             private
             Congregation
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             
               Envy
               ,
               Discontent
            
             and
             Passion
             ,
          
           
             In
             Face
             of
             every
             one
             appear'd
             ,
          
           
             Both
             of
             smooth
             Chin
             and
             grisly
             Beard
             ,
          
           
             As
             plain
             as
             is
             the
             Light
             in
             Phaebus
             ,
          
           
             When
             he
             Looks
             down
             on
             Mortal
             Rebus
             .
          
           
             Nor
             could
             the
             grinning
             smile
             conceal
          
           
             The
             Passions
             ,
             which
             in
             Breast
             they
             feel
             ,
          
           
             As
             if
             these
             People
             took
             delight
             ,
          
           
             Only
             to
             wait
             on
             God
             for
             Spite
             ;
          
           
             Soft
             buzzing
             Whispers
             fill
             the
             Room
             ,
          
           
             And
             into
             close
             Committees
             ,
             some
          
           
             Retire
             ,
             to
             give
             their
             Thoughts
             a
             Vent
             ,
          
           
             And
             Drevil
             forth
             their
             Discontent
             ,
          
           
           
             Which
             Poyson
             ,
             as
             the
             one
             spits
             forth
             ,
          
           
             The
             other
             Licks
             it
             up
             ,
             in
             Troth
             .
          
           
             A
             Man
             perceiving
             of
             a
             
               Dry
               Nod
            
             ,
          
           
             Came
             to
             a
             little
             Private
             Synod
             ,
          
           
             Or
             Junto
             ,
             which
             was
             just
             behind
             me
             ,
          
           
             To
             prate
             they
             fall
             ,
             and
             did
             not
             mind
             me
             ;
          
           
             But
             not
             in
             words
             so
             soft
             and
             Butter'd
             ,
          
           
             But
             I
             could
             hear
             each
             word
             they
             
             Vtter'd
             ;
          
           
             Quoth
             one
             ,
             I
             wonder
             what
             a
             Devil
          
           
             Should
             make
             the
             Parliament
             so
             civil
             ,
          
           
             Such
             Taxes
             on
             the
             Land
             to
             Draw
             ,
          
           
             We
             must
             make
             Bricks
             ,
             yet
             have
             no
             Straw
             ;
          
           
             If
             they
             go
             on
             ,
             't
             is
             plain
             and
             clear
             ,
          
           
             The
             French
             ,
             which
             we
             so
             idly
             fear
             ,
          
           
             As
             soon
             will
             make
             Descent
             on
             Finland
             ,
          
           
             As
             e're
             Attempt
             to
             Land
             in
             England
             .
          
           
             Within
             three
             years
             we
             shall
             become
          
           
             The
             Poorest
             State
             in
             Christendom
             ;
          
           
             All
             Nations
             will
             on
             us
             be
             Pissing
             ,
          
           
             And
             we
             become
             the
             Scorn
             and
             Hissing
             ,
          
           
             Of
             all
             the
             Kingdoms
             which
             are
             known
             ,
          
           
             'Twixt
             us
             and
             
               Land
               of
               Prester
               John.
            
          
           
           
             Besides
             ,
             the
             Mony
             which
             is
             Rais'd
          
           
             Pays
             not
             the
             
               English
               ,
               God
               be
               Prais'd
            
             ;
          
           
             No
             ,
             poor
             contented
             Villains
             ,
             they
          
           
             Must
             venture
             on
             ,
             yet
             have
             no
             Pay
             ,
          
           
             Except
             a
             little
             small
             Subsistance
             ,
          
           
             A
             very
             trifling
             small
             Assistance
             ,
          
           
             Just
             to
             keep
             Life
             and
             Soul
             together
             ,
          
           
             Against
             the
             force
             of
             Wind
             and
             Weather
             ,
          
           
             Whilst
             
               Brandenburgers
               ,
               Danes
            
             and
             Dutchmen
             ,
          
           
             
               Sweeds
               ,
               Germans
            
             ,
             and
             all
             other
             such
             Men
             ,
          
           
             Are
             duly
             paid
             off
             to
             a
             Penny
             ,
          
           
             And
             long
             Arrears
             they
             have
             not
             any
             .
          
           
             You
             speak
             the
             very
             truth
             on
             't
             Neighbour
             ,
          
           
             Replies
             his
             Friend
             (
             with
             Thought
             in
             Labour
          
           
             To
             be
             Deliver'd
             of
             some
             Matter
             ,
          
           
             Which
             sore
             opprest
             his
             
               Pia
               Mater
            
             )
          
           
             If
             our
             forefathers
             were
             complaining
             ,
          
           
             That
             Rome
             was
             still
             their
             Purses
             Draining
             ;
          
           
             By
             
             Peter's
             Pence
             ,
             and
             such
             Taxation
             ,
          
           
             How
             just
             are
             now
             the
             Cries
             o'
             th'
             Nation
             ?
          
           
             
               Four
               Shillings
            
             first
             in
             every
             Pound
             ,
          
           
             Did
             fine
             Estates
             most
             largely
             wound
             ,
          
           
           
             (
             Estates
             as
             well
             as
             Bodies
             needing
             ,
          
           
             For
             their
             Healths
             sake
             a
             timely
             Bleeding
             )
          
           
             The
             
               Double
               Excise
            
             ,
             which
             all
             men
             reckon'd
             ,
          
           
             To
             hold
             but
             one
             year
             ,
             lasts
             a
             Second
             ,
          
           
             And
             it
             may
             still
             for
             ought
             that
             we
             know
             ,
          
           
             Till
             Day
             of
             Judgment
             so
             continue
             ;
          
           
             But
             that
             which
             was
             the
             topping
             sole
             Act
          
           
             Of
             the
             last
             Sessions
             ,
             was
             the
             
               Poll
               Act
            
             ,
          
           
             Where
             each
             man
             must
             ,
             or
             nill
             ,
             or
             willing
             ,
          
           
             For
             's
             Head
             ,
             pay
             quarterly
             a
             Shilling
             ,
          
           
             When
             most
             Mens
             Brains
             in
             Head
             which
             rest
             ,
          
           
             Sir
             ,
          
           
             Are
             hardly
             worth
             a
             single
             Tester
             ;
          
           
             But
             't
             is
             much
             better
             sure
             in
             one
             sense
          
           
             To
             Pay
             for
             Head
             ,
             than
             Pay
             for
             Conscience
             ,
          
           
             For
             Faith
             I
             should
             be
             very
             loth
          
           
             To
             
               Pay
               Two
               pounds
            
             or
             take
             an
             Oath
             .
          
           
             
               The
               Oaths
            
             !
             —
             As
             soon
             I
             'de
             swallow
             Rats-bane
             ,
          
           
             Or
             any
             other
             Payson
             that
             's
             Bane
             ,
          
           
             (
             Rejoyns
             a
             third
             )
             O'bomination
             ,
          
           
             What
             swallow
             down
             
               my
               own
               Damnation
            
             ;
          
           
           
             A
             
               Butter'd
               Hedg-hog
            
             I
             could
             better
          
           
             Digest
             ,
             than
             of
             the
             Oaths
             a
             Letter
             .
          
           
             But
             pray
             what
             News
             have
             y'
             in
             the
             City
             ?
          
           
             Sure
             matters
             there
             go
             
               very
               pretty
            
             ,
          
           
             And
             Guineas
             into
             Guild-hall
             go
             ,
          
           
             As
             if
             our
             Land
             were
             Mexico
             ,
          
           
             Or
             as
             each
             Merchant
             there
             a
             Dweller
             ,
          
           
             Had
             found
             a
             Golden
             Mine
             in
             's
             Celler
             :
          
           
             Well
             ,
             if
             their
             Faith
             for
             things
             above
             ,
          
           
             Like
             that
             for
             things
             below
             ,
             does
             prove
             ,
          
           
             'T
             is
             Ten
             to
             One
             ,
             and
             Two
             to
             Eleven
             ,
          
           
             They
             all
             of
             them
             will
             meet
             in
             Heaven
             .
          
           
             They
             say
             the
             King
             and
             all
             his
             Allies
             ,
          
           
             (
             Speaks
             a
             fourth
             Man
             amongst
             these
             fellows
             )
          
           
             Intend
             ,
             as
             folk's
             report
             most
             true
             is
             ,
          
           
             To
             pull
             down
             Pride
             of
             
               Mighty
               Lewis
            
             ,
          
           
             And
             William
             for
             a
             Wager
             carries
          
           
             His
             Arms
             into
             the
             Heart
             of
             Paris
             ,
          
           
             And
             of
             the
             strange
             Opinion
             some
             are
             ,
          
           
             That
             all
             this
             must
             be
             done
             this
             Summer
             :
          
           
             Well
             ,
             
               they
               may
            
             please
             their
             idle
             Fancies
             ,
          
           
             With
             such
             like
             Tales
             and
             
               State
               Romances
            
             ;
          
           
           
             But
             I
             believe
             they
             'l
             find
             more
             Odds
             ,
          
           
             Than
             Giants
             did
             that
             Fought
             with
             Gods
             ;
          
           
             Alas
             ,
             their
             mighty
             Preparations
             ,
          
           
             Made
             of
             the
             Scum
             of
             several
             Nations
             ,
          
           
             Are
             not
             to
             France
             so
             Formidable
             ,
          
           
             As
             are
             to
             Us
             a
             City
             Rabble
             ;
          
           
             You
             'll
             find
             their
             
               Mighty
               Hopes
               Defeated
            
             ,
          
           
             And
             They
             most
             
               miserably
               Cheated
            
             .
          
           
             Hold
             ,
             let
             's
             forbear
             our
             idle
             Tales
             ,
          
           
             Hes
             come
             ,
             —
             Who
             is
             't
             ?
             —
             Why
             Mr.
             Sh.
             —
          
           
             A
             precious
             Man.
             —
             Hist
             ,
             silence
             there
             ,
          
           
             At
             which
             all
             instantly
             forbear
             ,
          
           
             And
             looking
             at
             the
             
               Ministers
               ,
               —
               God
               bless
               you
               ,
               Sir.
            
          
           
             His
             Surplice
             on
             ,
             and
             then
             prepare
          
           
             To
             Joyn
             with
             him
             in
             Common-Prayer
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             Psalms
             nor
             Prayers
             does
             he
             omit
             any
             ,
          
           
             Till
             coming
             to
             that
             place
             i'
             th'
             Littany
             ,
          
           
             Wherein
             oblig'd
             
               by
               Name
               to
               Pray
            
             ,
          
           
             For
             those
             who
             bear
             the
             
               Sovereign
               Sway
            
             ;
          
           
             He
             did
             in
             's
             Prayers
             no
             Name
             put
             in
             ,
          
           
             But
             those
             of
             
               Gracious
               King
               and
               Queen
            
             ;
          
           
           
             Which
             Prayer
             ,
             no
             sooner
             did
             it
             reach
             the
          
           
             Ears
             of
             them
             all
             ,
             —
             but
             —
             
               We
               beseech
               thee
            
             ,
          
           
             Echoed
             more
             loud
             by
             Persons
             there
             ,
          
           
             Than
             the
             Responce
             to
             any
             Prayer
             ,
          
           
             Which
             in
             the
             Liturgy
             we
             read
             ,
          
           
             From
             the
             
             Lord's
             Prayer
             to
             
               Nicene
               Creed
            
             .
          
           
             The
             Service
             done
             ,
             I
             then
             expected
          
           
             T'
             ave
             heard
             a
             singing
             Psalm
             directed
             ;
          
           
             But
             having
             got
             the
             
               Pious
               Qualms
            
             ,
          
           
             Their
             Souls
             were
             not
             in
             tune
             for
             Psalms
             ,
          
           
             For
             how
             can
             ever
             Captives
             bring
          
           
             Their
             Minds
             into
             a
             Frame
             to
             Sing
             ?
          
           
             Tho
             it
             is
             plain
             that
             Fetters
             none
          
           
             They
             had
             ,
             but
             what
             themselves
             put
             on
             ;
          
           
             But
             if
             they
             would
             have
             tund
             their
             throats
             ,
          
           
             To
             Sternholds
             or
             to
             Hopkins
             Notes
             ,
          
           
             It
             would
             ,
             according
             as
             't
             is
             reckond
             ,
          
           
             Have
             been
             to
             Psalm
             call'd
             
               Seventy
               Second
            
             ,
          
        
         
           
             Lord
             give
             thy
             Judgments
             to
             the
             King
             ,
          
           
             Therein
             Instruct
             him
             well
             ,
          
           
           
             And
             with
             his
             Son
             that
             Princely
             thing
             ,
          
           
             Lord
             ,
             let
             thy
             Justice
             dwell
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             now
             the
             Priest
             was
             to
             Pulpit
             gone
             ,
          
           
             At
             least
             to
             what
             might
             pass
             for
             one
             ;
          
           
             After
             a
             short
             Prayer
             ,
             not
             forgetting
          
           
             
               Of
               King
               and
               Queen
            
             ,
             to
             mind
             his
             Knitting
             ,
          
           
             Who
             with
             a
             Zeal
             most
             mighty
             Fervent
             ,
          
           
             Were
             thought
             of
             by
             their
             
               suffering
               Servant
            
             ;
          
           
             Remembring
             likewise
             most
             Devoutly
             ,
          
           
             To
             Pray
             for
             
               Mother
               Church
            
             most
             stoutly
             ,
          
           
             The
             
               Church
               of
               England
            
             ,
             which
             they
             fancy
             ,
          
           
             None
             out
             of
             their
             Communion
             can
             see
             ;
          
           
             
               The
               Church
            
             ,
             opprest
             ,
             distrest
             and
             warried
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             a
             sence
             Spiritually
             carried
          
           
             Captive
             away
             ,
             whilst
             its
             Adorners
          
           
             Are
             forc'd
             to
             Preach
             and
             Pray
             in
             Corners
             .
          
           
             This
             done
             ,
             and
             th'
             Audience
             composing
          
           
             Themselves
             for
             Hearing
             ,
             or
             for
             Dozing
             ;
          
           
             T●
             a
             Bible
             of
             Geneva
             size
             ,
          
           
             Himself
             Devoutly
             Priest
             applies
             ,
          
           
           
             And
             from
             a
             thousand
             various
             Texts
             ,
          
           
             This
             part
             of
             Scripture
             strait
             Selects
             .
          
        
         
           
             
               ROM
               .
               13.
               1
               ,
               2.
               
            
          
           
             
               Let
               every
               Soul
               be
               Subject
               to
               the
               Higher
               Powers
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               Whosoever
               therefore
               Resisteth
               the
               Power
               ,
               Resisteth
               the
               Ordinance
               of
               God
               ,
               and
               they
               that
               Resist
               ,
               shall
               receive
               to
               themselves
               Damnation
               .
            
          
           
             
               The
               Text
               (
               quoth
               he
               )
               beloved
               ,
               plainly
            
             
               Holds
               forth
               ,
               that
               every
               one
               should
               mainly
            
             
               Strive
               who
               should
               most
               Enriched
               be
            
             
               With
               the
               Dear
               Jewel
               Loyalty
               :
            
             
               I
               do
               not
               mean
               the
               Counterfeit
               ,
            
             
               Which
               every
               one
               that
               Swears
               can
               get
               ,
            
             
               To
               save
               their
               Purses
               ,
               having
               a
               mind
               ;
            
             
               Theirs
               is
               a
               Bristol
               Stone
               —
               no
               Diamond
               ;
            
             
               But
               I
               do
               mean
               that
               
                 Sacred
                 Jewel
              
               ,
            
             
               Which
               flattering
               Arts
               ,
               nor
               open
               Cruelty
            
             
             
               of
               Men
               ,
               e're
               with
               all
               their
               Bluster
               ,
            
             
               Could
               make
               it
               lose
               its
               sparkling
               Lustre
               ;
            
             
               A
               Good
               ,
               by
               Holy
               Writ
               Commended
               ,
            
             
               With
               thousand
               Blessings
               still
               attended
               ,
            
             
               A
               Virtue
               which
               the
               very
               Angels
            
             
               Practise
               above
               ,
               or
               it
               were
               strange
               else
               ,
            
             
               None
               of
               them
               daring
               to
               Rebel
               ,
            
             
               Since
               Lucifer
               ,
               and
               his
               Crew
               fell
               ,
            
             
               A
               Virtue
               all
               have
               here
               I
               hopen
               ;
            
             
               But
               now
               my
               Text
               begins
               to
               Open.
               
            
          
        
         
           
             Let
             every
             Soul
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               Let
               every
               Soul
            
             ,
             —
             Man
             ,
             Woman
             ,
             Child
          
           
             Be
             with
             this
             Holy
             Virtue
             fill'd
             ,
          
           
             For
             there
             's
             not
             one
             in
             all
             the
             Nation
          
           
             Excepted
             in
             this
             Proclamation
             ,
          
           
             Tho
             there
             are
             thousands
             senseless
             Elves
             ,
          
           
             Who
             wickedly
             Except
             themselves
             ,
          
           
             And
             foolishly
             suppose
             that
             they
          
           
             Were
             Born
             to
             Govern
             ,
             not
             Obey
             ;
          
           
           
             Ah!
             Parents
             ,
             for
             I
             must
             be
             true
             t'
             ye
             ,
          
           
             And
             tell
             you
             that
             it
             is
             your
             Duty
             ,
          
           
             To
             let
             your
             Children
             hazard
             at
             all
             ,
          
           
             Learn
             ,
             as
             just
             as
             they
             can
             Prattle
             ,
          
           
             The
             Criss-Cross-Row
             of
             Loyalty
             ,
          
           
             Before
             they
             learn
             their
             
               A.
               B.
               C.
            
          
           
             Tell
             'em
             the
             Dignity
             of
             
               Crown'd
               Heads
            
             ,
          
           
             And
             make
             'em
             learn
             to
             hate
             the
             Round-heads
             ;
          
           
             Tell
             'em
             ,
             there
             nothing
             is
             in
             Nature
             ,
          
           
             So.
             Monstrous
             as
             a
             
               Whiggish
               Creature
            
             ;
          
           
             Tell
             'em
             —
             Nay
             tell
             em
             anything
          
           
             T'
             advance
             the
             Glory
             of
             a
             King
             ;
          
           
             Indeed
             't
             is
             plain
             without
             Correction
             ,
          
           
             That
             Loyalty
             implies
             Subjection
             .
          
        
         
           
             Let
             every
             Soul
             be
             Subject
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             That
             is
             ,
             let
             every
             Soul
             be
             ready
             ,
          
           
             With
             a
             fixt
             mind
             ,
             resolv'd
             and
             steddy
             ,
          
           
           
             To
             part
             with
             Life
             ,
             Estate
             ,
             and
             all
             ,
          
           
             When
             e're
             it
             is
             his
             Prince's
             call
             ;
          
           
             But
             never
             let
             him
             
               Hum
               and
               Haw
            
             ,
          
           
             And
             Question
             if
             't
             is
             done
             by
             Law
             ,
          
           
             His
             Princes
             Will
             to
             him
             should
             be
          
           
             The
             Rule
             of
             Law
             and
             Equity
             ;
          
           
             But
             now
             Beloved
             let
             's
             Discourse
          
           
             Of
             what
             is
             meant
             by
             Higher
             Powers
             .
          
        
         
           
             Let
             every
             Soul
             be
             Subject
             to
             the
             Higher
             Powers
             .
          
           
             That
             is
             ,
             that
             every
             Soul
             should
             be
          
           
             Subject
             alone
             to
             Monarchy
             ;
          
           
             A
             Government
             which
             you
             and
             I
             know
             ,
          
           
             Most
             certainly
             is
             
               jur
               '
               Divino
            
             ,
          
           
             Above
             all
             other
             Governments
             ,
          
           
             Which
             are
             in
             Earths
             most
             wide
             Extents
             :
          
           
             Alas
             !
             what
             man
             a
             live
             is
             able
             .
          
           
             T'
             endure
             the
             Ruling
             of
             a
             Rabble
             ,
          
           
           
             But
             Common-wealths
             why
             should
             we
             rob
             ,
          
           
             Of
             th'
             Glory
             of
             a
             Ruling
             Mob
             ;
          
           
             Distinctions
             ,
             they
             know
             no
             other
             ,
          
           
             Than
             well
             met
             Friend
             ,
             and
             hale
             well
             Brother
             ;
          
           
             But
             amongst
             all
             the
             Ruling
             Powers
          
           
             Of
             Monarchy
             ,
             there
             's
             none
             like
             ours
             ;
          
           
             Isay
             ,
             not
             as
             't
             is
             now
             —
             alas
             !
          
           
             My
             meaning
             is
             ,
             as
             once
             it
             was
             ,
          
           
             When
             Good
             King
             —
             but
             I
             'll
             leave
             the
             rest
          
           
             By
             your
             Good
             Judgments
             to
             be
             guest
             ,
          
           
             Whilst
             in
             few
             words
             I
             shall
             Rehearse
          
           
             The
             Meaning
             of
             the
             Second
             Verse
             :
          
        
         
           
             Whosoever
             therefore
             Resisteth
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               Beloved
               ,
               't
               is
               a
               dreadful
               Curse
               ,
            
             
               But
               good
               enough
               ,
               were
               't
               ten
               times
               worse
               ,
            
             
               For
               those
               who
               meddle
               in
               State-matters
               ,
            
             
               And
               will
               be
               Kings
               and
               Monarch-haters
               ;
            
             
             
               Tho
               most
               Men
               make
               a
               Recreation
            
             
               Of
               that
               so
               common
               word
               Damnation
               ,
            
             
               But
               they
               will
               all
               to
               Hell
               be
               Carried
               ,
            
             
               As
               sure
               as
               Judas
               call'd
               Iscariot
               ,
            
             
               Who
               in
               the
               smallest
               point
               or
               thing
               ,
            
             
               Or
               thought
               ,
               Rebel
               against
               their
               King
               ,
            
             
               To
               whom
               the
               Title
               still
               we
               give
            
             
               Of
               
               God's
               true
               Representative
               ;
            
             
               No
               wonder
               then
               that
               God
               is
               Jealous
               ,
            
             
               When
               'gainst
               his
               
                 Vice
                 Roy
              
               they
               'r
               Rebellious
               ;
            
             
               What
               mighty
               havock
               have
               ye
               done
               ,
            
             
               Ye
               wicked
               Men
               of
               
                 Forty
                 One
              
               ;
            
             
               Nay
               ,
               I
               might
               farther
               here
               rejoyn
               ,
            
             
               Ye
               
               Belial's
               Sons
               of
               
                 Eighty
                 Nine
              
               ;
            
             
               Nay
               Laugh
               not
               ,
               for
               ,
               for
               all
               your
               Jearing
               ,
            
             
               There
               's
               not
               one
               Barrel
               better
               Herring
               :
            
             
               Fight
               'gainst
               your
               King
               !
               —
               How
               my
               Blood
               Curdles
               ?
            
             
               Have
               you
               a
               mind
               to
               lay
               on
               Hurdles
               ?
            
             
             
               And
               whether
               you
               are
               Low
               or
               High
               born
               ,
            
             
               With
               a
               Psalm
               end
               your
               Days
               at
               Tyburn
               ;
            
             
               But
               my
               Belov'd
               ,
               't
               is
               plain
               and
               clear
            
             
               That
               there
               are
               no
               such
               Persons
               here
               ,
            
             
               We
               are
               all
               —
            
          
           
             
               Here
               a
               sudden
               noise
               ,
            
             
               To
               silence
               put
               the
               Preachers
               Voice
               ,
            
             
               When
               instantly
               without
               much
               Rabble
               ,
            
             
               An
               Officer
               that
               's
               call'd
               Constable
               ,
            
             
               Attended
               by
               some
               Musqueteers
               ,
            
             
               Entred
               the
               Room
               and
               spoil'd
               their
               Geers
               :
            
          
           
             
               Genteels
               (
               quoth
               he
               )
               without
               much
               Preface
               ,
            
             
               You
               all
               my
               Prisoners
               are
               in
               the
               place
               ;
            
             
               None
               Answering
               him
               upon
               that
               Score
               ,
            
             
               
                 Obedience
                 Passive
              
               were
               all
               o're
               ;
            
             
               Some
               few
               escap't
               ,
               but
               those
               he
               guest
               ,
            
             
               Were
               but
               blind
               Biggots
               to
               the
               rest
               ;
            
             
               The
               Priest
               too
               ,
               having
               slipt
               off
               Habit
               ,
            
             
               Soon
               got
               away
               like
               Cased
               Rabit
               ,
            
             
             
               The
               now
               Detected
               Conventiclers
               ,
            
             
               Who
               are
               for
               Loyalty
               such
               Sticklers
               ,
            
             
               Were
               carried
               'fore
               a
               Magistrate
               ,
            
             
               Where
               little
               't
               would
               avail
               to
               prate
               ;
            
             
               The
               Oaths
               were
               Tendred
               ,
               and
               none
               willing
            
             
               To
               take
               'em
               ,
               each
               pay
               
                 Forty
                 Shilling
              
               ;
            
             
               Patient
               in
               Suffering
               with
               applause
               ,
            
             
               Not
               for
               the
               Old
               ,
               but
               good
               
                 New
                 Cause
              
               .
            
          
        
         
           FIIS
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
           Postscript
           .
        
         
           AH
           me
           !
           How
           great
           a
           Cordial's
           Hope
           ,
        
         
           When
           sawcy
           Fear
           don
           't
           interlope
           ?
        
         
           How
           sweetly
           at
           the
           Tett
           we
           tipple
           ,
        
         
           Till
           Fear
           puts
           Wormwood
           on
           the
           Nipple
           ?
        
         
           How
           hot
           was
           t'other
           day's
           Discourse
           ,
        
         
           That
           mighty
           Force
           of
           Foot
           and
           Horse
           ,
        
         
           Headed
           by
           ever
           Valiant
           
             J
             —
             s
          
           ,
        
         
           Were
           come
           almost
           to
           mouth
           of
           Thames
           ;
        
         
           Nay
           ,
           some
           to
           carry
           on
           the
           Joke
           ,
        
         
           Swore
           he
           would
           Land
           at
           Puddle-dock
           ;
        
         
           But
           Expectation
           is
           a
           Blessing
           ,
        
         
           Surmounts
           the
           pleasure
           of
           Possessing
           ;
        
         
           Yet
           't
           is
           a
           question
           worth
           Solution
           ,
        
         
           who
           'd
           gain
           by
           such
           a
           Revolution
           ?
        
         
           Unless
           we
           think
           
             Ropes
             ,
             Fire
          
           and
           Axes
           ,
        
         
           Are
           milder
           things
           than
           Modern
           Taxes
           ;
        
         
         
           Or
           when
           from
           Pockets
           Rome
           takes
           Toll
           ,
        
         
           Is
           better
           than
           a
           
             Quarter
             Poll
          
           ,
        
         
           And
           think
           the
           Levies
           of
           Commission
           ,
        
         
           More
           cruel
           than
           the
           Inquisition
           ;
        
         
           If
           words
           ,
           of
           mind
           ,
           the
           true
           Intent
           is
           ,
        
         
           These
           men
           are
           sure
           
             Non
             compos
             mentis
          
           ,
        
         
           And
           Bedlam
           must
           be
           sure
           Enlarg'd
           ,
        
         
           When
           't
           is
           with
           such
           State-blockheads
           charg'd
           ,
        
         
           Where
           they
           themselves
           may
           hourly
           tickle
           ,
        
         
           And
           keep
           each
           day
           a
           Conventicle
           .
        
      
       
         
           ADVERTISEMENT
           .
        
         
           CHuse
           which
           you
           will
           ,
           Liberty
           or
           Slavery
           ;
           or
           ,
           an
           Impartial
           Representation
           of
           the
           Danger
           of
           being
           again
           Subjected
           to
           a
           
             Popish
             Prince
          
           .
        
         
      
    
  

