Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
Text snippets containing the quad
|
ID |
Title |
Author |
Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) |
STC |
Words |
Pages |
|
A30506
|
The apostate prince, or, A satyr against the present King of Poland by Richard Burridge.
|
Burridge, Richard, b. 1670.
|
1700
(1700)
|
Wing B5976; ESTC R32011
|
6,807
|
17
|
our first Martyrs with immortal Praise May it be spoken in Marian days None of our Pastors of the Church of Rome Walking with Crooks and Mitres durst presume To hazard the Salvation of their Souls On spurious Faith the fear of Death controuls Their foolish Doctrine tells 'em if they die They die great Villains to assert a Lie Base Profligate your Honour Heraldry May justly paint with black Iniquity Yet other Colours may as Emblems shew That many Qualities belong to you Gules in the first place may adorn your Arms To shew a bloody Faith your Conscience charms Next Or to shew you 're Impudent and Bold Your Heav'n to hazard for a Crown of Gold Then Vert to signifie at any time Your mind is Fresh and Brisk to act a Crime For Interest the Blazon let it be Set out with all the marks of Infamy Two Jesuits the Supporters on each Hand The Motto God and Justice I withstand Arouze ye drouzy Imps and do not Sleep For if a Register of time you keep In Hell now change the Epocha and Year A New-Style make as well as Papists here And when Old-Nick does find such silly Fools Who will for Wealth or Honour sell their Souls Much after this same form And manner let The Bond be Sign'd and hereunto I set My Hand and Seal the first of June N. S. In the third Year since Fredrick's Wickedness Revolted from a true Belief which made Infernal Markets have but little Trade Though Hell's Applause you have yet when you Die Satan will have a very careful Eyë Over your most perfidious Soul for fear Your growing Pride should snatch at Empire there He knows with Oathes you 'd make the Damn'd believe Strange Matters and the Wits of Hell deceive With sugar'd Words till your usurping Pride Had got the Brimstone Forces on your Side Then ev'ry Day you 'd lessen more and more His Strength as you had Conti's heretofore I am afraid in your dull frigid Clime There is approaching a distracted Time Wherein the Wrath of Heav'n will soon Rejoyce To plague you for the Crown the People's Choice But what care you brave Champion for the Pope Who dreads no Vengeance nor for Bliss doth hope For one short Moment of Regalian Sway High Heav'n you would though damn'd for 't Disobey Were you by th' Turks Besieg'd too hardly prest For Liberty or for a Crown at least You 'd Swear till Oathes from Hell did Devils draw The Alcoran were truer than the Law To Moses you 'd prefer his Mahomet Who in his pendant Tomb at Moecha yet Deceives the blinded Turks Swear him alone Greater than the World's Saviour on his Throne Swear that the Musselman's true Sanctity The unbelieving Christian does Outvy A Thousand other Falshoods Swear too which Shall raise your Fame in Hell t' a higher Pitch Than tott'ring Poland's Throne whose Steps ascend To Ruine faithless Princes in the End Perhaps now Crown'd you think your Greatness can Protect you from the common Lot of Man Tho' Kings are stiled Gods yet must they Die Their Scepters Riches Crowns nor Dignity Cann't save them from the Power of that Fate Which will not grant to Life a longer Date Nay had you all Endowments which adorn The Mind or Body Death such Gifts will Scorn The Beauty of Young Absalom or Age Of Lamech's Son the Policy of Sage Achitophel nor Height of Saul the Son Of Kish the Wisdom of King Solomon Or matchless Strength of Sampson could not be Defence enough against Mortality I 'm apt to think thou' rt wicked Julian's Ghost Who in the middle of a num'rous Host Smitten by God flung up towards the Sky Handfuls of Blood to shew he did Defie The force of Heaven to the last But now Some hurly burly-being rais'd below Among the Damned you have stol'n away From those dark Shades into the Beams of Day If Man you must descend of that Fell Wretch A Monster whilst on Earth who was no Sketch But perfect Picture of as horrid Crimes You count the Glory of the Present Times Who would when dreadful Thunder-claps broke through The Mounts of Heaven and swift Lightning flew About the limpid Air in proud Disdain Throw counterfeited Thunder back again To make Resemblance that his Majesty Was equal to the Powers of the Sky That you might see your Errors all and fear The Scourge of God I wish there might appear Comets extending frightful blazing Tails A Navy which through Clouds of Fire Sails Warr'ours in a confused Enmity With stranger Apparitions in the Sky Which might portend some heavy Punishment Was due to you unless you do Repent But ah I dread thou' rt too much harden'd in The Love of Monarchy thy darling Sin Good Counsel you will spurn against and count Them all as Foes who 'd have you to dismount Your Iv'ry Throne a Bliss you think so good That God in Competition with you stood About it if he should Displeasure shew By dire Signs which from his Anger flew Who would besides your self have all this Shame Only to be a gawdy Thing in Name Power you 've none for the Republick Rules As it thinks fit Crowns are but lent by Poles Your Queen durst not be there unless like you She 'll head-long damn her Soul and Body too Because a Gentleman they let you wear A Sword but of your drawing it take care For if you offer there to be Uncivil They 'll drive you and your Saxons to the Devil Such is your high Ambition which would feign By grand Rebellion over Angels Reign That Laws of Nations Bonds and solemn Leagues No Infl'ence have on you your dark Intrigues With Hell in whose behalf you draw your Sword Make you with Kings and Princes break your Word Your Pride with which you meet your Glory can Deceitful be to God as well as Man Does Hell and Rome already stir you up To fill the ever-thirsting Harlot's Cup With Blood of Innocence without a Cause Damn'd and be double damn'd your bloody Laws Must Lifeland now be Plunder'd Ravaged Made a Sepulchre for the Massacred The Streams of sweet Duina be Intwin'd With Romish Rage and under Blood Confin'd It 's hard but Riga will I do not doubt For Sweden's Honour hold your Fury out If you Dominion over them should have Rogues sent to Gallies or an Algier Slave Would have less Bondage so they 'll Freedom choose Rather than like the French wear Wooden Shoes As a Bassaw when some Deaf Mute doth blow The Fatal Trumpet at his Door and shew The Sultan's Ribbon'd Orders for his Head Trembles wax Pale and with the Fright half Dead Resigns his Life Resistance being vain Against the force of a Despotick Reign So to great Taxes must the Swedes then bow And not presume to ask why it is so Sic volo sic jubeo compels When Vassals to obey against their Wills Nay more than this your Rage will Violate Those Holy Altars which they Consecrate Unto a Sacred Deity that