Classic Poem

I ST come to this? what? shal the cheeks of Fame,
Stretcht with the breath of learned Lowdons name,
Be flag'd again? and that great piece of Sence,
As rich in Loyalty, as Eloquence,
Brought to the Test, be found a trick of State?
Like Chymists tinctures, prov'd adulterate?
The Devill sure such language did atchieve,
To cheat our un-fore-warned Grandam Eve ,
As this Impostor found out, to besot
Th' experienc'd English , to believe a Scot .
Who reconcil'd the Covenants doubtfull Sence?
The Commons Argument, or the Cities Pence?
Or did you doubt, Persistance in one good
Would spoile the fabrick of your Brotherhood,
Projected first in such a forge of sin,
Was fit for the grand Devils hammering?
Or was't ambition, that this damned fact
Should tell the world you know the sins you act?
The infamie this super-treason brings,
Blasts more then murders of Your sixty Kings .
A crime so black, as being advis'dly done,
Those hold with this no competition.
Kings onely suffer'd then, in this doth lie
Th' Assasination of Monarchie .
Beyond this sin no one step can be trod,
If not t'attempt deposing of your God .
Oh were you so ingag'd, that we might see
Heavens angry lightning 'bout your eares to flee,
Till you were shrivel'd to dust; and your cold Land
Parcht to a drought, beyond the Lybian sand!
But 'tis reserv'd; and till heaven plague you worse,
Be Objects of an Epidemick curse.
First, may your Brethren , to whose viler ends
Your pow'r hath bawded, cease to count you friends;
And prompted by the dictate of their reason,
Reproach the Traytors, though they hug the treason.
And may their Jealousies increase and breed,
Till they confine your steps beyond the Tweed .
In forraigne Nations may your loath'd name be
A stigmatizing brand of Infamie;
Till forc'd by generall hate, you cease to rome
The world, and for a plague go live at home:
Till you resume your poverty, and be
Reduc'd to beg, where none can be so free
To grant; and may your scabbie Land be all
Translated to a generall Hospitall.
Let not the Sun afford one gentle Ray,
To give you comfort of a Summers day.
But, as a Guerdon for your traiterous War,
Live cherisht onely by the Northern Star.
No Stranger deign to visit your rude Coast,
And be to all, but banisht Men, as lost.
And such , in height'ning of th'infliction due,
Let provok'd Princes send them all to you.
Your State a Chaos be, where not the Law,
But Power, your Lives and Liberties may awe.
No Subject 'mongst you keep a quiet brest,
But each man strive through blood to be the best;
Till, for those miseries on us you've brought,
By your own sword our just revenge be wrought.
To summe up all — — let your Religion be,
As your Allegiance , mask'd hypocrisie:
Untill, when C HARLES shall be compos'd in dust,
Perfum'd with Epithetes of Good and J UST ;
HE sav'd; incensed Heaven may have forgot
T' afford one act of mercy to a Scot ;
Unlesse that Scot deny himselfe, and do
(What's easier farre) renounce his Nation too.