The lamentation

The Lamentation,

COme all ye tender Mortals that have Ears, And to my mournful Story lend your Tears. Not Childrens Tears, nor such as Women shed, Losing the dear Associates of their Bed; But deeply cut with an afflicting Sense, Let your sad hearts their purple Streams dispense. Hang down your wond'ring heads, and blushing show Your deep amazement by your sinking Brow. With Silence, Horror, and Attention wait, Whil'st my sad Muse doth the dire Tale relate. My Tongue-ty'd Muse, which ne're before could speak, Yet now must open, or my Heart will break. But oh! I Tremble, and I dare not Name The dismal Cause of my Poetick Flame. Fain I would speak, and ease me, of my Pain, But my great Horror strikes me dumb again. What Iron Tongue can with due Temper speak, Or Marble Heart declare, unless it break? That JAMES the Mighty, Once-lov'd JAMES is gone In silent Night, all Guardless, and Alone, Withdrew from His great Kingdoms, and His Throne! JAMES the late Sov'reign of His Subjects Hearts, Now Unlamented from His Throne departs! JAMES the Great Source and Origin of Laws, When He Himself from their Defence withdraws, Subjects Himself unto the Rabbles Jaws! Whose lawless Fury, and outragious Pow'r, (Which God forbid) would MAJESTY devour. Malicious Scriblers too with barb'rous Pen, Are crueller than Lyons in a Den! Oh that there is such Impudence in Men! Who lately did before Him Trembling stand, And flew to finish but His least Command. With awful Reverence and Terror struck, They would have paid Obedience to His Look: Wholly regardless of that Sacred Name, Desert the Head from whence their Honours came. Who brooded safe under His pow'rful Wing, Now barbarously use the Name of KING; And not alone deny their helping Sword, But utterly refuse Him their good Word. Nobles and Commons, Subjects and Soldiers too, At once consent their MONARCH to undo; And 'tis their Duty, Conscience tells them so. Oh Monarch! Oh unhappy Monarch! why Should all at once abandon Loyalty, Under the great Defence of Honesty? Who always have been Faithful to the Crown, And with their Blood and Fortunes serv'd the Throne, That Service must in Faithfulness disown. Long, ROYAL SIR, have the damn'd Snares been laid, Wherein Your MAJESTY is thus betray'd. Hell and ROME's Emissaries did Combine The English Monarchy to Undermine. ROME could not bear to have that Jewel lost, Which to her thirsty Coffers brought in most. And since our Land forsook the Romish Yoke, And wisely from her Cursed Fetters broke. Rome, to recover her delightful Gain, Many a Plot did secretly maintain, To bring this Nation to her Foot again: But frustrated in ev'ry such Design, By an o're-ruling Providence Divine, Your MAJESTY exalted to the Throne, Secure she stood in so endear'd a Son, So firmly bound to her Religion. Who (when a Subject) to her firmly stood, Despis'd his Right, thô of Successive Blood, And publickly avow'd the Holy Cause, Against the highest Int'rest, and known Laws. What cou'd she doubt of such a zealous Son, When safely guarded with His Sacred Crown, And urg'd too with the Queen's eternal Moan! Whom Nature had oblig'd to th' Holy See, (Sure she Espous'd it to Extremity!) Now then with restless, and redoubled Rage, She all her Engines doth to work engage The apostatized Nation to reduce Unto the Universal Mother's Use. But I forbear to search the Wound too deep, And (as a Subject) will my Distance keep:) Nor mention what it was she did intend, When to her Arts she did our Monarch bend. But humbly, and with bleeding heart implore, His MAJESTY would take her Part no more: But (having bought at most expensive Rates This dearest Eye-salve) would perceive her Cheats: Wisely reflecting into what a state Her Treacheries have brought the JUST and GREAT: And under the specious Name Religion, The happiest MONARCH of the Earth undone. Religion, said I! Ay, a curst One 'tis, Which perpetrates the worst of Villanies, Under the meritorious hopes of Bliss. See then, O Royal Sov'reign, see Into that bloody Harlot's Treachery, And resolutely break her slavish Yoke: Say but that healing word, and when 'tis spoke, Let the lost Whore perceive she is forsook. Tell all Your bleeding Nation, tell the VVorld, How by ROME's cursed Arts You thus were hurl'd Into the fatal Pit, and freely own The sev'ral Facts she would have had You done. Nothing o'recomes like Free Confession. Shall I Your Lord and Sov'reign fall Into my meanest Subjects basest Thrall, And (like a little Criminal) tell all? Yes, MONARCH, that You shall (pardon dread Lord) The over-freedom of that hasty word. But 'tis indeed the only Cure is found, For the sure healing of the desp'rate VVound. 'Tis better far ingeniously to own An Error done, than that it should be known By other means, Who truly doth Repent, Is in the next Degree to Innocent. Say then, Dear Sov'reign, most sincerely say Yo've thrown that cursed Int'rest quite away, Wholly dislodg'd it from Your Sacred Breast, Will never deal again with ROMISH Priest, Only to drive them from their Hellish Nest. This done, You shall be more than e're ador'd, To all Your Glories happily Restor'd. Take it (for once) on a mean Subject's word. So shall Your Majesty secure Your Soul, And all Your great Impending Storms Controul. So shall the Most Illustrious PRINCE Your Son With Joyful heart his dearest Father own, Think he's well paid for all he's undergon. So shall Your Nobles with all Joy protest, They're infinitly in such a Convert blest; So all Your Clergy will Devoutly Pray, All former Errors may be done away, And ROME our great Expences shall defray. So all the Commons will Allegiance swear, And thankfully all Damages Repair: So all the People shall Heart-Offerings bring, And loudly Shout and Cry

God Save the King

FINIS.