BABEL and
BETHEL: or, The POPE in his Colours.
WITH The Church of
Englands Supplication to his Majesty, our gracious Soveraign, the true Defender of the Faith; To protect her from all the Machinations of
Rome, and its bloody Emissaries.
Rome's Scarlet
whore doth here in Tryumph Ride,
And Spurns off
Soveraign Crowns in Height of Pride
Poor
Christians and brave
Citties too shee
Burns:
And
Stabbs and Poisons daily serve her Turns.
Behold our
Church (like Esther here doth tender
Her Supplications to the
Faiths Defender:
In vain
Rome Plots, whilst
Charles y
e Scepter Sways
May
Sled and
Gibbet end all
Traitors Days.
SCarce had
bright Truth, with an enliv'ning Ray,
Chac'd the
black Mists of Ignorance away,
Restor'd the
Gospel, and our Souls set free
From
slavish Chains of New Idolatrie;
But all the Pow'rs of
Darkness did unite,
And club their hellish Mists t'
Eclipse that Light.
As when from
Egypts Thraldom Israel came,
Led by a
Cloud by day, by night a
Flame,
Straight cruel
Pharaoh did Gods Flock pursue,
Till the
Seas Billows all his Host o'rethrew:
So, in the early
Reformations dawn,
When
Englands Church had seas'nably withdrawn
Herself from
Spiritual Egypts dangerous yoke,
Endeav'ring Truths long
Banisht to revoke;
Winnow'd the
Chaff from Corn, the
Dross from Gold,
And would no more
Romes Superstitions hold:
That haughty
Pharaoh with the Triple Crown
(Through all the World for
Pride and
Rapine known)
Bestirr'd himself, and from each gloomy Cell
Summon'd up all the
Troops of raging Hell,
At once to ruine both our
Church and
State,
By
close Intrigues of Spight, and
open Hate.
A thousand
Plots, a thousand
Snares were laid;
With
Craft they undermine, with
Force invade.
Pregnant with Mischiefs, every Age they shew
Some recent Cruelties, some Treasons new.
Singly at first began their
Butchers Trade;
Smithfield was then their
flaming Shambles made.
Next, the
whole Kingdom at one Blow they hope
To
sacrifice unto their
Moloch-Pope.
But still
incircled with Heavens mighty Arm,
Blest Isle! thou stand'st secure, and free from harm.
Th' Invincible Armade of haughty
Spain
Attempts our
Angel-guarded Coasts in vain.
Fauxes dark Lanthorn's brought to
Light; and
Thames
Triumphs o're
baffled Tyburs bitter streams,
Seeing its
LONDON more illustrious grown
By all those
Fire-brands that on her were thrown.
Those
Modern Bloodhounds, who so curstly sought
Our
Sovereigns Life, and Ruine to have brought
Upon us All, in their
own Traps are caught.
For these
repeated Mercies let us pay
Kinde Heaven our Thanks in some uncommon way;
And ne're
turn back in Popish paths to stray.
Mean time
this Figure courts your welcome Eye,
Where first you may that
Man of Sin descry,
Romes mighty
Mufti, who in Pomp doth sit,
And owns no Rule (but's
Lust) of
Just, or
fit.
Two Swords are Brandisht in his bloody hand,
Boasting both
Souls and
Bodies to Command;
The double
Engines of his fatal Ills;
First he
Excommunicates, and then he
Kills.
Two Keys, the one
locks Truth up from mens eyes,
Th'other
sets ope the Shop of Heresies,
Errours, and Superstitions, which are hurl'd
By's busie
Imps ore all the
hoodwink'd world.
From his
vile Mouth proceeds
a reaking steam
Of Pride, which doth both Kings and God
Blaspheme;
Usurps the Powers
Divine; makes void God's Laws;
Pardons
All Sin for Gold; and over-aws
Poor Mortals with his
full-mouth'd Curses, till
They truckle to his haughty
boundless Will.
Treads on the
(*)
Necks of Emperours, and owns
A Power at pleasure to
Kick off their Crowns.
This is that
Holy-monstrous-three-Crown'd Head,
Whereby
Rome's cruel
Synagogue is led.
How long! how long, Lord! Holy, Just and True!
Shall thy
Revenging Arm cease to pursue
This
earthly Lucifer? Why
sleeps thy Thunder
To crush such Pride, and break these bands asunder?
Hasten thy
thickest Plagues t'avenge their Cause
Whom he has
Martyr'd for thy Sacred Laws.
Make all true Christian
Kings to hate that Whore,
Rev. 17.16.
And
Burn the Strumpet they did once Adore.
Allow this Transport, Reader; if thou art
A Protestant, like
Zeal must warm
thy heart.
But next, Behold!
a nobler Scene is shown,
Our
Gracious Sovereign on his well-fixt Throne.
To whom,
Our Church, beset on every side
With Popish
Hamans fierce and cruel Pride,
Like good Queen
Esther bows her Reverend Knee,
And thus implores his known Benignity;
"Great Prince!
preserv'd by Miracle! I sue
"First
to my Head in Heaven, and next to
You.
"For me Your
Glorious Father lost his Crown,
"And long Your Self were Banish'd from Your own.
"In those
black Days how oft did You maintain
"My Holy
Truths, whilst
Jesuits bark'd in vain!
"That
Constancy Heaven now
rewards with
Power,
"To yoak those Savage
Boars, that would devour
"My tender Plants, and with fresh Plots pursue
"To strike
me dead, by Murdering of
You.
"Let not
Zerviah's
brood too strong become,
"But scatter all th'Intrigues of
bloody ROME.
This said —
See! how the King (ever the Churches
Friend)
Doth straight his gracious
Scepter forth extend;
Professing 't shall to all the World be known,
Her
Safety's pretious to Him, as His
Own.
This
Justice must secure: To
spare sometimes
Is
Cruelty, and doth
encourage Crimes.
To
Execution let the
Guilty go,
And the next Age a needful
Warning show.
Of Catholick
Religion prate no further,
Your Crimes are
Treasons, Blood, and horrid
Murther.
O
Rome! Lives yet that
Wolf which was thy Nurse,
When growing
Great, thou grew'st the whole Worlds
Curse?
May none yet
leap thy Walls, or
leave thy See
Unslain, though he
a King and Brother be?
Retainst thou yet that
Savage kinde, to
Prey
On the distressed
Flock which shuns thy way?
Do all that
suck thy breasts, for Milk suck
Blood?
Dare none that spring from thee
Die well? do
good?
Must
Gibbets only
Rock them to their Rest?
Do they desire that Death, become they't best?
Must Traiterous
Villains only be thy
Saints?
Wear none
white Robes but such as
Scarlet Paints?
Why else do all
Ill men so fast drink up
The deadly
Lees of thy
Inchanted Cup?
Or why do Fools so Credit what
Rome saith,
But 'cause they soon can learn
Implicite Faith?
If the Pope's Girdle keep Heav'ns Keys,
sans doubt
Hee'l never Bar his own
dear Martyrs out.
Nor need they fear where
Jesuits have to do,
Garnet shall be a
Saint, and
Coleman too.
Their
Writings and
Examples Murther teach;
They'l not Condemn the Doctrine which they Preach.
This makes our
Desperate Ruffians, Romans dye.
And our
Crackt Madams seek a
Nunnery.
From Popish
Faith, and Popish
Tyrannie,
Lord, ever keep our
British Nations free.
Blast all the Counsels of
Achitophel,
Unvail th'
Intrigues of every Treacherous
Cell.
Preserve the
King, and his
Great Council too:
Guide with thy
Grace and
Blessing, all they do.
That we secure, each under his own Vine,
May all in joyful Acclamations joyn:
And never in our
Hallelujahs cease
To magnifie the
Author of our Peace. Amen.
FINIS.