THE Commons Petition OF Long Afflicted England, TO THE CHIEFE CHANCELLOR OF HEAVEN, AND ONELY IVDGE OF EARTH.
With His Gracious answere thereto.
Published by C. I. for the Benefit of all True affected CHRISTIANS.
LONDON, Printed for Iohn Hammond. 1642.
The humble Petition of the poor distressed Commons of long afflicted ENGLAND.
IF bleeding soules, dejected hearts, finde grace,
Thou all-disposer, turne not back thy face
From us thy Supplicants, thrice 3 Suns have worn
Their Summer suits, since we began to mourne:
Egypts ten plagues we have endur'd thrice told,
Since blest
Eliza was with Saints enrold.
Thy Messengers of wrath their viols powre
Each day upon our heads, nay every houre
Plagues beget plagues, and fruitfull vengeance growes,
As if there were no end set to our woes.
Have our blacke sinnes, good God, rais'd such a cloud
Twixt us and heaven, that cries, though nere so loud,
Can get no passage to thy mercy Seat?
Are our iniquities good God, so great,
So infinite, as neither groanes nor teares
Can entrance get? Remember but the yeares
Of our afflictions: then forget, we crave,
Our sinnes, and bury them in deepest grave
Of darke oblivion, hide them in the side
Of our Redeemer; O let them be ty'de
In chaines, that they may never rise againe,
Let us no longer sue and cry in vaine:
Let these our supplications; this complaint,
Tenderd by our late Soveraigne, now thy Saint,
At last finde grace: was't not we humbly pray,
Enough at first thou tookst that Queen away?
Was not that Dove, that Lamb of innocence,
Sufficient sacrifice for our offence?
Oh no, our sinnes out-
[...]'d her, and our crimes
Did threaten to out-live the last of times.
[Page] Thou didst remove her, that she might not see
The sad beginnings of our misery.
Had Egypt thicker darknesse then had wee
When clearest eyes at mid-day could not see?
Vnwholsome mists, strange fogges, rumours of warres,
Evill portending Comets, blazing starres,
Prodigious births and most unnaturall seasons,
Spurning Philosophers quite beyond their reasons.
Frightiug the silly poore, the rich dehorting,
To leave their downy beds where they lay snorting.
Heaven in combust on seemes, the sky in Armes,
The starres beat Drummes, the sky doth sound Alarms,
The aire hath often bloody colours spread,
And all to rouze us from the lazie bed
Of base security, yet nought will fright us,
Till we were robd of that did most delight us,
Henry our joy:
Henry whose every limb
Thteatned to conquer death, and not death him.
Henry our pride, yea even
Henry the blest,
In whom great Britaine set up all her rest.
Who had not in that one an ample share?
What subject had not rather lost his heire?
What tender mother did not wish that Dart
Had glanc'd from him, and strooke her darlings heart?
All they which vertuous were, all which were good,
Turned their watry eyes to streames of blood.
But needs must thine annointed leave the Citie
Before it be destroyd, such is thy pitty,
And such thy goodnesse: Are there yet full ten
Is there good Lord, a number-lesse of men,
Whose innocence may slack thy kindled ire,
And keep this Sodom-Britaine from the fire.
Of thy just ones, is there not yet a sonle
Whose uprightnesse hath power to controule
Thy heav'd-up-hand of justice? if there bee,
For his or her sake cause thy clemencie
To waken mercie, let thy justice slumber,
And fave the greater for thy lesser number.
[Page] For his or her sake, wee doe humbly pray,
Respite of time give us a longer day,
And then enabled by your grace and favour,
Weel purchase pardon by our good endeavor.
Plague famine, darknesse, inundations,
Warrs wee have endured, and Innovations,
With evpectation of the worst can follow
By Popish Prelates, that have hearts most hollow,
Their Plots discover'd, even with feare and horror,
Makes us to sleep with care, and wake with terror.
Nor are we all this while from venome free,
The Catterpillar hangs on every Tree.
Lowsie Promooters, Monopoly-mongers.
A crew of upstart Rascalls, whose feirce hungers
Can nere be satisfyed, a sort of slaves,
Far more unsatiate then are Whores or Graves,
And doe more mischiefe then
Egyptian flies,
That with their buzzing, blinde the peoples eyes;
Yet at the last, God hath us comfort sent
In the bright Sun-shine of our Parliament,
VVhich may dispell the misty foggs of error,
And turne our clowdy day into faire weather.
The last Petition wee most humbly crave,
Is; They one heart one minde may have.
A GRACIOVS ANSWERE from our Blessed Mediator, &c.
YOur bold Petitions, Mortalls I have seen,
And finde it full of passion, full of spleen:
Prayers that enter heaven, and gaine a hearing,
Are wing'd with Charity: heers no appearing
VVith supplications fraught with ire, or gall:
I doe confesse (poore soules) the truth of all,
And wish a period to your miseries,
But first your infinie iniquities
[Page] Must have an end: Alas you must begin
To love faire Vertue, as you have done sin,
You must redeem whats lost, and know,
As heaven hath ever been to vengeance slow,
So by degrees is grace and mercy won,
Eyes that be full with gazing at the Sun,
Increase their griefe: If you would mercy gaine,
From unjust actions, you must then refraine:
How dares a wretched servant once require
From his just Master either grace or hire;
You must put off the shoes, with which you troad
The way of sin, ere you discourse with God.
Give me but ground for Comme
[...]ions,
Incouragement, and then your supplications
I shall receive: I left you rich, 'tis true,
And proud withall; You feard none, all fear'd you:
You were so farre from feare, that you denide
To pay him feare, that gave you cause of pride:
You must be humbled, heaven ever punish'd yet
All kind of Ranknesse with an opposite:
Hee that will surfit ere he gaine his health,
Must strictly fast. Had you sate still in wealth,
You never would have bow'd your stubborn knee
Vnto your great Creator, heaven or me.
I will not grieve your troubled soules too much,
Yet gently your ingratitudes ile touch,
And that you may the better know your errors,
I shall unto your memory call favors.
By you forgot, unthankfully forgotten,
My favors by you burried are, and rotten:
It is no ostentation to relate
Courtisies done to such as are ingrate;
I found you humbled like a scatterd flock,
Your very soules beaten against the Rock
Of Ignorance and Superstition,
Just in the way to follow to perdition,
I paid the shepherd, and the Pilot too,
And got nor Lambe, nor flock, nor fleece more then my due;
[Page]Where I never exacted from the common store,
Though all alike were Rich, alike were poore
For mine and thine, they are such things,
As scarsly known twixt Subjects and their Kings.
Princes like the Sunne, should from the floods exhale
The wealth they raise: then in a showre let fall
In every place, as they see cause, a share,
And not consume them in the worthlesse aire;
Their full Exchequers should like Conduits be,
Open to all, but to the poore most free.
And subjects should, like fields, be full of springs,
That naturally still fall toward their Kings.
The Common-wealth should alwayes be in motion,
Seas flow to brooks, and brooks should fall to th'ocean
Such
Royall and such loyall community,
Keep Kings and subjects still in unity.
I cannot say I grieve, this place is free
From passion, as from iniquity.
But yet I must, since
Scotland with it joyne,
Englands Exchequer is no better coine.
Sure there's false play, I feare the younger brother
Is growne too wise, too crafty for the other.
It is an ill made marriage where the Bride
Spends faster then the husband can provide.
Princes are Gods on earth, and subjects eyes
Vpon their actions must not stand like spies.
It is a dangerous and ungodly thing
To pry into the Chamber of a King.
The Arke of State is sanctified, and must
Be onely toucht by such are put in trust.
But you expect an auswer to your petition;
Then know, poore soules, tis given mee in commission
From heavens great King, to tell you all thats past
To whats to come, is but a sparke or blast.
Your sorrowes yet (alas) like womens throwes,
Doe goe and come: but there must follow woes
Ere England be delivered, it will make
Your very intrailes bleed, your soules to quake.
And children wish they never had been borne.
The sword will eate what plague hath over-split
And fire consume what famine hath not ript.
The Gospels Sun will lose his glorious light,
And ignorance as dark as blackest night,
Will spread her sable wings about this Ile,
And Babylons proud Whore once more defile
Albions white Clifts with her infectious breath,
Except I shield you that have conquerd death.
Repent, forsake your sinne, and stop my ire,
And save your Sodome-Britaine from the fire.
FINIS.