Loyal poems and satyrs upon the times since the beginning of the Salamanca plot written by several hands ; collected by M.T.

THE SUCCESSION.

THE precious Gem call'd Loyalty grows scarce, The Saints pretending, turns it into Farce, Whilst Englands great Prerogative does grow Into Contempt by the Tumultuous Foe, Whose subtile secret Hypocritick gins, Wou'd turn the Frame of Nature off its pins A Painted Zeal must back what they Decree, And while the Cheat pretends to Loyalty, Heaven must be mock'd t' uphold their Treachery.

Blush then Disloyal Mortals, let your shame All wild Attempts against your Reason Tame, Nor think your selves who are but Subjects, Kings, You know Religion teaches better things, Late reeling times sufficiently have shown The Effects of Masquerade Religion, When Charles the Great whose Memory shall Live, Cou'd not their Loyal Principles Survive, And those who dare oppose Succession Wou'd play the same Game over with the Son,

This Speaks your trust, the VVounds continue green Since that Blest Martyr was the Bloudy Scene Of their Impieties; This Land was wrack'd, Its Bowels Torn, Natures chief Fabrick Crack'd, Into Confusion hurld, till in the End (As each thing does unto its Center tend,) The Clouds dispers'd, and drove away Despair VVhen in the Throne appear'd the much wrong'd Heir

VVhom Heaven preserve, and may he ever be Secure from all pretending Loyalty, Princes are Gods Anoynted and the Crown, None can detain but Heavens great Prince alone, When Natures Law hath been Impeach'd such things Are wrought by Pow'r Divine, the King of Kings, By that great Pow'r they Rule, and by no less, And he who only rais'd them can depress.

All Officers whether of Sword or Gown Are sworn t'uphold the Rights of Englands Crown The Commons too before they Voice can claim Are duly Sworn ith' House to Right the same, How can we Judg of this but as a Plot When such a Solemn Oath can be forgot? It's a high Crime to let a Papist Reign, But Perjury wee'l Piously maintain, For a great Vertue when self-interest In Whispers tells us all goes for the Best, That Monster Faction evermore did range In these three Kingdoms to promote a Change,

Which being upheld by Frenzy, Pride and Scorn, Of Monarcy, 'tis that's the wounding Thorn, To publick Peace, and makes the greatest Scars That fills Mens Mouths with Armys, Bloud and Wars, 'Tis that Deposes Princes, blackens Fame Whitens the Negro, makes the sound Man Lame, A Prince oth' the Bloud is a Regardless thing And if we durst wee'd tell you so's a KING, Vertues bright Lustre can't her self protect From base Ingratitude and Disrespect, It once hath been admir'd in that great Prince And still may't be his Glorious Defence, Against the Tongue of everysenseless Brute That dare Succession to the Crown Dispute.