The tenth muse lately sprung up in America or severall poems, compiled with great variety of vvit and learning, full of delight. Wherein especially is contained a compleat discourse and description of the four elements, constitutions, ages of man, seasons of the year. Together with an exact epitomie of the four monarchies, viz. The Assyrian, Persian, Grecian, Roman. Also a dialogue between Old England and New, concerning the late troubles. With divers other pleasant and serious poems. By a gentlewoman in those parts.

A Dialogue between Old England and New, concern∣ing their present troubles. Anno 1642.

New England.

ALas, deare Mother, fairest Queen, and best, With honour, wealth, and peace, happy and blest, What ayles thee hang thy head, and crosse thine armes? And sit i'th dust, to sigh these sad alarms? What deluge of new woes thus over-whelme The glories of thy ever famous Realme? What meanes this wailing tone, this mourning guise? Ah, tell thy Daughter, she may simpathize.

Old England.

Art ignorant indeed, of these my woes? Or must my forc••d tongue these grief••s disclose?

And must my selfe dissect my tatter'd state, Which 'mazed Christendom•• stands wondring at? And thou a childe, a Limbe, and dost not feele My weakned fainting body now to reele? This Phisick-purging-potion I have taken, Will bring Consumption, or an Ague quaking, Unlesse some Cordial thou fetch from high, Which present help may ease this malady. If I decease, dost think thou shalt survive? Or by my wasting state, dost think to thrive? Then weigh our case, if't be not justly sad, Let me lament alone, while thou art glad.

New England.

And thus, alas, your state you much deplore, In generall terms, but will not say wherefore: What Medicine shall I seek to cure this woe, If th' wound's so dangerous I may not know? But you perhaps would have me guesse it out, What, hath some Hengist, like that Saxon stout, By fraud, and force, usurp'd thy flowring crown, And by tempestuous Wars thy fields trod down? Or hath Canutus, that brave valiant Dane, The regall, peacefull Scepter from thee tane? Or is't a Norman, whose victorious hand With English blood bedews thy conquered Land? Or is't intestine Wars that thus offend? Doe Maud, and Stephen for the Crown contend? Doe Barons rise, and side against their King? And call in Forreign ayde, to help the thing?

Must Edward be depos'd, or is't the houre That second Richard must be clapt i'th' Tower? Or is the fatall jarre againe begun, That from the red, white pricking Roses sprung? Must Richmonds ayd, the Nobles now implore, To come, and break the tushes of the Boar? If none of these, deare Mother, what's your woe? Pray, doe not feare Spaines bragging Armado? Doth your Allye, faire France, conspire your wrack? Or, doth the Scots play false behind your back? Doth Holland quit you ill, for all your love? Whence is this storme, from Earth, or Heaven above? Is't Drought, is't Famine, or is't Pestilence? Dost feele the smart, or feare the consequence? Your humble Childe intreats you, shew your grief, Though Armes, nor Purse she hath, for your releif: Such is her poverty, yet shall be found A supplyant for your help, as she is bound.

Old England.

I must confesse, some of those Sores you name, My beau••eous Body at this present maime; But forraigne Foe, nor fained friend I feare, For they have work enough (thou knowst) elsewhere; Nor is it Alcies Son, and Henries Daughter, Whose proud contention cause this slaughter; Nor Nobles si••ing, to make John no King French Lewis unjustly to the Crown to bring; No Edward, Richard, to l••se rule, and life, Nor no Lancastrians, to renew old strife;

No Crook-backt Tyrant, now usurps the Seat, Whose tearing tusks did wound, and kill, and threat: No Duke of York, nor Earle of March, to soyle Their hands in Kindreds blood, whom they did foyle: No need of Teder, Roses to unite, None knowes which is the Red, or which the White: Spaines braving Fleet a second time is sunke, France knowes, how of my sury she hath drunk; By Edward third, and Henry fifth of fame, Her Lillies in mine Armes avouch the same. My Sister Scotland hurts me now no more, Though she hath bin injurious heretofore. What Holland is, I am in some suspence, But trust not much unto his Excellence; For wants, sure some I feele, but more I feare, And for the Pestilence, who knowes how neare; Famine, and Plague, two sisters of the Sword, Destruction to a Land doth soone afford; They're for my punishments ordain'd on high, Unlesse thy teares prevent it speedily. But yet, I answer not what you demand, To shew the grievance of my troubled Land; Before I tell the effect, ile shew the cause, Which are my Sins, the breach of sacred Lawes; Idolatry, supplanter of a Nation, With foolish superstitious adoration; And lik'd, and countenanc'd by men of might, The Gospel is trod down, and hath no right; Church Offices are sold, and bought, for gaine, That Pope, had hope, to finde Rome here againe; For Oathes, and Blasphemies did ever eare From Beelzebub himself, such language heare?

What scorning of the Saints of the most high, What injuries did daily on them lye; What false reports, what nick-names did they take, Not for their owne, but for their Masters sake; And thou, poore soule, wast jeer'd among the rest, Thy flying for the Truth I made a jeast; For Sabbath-breaking, and for Drunkennesse, Did ever Land prophannesse more expresse? From crying bloods, yet cleansed am not I, Martyrs, and others, dying causelesly: How many Princely heads on blocks laid down, For nought, but title to a fading Crown? 'Mongst all the cruelties which I have done, Oh, Edwards Babes, and Clare••ce haplesse Son, O Jane, why didst thou dye in flowring prime, Because of Royall Stem, that was thy crime; For Bribery, Adultery, for Thefts, and Lyes, Where is the Nation, I cann't paralize; With Usury, Extortion, and Oppression, These be the Hydra's of my stout transgression; These be the bitter fountains, heads, and roots, Whence flow'd the source, the sprigs, the boughs, and fruits; Of more then thou canst heare, or I relate, That with high hand I still did perpetrate; For these, were threatned the wofull day, I mock'd the Preachers, put it farre away; The Sermons yet upon record doe stand, That cry'd, destruction to my wicked Land: These Prophets mouthes (al••s the while) was stopt, Unworthily, some backs whipt, and eares crept; Their reverent checks, did beare the glorious markes Of stinking, stigmatizing, Romish Clerkes;

Some lost their livings, some in prison pent, Some grossely fin'd, from friends to exile went: Their silent tongues to heaven did vengeance cry, Who heard their cause, and wrongs judg'd righteously, And will repay it sevenfold in my lap, This is fore-runner of my after clap, Not took I warning by my neighbours falls, I saw sad Germanie's dismantled walls. I saw her people famish'd, Nobles slain, Her fruitfull land, a barren heath remain. I saw (unmov'd) her Armies foil'd and fled, Wives forc'd, babes toss'd, her houses calcined, I saw strong Rochel yeelding to her foe, Thousands of starved Christi ns there also. I saw poore Ireland bleeding out her last, Such cruelty as all reports have past. My heart obdurate, stood not yet agast. Now sip I of that cup, and just 't may be, The bottome dregs reserved are for me.

New England.

To all you've said, sad mother, I assent Your fearfull sinnes, great cause there's to lament, My guilty hands (in part) hold up with you, A sharer in your punishment's my due, But all you say, amounts to this effect, Not what you feel, but what you do expect. Pray in plain termes, what is your present grief, Then let's join heads, and hands for your relief.

Old England.

Well, to the matter then, there's grown of late, 'Twixt King and Peeres a question of state, Which is the chief, the law, or else the King, One saith its he, the other no such thing. My better part in Court of Parliament, To ease my groaning land shew their intent, To crush the proud, and right to each man deal. To help the Church, and stay the Common-Weal, So many obstacles comes in their way, As puts me to a stand what I should say, Old customes, new Prerogatives stood on, Had they not held law fast, all had been gone, Which by their prudence stood them in such stead, They took high Strafford lower by the head, And to their Laud be't spoke, they held i'th' Tower, All Englands Metropolitane that houre, This done, an Act they would have passed fain, No prelate should his Bishoprick retain; Here tugg'd they hard indeed, for all men saw, This must be done by Gospel, not by law. Next the Militia they urged sore, This was deny'd, I need not say wherefore. The King displeas'd, at York himself absents, They humbly beg return, shew their intents, The writing, printing, posting to and fro, Shews all was done, I'll therefore let it go. But now I come to speak of my disaster, Contention's grown 'twixt Subjects and their Master:

They worded it so long, they fell to blows, That thousands lay on heaps, here bleeds my woes. I that no warres, so many yeares have known, Am now destroy'd, and slaughter'd by mine own, But could the field alone this cause decide, One battell, two or three I might abide, But these may be beginnings of more woe, Who knows, the worst, the best may overthrow; Religion, Gospell, here lies at the stake, Pray now dear child, for sacred Zions sake, Oh pity me, in this sad perturbation, My plundered Townes, my houses devastation, My ravisht virgins, and my young men slain, My wealthy trading faln, my dearth of grain, The seed time's come, but Ploughman hath no hope, Because he knows not, who shall inn his crop: The poore they want their pay, their children bread, Their wofull mother's tears unpitied. If any pity in thy heart remain, Or any child-like love thou dost retain, For my relief now use thy utmost skill, And recompence me good, for all my ill.

New England.

Dear mother cease complaints, and wipe your eyes, Shake off your dust, chear up, and now arise, You are my mother, nurse, I once your flesh, Your sunken bowels gladly would refresh: Your griefs I pity much, but should do wrong, To weep for that we both have pray'd for long,

To see these latter dayes of hop'd for good, That Right may have its right, though't be with blood; After dark Popery the day did clear, But now the Sun in's brightnesse shall appear, Blest be the Nobles of thy Noble Land, With (ventur'd lives) for truths defence that stand, Blest be thy Commons, who for Common good, And thine infringed Lawes have boldly stood. Blest be thy Counties which do aid thee still With hearts and states, to testifie their will. Blest be thy Preachers, who do chear thee on, O cry: the sword of God, and Gidem: And shall I not on those wish Mero's curse, That help thee not with prayers, arms, and purse, And for my self, let miseries abound, If mindlesse of thy state I e'r be found. These are the dayes, the Churches foes to crush, To root out Prelates, head, tail, branch, and rush. Let's bring Baals vestments out, to make a fire, Their Myters, Surplices, and all their tire, Copes, Rochets, Crossiers, and such trash, And let their names consume, but let the flash Light Christendome, and all the world to see, We hate Romes Whore, with all her trumperie. Go on brave Essex, shew whose son thou art, Not false to King, nor Countrey in thy heart, But those that hurt his people and his Crown, By force expell, destroy, and tread them down: Let Gaoles be fill'd with th'remnant of that pack, And sturdy Tyburn loaded till it crack, And yee brave Nobles, chase away all fear, And to this blessed Cause closely adhere

O mother, can you weep, and have such Peeres. When they are gone, then drown your self in teares. If now you weep so much, that then no more, The briny Ocean will o'rflow your shore, These, these, are they (I trust) with Charles our King, Out of all mists, such glorious dayes will bring, That dazzled eyes beholding much shall wonder At that thy setled Peace, thy wealth and splendour, Thy Church and Weal, establish'd in such manner, That all shall joy that thou display'dst thy banner, And discipline erected, so I trust, That nursing Kings, shall come and lick thy dust: Then Justice shall in all thy Courts take place, Without respect of persons, or of case, Then bribes shall cease, and suits shall not stick long, Patience, and purse of Clients for to wrong: Then High Commissions shall fall to decay, And Pursevants and Catchpoles want their pay, So shall thy happy Nation ever flourish, When truth and righteousnesse they thus shall nourish. When thus in Peace: thine Armies brave send out, To sack proud Rome, and all her vassalls rout: There let thy name, thy fame, thy valour shine, As did thine Ancestours in Palestine, And let her spo••ls, full pay, with int'rest be, Of what unjustly once she poll'd from thee, Of all the woes thou canst let her be sped, Execute toth' full the vengeance threatned. Bring forth the beast that rul'd the world with's beck, And tear his flesh, and set your feet on's neck, And make his filthy den so desolate, To th' 'stonishment of all that knew his state.

This done, with brandish'd swords, to Turky go, (For then what is't, but English blades dare do) And lay her wast, for so's the sacred doom; And do to Gog, as thou hast done to Rome. Oh Abrahams seed lift up your heads on high. For sure the day of your redemption's nigh; The scales shall fall from your long blinded eyes, And him you shall adore, who now despise, Then fulnes of the Nations in shall flow, And Jew and Gentile, to one worship go, Then follows dayes of happinesse and rest, Whose lot doth fall to live therein is blest: No Canaanite shall then be found ith' land, And holinesse, on horses bells shall stand, If this make way thereto, then sigh no more, But if at all, thou didst not see't before. Farewell dear mother, Parliament, prevail, And in a while you'l tell another tale.