The Causes of Scotland's miseries a poem in imitation of the VI. Ode of the third book of Horace. 1700 Approx. 10 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 5 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2011-04 (EEBO-TCP Phase 2). A31377 Wing C1538 ESTC R40318 18845823 ocm 18845823 108424

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 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. A31377) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 108424) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1664:12) The Causes of Scotland's miseries a poem in imitation of the VI. Ode of the third book of Horace. Horace. Carmina Liber III, 6. [8] p. Printed by James Watson ..., Edinburgh : 1700. Reproduction of original in the British Library.

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 eng Scotland -- Poetry. 2020-09-21 Content of 'availability' element changed when EEBO Phase 2 texts came into the public domain 2008-12 Assigned for keying and markup 2009-01 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2009-02 Sampled and proofread 2009-02 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2009-09 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion

THE CAUSES OF Scotland's Miſeries. A POEM IN Imitation of the VI. Ode of the Third Book OF HORACE.

Coelum ipſum petimus ſtultitia: ne que Per noſtrum patimur ſcelus Iracunda Jovem ponere fulmina. Horat. Lib. 1. Ode 3.

EDINBURGH, Printed by James Watſon in Craig's Cloſs, 1700.
THE CAUSES OF Scotland's Miſeries. A POEM IN Imitation of the VI. Ode of Horace's THIRD BOOK, DElicta majorum immeritus lues, Romane, donec Templa refeceris Aedeiſ que labenteis Deorum, & Foeda nigro Simulacra fumo. IN vain, Heroick SCOTS, in vain ye try True ſolid Eaſe, and calm Proſperity, By all your Tow'ring Projects to attain, While Guilt and Sacrilege your Land do ſtain; While in the Duſt your Church's Glories ly; Your Church which once ſo Fam'd for Purity, Her awful Head did raiſe above the Sky, Darting ſuch dazling Luſtre all around, As did with Panick Fears her Foes Confound. But now, alas! with Rubbiſh cover'd or'e, She's Hiſs'd at, that was Terrible before. But till ſuch time as ye with Pains repair Her Ruins, and her ſtately Turrets rear Out of the Duſt, to their firſt Dignity, Ne're think t' enjoy your Ancient Liberty: No, tho in naked Innocence your Souls Were bath'd, which yet your human State controuls, Your Sires black Perjuries hang o're your Head, And all the Guiltleſs Blood that they have ſhed, Which Heaven's avenging Juſtice at your Hand, Beyond all Controverſy, will demand. Dis te minorem quod geris imperas: Hinc omne principium, huc referexitum. Dii multa neglecti dederunt Heſperiae mala luctuoſae. 'Tis from the Bounty of th' Almighty God, Whoſe Providential Care and Divine Nod Rule the wide Univerſe, as He doth pleaſe: Or that ye are, or are in Peace and Eaſe. As ſolely pure Devotion did you raiſe, To wear Triumphant and Victorious Bays; So Pure Devotion muſt you ſtill Defend From dreadful Judgements, and a dreadful End. God knows! ſince we His Precepts have forſook, And ſhaken from our Necks His eaſy Yoak, How like the foaming Billows in their Pride, One Scourge upon another's Back does ride, In ſuch a ſort, that Ruin ſeems to be The fatal Upſhot of our Miſerie. Jam bis Monaeſes & Pacori manus, Non auſpicatos contudit impetus Noſtros: — Poene occupatam Seditionibus Delevit urbem Dacus, &c. No real Service we to Heav'n now pay In meer Hypocriſy we Fast and Pray, Ordroop but like Bul-ruſhes for a Day. Th' Almighty vext, in fiery Wrath look'd down, Our guilty Nation trembled at His Frown; And in His Anger paſt this juſt Decree: Since they a Formal Service pay to Me, A mighty Phantom their Reward ſhall be; Their Hopes I'll raiſe above their Hearts content, And tantalize their wiſh'd Enjoyment, Till they, in Sorrow, for their Sins Repent. He ſpoke, and we the ſad Effects have found, He daſh'd our infant Hopes againſt the Ground, And all our ſwelling Expectations drown'd: Civil Diſcords did rend our Bowels a while, And Forreign Swords hang o're our lab'ring Iſle: Death and his frightful Syth has ſtalk'd abroad, And mow'd down Men, like Graſs upon his Road: Diſeaſes all in ſwarmy Crowds do wait On the great Executioner of Fate: Dearth, near to Famine, has haraſs'd the Land For ſev'ral Years, by the Divine Command, By which the num rous Poor, for Hunger ſtarv'd, Have ſuffer'd that which others beſt deſerv'd: Devouring Flames, like wing'd Deſtroyers flew, Commiſſion'd Winds to their Aſſiſtance blew, (Oh! 'twas a Dreadful and a Diſmal Show) And in a trice their boundleſs Rage burnt down The greateſt Glories of the Imperial Town; The horrid Devaſtations made of late, Look like a Curſe more, than a common Fate. Faecunda culpae ſaecula, nuptias Primum inquinavere & genus & domos, Hoc fonte derivata clades In Patriam, Populum que fluxit. Motus doceri gaudet Ionicus Matura Virgo: &c. This fruitful Age of Vice did firſt begin With Breach of Solemn Vows, their Trade of Sin; From which vile Source ſuch corrupt Streams did riſe, As drown'd the Land in a Deluge of Vice: All Ties to Sacred Duties ſhaken off, Men then at Piety began to ſcoff, And by Degrees, unto that hight it grew, Each did bare-fac'd Prophanity avow. Pure Virtue is neglected every where, While Vice does in her gaudy Pomp appear; The Court debauch'd with ev'ry leud Exceſs, Th' obſequous Vulgar did commit no leſs; In ev'ry Place you could not fail to hear Men brag how they did Swagger, Drink and Swear, And boaſt of open Whoredoms without Fear. The Women too, whoſe Crown ſhould only be A Modeſt, Prudent, Decent Gravity, Exchanged all for Impudence and Pride, And act'd their Part in ev'ry Sin beſide. They who their Solemn Ties entire conſerv'd, And from the Time's Contagion were preferv'd, By wicked Edicts various ways oppreſt, No Peace at Home, Abroad could find no Reſt, By ſavage Ruffians pillag'd of their Wealth, They could not enjoy. Water but by ſtealth. Nay, which is more, deny'd the common Air, And forc'd by cruel Foes to ſad Deſpair, They fly like Birds before the Fowler's Snare; Murd'red in Fields, on Scaffolds, drown'd in Waves, Some ſtrangely Tortur'd, others Sold for Slaves, They could find no Repoſe but in their Graves: Laity and Clergy all diſtain'd in Gore, Made more impartial Foes their Practices abhor. Such as the Reins of Government did hold, By Native Pride and wicked Counſel bold, Took all the Means they could to puſh their way T'erect Tyrannick Arbitrary Sway. Theſe were our Fathers Sins, and ours are worſe, The ſureſt Marks of an impending Curſe. Great are our Sins, and juſt is our Diſtreſs, We Nothing Practiſe, and we All Profeſs. Survey Time's muſty Regiſters; look round The far extended habitable Ground, If you a Vip'riſh Race like this can find, A Race that's bent on Ills of every kind, That bafled Nature's Dictats do defy, And Mock the Precepts of Divinity, When God (in Words) they ſeem to Glorify. The Rich Man's Buſs'neſs is t' Oppreſs the Poor, He will not, Aid the Starving at his Door, Yet he'll beſtow Ten Guineas on a Whore. Nor God nor Man the Rich Oppreſſor fears; Man does Neglect, God for a time forbears, But ſure our Cries are echo'd in his Ears; His kindled Indignation will take vent, And Blaſt them with ſome Dreadful Puniſhment. A Publick Spirit's vaniſh'd quite away, And Private Int'reſts all our Actions ſway, For this the Father will the Son betray: What Scots Man now dares, for his Country's Good, Venture a Drop of his degen'rat Blood. O Heavens! of what Crimes have we been free? A Land polluted to a Prodigie. Non his Juventus orta Parentibus Infecit aequor Sanguine Punico: Pyrrum que & ingentem cecidit Antiochum, Annibalem que dirum. They were not ſuch mean Sp'rited Sots I gueſs, Our Sires, whoſe Progeny made Rome confeſs, Maugre her ſpreading Lawrels, and in ſpight Of all her Martial Troops, innur'd to Fight, That Scotland bred a Feirce and Warlick Crue, Whoſe ſtubborn Tempers they could ne're ſubdue: Nor could a Stock, Vitious like this, produce Such Hero's as great WALLACE and the BRUCE, Who by ſly Stratagems and brisk Allarms, Did put a Stop t' Edward's encroaching Arms. Did our Anceſtors, in Queen Mary's Reign, Their Native Rights to Tyranny reſign? If ſo, we yet had groan'd beneath the Yoak Of Popiſh Slav'ry, which they bravely broak. Damnoſa quid non imminuit dies? Aetas Parentum pejor avis, tulit Nos nequiores, mox daturos Progeniem vitioſiorem. What need I thus our Age of Crimes accuſe? What does not all-corrupting Time abuſe? Our Grandſires happier Age in Word and Deed, For Virtue did our Fathers Age exceed; Juſt as our Fathers Age did far outdo All virtous Acts we can pretend unto: And, Ah! avert it Heaven, methinks I ſee That we'll tranſmit unto Futuritie An Off-ſpring, yet more profligat than we. FINIS.