Selected quad for the lemma: war_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A52768
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A short history of the English rebellion compiled in verse by Marchamont Nedham, and formerly extant in his weekly Mercurius pragmaticus.
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Nedham, Marchamont, 1620-1678.
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1661
(1661)
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Wing N404; ESTC R9621
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12,112
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40
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But yet it seems they make a stand And cry it is no matter What need they care for Fire on Land Whose Journey lies by Water GOD send them Ships fair Winds and Tiâ—â—â— With Passage quick and good Or else I fear to scourge our pride They 'll swim through Seas of Blood The Holy War goes on apace Yet brings the Saints no Pay In triumph now they ne're say Grace But only Fast and Pray They many an hungry Conquest get But not Thanksgiving Dinners The City knows they scorn to eat With Publicans and Sinners The Members cannot spare one Meal Their Bags lie seal'd in Town What though they broke the Kings great Seal They 'll not undo their own The Country bids them starve or hang They 'll be no more kept under The Cavaliers will soundly bang Them all and spoil their Plunder Reformation thou Stalking-Horse Of our Hip-shotten State Th' Appendix of the Public Purse And Midwife of our Fate 'T was Thou and Beldam-Conscience first That set the world a madding And you your selves like Cain accurst Have ever since been gadding Pox take th' unlucky Cause for me It is a Wild Vagary The Bane of Boon Society For that first rais'd Canary Poor Sinners now must snap a crust Ye deadly sev'n farewel For since y' are all Excis'd we must Pay dear to purchase Hell What though the Factions are agreed The Kingdom still to cheat Do what they can it is decreed The King shall come and treat Come from the Dungeon to the Throne Great Charles and quell the rage Of th' Iron world with Thee alone Revives the Golden Age. Those very Saints which joy'd thy Fall And said thy day was done Will now like Persian-Pagans all Adore the Rising Sun No more wrapt up in Clouds remain Secluded from the Nation May Thou and Thine shine bright and reign A Glorious Constellation It is decreed Great Prince thy Fate Shall check their damned Plots Though London jade it for the State And bandies at the Scots The Presbyters now fain would ride And shew us t' other Feat Therefore to quell the Saints high pride They say the King shall treat Were he in their hands the Town 's their own The Houses too must work To vote the Independents down And mount the Rascal Kirk Away ye juggling paltry Crew Of well-affected Knaves Rather than free your Sov'raign you Your selves will live like Slaves Stand to 't ye Lords we 'll stand to you And clip the Commons wings Let not the Lev'ling Rascal-Crew Thus domineer like Kings The Lower is the Vpper-House And hath been so seven years Your Votes they value not a Lowse Ye Antichristian Peers They give you many a Ratling Peal And bait you one by one For should a Treaty take their Zeal And Saintships are undone My Lords of Gotam not of Greece Your Wisdoms I shall sing And sell you all for pence apiece If you reject your King No Camel like the LONDON breed To drudge pray pay and feast In Body and in Purse to bleed O 't is a patient Beast If you 'll needs pray pray stay at home Tell GOD your sad condition 'T is Popish to the Saints to come And put up your Petition This wondrous Idol of the States The Stomach hath of Bell Like Moloch it Mankind doth eat And quick devours like Hell As th' Horse-Leech Give it ever cries And rages like the Dragon As the old Serpent it is wise But it must fall like Dagon Would you know why the Plauge hath ceas't These last sev'n years now spent Because GOD knows no greater Pest Than this same Parliament How many thousands hath it swept Of Bodies Souls and Gold King Church and People none except Have all been bought and sold Our merry Pipes for Trumpets shrill Our Tabers chang'd to Drums Princes are brav'd by Jac and Gill Wat Tilers and Tom Thums 'T is time those Bags which caus'd the War Should make the War to cease For the States Music is to jar But our best Musick 's Peace Now shall the King enjoy his own And that new Vertue Treason Whereby the Saints do claim the Crown Be baffled with high Reason Great CHARLES thy Vertues I desire Not Solomons nor his Stores For who can tell most to admire His Wisdom or his Whores His Vices so eclips'd his Grace That wranglers cannot tell Whether as yet they may him place In Heaven or in Hell But all that was in him Divine And more to Thee is giv'n That where so many Graces shine A Prison must be Heav'n Another Blow will not the Scot And Loyal English do Sure Jove himself is of the Plot An Independent too Is he a King and will he see Rebels assault the Crown Had they but hands to reach 't is he Should next resign his own Is he a God and shall this Tribe Go on as they begin Atheists will say They do him bribe For Privilege to sin If these be Saints 't is vain indeed To think there 's Good or Evil The World will soon be of this Creed No God no King no Devil Of all those Monsters which we read In Afric Inde or Nile None like to those now lately bred Within this wretched Isle The Cannibal the Tygre fell Crocodile and Sycophant The Turk the Jew and Infidel Make up an English Saint By these were Lisle and Lucas crown'd Two Worlds both great and good For Men Art Arms were all here drown'd I' th' Deluge of their blood The Trump of Fame's too low and weak That of the General Doom Is only fit their praise to speak The World to be their Tomb. The Treaty holds and some men are Convinc'd the Wars will cease Fond Folk To think the Men of War Will e're endure a Peace Go bid the Scot quit English Ground The Swede the German Air Holland obey the Spanish Crown The Pope leave Peter's Chair Woo the great States-man to his Grave Preach Gospel to the Jews To Turks that Mahomet's a Knave Platonic Love to Stews Let Citizens loath sacred things Presbyters pride and ease When these are done make Saints love Kings And then we may have Peace See in what glory CHARLES now sits With Truth to conquer Treason And prove he is the King of Wits The World Himself and Reason Angels bear witness GOD looks down The Graces too attend Sure none but Devils then will frown Upon a blessed end Ten hundred thousand Loyal Hearts All bleeding at his Fate As many Wishes from all parts Flie round his Chair of State Come then ye dirty Sainted Elves Worse than Church-window paint By this fair Glass abhor your selves Learn here to be a Saint The King the four great Bills must pass And none but Saints be free Th' Irish and Cavaliers alas Must th' only Rebels be New Lords new Laws new Saints are we Religion's in a fine pickle When 't is resolv'd the Church shall be A Three-years Conventicle Militia too they needs must gain Those pretty carnal Tools For Pauls old