Scoticlassicum.
Vpon His MAJESTIES happy arrivail in Scotland.
EDENBVRGH.
Printed by GEDEON LITHGOW, 1650.
1.
The Heavens have heard our groans at leng
[...]
Our Prayers have with God prevaild,
[...]nd all the damned plots are faild,
Which Hell did hatch with skill and strength,
[...]reat
Charles our Sunne (ecclypst almost)
[...]hines fair on
Caledonïas coast,
[...]is beames the blackest clouds doe cleare,
[...]he Temples in loud thanks doe Sing,
[...]he Castles pales of Cannon ring,
[...]nd Ioy doth eury Where appeare.
2.
[...]ee how those Helhounds Snarling stand,
[...]hose branded Currs that bark'd of late,
Against this Cuntry, Church and State.
[...]nd Curse a farre this happy land:
Malicious Mastifs, shame of men,
[...]hat durst so long a King detaine
[...]rom those that su'd Him even with teares;
[...]ou'd rather seen Him beg His bread
[...]hen
Scotlands Croune set on His head,
Because youd have no Credite there.
3.
That Providence that Sweys the Spheres,
Did pull Him from your filthy clawes,
T
[...]o lett you sit with gaping Iawes,
And belch out oathes disdain full Ieers,
And if you be but worth a groat
To drink Confusion to the Scott
Lash
Lesly, whip
Argile, and Spare not,
They in their Kings just cause will goe
Where you dare not your faces Showe,
And though you hang your Selves they can not.
4.
Goe with your renting rascall rable
Of Colonells coynd Without cloakes,
Stout men in talk if words were Strokes,
And Valiant at a Wel Seru'd table:
Wee hate that damning cursing crue
Whom there oune Cruntry forth did Spew
And who have drawn these Iudgments doune
There wicked lives, blasphemous toungs,
Oppressions, Villainies, and Wroungs
Haue to these fires the bellows bloune.
5.
Wee hope with helpe of Heaven alone
With
Scottish hands and Valour stout,
To beat those bloody Rogues to route
And set King
Charles on Englands Throne,
And with there blood to wash away
That blott they falsly on us lay
That wee for monney Sold the Father,
The World our Innocence shall see,
And that those Traytors perfidie,
Deceaud our trust, or Weaknes rather.
6.
When England had a Parlement
Compleat, composd of honnest men,
Ere knaves and Sectaries began
To work their damnable intent,
The King upon the Solemn oath
Of English Peeres was free to both,
The
Scots from
Tine marchd over
Tweed:
Then Rogues rose up, and might made right,
The Souldier gainst the State did fight
And His oune King a Captive lead.
7.
The Coward Citty Cuckolds nest,
For al her gunnes cast ope Her gates,
And save the Houses fored; the seatts
By Independant Knaues possest,
Slaves took the power into their hands,
The Nobles couchd at their Commands
The King was carried up and doune,
Till from the barre unto the blocke
The Sacred Head stopt to the stroke
Of a base Axe which felld the Croune.
8.
Arch-Traytors, Tygers, Wolvish doggs,
That durst the Lords annointed kill,
The Sacred bloud that you did Spill,
Shall droune your fields to bloudy boggs:
Heavens vengeance shall so heavy fall,
On you and your successours all.
That
England shall for ever mourne
The ground for corne soure Hemp shall yee
[...]
To Hang you up in every field,
And all your Trees shal gibbets turne.
9.
The Royale ghost shall haunt your Hall,
And horrour shall your Soules affright,
Hells sights in silence of the Night
Your guilty Consciences shall gall.
The
Scottish sword shall mowe you doune,
And when your carcasses are throune
On dunghills, for the ravens food,
The stinch of them shall raise a pest
And famine shall consume the rest
To root out your unlucky brood.
10.
But you good soules that sighe to see
A Rascall rable rule and Raigne,
And dare not for your lives complaine
Faint not, though you oppressed be.
The happy day wil shortly come,
Shall bring your King triumphant home
And bring the Golden Age againe
But London must be first lay'd lowe
That
Charles may ore her ashes goe
To hang up
Cromwell in a chaine.
11.
Rouse up you drousy peevish Peeres,
For shame be not for ever slaves
Your place and bloud more Courage craves,
Degener not from your Forebe'ers,
They next to God did love there King,
From whom there Honours all did Spring
Will you by Coxcombs be Commanded!
By Souters, Taylors, Coblers, Curres,
Then quite your golden Swords and Spurre
[...]
And take Some Trade to understand it.
12.
Base Gentrie blushe, and hide your faces,
To serve such Clounes as keep you lowe,
And Squease your substance from you so
That they are Lords, you have but laces
Yet will you Suffer and sit still,
And give your monney with good will,
Who grudgd at subsidies before?
Packhorses vvho should pitty you,
Since your Content your backs to bowe
Wee vvishe your burthens may be more.
13.
Levites dare you lift up your hands
To beg a blessing on these men,
Whom their Dread Soveraignes bloud doth stayne,
And cries for Vengeance on the Land?
Are you Seduced all, and led
By your neew
Mahomet that blade,
The Prophet
Peters, Hugh that cries?
A stubborne spirit rules in Him
When sack in spires him to the brim
His Lord and Maister Hee denyes.
14.
Preach woe and Iudgment hanging ore
That cursed crue that killd their King,
And all those plagues that Heaven will bring
Vpon those Murtherers, thunder, roare.
Tell Traytor
Fairfax to his face,
Though he have now layd doune his Place
Yet from Gods hand He cannot flee,
And pray that they may ne'er repent,
That did there Princes death consent
But that the innocent be free.
15.
Poore Poeple musled, and missled,
That must a monster now adore
Shake of thy yoak and grone no more
In slavery but sett up thy head.
Cal for your King, hang up those Knaves,
That suck your bloud and make you slaves
There is no service to a King:
Hee is your Father and your Lord
Ordaind of God to swey the sword
His Raigne shall blessings to you bring.
16.
Thou souldier that hast sold thy soule
For Lawles liberty and gaine
A Tyrant Monster to maintaine
With many heads, most ougly foule,
Thy wickednes and woefull wroung
Shall find the just reward ere loung
When thou dismembred torne shalt lie
And curse these Rogues that made thee rise,
Against thy King, before whose Eyes
Thou gaspes in gore but canst not die.
17.
Vp
Scotland then thy Standards spread,
And follow forth / Lord of Hoasts,
Who Laughs at bragging
Pharos boasts,
And through the seas his oune doth lead,
His hand from heaven shall lead thee on
To tread thyne enemys necks upon,
And ore their bellys Conquering goe
Till Thou set
Charles vpon his Throne,
And see those Traytors every one
Hang'd quartered, drawne, thy Zeall to showe.
18.
And Thou o Lord! goe still before.
Armd with Thy Thunders fire and flamme,
To put his ennemys to shame
That wil not his just power a dore,
Send Thy destroying Angell doune
The Rebell campe in bloud to droune,
But guard thyne oune with Walls of fire
Shoot Lightnings in their faces Lord,
And strike them blinde untill the Sword
Have drunk their bloud at full desire
19.
Goe on Great King God Thee desend
And Croune thy head with Victorie.
That all thine ennemys may see
Heavens blessing doth thy armes attend.
May thy just Sword Sharp Vengeance take
Of those that Seek thy power to shake
And cutt the cords of Conjuration,
And may Thy Scepter break and bruse
All that thy just Command refuse.
And thou be deare every Nation.
20.
Defend the Church shee is Thy Mother
Her blessing shall upon Thee be,
Her Prayers have preserved Thee,
God heares Her Still above all other,
Let no proud Prelates creep within
Her gates, Strange guises te begin,
But have ore Such a Watchfull Eye
These Wolves did Waste the Church of late
And troubled Sore both Church and State
The Load did heavy on Her lie.
21.
Maintain the Lawes, and make more good,
Doe Iustice as becomes Thy place,
And be no niggard of thy Grace,
Nor Lavish of Thy subjects bloud:
So shall Thy throne establishd be
In Righteousnes and Equitie
And Plenty shall heap up Thy store.
Thy Lands shall florish, and Thy ships
Shall safly plough the Swelling deeps,
And fill with forrain good Thy shore.
22.
Brave Nobles that from ancient names
Draw your descent and, pedegree,
Whose worthy featts of Chevalrie
Left lasting Honours to these Times,
What fair occasion haue you now
Your Loyall Courage for to showe
In Service of your noble King?
Heavens never blest a better cause
God calls you, and your duty drawes,
Then bravely forth your banners bring,
23.
Stand up in armes all honnest Scots.
Revenge your King, His Crounes recouer,
And Conquerours march all
England over,
To sheath your Swords in Rebells throats.
Pull those usurping Traytours doune
And hang them up, then burne there Toune
That nothing may remayne at all,
Then salt upon the ashes sowe
That neuer grasse again may growe,
Where
London Stood nor yet
Whitehall.
24.
Great King of Kings preserve our King
And guard Him with Thy Angells bright,
Couer His head when Hee Shall fight:
And to His brest a buckler bring:
Make all His ennemys sall back,
All Strength and Courage from them take
And let His Sword be drunk with bloud,
That when Thy hand hath Scattered them,
He may give glorie to Thy Name,
And loung Raigne, Happy, lust, and Good.