Advice to a painter, &c.

Advice to a Painter , &c. SPread a large Canvas , Painter , to contain The great Assembly and the numerous train , Who all about him shall in Council sit , Abjuring Wisdom , and despising Wit ; Hating all Justice , and resolv'd to Fight , To rob his Native Country of its Right . First , Draw him falling prostrate to the South , Adoring ROME , this Libel in his mouth ; Most Holy Father ! being joyn'd in League , With Father Patrick , Darby , and with Teague , Thrown at Your Sacred Feet I humbly bow ; I , and the wise Associates of my Vow , I swear not Fire nor Sword shall ever end , Till all this Nation to Your Foot-stool bend ; Arm'd with bold Zeal & Blessings from your Hands , I 'le raise my Irish and my Popish Bands ; And by a Noble well-contrived PLOT , Manag'd by wise Fitz-gerrard and by SCOT ; Prove to the World I 'le have old ENGLAND know , That Common Sense is my Eternal Fo : I ne're can fight in a more Glorious Cause , Then to destroy their Liberties and Laws : Their Parchment Presidents , their dull Records , Their House of Commons and their House of Lords . Shall these Men dare to contradict my Will ? And think a Prince o' th Blood can er'e do ill ? It is our Birth-right ; We have power to kill ? Shall these men dare to think , shall these decide The way to Heav'n ? and who shall be my Guide ? Shall these pretend to say that Bread is Bread ? Or that there is no Purg'tory for the Dead , That Extreme Unction is but common Oyl , And not Infallible the Roman Soyl ? I 'le have these Villains in our Notions rest : You and I say it ; Therefore 't is best . Next , Painter , Draw his Mordant by his side , Conveying his Religion , and his Bride ; He who long since abjur'd the Royal Line , Does now in Popery with his Master joyn . Then draw the Princess with her Golden Locks , Hastning to be Renowned with the P — And in her Youthful Veins receive that wound , Which sent N — H — before her under ground ; That would of which the tainted C — fades , Preserv'd in store for the next sett of Maids . Poor P — born under some sullen Star , To find this welcom when you come so far : Better some Jealous Neighbour of your own Had call'd you to some sound , tho petty Throne ; Where , 'twixt a wholsom Husband , and a Page , You might have linger'd out a longer age . Then in false hopes of being once a Queen , Die before Twenty , Rot before Fifteen . Now Painter , shew us in the blackest dye , The Councellors of all this Villany . Clifford , who first appear'd in humble guise , Was thought so meek , so modest , and so wise ; But when he came to act upon the Stage , He prov'd the mad Cethegus of our age : He and the Duke had each too great a mind To be by Justice , or by Law confin'd ; Their boyling Heads can hear no other sounds , Then Fleets & Armies , Battles , Blood & wounds ; And to destroy our Liberty they hope , In Irish Fools , and a Doting POPE . Then Painter shew thy Skill , and in fit place Let 's see the Nuncio Arundels sweet face ; Let the Beholders by thy art descry His Sense , and Soul as squinting as his Eye . Let Bellasis autumnal face be seen , Rich with the spoil of a poor Algerine , Who trusting in him , was by him betray'd ; And so should we , were his advice obey'd : The Hero once got Honour by the Sword , He got his wealth by breaking of his word ; He now has got his Daughter great with Child , And Pimps to have his Family defil'd . Next Painter draw the Rabble of the PLOT , German , Fitz gerard , Loftus , Porter , Scot ; These are fit Heads indeed to turn a State , And change the Order of a Nations Fate : Ten thousand such as these can ne're controul , The smallest attoms of an English Soul . Old England on its strong Foundation stands , Defying all their Heads , and all their Hands ; It 's steady Basis never could be shook , When wiser Heads its ruine undertook ; And can her Guardian-Angel let her stoop At last to Fools , to Mad-men , and the POPE . No Painter , no ; Close up thy Piece , and see This Croud of Traytors hang in Effigie .

To the KING . GReat CHARLES , who full of Mercy would'st Command In Peace and Plenty this thy Native Land ; At last take pity on thy tott'ring Throne , Shook by the faults of others , not thy own : Let not thy Life and Crown together end , Destroy'd by a false Brother , and false Friend : Observe the Danger that appears so near , And all your Subjects do each minute fear ; A drop of Poison , or a Popish Knife , Ends all the Joys of England with your Life . Brothers 't is true should be by Nature kind ; But to a Zealous and Ambitious Mind , Brib'd by a Crown on Earth , and one above , There 's no more Friendship , Tenderness , or Love . See in all Ages what Examples are Of Monarchs murther'd by th'impatient Heir . Hard Fate of Princes , who will ne'r believe , Till the Stroke's struck , which they can ne'r retrieve .

FINIS .

THE SECOND ADVICE TO THE PAINTER NOw Painter try if thy skil'd hand can draw , The horrid'st Scene the trembling world ere saw ; Wipe all the Pencills that the former drew , In dismal colours dip 'um all anew ; Colours that may in lively parts express The plotted fall of Monarchs in a dress : May fright the World from Crimes we can't atone , With our best bloods , and Christians blush to ow● : But let me first advise you ere you take This work in hand , a small reflection make On all that 's hainous ; Murthers , Treasons , Fires , Deaths in all shapes , and rapines , hot desires : Of Murthering Kings I tremble to reherse , A tottering world and sinking Universe : Think well on these ere you begin your part 't will heighten fancy , and affect your heart : In th' upper part of all the Canvas , paint His Holyness the Pope , that mighty Saint , Old Sathan his associate too must stand Behind his chair to guide his heart and hand ; Draw him stuck round with all the toyes that come From the grand Mint of lies , old foppish Rome : Bulls , Dispensations , Pardons , all the baits He lays for the dull crow'd ; the Book of rates Will be convenient too , that t'every sin The value may be known , pray cram that in : Draw him dispersing with a bounteo●s han● For horrid ends the treasure of his Land ▪ Dispensing with false Oaths , or any thing , So that they 'l ●urther Charles Great Brittains King : Poor fool to think the guardian of his throne , Is grown as dull and sensless as his own ; No , proud Impostor , no● thy hand 's too short To rea●h his head or make his fall ●hy sport : Next draw proud France , and his ambitious hope Of being mighty , cringing to the Pope : 't is not his zeal to him , or to those laws That cheat the world , that his affection draws ; 't is int'rest , mighty int'rest , bears the sway , ●e dares not , though he 's willing , disobey : Base Prince and foolish too , your self you cheat , When on such terms as these you would be great ; You feast your sences , secure at costly rates , That nothing else can serve but dellicates Dipt in the blood of Princes : Deaths of Kings , In your opinion are but vulgar things : Had thirst of Empire sway'd a generous soul These base low tricks cou'd never sure controul ; But to a minde so firm on mischief bent , No generous thoughts or honour could prevent The meanest actions ; Princes should be true , And act on principles of honour too : Then they are Sacred to the world , and ought To be adored , then disrespect's a fault : But when from base degenerate they are grown , The vulgar hurl'um headlong from the throne : Go on vile Prince in all these acts , and try , How soon your Crown will fade , your Empire dye ; By your example your own Subjects teach , To strike at Empires and at Scepters reach , And may their first attempt be on thy head , Dethrone thee first of all , then strike thee dead . Now Painter to our Subjects dip thy pen In black , in horrid black , yet once agen ; For when a Subject from a King revolts , Conspires his death , and thinks these things no faults , The scene must needs be horrid , first begin With Bellasis and his foul and grateful sin : Draw him a monster , in as foul a dress As ere your heart can think , or hand express : Long did he in his Princes bosom lie One would have thought void of all Treachery ; For what base man but he , could ere conspire To set that house , wherein he lives , on fire ? Who could such Treason harbour in his breast , 'Gainst th' best of Princes , and to him the best ? The other Lords must on the Stage be led , Drawn — each man with halter on his head , And dagger in his heart , that so in vain Wherewith they strove to stab their Soveraign : Base Rebells ! do you thus your Prince reward ? Have you no Honour left ? or no regard T' his Clemency , which some of you I know Have tasted story had di'd for 't long ago : Had he been cruel or Tirannick grown , You had more reason to usurp his Throne ; But to a Gratious and Obliging Prince , 't is past all hopes of pardon or defence . Now Painter draw me Hell in all its heat , Let sulphurous flames and dismal darkness meet , And in the hottest place , as best befits , Draw Stayly , Coleman and the Jesuits : Let 'um indure the flaming brimstone rage , Those bloody Tra●terous miscreants of our age , Those were the men design'd ( O horrid act ) Nay were resolved too , to commit the fact , Base Rebells don't you know , that Heavens high hand Has stil● kept sa●e the Monach of our ●●nd , And cou'd you think to move our Scene and do What Heavens great Lord had nere consented to . Burn on vile wretches , think well on these things , What Treason is , what 't is to Murther Kings . Now draw in all his Majesty and State , Our Soveraign Prince , just rising from his 〈◇〉 , Pra● paint him laughing at the follies done By th' Pope , and France , his most unchristian Son ? Prithy Old fellow , prithy tell me why , Old England ●hould so much disturb th● Eye : Is it be●ause we do not dote like you , And worship all your Saints we never knew ? If these , Old man , our aggravations be , Know , we defy thy Mallice , Imps , and thee .

To the KING . WElcome great Prince , to Life ag●n , at least , welcom from d●ng●rs , which we hope ar●●●ast , Dangers which lately hover'd o're your head , Threatning to strike your rising Glory d●●d ; The Cloud 's bl●wn over , and the mists away Portend the rising of a glorious day ? May still your Sacred Majesty give Law To all your Kingdoms , keeping them in aw , May your bright Crown , a● beauteous ●ays disper●● As any Monarch● of the Universe .

FINIS .

The Third Part of ADVICE TO THE PAINTER , Concerning The great Turk , Count Teckley , and the Forces against them ; the French , the Spaniards , the Dutch , and the English . PAinter once more thy Pencil Reasume , And in a Lanskip draw me Christendom . But first draw out the Turkish Empire , then Paint out in Collours their devision . Paint me that mighty Powerful State a Shaking ; And their great Prophet , Teckely , a Quaking . Who for Religion made such busling work , That to Reform it he brought in the Turk . Next Paint our English Mufties of the Tub , Those great Promoters of the Teckelites Club . Draw me them praying for the Turkish Cause , And for the overthrow of Christian Laws . Next Paint the Turks Seraglio , then Paint our English Mufties entring in ; That and Rebellion is their Darling Sin . Next draw the many guiltless Souls , that dy'd A Sacrifice to their Lucifrian pride . And Paint to th' life their Diabolick Faces , And angry Looks , for their late desperate Cases . But lastly , draw a fair and spacious Plain , And in it Gallowses to hang them on . Now draw in opposition to this Crew , The German Poles and Cosack Forces too : Show by thy Art what they have bravely done ; Beat down the Turks , and their great Standard won . And for the Rebels Emblem draw me Hell , Whose Luciferian Fates has taught them well , What 't is to Fight their King and to Rebel . And as our God did Satan overthrow , And for Rebellion him to Hell did throw ; So these our Earthly Rebels shall Be fated here , and in Hell after fall ; When Kings like Terrene Gods do justly Reign ; Are by good Subjects held their Sovereign . Next draw the Monsieurs huffing ore proud Spain ; But draw them too upon their turn again . Paint out their Courage more by words then blows ; Blood but the Monsieurs , and they 'l fly their Foes . And when you draw them to the Life , pray draw Instead of El's the cunning Foxes paw . Draw me the Spaniard rousing as they wou'd , Revenge their Quarrel in the French Mans Blood . Draw me Great Orange whose Victorious Soul Will cool their heat , and Monsieurs rage controul . Next draw me Holland poxt with jealous Fears ; Paint them falling together by the Ears . Distrusting one another draw them now , And fearful what to do , or how . Paint them as hector'd Men by Monsieurs word ; Paint them as Men afraid of Monsieurs Sword . Next draw old England rising from the Dead , And Loyalty that now can show its Head . Paint me Great CHARLES that all the World doth awe , Who hath declar'd he Govern will by Law . Now , lastly , draw me London , that great City That twice Rebel'd in one Age , more 's the Pity : But draw them Loyal now with their new Charter , And taking the Oaths for to be True hereafter . Draw all the Loyal Subjects , Joyful Hearts , Draw out their Loyalty in all its parts : Whilst other murmering Rebels down are hurl'd ; Confounded here , and dam'd in to'ther World .

LONDON , Printed for Walter Davis in Amen-Corner . 1684.

NEW ADVICE TO A PAINTER , &c PAinter , once more thy Pencil reassume . Draw me a Night Piece — Draw me Rome . Rome under ground , 't will make a curious Piece ! Out do the boldest hands of Antient Greece . Let the pale Tapers , which afford it lights , Burn blew , affrighted with approaching Sprites . Draw me the shaking Triple Mitred Head , And all the Conclave , looking like the Dead . Draw fallen Lucifer in Brimstone Robes , Infernal Posts arriving thick like Jobes : Each telling after other rueful Tale , How all the Pious Stratagems still fail ; Nor Pistol , Poison , Ponyard will prevail . How in defence of See Apostolique , Like all true Bigots Roman Catholique , Most boldly living , their late Martyrs ty'd , And all without Confessing , bravely dy'd . How d●ring Coleman led the Forlorn Hope , Of all th' Unfortunate Brethren of the Rope , Who murther Princes to exalt a Pope . Of this new Order of Cordeliers how He was the Founder and Confounder too . How Cardinal Ireland , Hartcourt , Gaven fell , Of Pickering , Grove , and Turner , let them tell , How all 's undone , Rome , Purgatory , Hell ! So ! Painter 't is enough ; now let s retire , And leave the Pope in this new Malvidere . Next , let me see a spatious Curtain Drawn , Fine and transparent as the Cobweb Lawn . It must with curious Art and Care be wrought , That through it one may see a nimble thought . The ground with Faction , Treason , Tumult lay , All Varnish't o're with shining Preach and Pray . Shade it with Fineness , Artifice , Intrigue , Darken the foldings with the Solemn League . Behind this Curtain let bold Actors stand , Buskin'd for Tragedy upon command ; Inspir'd with furious , not Poetique Rage , A second time to tread a bloody Stage . Draw there an Aged Pope upon all four , With riding Furniture Equipped o're , With Warlike Saddle , and with Curbing Bitt , Holsters and Howsings , Breastplate , all compleat . Then let a dapper Pres'ter Poll bestride The Scarlet Rampant Beast , and fiercely ride . Let him be clad in the new Silken Buff , And wear an old Round-head without a Ruff . Upon the top of his Triumphat Lance , The spoiled Whore of Babel's Smock advance . Before him let there march Lewd Reformation , Proclaiming Liberty and Tolleration . Paint dismal Ruin stalking in the Rear , Than Landskip Desolation far and near . Paint close Cabals , and Midnights secret Clubs , Paint the Disciples of the bawling Tubs , With Ears erected and with Mouths displaid , And all the Brethren o' th Religious Blade , Big with their hopes and expectations blown , That e're't be long the day will be their own . Let several Labels from their mouths proceed , To note the different Tribes o' th' Holy Seed : Here , Root and Branch , there , down with Babel down . Away with Bishops , this , that , with the Crown . Here draw one closesly laughing in his sleeve , That he has made the zealous fools believe , What he has told them is as Gospel true , If 't be not so , then he 's a very ●ew . Paint here Ambition making humble Court To Popular Ears , and shewing Scripture for 't . There , Draw me Envy , and here , private Pique , Looking demure while deep Revenge they seek . Here one who lost his Crown and Bishops Lands , Clapping for joy his Sacrilegious hands . Draw busie Jealousie among the Croud , And whispering Fear , and Calumny still loud . Paint Armed Zeal in fighting Gospel Buff ; Paint what thou wilt , so 't be confus'd enuff . Then Painter Draw one laughing out this Mott , Come do it boldly then , Plot upon Plot . Now Painter let us Trade in open day , And bare fac't Light : a barren Landskip lay , Like some cold Northern Clime ; there must not be Much Beauty in it , much Variety : Not many fruitful Vales , nor pleasant Springs , Nor murmu'ring Riv'lets , nor delightful things . But cragged Rocks , and the bald Mountains shew , No Perrewigs of Wood , but Bonnets blew Of distant Sky , Paint Loughs , and Treacherous Bogs , Stored with Revelation croaking Frogs . And now the Scene is fit , the Curtain draw , Trumpets and Drums within , Sasa , Sasa . A Rev'rend Prelate must the Prologue be , Enough alone to make a Tragedy . Paint him all over wounds and purple gore , Greater than Caesars and in number more . Than let the mad braind Zealous Troops advance , Hasting to forfeit their Allegiance , In the defence of Covenant ; Well a way ! True Protestant Religion to betray . While thus with Violence , Murder , Perjury , They strive to raise their new Fifth Monarchy , The Iron Scepter of Presbytery . Now Painter Summon all thy skilful Art , Thy choicest Colours , cleanest stroaks impart . Draw me a blooming Hero , let him fly , more swift than Light'ning from a sullen Sky : Whose early Valour Rivals Caesars Fame , For he too came , and saw , and overcame . Paint Woods of Lawrels for his Conqu'ring brow , Hee 'l reap them all as fast as they can grow . But gentle Painter , plant them in the shade , Lest as they quickly grew , they quickly fade . And now dear Painter , how shall we devise , To draw some thoughts ? Oh! how would that surprize ! But since those swift Ideas will not sit , Till thou canst finish 'em , e'en venture it , A careless dash does somtimes bravely hit . Draw then the discontented Factious crew Of Disaffected Brethren ; let us view Their Faces well , and we shall easily find , Their secret thoughts by th' Index of the mind . Draw biting Lips , and sullen frowning Brow , And hands lift up betwixt a Curse and Vow : Paint this half drawing out his angry Sword , That weeping for the people of the Lord , Who for the Gospel were in Battle slain , Or by the Common En'my Captive tane . Let hasty blood mount in that manly Face , There let it sneak , and give pale Choler place . Here Paint one raving , raging , staring mad ; Thus disappointed after seeking Gad ! Thus by ill Conduct , and base Cowardice , To spoil the Good Old Cause , and ope ' the Eyes Of Wicked men , to see and Triumph too ; What hast thou done Lard ? Lard ! What must we do ? Could not th' impatient Brethren stay till we Had fully hatcht a New Conspiracy , No King , or else of Clouts , till we had made , ( That is a Glorious King ) they might have staid : But thus with Shell on head , and callow wing , Thus run away ! Lard ! This was such a thing ! Now should we strive to lend our helping hand To work Salvation , th' wicked of the Land Will call 't Rebellion : and should they prevail , We can expect no Mercy , if we fail In our attempt , no second Amnesty Can e're be hop'd , Ah! No Indempnity ! Painter , close up thy Piece , expose 't to view ; 't will meet with various Censures : But 't is true . Till the next time we meet , Painter Adieu .

To the KING . HAil Mighty Charles ! Joy of our Lives and Eyes : Born and preserv'd , restor'd in wondrous wise ! At last take pity of a Glorious State , Shook by the Malice , and the restless Hate , Of Undermining Foes , and Treacherous Friends , By diff'ring methods driving the same ends . Papist and Presbyterian both combine , And Sampsons flaming Foxes Tails-conjoyn To R●b thee of thy Crown , and to destroy , With thee our Lives , Religion , Liberty . Rome and Geneva , both strive to pull down The Envi'd Mitre and Imperial Crown . The Royal Martyr Charles , the Wise , the Just , Commands you to forgive , but never trust . Lose not your Friends in hopes your Foes to gain , Eternal hates are reconcil'd in vain . You are no longer safe than they want power , No Monarch after that can Reign an hour . Cherish you Friends if Scepters you will sway , And Rule your Subjects many a happy day . Defend that Faith which does defend your Crown , Which Christ first taught , which all true Christians own : Who teaches any other , comes from Hell ; The Dev'l first did , then taught men to Rebel . Read all the rest in the late Rebel Scot , There is enough to shew a second Plot . The Banks are yet intire , 't is not too late To stop another Deluge o're the State . Who his to morrow trusts for safety , may , Before it comes be ruined by delay . To speak bold truths Poets and Painters dare , Believe them , Mighty Sir , Believe , Beware ! Nothing can save us from a dreadful Doom , But what secures from Faction and from Rome .

FINIS .

THE Jesuites Advice TO THE PAINTER : Upon the DEATH of William Howard , Late Viscount Stafford . WHat damn'd dull Dog was that that did Advise So poorly to depict ROME'S Treacheries ? And in such mean Pedantick Strains to call An Art-less Painter to her Funeral : Sure One that had no Soul , but what was Lent , And from some fulsom Dunghil hither sent ! Fond Poet , ROME's not dead nor dying ! she Will yet Survive your grand Catastrophe : And all her Martyred Saints shall from the Dead Arise , and Plant their Tryumphs on her head ; Such Glories her predicted Fall attend . As will in a Victorious Conquest End : With what dull Verse , with what insipid Spell , Dost thou lay down the Stratagems of Hell ? ALl you infernal Sp'rits from Styg'a● Lake , Requiems sing for our dear Stafford's s●ke , Who to the Last , unto his latest Breath , Our cause maintain'd , and seal'd it by his Death , Paint this Fam'd Hero Innocent and Great ▪ Make him a Saint in spite of Jove and Fate ▪ Let his Curst Treasons Loyalty supplant , Ten Rebels make for one Damn'd Protestant , By his last Traiterous Breath , let him create , Ten hundred Thousand Traytors to the State , And now with Hell let him once more combine , Implore its Aid , to drive on Our Designe . Lay all the Kingdom waste , and in a Word Put all the Hereticks to Fire and Sword ; Leave not a Child of Two years old to tell , That ever here , a Protestant did dwell . But that these Things may fully take Effect , No Mercy shew to young , nor old respect ; When we ●●ud Blessings give , Know then we Curse , If we advise to Kill , you must do worse . When we Obedience preach , 't is our Intent , Rebels to be to King and Parliament . Turn all Things upside down , till Rome and Fate , Become the ample Guardians of the State . 'Till we involve i' th Tye of humane Blood , What no Age knew or ever Understood , Assist my Muse , from the Infernal ●IT ! Whence Jesuites draw their Abyss of Wit : All you dear Brothers of the Holy League , Ital●ans , Spanish , British , French and Teagu● , Conspire in one , both Hell and Rome predict , Your good Success ; our PLOT to like effect . Damn that ignoble Painter that does Limn , The Holy PLOT , in Characters so dim : In stead of Poyson , Pistol , or a Stab , Paint Unbelief , no Faith but in a T●e Romish Church . Drab . In stead of Gallows , Torture and Defence , Draw faithful Guilt , in shape of Innocence . Limn to the Life ; Make our hang'd Saints arise , Convert the Sceen , Draw Murther in Disguise : From sleep ascents to Happiness and Bliss , Where you design to Kill , there paint a Kiss . Propound , confound , desist , repent , recant , Paint holy — a Zealous Protestant : Give him the Oath , and swear him to maintain Reformed Faith in a true Popish Strain . This does indeed look something like our Selves : Knit in a Mystique tye with Saints and Elves . But to proceed , where Massacres should stand , There paint the Plague , by it a Happy Land . For Towns burnt down , and Cities in a Flame , Draw there the Pope his Holinesse's Name . By Pluto's side Limn Hope and pawned ●aith , And neer their Feet Discovery and Death . Depict Discovery fearful in a Throng , Make dreadful Death as ●●a●tiful and young : And for a Murdred Prince a Virgin draw , Crown'd with Religion , Priviledg and Law : Within her Arms , lay all the Holy PLOT ; All what is yet design'd , and what is not . All things propos'd for Mischief to ensue , Paint in no fading colors but in Blew , That all our holy Order may at sight , In a Disguise see the Effects of Night . DANBY's pernicious Council place alone , Which , for the Kingdoms good , engrave in stone , And near the same , let his dear person stand , Loaden with Crimes , A Pardon . High Treason in his hand . Upom his hardned Forehead , paint in Red , The Dreadful Ghost of GODFREY from the Dead : But clear him of the ●●ult ; Be sure to state The Heretick's the Author of his Fate . For th' other ill affected Lords , set down No Treason , but aspiring to a Crown . Upon their Shoulders make Religion stand ; But give her Wings , and Gold in either hand : Make her spit Fire which for the Churches good . See that you quench with the whole Nations blood . This done , in place of consecrated Knives , Put a long Chain of Prayers and Popish Lives , And though we Swear , For-swear , and Lie , yet Paint , A Jesuite no Devil but a Saint . For deep Rebellion of a Purple Dye , Draw humble Supplicants to Majesty , Where Foreiners design for to invade , No Armies put , but Languor , Fear and Dread . Depose Great Lewis from his glorious Throne , Whilst we unite these Kingdoms to his own . Before those Kings which we are to Delude , Draw Prostrate Jesuites in Blood imbru'd . In a deep Dungeon the Inquisition place , Not with an Horrid , but a Pleasing Face . All that we have to do , is to deceive , And the Misguided World of Sense bereave . A Conquest we design o' th British Land , Whom we intend shall fall , pray here let stand . Falshood and Victory joyn , and in a Line , Make Breach of Faith resemble Truth Divine . We 're now spur d on , with flames of Rage and Lust , To lay the Credulous World in Blood and Dust : O're-turn the Pillars of the Universe , And Tragick Scenes of Cruelty rehearse . Make Monarchs fall upon their Sulphury Lees , And trembling seize upon their feeble Knees . Bring all into a Chaos , as at first , Before the Product of the Earth was curst : In stead of Waters , let the Rivers swell , With human Blood , sent headlong down to Hell : As in Queen Marys days . Whilst raging Flames , their Lifeless Corps destroy , And fix the Periods of the Nations joy . Breath nothing but Revenge with Fire and Sword , Give the pernicious Massacre . Pestilence the word : And that Hells deep Design may take Effect , All Villanies persue , no Crimes reject . Bring to Confusion whatso'er you meet , Hell guid your Souls , whilst Rome directs your f●et ; So may the Painters hand be guided too , Contriving to Contrive , how to undo . Honour depress , Insult upon , degrade , Let Perjur'd baseness Royal Thrones invade : Be kind to none that Villany detest , Or harbour Gen'rous Thoughts within their brest . But see you make the Martyrdom proceed , From those , to whom , by Us it is decreed . Upon their Brows plant Vengeance ; and we 'll smite Those wretched Catiffs to Eternal Night . This is the Judgment , the Decree is Seal'd ; Nor can it be revok'd tho 't be reveal'd . FINIS .

London , Printed for T. Davies . 1681.