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On ye Gunpowder-Treason.


Sing Impiety beyond a name:

Who stiles it any thinge, knowes not the same. Dull, sluggish Ile! what more than lethargy Gripes thy cold limbes soe fast, thou canst not fly, And start from of[f] thy center? hath heaven's love Stuft thee soe full with blisse, thou can'st not move? If soe, oh Neptune, may she farre be throwne By thy kind armes to a kind world unknowne : Lett her survive this day, once mock her fate, And shee's an Island truely fortunate. Lett not my suppliant breath raise a rude storme To wrack my suite. oh keepe pitty warme In thy cold breast, & yearely on this day Mine eyes a tributary streame shall pay. Do'st thou not see an exhalation Belch'd from the sulph'ry lungs of Phlegeton? A living Comet, whose pestiferous breath Adulterates the Virgin aire? with death It labours. stif'led nature's in a swound, Ready to dropp into a chaos, round About horror's displai'd; It doth portend, That earth a shoure of stones to heaven shall send, And crack the Christall globe; the milky streame Shall in a silver rain runne out, whose creame Shall choake the gaping earth, wch then shall fry In flames, & of a burning fever dy. That wonders may in fashion be, not rare, A winter's thunder with a groane shall scare, And rouze the sleepy ashes of the dead, Making them skip out of their dusty bed. Those twinckling eyes of heaven, wch ev'n now shin'd, Shall with one flash of lightning be struck blind. The sea shall change his youthfull greene, & slide Along the shore in a grave purple tide. It does præsage, that a great Prince shall climbe, And gett a starry throne before his time.

To usher in this shoale of Prodigies,
Thy infants, Æolus, will not suffice.
Noe, noe, a giant wind, that will not spare
To tosse poore men like dust into the aire;
Justle downe mountaines: Kings courts shall be sent,
Like bandied balles, into the firmament.
Atlas shall be tript upp, Jove's gate shall feele
The weighty rudenes of his boysterous heele.
All this it threats, & more: Horro', that flies
To th' Empyræum of all miseries.
Most tall Hyperbole's cannot descry it;
Mischeife, that scornes expression should come nigh it.
All this it only threats. the Meteor ly'd;

It was exhal'd, a while it hung, & dy'd.

Heaven kickt the Monster downe. downe it was throwne,
The fall of all things it præsag'd, its owne

It quite forgott. the fearfull earth gave way,
And durst not touch it, heere it made noe stay.
At last it stopt at Pluto's gloomy porch;
He streightway lighted upp his pitchy torch.
Now to those toiling soules it gives its light,
Wch had the happines to worke i'th' night.
They banne the blaze, & curse its curtesy,
For lighting them unto their misery.
Till now hell was imperfect; it did need
Some rare choice torture; now 'tis hell indeed.
Then glutt thy dire lampe with the warmest blood,
That runnes in violett pipes: none other food
It can digest. then watch the wildfire well,
Least it breake forth, & burne thy sooty cell.

Upon the Gunpowder-Treason.


Each me a quill, pluckt from the flaming wing Of Pluto's Mercury, that I may sing Death to the life. My inke shall be the blood Of Cerberus, or Alecto's viperous brood. Unmated malice! Oh unpeer'd despight! Such as the sable pinions of the night Never durst hatch before: extracted see The very Quintessence of villanie.

I feare to name it; least that he, wch heares,
Should have his soule frighted beyond the spheres.
Heaven was asham'd, to see our mother Earth
Engender with the Night, & teeme a birth
Soe foule, one minutes light had it but seene,
The fresh face of the morne had blasted beene.
Her rosy cheekes you should have seene noe more
Dy'd in vermilion blushes, as before :

But in a vaile of clouds mufling her head
A solitary life she would have led.

Affrighted Phoebus would have lost his way,
Giving his wanton palfreys leave to play
Olympick games in the' Olympian plaines,
His trembling hands loosing the golden raines.
The Queene of night gott the greene sicknes then,
Sitting soe long at ease in her darke denne,
Not daring to peepe forth, least that a stone
Should beate her headlong from her jetty throne.
Jove's twinckling tapers, that doe light the world,
Had beene puft out, & from their stations hurl'd.
Eol kept in his wrangling sonnes, least they
With this grand blast should have bin bloune away.
Amazed Triton with his shrill alarmes

Bad sporting Neptune to pluck in his armes,
And leave embracing of the Isles, least hee
Might be an actor in this Tragedy.

Nor should wee need thy crisped waves, for wee
An Ocean could have made t' have drowned thee.
Torrents of salt teares from our eyes should runne,

And raise a deluge, where the flaming sunne
Should coole his fiery wheeles, & never sinke
Soe low to give his thirsty stallions drinke.
Each soule in sighes had spent its dearest breath,
As glad to waite upon their King in death.
Each winged Chorister would swan-like sing
A mournfull Dirge to their deceased King.
The painted meddowes would have laught no more
For joye of their neate coates; but would have tore
Their shaggy locks, their flowry mantles turn'd
Into dire sable weeds, & sate, & mourn'd.
Each stone had streight a Niobe become,
And wept amaine; then rear'd a costly tombe,
T'entombe the lab'ring earth. for surely shee
Had died just in her delivery.

But when Jove's winged Heralds this espied,
Upp to th' Almighty thunderer they hied,
Relating this sad story. streight way hee
The monster crusht, maugre their midwiferie.
And may such Pythons never live to see
The Light's faire face, but still abortive bee.

Upon the Gunpowder-Treason.


Row plumpe, leane Death; his Holinesse a feast Hath now præpar'd, & you must be his guest. Come grimme destruction, & in purple gore Dye sev'n times deeper than they were before Thy scarlet robes. for heere you must not share A common banquett. noe, heere's princely fare. And least thy bloodshott eyes should lead aside This masse of cruelty, to be thy guide Three coleblack sisters, (whose long sutty haire, And greisly visages doe fright the aire; When Night beheld them, shame did almost turne Her sable cheekes into a blushing morne, To see some fowler than herselfe) these stand, Each holding forth to light the aery brand, Whose purer flames tremble to be soe nigh, And in fell hatred burning, angry dy, Sly, lurking treason is his bosome freind, Whom faint, & palefac't feare doth still attend. These need noe invitation. onely thou Black dismall horror, come; make perfect now Th' Epitome of hell: oh lett thy pinions Be a gloomy Canopy to Pluto's minions. In this infernall Majesty close shrowd Your selves, your Stygian states; a pitchy clowd Shall hang the roome, & for your tapers bright, Sulphureous flames, snatch'd from æternall night. But rest, affrighted Muse; thy silver wings May not row neerer to these dusky Kings. Cast back some amorous glances on the cates, That heere are dressing by the hasty fates, Nay. stopp thy clowdy eyes. it is not good, To droune thy selfe in this pure pearly flood. But since they are for fire-workes, rather prove A Phenix, & in chastest flames of love. Offer thy selfe a Virgin sacrifice To quench the rage of hellish deities.

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