Sad and Deplorable News from New England, Title page – Prologue
Sad and Deplorable NEVVES FROM Nevv England. Poetically Related by an Inhabitant there, and Newly ſent over to a Merchant in LONDON.
BEING A TRUE NARRATIVE OF NEW-ENGLANDS Lamentable Eſtate at preſent, Occaſioned by many un-heard of Cruelties, Practiſed upon the Perſons and Eſtates of its United Colonies, without Reſpect of Sex, Age or Quality of Perſons by the barbarous Heathen thereof.
With Allowance
LONDON, Printed for H. J. Anno Dom. 1676.
THE PROLOGUE.
THE times wherein old Pompion was a Saint,
When men far'd hardly yet without complaint
On vileſt Cates; the dainty Indian Maize
Was eat with Clamp ſhells out of wooden Trayes
Under thatcht Hutts without the cry of Rent,
And the beſt Sawce to every Diſh, Content.
When Fleſh was food, and hairy skins made coats,
And Men as well as Birds had chirping Notes.
When Cimnels were accounted Noble Blood,
Among the tribes of common herbage food.
Of Ceres bounty form'd was many knack,
Enough to fill poor Robins Almanack.
Theſe golden times (too fortunate to hold)
Were quickly ſinn'd away for love of gold.
'Twas then among the buſhes, not the ſtreet,
If one in place did an inferiour meet,
Good-morrow Brother; Is there ought you want?
Take freely of me what I have, you ha'nt.
Plain Tom and Dick would paſs as current now,
As ever ſince, Your Servant Sir, and bow.
Deep skirted doublets, Puritanick capes,
(Which now would render men like upright Apes)
Was comelier wear our wiſer Fathers thought,
Then the caſt faſhions from all Europe brought.
'Twas in thoſe days an honeſt Grace would hold
Till an hot Puddin grew at heart a cold.
And men had better ſtomachs to Religion,
Then I to Capon, Turky cock or Pigeon.
When honeſt Siſters met to pray, not prate
About their own, and not their Neighbors ſtate.
During Plain-Dealings Reign, that worthy Stud
Of th' Ancient Planters Race before the Flood.
Theſe Times were good, Merchants car'd not a ruſh
For other fare then Jonakin and Muſh.
Although men far'd and lodged very hard,
Yet Innocence was better then a Guard.
New Englands Beauties, which ſtill ſeem'd to me
Illuſtrious in their own ſimplicity.
'Twas ere the Neighboring Virgin-land had broke
The Hogſheads of her worſe then helliſh ſmoke.
'Twas ere the Iſlands ſent their Preſents in,
Which but to uſe was counted next to ſin.
'Twas ere a Barge had made ſo rich a fraight
As Chocolate, duſt Gold and bits of Eight.
Ere Wines from France and Moſcovadoe too,
Without the which the drink will ſcarcely do.
From Weſtern Iſles, ere fruits and delicacies,
Did rot Maids teeth, and ſpoil their handſom faces▪
Or ere theſe times did chance, the noiſe of War
Was from our towns and hearts removed far.
No Bug-bear Comets in the Chryſtal Air,
To drive our Chriſtian Planters to deſpair.
No ſooner Pagan malice peeped forth,
But Valour ſnib'd it; then were men of worth
Who by their Prayers ſlew thouſands, Angel like,
Their weapons are unſeen with which they ſtrike.
Then had the Churches reſt, as yet the coales
Were covered up in moſt contentious ſouls.
Freeneſs in Judgement, Union in Affection,
Dear Love, ſound Truth, they were our grand Protection;
Theſe were the Twins which in our Councels ſate,
Theſe gave Prognoſticks of our future fate;
If theſe be longer-liv'd our hopes increaſe,
Theſe warrs will uſher in a longer Peace:
But if New Englands love die in its youth
The Grave will open next for bleſſed Truth▪
This Theam is out of date, the Peaceful Houres
When Caſtles needed not but pleaſant Bowers.
Nor ink but bloud and tears now ſerve the turn
To draw the figure of New Englands Urn.
New Englands hour of paſſion is at hand,
No power except Divine can it withſtand;
Scarce hath her Glaſs of fifty years run out,
But her old proſperous Steeds turn heads about,
Tracking themſelves back to their poor beginnings,
To fear and fare upon their fruits of ſinnings:
So that the Mirrour of the Chriſtian world
Lyes burnt to heaps in part, her Streamers furl'd
Grief reigns, joyes flee, and diſmal fears ſurprize,
Not daſtard ſpirits only, but the wiſe.
Thus have the faireſt hopes deceiv'd the eye
Of the big ſwoln Expectant ſtanding by.
Thus the proud Ship after a little turn
Sinks into Neptunes arms to find its Urn.
Thus hath the Heir to many thouſands born
Been in an inſtant from the Mother torn.
Ev'n thus thine Infant-cheeks begin to pale.
And thy ſupporters, through great loſſes, fail.
This is the Prologue to thy future woe
The Epilogue no Mortal yet can know.