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New England.
1 Alas,
dear Mother, fairest Queen and best,
2 With honour,
wealth, and peace happy and blest,
3 What ails thee
hang thy head, and cross thine arms,
4 And sit i'
the dust to sigh these sad alarms?
5 What deluge of
new woes thus over-whelm
6 The glories of thy ever
famous Realm?
7 What means this wailing tone, this
mournful guise?
8 Ah, tell thy Daughter; she may sympathize.
Old England.
9 Art ignorant indeed of these my woes,
10 Or must my forced tongue these griefs disclose,
11
And must my self dissect my tatter'd state,
12 Which Amazed Christendom
stands wondering at?
13 And thou a child, a Limb, and dost not
feel
14 My weak'ned fainting body now to reel?
15
This physic-purging-potion I have taken
16 Will bring Consumption
or an Ague quaking,
17 Unless some Cordial thou fetch from high,
18 Which present help may ease my malady.
19 If
I decease, dost think thou shalt survive?
20 Or by my wasting
state dost think to thrive?
21 Then weigh our case, if 't be not
justly sad.
22 Let me lament alone, while thou art glad.
...
89 Before I tell the effect I'll shew the cause,
90
Which are my sins--the breach of sacred Laws:
91 Idolatry, supplanter
of a N ation,
92 With foolish superstitious adoration,
93
Are lik'd and countenanc'd by men of might,
94 The Gospel is trod
down and hath no right.
95 Church Offices are sold and bought
for gain
96 That Pope had hope to find Rome here again.
97 For Oaths and Blasphemies did ever ear
98
From Beelzebub himself such language hear?
99 What scorning
of the Saints of the most high!
100 What injuries did daily on
them lie!
101 What false reports, what nick-names did they take,
102 Not for their own, but for their Master's sake!
103
And thou, poor soul, wast jeer'd among the rest;
104 Thy flying
for the Truth I made a jest.
105 For Sabbath-breaking and for
Drunkenness
106 Did ever Land profaneness more express?
...
121 Of more than thou canst hear or I relate,
122
That with high hand I still did perpetrate,
123 For these were
threat'ned the woeful day
124 I mocked the Preachers, put it fair
away.
125 The Sermons yet upon record do stand
126
That cried destruction to my wicked Land.
127 These Prophets'
mouths (all the while) was stopt,
128 Unworthily, some backs whipt,
and ears crept;
129 Their reverent cheeks bear the glorious marks
130 Of stinking, stigmatizing Romish Clerks;
131
Some lost their livings, some in prison pent,
132 Some grossly
fined, from friends to exile went:
133 Their silent tongues to
heaven did vengeance cry,
134 Who heard their cause, and wrongs
judg'd righteously,
135 And will repay it sevenfold in my lap.
...
146 Such cruelty as all reports have past.
147
Mine heart obdurate stood not yet aghast.
148 Now sip I of that
cup, and just 't may be
149 The bottom dregs reserved are for
me.
New England.
150 To all you've said, sad mother,
I assent.
151 Your fearful sins great cause there 's to lament.
152 My guilty hands (in part) hold up with you,
153
A sharer in your punishment's my due.
154 But all you say amounts
to this effect,
155 Not what you feel, but what you do expect.
156 Pray, in plain terms, what is your present grief?
157
Then let's join heads and hands for your relief.
Old England.
158
Well, to the matter, then. There's grown of late
159 'Twixt King
and Peers a question of state:
160 Which is the chief, the law,
or else the King?
161 One saith, it's he; the other, no such thing.
162 My better part in Court of Parliament
163
To ease my groaning land shew their intent
164 To crush the proud,
and right to each man deal,
165 To help the Church, and stay the
Common-Weal.
...
185 Contention's grown 'twixt Subjects and
their Master,
186 They worded it so long they fell to blows,
187
That thousands lay on heaps. Here bleeds my woes.
188 I that no
wars so many years have known
189 Am now destroy'd and slaughter'd
by mine own.
190 But could the field alone this strife decide,
191 One battle, two, or three I might abide,
192
But these may be beginnings of more woe--
193 Who knows, the worst,
the best may overthrow!
194 Religion, Gospel, here lies at the
stake,
195 Pray now, dear child, for sacred Zion's sake,
196 Oh, pity me in this sad perturbation,
197
My plundered Towns, my houses' devastation,
198 My ravisht virgins,
and my young men slain,
199 My wealthy trading fallen, my dearth
of grain.
200 The seedtime's come, but Ploughman hath no hope
201 Because he knows not who shall inn his crop.
202
The poor they want their pay, their children bread,
203 Their
woful mothers' tears unpitied.
204 If any pity in thy heart remain,
205 Or any child-like love thou dost retain,
206
For my relief now use thy utmost skill,
207 And recompense me
good for all my ill.
New England.
208 Dear mother, cease
complaints, and wipe your eyes,
209 Shake off your dust, cheer
up, and now arise.
210 You are my mother, nurse, I once your flesh,
211 Your sunken bowels gladly would refresh.
212
Your griefs I pity much but should do wrong,
213 To weep for that
we both have pray'd for long,
214 To see these latter days of
hop'd-for good,
215 That Right may have its right, though 't be
with blood.
216 After dark Popery the day did clear;
217
But now the Sun in's brightness shall appear.
218 Blest be the
Nobles of thy Noble Land
219 With (ventur'd lives) for truth's
defence that stand.
220 Blest be thy Commons, who for Common good
221 And thy infringed Laws have boldly stood.
222
Blest be thy Counties, who do aid thee still
223 With hearts and
states to testify their will.
224 Blest be thy Preachers, who
do cheer thee on.
225 Oh, cry: the sword of
God and Gideon!
226 And shall I not
on them wish Mero's curse
227 That help thee not with prayers,
arms, and purse?
228 And for my self, let miseries abound
229
If mindless of thy state I e'er be found.
230 These are the days
the Church's foes to crush,
231 To root out Prelates, head, tail,
branch, and rush.
232 Let's bring Baal's
vestments out, to make a fire,
233 Their Mitres,
Surplices, and all their tire,
234 Copes, Rochets,
Croziers, and such trash,
235 And let their names consume, but
let the flash
236 Light Christendom, and all the world to see
237 We hate Rome's Whore, with all her trumpery.
238
Go on, brave Essex, shew whose son thou art,
239 Not false
to King, nor Country in thy heart,
240 But those that hurt his
people and his Crown,
241 By force expel, destroy, and tread them
down.
242 Let Gaols be fill'd with th' remnant of that pack,
243
And sturdy Tyburn loaded till it crack.
244 And ye brave
Nobles, chase away all fear,
245 And to this blessed Cause closely
adhere.
246 O mother, can you weep and have such Peers?
247
When they are gone, then drown your self in tears,
248 If now
you weep so much, that then no more
249 The briny Ocean will o'erflow
your shore.
250 These, these are they (I trust)
with Charles our king,
251 Out of all mists such glorious
days will bring
252 That dazzled eyes, beholding, much shall wonder
253 At that thy settled Peace, thy wealth, and splendour,
254
Thy Church and Weal establish'd in such manner
255 That all shall
joy that thou display'dst thy banner,
256 And discipline erected
so, I trust,
257 That nursing Kings shall come and lick thy dust.
258 Then Justice shall in all thy Courts take place
259
Without respect of persons or of case.
260 Then bribes shall cease,
and suits shall not stick long,
261 Patience and purse of Clients
for to wrong.
262 Then High Commissions shall fall to decay,
263
And Pursuivants and Catchpoles want their pay.
264 So shall thy
happy Nation ever flourish,
265 When truth and righteousness they
thus shall nourish.
266 When thus in Peace, thine Armies brave
send out
267 To sack proud Rome, and all her vassals rout.
268 There let thy name, thy fame, and valour shine,
269
As did thine Ancestors' in Palestine,
270 And let her spoils
full pay with int'rest be
271 Of what unjustly once she poll'd
from thee.
272 Of all the woes thou canst let her be sped,
273
Execute to th' full the vengeance threatened.
274 Bring forth
the beast that rul'd the world with's beck,
275 And tear his flesh,
and set your feet on's neck,
276 And make his filthy den so desolate
277 To th' 'stonishment of all that knew his state.
278
This done, with brandish'd swords to Turkey go,--
279 (For
then what is it but English blades dare do?)
280 And lay her waste,
for so's the sacred doom,
281 And do to Gog
as thou hast done to Rome.
282 Oh Abraham's
seed, lift up your heads on high,
283 For sure the day of your
redemption's nigh.
284 The scales shall fall
from your long blinded eyes,
285 And him you shall adore who now
despise.
286 Then fullness of the Nations in shall flow,
287
And Jew and Gentile to one worship go.
288 Then follows days of
happiness and rest.
289 Whose lot doth fall to live therein is
blest.
290 No Canaanite shall then be found
'n th' land,
291 And holiness on horses' bells shall stand.
292
If this make way thereto, then sigh no more,
293 But if at all
thou didst not see 't before.
294 Farewell, dear mother; Parliament,
prevail,
295 And in a while you'll tell another tale.