Mercurius Britanicus his vvelcome to Hell: vvith the Devills blessing to Britanicus.

Mercurius Britanicus HIS Welcome to Hell: VVith the Devills Blessing TO BRITANICUS.

I Joy to thinke, what Bone-fires shall be made, When thou shalt come, (great Master of our Trade) Thou hast out-libell'd Libellers, and revil'd Beyond Revilers, hath thy pen compil'd. To thee, what was th'Oxonian Aulicus, Or Grand Mercurius Gallo-Belgicus. Moderate Intelligence, or Civicus, Perfect Diurnall, or Hibernicus, Kingdomes Intelligence, or Rusticus, Weekly Account, Scotch-Dove, or Coelicus,

Perfect Occurrence, or Aquaticus, The London Post, or sweet Candidius, Amongst all these (deare Son Britanicus) Th'hast shew'd thy selfe the best Mercurius. Thou hast out-slander'd slander, and prevail'd, And every railing rogue thou hast out-rail'd. Thou bravely didst thy Soveraigne vilifie, Pursud'st his Honour with an Hue and Cry; Abus'd the Queene with scandalls, and the Peeres. And set three Kingdomes weekly by the eares: Which we accept, as services well done To us, our Raigne, and our infernall Throne. What though at small esteem the people rate thee, And that God and all good men justly hate thee. Feare not, though heaven and earth doth thee expell, Come to me, thou shalt welcome be in hell: For thy great merits and most ex'lent parts, Wee'l entertaine thee, fitting thy deserts. Our brazen gates shall be set ope for thee, And churlish Cerberus shall refuse his fee. His dog-like hanging eares for joy hee'l shake, His three heads bow obedient for thy sake; And, for thou art of his old race and kin, His whole six rowes of horse-like teeth shall grin; His lolling lips shall smoothly smile and simper, And ('stead of grumbling) shal but whine & whimper. His warp'd ilfavour'd faces, beards all knotted, To be new-trim'd when thou com'st, are allotted. He shall not dare to snarle, bark, or look grim, But welcome thee that hast out-bawled him. Thus, when th'hast past the Porter (Cerberus) Then shalt thou see stone-rowling Sisiphus, And the tormented pining Tantalus, Thiefe-filching heavenly fire Prometheus (And therefore bound to frozen Caucasus) The Gripe, that gnawes the guts of Titius, And all the furies in Black Erebus, Shall make a play-day for Britanicus.

And Danaus's nine and forty daughters shall Leave their vaine lab'ring, and sing Uptailes all; Their Tubs shall Pulpits make, for men well able To preach our Doctrine in a barne or stable. Thus when thy soule shall enter into hell, It shall be welcom'd with an hideous yell. We shall prepare such musick for thine eare, As that which pleas'd Caligula to heare: He tooke delight to heare the parting groanes Of tortur'd wretches, and would praise their tones: And all hells instruments with noise shall fill us, Sweet as the Brazen Bull made by Perrillus. The inner roomes shall all perfumed be With Hemlock, Henbane, Sulphur, Mercurie, Rare Arsafetita, or any thing That unto thee (my son) content may bring: The scent of these sweet Simples I'le presume Not Spaine or Rome hath any such perfume. Of Sodoms apples we will lambswool make, And drinke Carrowses of the Stigian Lake: And, for that thou art full of spleen and hate, Wee make thee Secretary of our State. Caine and Iscariot, wee'l to thee prefer, The one thy Usher, th'other Treasurer. Thou still shalt be my speciall favourite, I'le make thee heire of everlasting night: Honors on honors on thee I will heap, And as thou sow'dst for me, so shalt thou reap; Gomorahs grapes shall yeeld thee precious wine, And Jesabell shall be thy Concubine. Megera, Alecto, and Tesiphone, Shall all in flaming robes of tiffanie Attend on thee, and dance like wanton Riggs, Corrantoes horne-pipes, and fine Northerne Jiggs. This must thy garnish and first welcome be, And all our Legions shall attend on thee; Yet further shall our favour be exprest, We will prepare for thee a sumptuous feast,

Nero, Vitelius, Sardanapalus, Milo, and famous Heliogabalus, The Bacchanalls, feasts of Olimpicus, Thou shalt out-feast them all, (Britannicus) For we will plunder earth, and ayre, and seas, To finde rare things that may thy pallat please: The great Leviathan shall lie in pickle, Sows'd in the sweat of many a Conventicle; And oyl for sallats, dropt from thousand twists Of male and female, zealous Familists: Thy brawn our purveyers carefully provides Two Amsterdamnable Lay-Preachers sides, Such as are pure Religions pure Rejecters, Such as can stand out foure or five houres Lectures. These are my Chaplaines, these are truths Infecters, These cough, and spit, and spawle infernall Nectars: These are the spirits which mad-mens braines inspire, These blow the bellowes of contentious fire: These (with the vizards of devout intents) Molest Church, Kings, Kingdoms and Parliaments. These are my Clergie, who with zeal intrude Into th'opinions of the multitude; These make'em leave the Christal stream for puddles, And these send cheated soules to hell by huddles. My Chaplaines know no Lawes Ecclesiastique, But they can broach opinions mad, phantastique; Such as from learned schools had never calling, Yet have strong guifts of windy caterwauling; Who with devotions cloak, gull men most purely, Whose truly's false, whose surely is a sure lye: And were it not for such, I know right well. We should want many souls which are in hell. For which collar'd (like brawne) their sides shall be Well boyl'd in Jesuits piss, and sows'd for thee: With Aqua fortis we will grind thy mustard, And of Hiennaes milk, wee'l make thy custard Of th'egs of Asps, O 'tis a precious dish, And (for the taste) it doth exceed mans wish.

Flapdragons we will drink instead of wine, For with our brawn, we should drink Muskadine; The which shall be (from severall Mineralls drawn) By cunning Chimists to digest thy brawn: Which with our fiery breaths to flames wee'l turn, And (like a furnace) in our mawes shall burn. Foure Antinomians chines cut out at large, In Phlegeton well roast, we give in charge Six Athiests haunches bak'd, ten wel-grown spare-ribs Of Libertines, which we will all make bare ribs. An Oleao we must have, (a dish of state) A Spanish dish, ne're heard of till of late; Th'Abortives of six wanton sisters wombs, In their own liquor stew'd with Stigian plumbs. Twelve Seekers ears (grown of the largest size) Minc'd with the marrow of a Leachers thighes. Two dozen of pious preaching sisters tongues, As many woodcocks heads, two foxes lungs; Who eats this Oleao cannot choose but find A strange encrease of braine, and length of wind: Twelve Rascals gammons (who will have no King) Smoak't, black as jet, we to thy boord will bring. For the Westphalians learn'd that art of me, I was the first that taught that cookerie. My costly Haggost, I remember not, Which is a dish that must not be forgot: Six Anabaptists hearts with garlick stuck, Two Jesuits brains, a sincere Brownists pluck Boyl'd in a traytors skull with sublimate, This Haggost hath impoisoned many a State. We (for our fruit) will of those apples have Which Eve (thy mother) unto Adam gave: (For our delights and pleasures all were hidden, If we presume not to doe things forbidden.) Then from the West Peru, and th'Easterne China Wee'l have Tobacco, rare and right Varina; For 'twere a shame to us it should be spoke, That we should keep a colefire without smoke.

Thus shalt thou no good entertainment lack, And brave Guy Faux with famous Ravilliack Shall wait on thee from boord unto thy bed, And each of them shall be thy Ganimed. Yet all thy cheare I have not nam'd, by halfe, I will give order to kill Walthams calfe; 'Tis a most curious dish, his head and braines Will fill thee full of raptures, and high straines: We will have Tanzeyes made with herbes and spices Of Mandrake, and the eggs of Cockatrices. Then to conclude, we will drink healths around, Which shall in loyall royall blood be crown'd: And Wee'l have shoinghornes to draw down drink Beyond salt Herrins, or th' Westphalian skink; As drunk as Devills, we my boy will be, Wee'l quaffe whole bolls of molten lead to thee, Then shalt thou see what honor shall be done To thee, whom I adopt my dearest sonne.

THE Devills Blessing TO BRITANICUS.

HElls blessing on thee my blasphemous sonne, Thou hast thy brother Rabsheka out-done; Shimei's a very foole compar'd to thee, Thou (every weeke) writ'st higher blasphemie: Korah's gain-saying if compar'd to thine Was petty-Treason, thou in every line Out-viest all these, thou bravely plaid'st thy part, And in our service shew'dst a loyall heart.

All I can promise is, when thou shalt come, Thou shalt be glorious for thy Martyrdome; Nay, thou shalt set thy house in order too, And in thy death Achitophell out-do; Thou fill'dst with mischiefes many thousand pates, Thou mad'st a hundred thousand Reprobates: Thou taught'st the people better to blaspheme, I furnish'd thee, with every straine and streame Of villany; which thou didst so improve, That thou for ever hast deserv'd my love. And therefore, in thy death thou shalt excell That great grave Councellor Achitophell, And all the rest of such as liv'd before, Since thou for us (deere son) hast done much more. Vicisti Gallilea, thou shalt cry, As Julian did, and cast thy bloud on high; Or thou shalt die like Arrius, who withstood The Nazarite, voyding both guts and blood. In the mean space remember me to all My friends particular, and generall: To Henry Walker I beare much affection, Hee's red-hair'd, of Iscariots right complexion; Like Sheba, Bichri's son, he did rebell, And cri'd out to your tents, O Israel. He was an Ironmonger at first, and then He turn'd Bookseller, after that his pen Libell'd against the King, and did incroach So neare him, that he threw't into his Coach. For which he should have gone to th' Triple-Tree, But pity, and the Kings high clemencie Wrote to the Parliament, that they should spare him, Whose power, unto the Pillorie did rear him. Since when (to shew his humble thanks the more) Reviles the King worse then he did before. Writes weekly Newes, and lies egregiously, And oftentimes doth preach most grievously; For which I will prefer him unto thee, When thou com'st, he shall then thy Chaplain be.

He shall thy solemne Funerall Sermon preach, My spirit shall instruct him how to teach, And he shall write in mournfull Elegies, In sad memoriall of thy Obsequies. Then my sons (Sectaries) with their zealous lasses, And all the learn'd Mercurius Owly-Glasses, Shall (with great griefe) be in a sad quandarie, And mourne in Claret burnt, and sweet Canarie; Then will we have for thee an Epitaph, Which who e're reads, perhaps 'twill make him laugh.

Epitaph.

HEre lies Britannicus, Hell's barking cur, That son of Beliall, who kept damned stir; And every Munday spent his stocke of spleen, In venemous railing on the King and Queen. Who, though they both in goodnesse may forgive him, Yet (for his safety) wee'l in hell riceive him.

FINIS.