Novembris monstrum, or, Rome brovght to bed in England with the whores miscarying / made long since for the anniversary solemnity on the fift[h] day of November, in a private colledge in Cambridge, by A.B.C.D.E. ; and now by conquering importunity made publique, for a small memoriall of England's great deliverance from the powder-treason, by E.M.A.D.O.C.

PRODITIONIS CONCEPTVS.

Vpon the first plotting of the Treason.

ANd see; the Pope hath travail'd once againe With a new Affrick Monster, worse then came From their she-popedome, when a woman prov'd The Churches head, & all the body mov'd. (Poore headlesse she-church, where was thy head then When Ione did loose her maiden-head with men? Oh she tooke care for that, least Rome should need Succeeding Popes, she would her self popes breed) But whither roves my muse? come backe againe, And see another of that breeding traine Goe big with envie, labouring with a birth, Swell'd with a plot, nay brought to bedith' earth. Ready to teeme forth from a monstrous thigh A strange delivery, the birth was nigh. Twas comming forth, but had not the strength to give So big a monster, as it did conceive. Fye Rome! thou wantst a midwife, or a Ione That can without an helpe bring forth alone.

II. Matrix, in quâ pubescit embrion.

Vpon the vault, in which the treason was hatcht.

1. Ʋpon the buying of the vault.

Downe with price of blood, if you would faine As you have sold out soules, buy in againe. The purchase you have got by emptying Your purgatorie may well fiil't againe. Looke on this arched vault, how will it make An high way passage to the Stygian Lake? The price you had the last soules you did sell, Will buie the Catholiques this way to hell. Where's He that beares the bag, your Iudas tro That feeketh to betray his Mother so? 〈…〉〈…〉 the vault is sold 〈…〉〈…〉oney told. 〈…〉〈…〉ny you hee'l sweare 〈…〉〈…〉ne relique are. 〈…〉〈…〉, and we 〈…〉〈…〉 as he 〈…〉〈…〉; And be it so, 〈1 line〉〈1 line〉

2 Vpon the digging of the vault.

1

••nd what are you that Tribe, who doe denye Your black guard thus, the honour of a bed? ••ho make it death once with a bride to lye, Tis Symony to buy a maiden head.

2

••nd yet forsooth you'l dare to ravish all At once your common mother, force a birth ••hether she will or no a monster shall, Teeme from her wombe out of the groaning earth

3

You'l rent her matrix else, which nature taught By closing such an incest to deny: As if she had foreseene, that Rome had thought To grapple with her mothers secrecy.

4

What steepes your frolik spleenes in choller so? What mooves your touchy blood to such a tide. How came your pampred carkasses to doe Such ravisht rapes unto your mothers side?

5

And must you needs with pickaxe, and with spade, Threaten unlesse she grant your villany? Have you no milder Rhetorique to perswade, And woe a yeeld to such a curtesie?

6.

What made you strike so deepe? was your inte•••• To fathom Styx, or sound blacke Acheron? To cast a causy to Don Vulcans tent, Thus fetch provision he had wrought upon

7.

No no; you dreamt perchance that you shou•• find Some yron veine, which nature minted there Of purpose to helpe forward such a mind, And runne Art out of breath in a prepare.

8.

To such a stratagem; dreame on, take out A rib of yron from Dame natures side, Fall in your dreame again, then cast about To make your rib the hottest brunt abide.

9

Dig deeper yet, perchance at length you'l finde That nature hath dung'd their Salt-peter too And left her wooden legs and stilts behinde, To nourish up the flames, all these for you▪

10

But hold your hands, sweat no more marrow now Spend the earths ball no farther, nor your strength I feare the proverbe will prove true, below, You dig'd so deepe, there came a damp at length

III. Tempus, quo generatur monstrum.

Vpon their working in the night.

1

Sleep Phoebus sleepe; What makes thee peepe? ••oe not so soone thy sable curtaines draw, Lie downe againe in Thetis lap, ••was late before thou wentst to bed we saw, O pry thee take another nap. ••f thou beginst to rise, these night owles then ••ust leave their work, when others do begin, Then Phoebus stay, You will but make an Holy day.

2

What made thee wake? Couldst thou not take Thy rest to night, thou heardst such knocking Let not thy fiery steedes yet sup Their mornings draught, nor run their full careere here? Why dost thou call Aurora up? They plotted not against thy Deity. Then Phoebus stay, You will but beg another play.

3

Goe drowsie droanes, Make, make your moanes, To your dead-living Saints; sigh prayers that th May intercede for you and get, The Sunne to stand ith' heavens, and so delay The dawning of the morning, yet Cry lowder, let another beade yet fall; Make up your prayers compleate, or you'l marr•• For want of sleepe, Your prayers awake you cannot keepe.

4

See see, the day Makes no delay. Then Phaeton doe thou mount up the coach, Let loose the horses carelesse raines, That they may run away the days approach. On faster wheeles, with easie paines Whip on thy foaming fteeds, that we may feare The ratling of thy coach like thunder heere. Come draw away, That night shee sooner hasten may.

5

Tis here, the night Hath scar'd the light. ••he day hath new undrest her self, I saw But now her under-peticoat. ••y thought 'twas dyed in a red more raw Then any flesh of sheepe or goat; ••ut as she stript her selfe of that, she drew •• modest Curtaine, thicke as night, to shew, She Vail'd her head, As Vesper sent her downe to bed.

6

Now all the light Is claspt in night. ••orpheus hath woed all things to rest you see, The'rs no dog moves unlesse it barke ••or madnesse at the Moone, least she descry Their deedes of darkenesse in the darke. ••ut never feare: bid Phoebus kisse his Bride ••hat she may blush to see her evening tide. Worke while you may, Then let him come to wake the day.

7.

Up Phaeton, Up, up, be gone. Goe guide thy Father to his mate, that he May court her with his rosie lips; Then in conjunction goe with her, till she Embraced be to an ecclips. Thus vaile her face that she may never be Privie to such a monstrous villany. Away, Away Phoebus is rise to call the day.

IV. Ipse generandi actus.

Vpon the bringing of the Gunpowd from Lambeth over the Thames, and lay∣ing it in the Cellar.

1

Where is thy Legate (Rome?) Let him provid His sparkling Spanish jennet straight, Coapt in his trappings made of gold When th' golden fleece came from your fold His feet well shod with Indy plate: His crisping maine to twisted lockes divide, Fit for the riders pride.

2

See how the horses prauncing doth foretell How he expects his rider, see In what a language he doth pray His master for to come away, And deck him with his company. Heare how hee neighes, his neighing doe but spell It hastens his farewell.

3

••uicken thy legate then; doe, bid him seale His fiery steed, and winged poast With thy Embassage unto hell; There once arived let him tell Don Pluto Primate of that hoast, ••at Charons footy keele must hoise his saile Waiting a trusty gale.

4

••nd to thy tackling then (Styx-Ferry-guide) The winde hath sight a softer gale. Lanch out, glide o're the Stygian lake A fairer harbour yo umust take. Doe but your beaten pinnece hale ••o our Thamefis, there it shall pride It selfe in Neptunes tide.

5

Those silver streames shall wash hell from thy boate And turne that dye, Styx left it last Into a Cignets purer white, By their reflection made more bright. Who when they first thy ferry past, Dabling in that thy keele there set a float, Got there so black a foot.

6

But faster Charon; sweat a little more, What maketh Aeolus thus blow? Me thinkes he seemeth out of breath, Or else his wind is pent beneath, That he becomes shortwinded so, On Charon, worke the harder; you are sore Expected long before.

7

See how the swelling barrells, stuft with fire, Are big with expectation: They long untill they see thy boat, In which they must be set a float, To take another station. Srange contract, see the water slakes her ire and entertaines the fire.

8

••t stay, what meanes those well growne vessels there? What? have you poudred up your plot In barrels, least it should not keep, Or be discovered when you sleepe? Sure then some vent your treason got ••hat 'twould not keep so long, untill you were To set abroach November's beere.

V Concepti fama.

••••on the letter sent to my Lord Mounteagle.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 mystery enwrapt in misteries, ••mment farre obscurer then the text, ••fit that thou should meet an Eagles eyes ••h might peirce through the vaile, & tell what's next Never mount Eagle: gaze not on the Sun Glance downe-wards to the depth of Phlegeton.

••loisterd up in darkenesse, hid in hell, ••tled with night, prison'd in Acharon, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 barrel'd up in natures misty cell. ••e but the letter, and the danger's gone. ••trange plot! doe burn't: the blaze will let thee see How to discover this darke mysterie.

The letter burnt, the danger's past, and all The mysterie must then be over too, And yet this burning makes it mysticall, How can I spell it when 'tis burned so? However burnt it, in it burnt you'l see, That which you reade not, when you read it ••

Darke letter! folded up in flames indeede, And therefore needs no wax to seale it fast, Let who will reade, at most he can but reade, And whn h' hath done, must burne it too at la•• Fyer must tell thee what it meanes alone And when the fyer▪s out, the dangers gone.

VI.

Famae Mercurius.

1

Vpon the quill that writt the letter▪

What molting Seraphim did spill That speaking, silent muttering quill? That spake yet spake not, speaking parables▪ Which kept and told the truth in miracles. That two toung'd Oratour that spake Still twise at once, and still did make

••ystery unknowne by clearing it, ••d knowne by making it obscurer yet. A quill, that could not speake th' intent Of him that writt, to whom 'twas sent. ••d yet could blab the secraest meaning too 〈◊〉〈◊〉 him, for whom 'twas maskt, and muffled so. A pen that by discovering cover'd, And yet by covering was discovered. ••anus face, that smiled one way now, ••d frown'd the other with a furrow'd brow. A pen snatcht from Apollo's hand; That spake pure Delphos language, and ••••uld vent nought else but pure Amphibolies ••king this that, and that this, this and this; A danger great by lening it, And none by making it so great. ••ckt from an Eagles wing, 'twas such an He, ••at brought it to our Sovereighng's Diety. Or from that tatling goose which pratled The foes approaches, when shee cackled. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 from some Sphynx his standish it did fall, ••at it unriddl'd in a riddle all.

2

••••on the sending of the letter to the King.

A letter to the King is sent, To riddle what the meaning meant;

A letter writ indeede from Babylon, Speaking confus'on, in confus'on. Tis true, one language, onely came, And yet that language languages transpos'd A Letter in a Letter was enclos'd So that the same seem'd not the same.

How well may Rome true Babell be, That speakes thus in a mysterye? A masked tongue kept Babell from her height▪ And Rom's confused language spoyles hir quite Plaine English speake, when you write nex Your letter meant, nought lesse then what it me•• Therefore 'twas sent, to whom it was not sent, Pray henceforth comment on your text.

'Tis brought unto the King we see, That he may dive the mysterie. Why? what's the matter! Are our Island's eye Growne dimme with age, The Vniversities? Why had not they the letter read? They would at first strike deepe; 'tis true, but s•• That they looke through their Soveraigne, y•• kn The eyes are alwaies in the Head.

VII. Partus determinatio.

Vpon the Kings discovering of the plot.

••hat Kings are sometimes Prophets too we see, What made our Iames else prophecie? ••rue vertue oftenn crownes Nobilitie.

••ow true was he the King of Schollers fam'd, That Rome with her owne sword hath tam'd? ••ell Schollers King, well King of Schollers nam'd,

••he paper bids him burne the paper, so The danger would be over to. ••e saves himselfe and paper with a No.

••ow so? we reade the danger is not o're unlesse the Letter burnt before. ••hen burne it, and the danger is no more.

••ut reade againe, and then perhaps you'l see, How bravely you are danger free, ••t be so soone o're-past, how soone wil't be?

••his made our Iames more nimble then the fire, This thought did make his thoughts retyre ••o search out what was tangled in that bryer.

He dived therefore somewhat lower yet; And truely such a dive was fitt, To sound the intralls of so deepe a pitt.

His Nobles now as well as He must move, And presently his verdict prove, Searching out that below, he saw above.

They seeke, but see not: Did you never heare Too nigh an object is too neare? I can see better farther off then here.

The King sees yet: He bids them search agin: They goe, then bring the message in. Nothing before, is now the very thing.

(Thus have I seene a beagle soone o'rerunn, The new-borne sent but now begunn, Then counterhunt it when it is halfe donn.)

They, that made nothing of it, found it somethi•• Reade backwards, if you meane the King, Who making something of it, made it nothing.

VIII. Praeelecta obstetrix.

Vpon Faux ready to deliver it.

••ut Monster-Tiger, a fell vipers brood, ••hat would'st such with thy milk, thy mother's blood ••awn'd with a Richards tush, not toothles borne, ••rawing the fountaine-breast, thou wouldst have torne 〈◊〉〈◊〉 passage to hir heart, gnawd that for food, ••nd like Prometheus Vultur suckt on blood. ••ou'lt suck, but so that thou mayst open too ••conduit-veine whence blood with milke may flow ••onder that thy mother wean'd Thee not ••om hir, whence thou this Viper-nature got. ••hy step-nurse, Rome I meane, that purple whore ••hose breasts milkt venome from a putrid soare. ••t see, Rome nurst Thee, therefore thou wilt be •• hir brought up unto this villany. ••me once a Nero had to kill a mother, ••ast Rome should want one now, thou prov'st a∣nother. ••d hath not she hir Jesuits, that thou ••ust prove a Mid-wife to hir treason now? ••hat would you have the whore when all is done ••y at our doore hir new borne bastard sonne? ••ant grosse excrement: know thus much, that ••ngland doth scorne to Father such a brat.

Vpon the same.

Vp night-owle, and breake o'pe thy sealed eyes, Venter to looke upon the mantled skyes. Sol hath remov'd his court, the glorious day And all his followers have packt away. Night is full mounted in her seate of jet, And lies wrapt in her cloudy cabanet. Feare not, Apollo's gone; his prying eye Can neither see nor blab thy villanie. Envie hath gone her time, and doth begin To be in travell with her full-growne sin. Vp then, and see that all things ready be 'Tis thou must hasten her delivery, Pluto hath sent his Pursivant away To summon thy appeareance, make no stay: Goe, take thy charge, that thou maist licenc't be, And show a pattent for thy viilany. Fetch thy darke-lanthorne, that true Gyges ring, Which, thou unseene, makes Thee see ev'ry thin Take that turn'd-Hypocrite, whose outward sho Is night, but inward like the day doth glow. Foule as a mist without, all fayre within, Vice would seeme vice sometimes to cloake a si•• Thy darke companion will still be true, And by denying light, will lighten you. Then downe with hast to that infernall cell, Where fur ous envy, and hid treason dwell.

••ell them Hell's suffrage hath elected you ••roome of that chamber, where death lyes below ••nd you must call it up as soone as day ••e christned, as the Sunne whips night away. ••ooke then unto your charge, and see that he ••eepe not beyond his time, but stirring be; ••se all his breakefast may be spoyl'd, and He ••ill misse his morning's draft of Majestie. ••or you (proud factors for the Netherlands, ••gent for hell) must suffer Morpheus bands •• tye your eye-lids up: what if the birth ••iscarry, e're the night expires her breath. •• stead of being Sainted, you shall be ••rol'd for purgatory, and there made free. Then girt thy selfe for Rome, and charge thine eyes ••at they like watchfull Argus keepe the prize. •• thou an Heirogliphick to the hare, ••eepe waking with thine eyes unclos'd, and bare. ••d when the day begins to ope her eyes ••ke Nilus with the rising Sunne arise. ••hat though thou saile through the Aegaean sea, ••st up and downe with fear's perplexity? ••inke every one thou seest is come to bring ••ee tydings of a kingdome to a King. ••ou seek'st a throne: who would not think it •• swim-unto it through a sea of blood? ••ut heaven looks on, & Love is comming down good ••s milkie pavement with a furrow'd frowne

Iustice sits in his eye (and yet 'tis blinde: It sees but sees not; smiles that it should finde Such secreasie in Treason) vengeance lyes Wrapt in the wrinckles round about his eyes. Next, down the Regent walke, Astraea came Following high Iove to Iudge the world againe. Iustice tooke wing before, and left the earth, But seeing crueltie recover breath, And grow to such a Gyant-stature, shee Returnes bedeckt with greater Majestie. The Cyclops arm'd with thunder round about, Attends them both to drive those Traitors out. Then tremble treachery; treason unmaske Thy muffl'd face; make bare thy knees, and ask•• A pardon of the Gods: hold up thy hand, Guilt doth indite Thee, and for guilty stand. Iustice is come to visite once againe, Tenders hir hand to kisse, if you'l reclaime. Or else (by that impartiall soule, that guides Hir hand) the sword your soule and clay divides

No no: (Grand Enginere of crueltie) Ne're startle at the newes: what's this to thee? Thou hast an Heliotrophian-stone, which will Put out the eyes of Iustice, blinde hir still. Send for Don Pluto's sheild, that thou maist see Approaching justice, and she not see Thee. Stare in the face of vengeance, and outdate Those executioners, that comes to skare Thee from thy charge: Laugh at their thunder-peal•• And let them heare the Eccho oft from hell.

••hy? thou'rt prepar'd for this; can this be newse, ••hen thou such prodigies thy selfe dost use? ••rden thy cruell heart, untill it grow ••nd like a Sea-calfe to withstand the blow ••hotter vengeance: crowne thy head with bayes, •• scare the Cyclops from thy hidden wayes. ••ll scarse doe: with thine owne plot begin, ••w them from earth up into heaven agin. ••ou know'st thy charg; what Rome expects from Thee; ••w she hath cram'd thee for this crueltie? ••rite after hir, and when the coppy's writt; ••t all that reade, see thou'rt hir counterfeit. ••like hir, but more cruell in thy wit, ••rite by the coppie, but still better it. ••mulus suck'd a wolfe, and was as shee, ••ou suckst of Rome, then thou like Rome must bee. ••hat Romulus did suck, to Rome he gave, ••hat Rome from Romulus, that thou must have. ••tvie them all, Rome, Romulus, and Hir ••at nurst thy cruell grand progenitor.

IX Natalis expectata celebratio.

Vpon the match of hunting appointed o•• the birth day, where they intended to surprize th Lady Elizabeth, but in the meane time they themselves were surpriz'd.

Actaeon's gone to hunt, the day we see Appointed is, and where the game shall be. Actaeon as he hunted glanc'd a side, And there Diana in a thicket spy'd. Diana? No, it was a fairer she, Her Nymphs it may be might Diana's be. And yet me thinkes Diana it should be Rather Diana's true Divinity. For as Actaeon spies that beauty there, Actaeon's turn'd Actaeon like a Deere. He that came forth to hunt is hunted straight, They lye in waite for him, that lay in waite. The yelping Ecchoes of the hound's are done, The Hue and Cry after the Hunter's gone: I see that Poets now can prophesie, And in a parable tell what shall be. I see that fables are not alwaies lyes, Time often doth a fable moralize.

X Abortivum Monstrum.

Vpon the miscarrying of the birth.

Oft have I knowne a child prove Parracide, Dividing soule and clay as't did divide

••e Parent's gasping wombe, through which her soule ••ent with the body of the child for tole •• pay the infant's passage, and repreive it ••om th' falling prison, if not quite releive it. ••mtimes a child the Parent's name doth smother, ••lling the mother 'fore it had a mother, ••t have I heard a woman travail'd so ••at in the sigh her sonle did come and goe. ••ange travell! when her soule is faine to take •• farre a journey for her infants sake. ••hen thus the Parent mother must begin •• leave the world to bring her infant in; ••ust dye, to teach hir child how first to live, ••d being dead in it learne to revive▪ •• if Pythagoras had taught her soule ••s transmigration, And it knew no Pole: ••o Paradise, but presently did passe, ••d in the infant clay informant was. ••hat? did you never see a wombe deny ••e burthen, but unload it presently. ••me proves it selfe an Hierogliphick well •• speake what I have spoke, and yet shall spell ••e truth once over to you more; if yet ••our cloak't-capaciti's are hid from it. ••deede their fruitfull shee-Pope tarry'd not, ••t brought forth soone, as if she had forgot ••ce to bespeake a midwife, or else thought •• brew as well as she had bak't for nought.

And yet see, how shee's brought to bed in State How many thousands hir congratulate Being at hir labour met. I wonder she Was brought to bed alone in companie.

But now ther's no such matter; Rome would faine Once travaile with a second birth againe. And see, the Pope grows big indeede: How now What, hath not Rome had breeding Popes enough How did your Card'nalls misse the chayre, that they Have let another she-Pope slip away? Oh 'tis no matter, they'l take care that she Be not deliver'd now too openly. The heav'n no more shall prove a Canopie The Market place no more a chamber be. When this shall be deliver'd Rome will bye A privie-chamber for this secrecie. (Had not Pope Ione bin brought to bed so patt, She would have found a vault too for hir Bratt.

But see, the birth day's come; Conduct your who•• Vnto hir privie-chamber, where ther's store Of Pluto's Pothecarie drugs that be Provided for her safe delivirie. What? Is she yet in labour? hath she got Hir Predicessors faculty or not? Had she an harder travaile then your Ione? What hath God sent hir tro? what two or one I feare she was so overbig, that shee With Bratt miscarri'd in deliverie.

••hat was the matter Rome? did not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••oe full the time she reckon'd on before? ••as this hir first conceived bratt, that shee ••efore hir time met hir deliverie? ••hat? Is the child still borne? Tis so I see ••he birth's abortive, though the mother be. Thus have I seene an hasty apple drop ••bortive from the tree before the crop. ••ut then 'twas rotten, blasted, withered ••lthough the mother-tree was no way dead.) ••he still-borne batt hath thus miscarried, ••was not deliver'd though delivered. The womb that casts before the time doth still Threaten the Infant, if not alwaies kill. ••her's now the Infant which new borne had slaine ••t once both England & her soverainge? ••hich had spitt living coales as he begann ••o live, and dy'd as they had dyed than. ••hat meanes November's fift day and the store ••rovided for the birth so long before? ••he purple whore this day expected shee ••ould have beene blest with her deliverie. ••his day once come, the birth was nigh indeed; ••t th' Bratt was still borne, we delivered. The child, which dyes before it lives, doth still Threaten the Mother Parent, if not kill.

XI. Parturientis periculum.

Vpon the whores downefall in Blackfrye•• on their fift day of November.

What makes us then sigh prayers for Babel's fall As if that Babylon ne're fell at all? Wher's Rome's Armado Spaine so stood upon, No Navie but a wand'ring Babylon? Is not that fallen? True; how could it stand? It was a Babel, but 'twas built o'th' sand. The wind's they whisl'd to the wav's a charge, The wav's brake out, and roaring speake at large Their message to the Sands: the sands obey After the cap'ring waves they dance away. When th' wind thus blew, when thus the water co•• There Babel built upon the sands, prov'd lame. What makes us then sigh prayers for Babels fa•••• As if that Babylon ne're fell at all? But on, what meanes November's Holy-day? Her fift dayes chiefest royalty, which may Be calculated with the reddest letter, To speake their bloody Stratagem the better▪ Rome then began to build a Babel too, She dig'd for a foundation so low;

And then had thought to plucke downe Out of her ruines to repaire their owne. But as they built they were surpriz'd, that they Th•• Were faine to leave their Babel halfe the way. Thus not to rise is nothing but to fall, Who'l say that Babylon ne're fell at all? But once more reade, and then perhaps you'l see Babel a third time fall a third degree. Water did once o'retop Rom's Babel's so, That though 'twere Babel it did Rome o're throw Babell first fell by water, next by fire, Not that it burnt, but that it slack't it's ire. Fire and water, though they disagree Become now sister Elements we see And joyne their forces to enact heav'ns will, Th' one by fighting, th' other standing still. What fire and water doth, that earth will doe, For earth did swallow falling Babell too. November twice saw Babel fall on day, This makes her fift day twice an holy day. And Eighty Eight told Babell by her fall, That, that was then her Climacteticall. And yet is Babell still? where doth she stand? She fell by water, and she fell by land. Thrice Babylon we see hath got a fall, But oh that she were fallen once for all! Babel's so high it is no wonder she, Is so long falling to her last degree.

〈…〉〈…〉 tis well that she three stories fell; 〈◊〉〈◊〉 but the fourth, 'twill bring her downe to hell▪ Me thinkes I see those knotted rafters there Like carv'd-out Atlases, which well might beare A burthen greater then the Spheares could lend An Aetna if it once began to bend. Enough to keepe up mountaines, and support From nodding even Babel's stoutest fort. And yet when Babel's Bratt loaded with sinne, Comes on the Stage to act her part therein; It makes the oake to yeeld, the Cedar bend And roots up the foundation from their end. That which before did make the prouder walls Sprout up to heav'n, tript up by heav'n, it falls Downe levell with the earth, and that which knew No crookednes, bends like a twig of ewe Sin makes the creatures groane, & bowing downe Lye in the dust for that, man won't bemoane. Fye purblind Rome! what-made your bald-pate crew Outface the face of heav'n in such an hew? Did heav'n your fift days treachery betray That you might turne it to an Holy-day? Went on your plot so well, that you must call A day a part for a set Festivall? What ignorance hath brawn'd your fottish soules That when the arme of strength stretcht out con∣troules With a proclaim'd defiance what you did, Poynting out that from heav'n, which lay so hid?

••ou nod at the finger in a triumph straight, And shout the conquest being lead captivate? What made you sound the Trumpet so and call Such a rifie-raffle to your Stygian hall? Was it that you might beltch out a defie In open. Court upon the Gods, 'cause they Opening the casements of the spangl'd spheare Lookt downe from heaven, and so discov'rd there That mantled project, which you thought to keep From them; no, no, The gods are not a sleep. Or was it ▪cause that Albion baukt your ire You'd curse us to a Purgatories fire? Rather purchance you felt an hell within Still glowing in each conscience, which the sin Had newly kindled; and dispaire had blowd, Till it to a consuming fire glowd. And therefore you must thither poast to take The refuge of your holy water-lake; Sprinking your selfe with it, that you might tame The fury of your selfe consuming flame. Or wash your hands in it, and so might be As innocent as Eden puritie. Fondnesse! as if that niter could cleanse sinne, Which may show faire without, when foule with∣in. Or else to blesse your selves from after losses, Crossing your selves to keep your selves from cros∣ses Nor this nor that: you thought that rable crue (Which in a Catholique bravado threw

There carelesse lives a way, that they might get More Kingdomes to your Triple Coronet) Were hang'd to Saints, & that their unjust doome Was nothing but to suffer Martyrdome. And therefore you'd be sure the fift day too Should be as well an Holy-day to you.

Thus winged with a fault'ring zeale thy flye Vnto their consecrated Friery T'adore those new-made Saints, and gratulate Their safe arrivall at the Eliz'an state. And now to them, wh' alive were dead in feares, Being dead, they pray to rid them of their cares. Then by a gen'rall councell they agree To celebrate their yearely memory, Thus rob the yeare of dayes, that so they may Give to each Saint his sev'rall Holy-day. Or' cause they jointly suff'red as one member They give an All-Saints-day unto November. Fond zelots! you had better turne the page, Convert your feasts into a pilgrimage. Walke with repentant feete to forreigne Isles Their sigh your selves to sadder syllables: And ev'ry desert, that you softly tread With naked pennance feete, let fall a Beade. That so all passengers in after age May count the paces of your pilgrimage.

••ut downe your Saints, that by their merits found •• new way up to heaven, above the ground. ••hose ropes will serve for cords to gird about ••our hairie loynes to doe your pennance out? ••r else preserve them, till you steale away ••he Poles, on which their head's march in array, ••hen send them o're, I'le warrant you they'l be •• choicer Relique for posteritie. ••ut whisper softly (muse) a while, you'le drive ••hose empty droanes out of their borrow'd hive. You'l coole their hot divotion, put them out Before their Ceremony's brought about. You'l turne the Priest besides the cushion straight, Make him scratch mem'ry from his balder pate. Before h'hath found it, he will loose the text, And scarce the first word out, forget the next. You'le make the other from his palsie fist Drop downe his wafer God-Emmanualist. And then some sawcy dog will snatch it there, And transubstantiate it, I know not where. The third disturb'd, will sprinckle unawares The Holy-water on the sacred sta'res. Stand backe a while, keepe off, vengeance will come And summon them to silence e're they've done. Looke what that right hand speakes unto the wall, See there imprinted fairely Babels fall.

The hand from heav'n hath charg'd the walls, th•• th•• Withdraw their shoulders, and the walls obey. Nay there stands Sampson, him whom they bega With sulphur'd lungs to spitt their venome on, And like the wanton Philistimes to play Some pranks upon him on their holy-day. But he the truer-Sampson verifi'd What Typically t'other Sampson did. He toucht the posts with a command, they fall Striking all dead into one funerall. Perchance they thought He was as blind as He, But henceforth see, the eye of heaven can see. A Video rideo smil'd on you before, He saw you then how durst you tempt him more But when the Asse, that falles into the pit Will not take heede, Hee'l fall agin it it. Who bolder then blind Bayard, who more blin•• Then such a sottish, stockish, rabble kind Where ignorance doth murther zeale, a brat As blind as their carv'd God, as cold as that? But now by this I hope they've learnt to see They strike at heaven, that aime at Majestie. Proud Gygantaean race, leave off to move In Martiall fight the unconquerd Gods above. What? will you get 'gainst Iove your seiges lay? And still before the walls of heaven display Hells blacker banners, raise the siege at length, Retrait, ne're stay to trye out strength with strength

You felt the weight of his immed'tate hand, Who beck'ning only just at his command: Destruct'on posted plum'd with Fury's wing And stay'd not for a solemne summoning By Gods owne pursevants which commonly Doe use to be destruct'on's Mercury. Fire or water, stormes, or darts of thunder, These use to be his messengers of wonder. Sometimes he post's to batle in array, Wrapt in a whirlewind, fur'ous of delay. Sometimes he rides upon a prouder wave And thence he doth his stoutest foes outbrave. Sometimes againe he marcheth through a cloud Girt with a scarfe of light'ning, and aloud ••end's forth his watchword to the Cyclop's there Who rank's the squadron's out, & keeps the reere) Bidding them with as loud a voyce discharge A volly of thunder, which may rend at large The duskish mantle of the skyes, and make ••. passage through the clouds, that wrath may take •• freer Aime to shoote her vengeance right ••nd execute what he decree'd hath quite. Now this, and this, now that's his messenger, ••et alwaies God hath not a harbinger. ••ometimes his hand doth smite without a sword, ••ometimes without an hand, he sends his word, Whereof the softest accent is enough ••o rend the world if once sent out in wrath.

Then see (proud Rome) thy seeded villany, That Majestie it selfe must deale with Thee. Creatures those Proxie-searjants of the King, Hee'le hardly trust at thy grand suffering. To rid a way thy execution, Hee'l be in presence there to see it done. He might have rent the bowells of the earth, That roaring Bor'as with his blust'ring breath, And whirle wind-nostrills might rush forth, & cast The Fabrick levell at one rendring blast. He might have op't the treasury's of the ayre, And sling'd his hayle downe, to untop it bare. Thus made a way for thicker stormes to fall And fling downe death on each in ev'ry ball. He might have bidden Neptune call a way His white plum'd hills to march in set aray. And with his Trident-mace command each wave To swell unto a tide, and thus out-brave The proudest top that peirc't above the rest, And swept thy building too a way at last. He might have caus'd a showre of brimston fall And rain'd downe flames of Gunpowder withall Not to blow up it, but to burne downe all.

But neither fire did fall, nor water rise Nor wind, nor storme joyn'd in this enterpize. The word, that with a word did make all these Without them, can doe when, and what he please

When he intends to make his glory ride Tryumphant, shining with a sacred pride: He lay's a side the meanes with his left hand, And with his right doth, what he please, com∣mand; Then tremble Babylon to see thy fall, Twas God himselfe was in the reeling wall. He set himselfe to do't: that all might see Twas his right arme that gate the victory. His presence made the trembling stones to shake 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a quivering ague, and the rafters quake, Till all their unknit joynts were loos'd, the wal•• Before his sacred presence downe did fall. He charg'd the finewes of the house to shrinke▪ And bid the pinns unty, that all might sincke. They heare his voyce, and at his voyce obey, Thus thus the crumbling fabrick pines away. What makes us then sigh prayers for Babels fal•• As if that Babylon ne're fell at all? 〈◊〉〈◊〉 fell, and sure the fall was great; it fell ••s if it had prepar'd away to hell; ••aking a passage with it's weight, to send ••hat rable rout unto their Styg'an end. •• fell, and in the fall below'd so loud, ••s if two rocks, falling at once, did crowd, ••ushing each others side, and strove which shall ••ccho the neighbouring hills the louder call. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 fell, and struck so, it could not more harme ••ad it beene hurled from a Cyclop's arme.

It fell but holloo'd out, so loud i'th' fall, As if it would the dead, it kil'd, recall. It fell; stop there! Lett's heare a while what Fome yeare Can say unto this second Martyrdome. Should they but pilfer out more dayes from th' To cannonize for those that suffer'd there They must create new Alma nacks, and make Their next yeare longer for their Martyr's sake. Or else joyne two Saints to make up one day A sunkin, and a gimkin Holy-day. Now plodding Rome, what have your pie-ball trick•• Gendred in plotting 'gainst the Heretic kes. Goe, goe, divide the spoyle that is come in, Wee'le cast up ours, and let them laugh that wi•• You thought to make us rise, by rising fall; You fell at once, but never rise at all. If we had fell, by falling we had rise Hell's sometimes the high-way-roade to blisse. Had you then rise, yet rising you had fell, Heaven is sometimes the broadest way to hell. You fell, we stand, heaven downward striks we s•• And hell aimes upwards; what's the mistery? Is Rome's America plac'd in the Ayre, Their new found Purgatory founded there? That Pluto plot's such stratagems to guard The English Catholiques up thither-ward. 'Tis so I see; their Purgatory's there; I thought it was a Castle in the ayre.

The Corollary.

STrange birth! the Pope he is the Holy Father, The Earth the Mother is, the Master rather. Pluto the Grandsire, and the Deputyes Not two or foure, but all the infernall fryes Of Monk's, and Iesuit's, Priests, Masse Priests too Intended are as witnesses unto This Affrick birth; would you the midwife yet? Faux was appointed to deliver it, It was begot in Hell, conceiv'd in Rome, And should have beene deliver'd here at home. But England would not lend that life, which fell To be a Mongrell betwixt Rome and and Hell.