Classic Poem

I.

N O w our holy Wars are don,
Betwixt the Father and the Son;
And since we have by righteous fate,
Distrest a Monarch and his Mate.
And first their heirs fly into France
To weep out their Inheritance;
Let's set open all our Packs,
Which contain ten thousand wracks;
Cast on the shore of the red Sea
Of Naseby , and of Newbery .
If then you will come provided with Gold,
We dwell
Close by Hell,
Where wee'l sell
What you will,
That is ill;
For Charity waxeth cold.

2.

Hast thou done murther, or bloud spilt,
We can soon giv't another name,
That will keep thee from all blame:
But be it still provided thus,
That thou hast once been one of us;
Gold is the God that shall pardon the Guilt,
For we have
What shall save
Thee from th' Grave,
Since the Law
We can awe;
Although a famous Prince's bloud were spilt.

3

If a Church thou hast bereft
Of its Plate, 'tis holy-theft;
Or for Zeal-sake, if thou beest
Prompted on to take a Priest;
Gold is a sure prevailing Advocate:
Then come
Bring a summe,
Law is dumb:
And submits,
To our wits;
For it's Policy guides a State.