The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung Up in America, Part 6
A Dialogue between Old England and New, concerning 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.