THE OUT-CRY OF THE KINGS AT WESTMINSTER, or, the Junto, who call themselves a PARLIAMENT.
Their first Complaint.
MOst venerable Rabbies, of the Synod, to you we turne our selves, now in our extremity you that are the Pulpit drummers of the times, and by whose perswasion, we first ingaged against [Page 2] our Soveraign Lord, you that have proved by divine Sylogismes, that St. Peters counsell to fear God, and obey the King, is Apocripha, and that S. Pauls advice willing us to submit upon pain of Damnation, is meerly a fallacious Assertion.
The preposterousnesse of Fate, was ever Rebellion in more thriving course, then under our management, have we not tooke away the fundamentall Lawes of our Land, root and branch, have wee not forced a single Ordinance, as if a Statute, have we not taken away all order and discipline in the Church, and that the people might loose the fear of God, and obedience to their King at once have countenanced a Generall tolleration have we not ceazed on all our Kings revenew, his ships at sea, and his Militia by land, have we not a chosen Army whom we keep up on purpose [Page 3] to overaw the people to plunder their goods (and if we command) to kill their person at our pleasure, have we not our spies in each corner of the land, & more especially in London to whom we allow annual stipends whose taske it is, to intrude themselves into all customes, and to insinuate into mens favour that so they may with more facility, learn their dispositions and resolutions, that so we may be informed thereof, and if we know them Loyall, to murther them, or starve them in prison, as we did lately to Sir Thomas Shirley whom we sent prisoner to S. Peter, without so much as telling him for what, as also to Sir Thomas Cooper, who hath since escaped our hands, have wee not so impoverished the people by our plunderings and taxes, that they are not so much as in a possibility of resistance, have wee not inur'd them so to bondage, that they are as pliable to our commands as the tand gally-slave to his oate, have we not clapt up our King close prisoner in the Isle of Wight, and can we not murther him there at our pleasures, are wee not now a Free an absolute State, our selves Kings, and the King uselesse are wee not.
They proceed in their Out-cry.
The Army before Colchester rowted, the Scots now in England, Lambert put to the worst by Langdale, the Navie revolted, and the whole Kingdome rising upon us, the Son of our wronged Soveraign, dayly expected with an Army against us, which way, whither shall we runne, will the People bee no longer cheated with shewes, nor deluded with Chimeras, money we have store, but what doth that availe us, must we make those our heires, whose wealth was their own, ere we extorted it, doth both heaven & earth conspire our ruine, but must we fall so speedily, the Tame Animals of the City resolve to support us to the last, O lack Hall, Jack Hall, straine this invention to the highest pitch, let blasphemy and Treason both commix, thou shalt not want, either thy selfe or pander, write any thing good Jack, now thou hast entred Covenant with us, thou must resolve with us to fall or rise, if the Royall-party prevaile.
O Lillie, Lille, thou that canst command the stars to move, according to the composure o thy fingers, thou that canst cloath the dead Saints with flesh and mak'st the Furits of Barathrum to tremble at thy summons, thou that imploy'd the winged Spirits of the Ayre, to performe thy frequent Em [...] [...]ffa [...]s, thou that hast shoulder'd up our greatnesse hitherto, and perswaded the people into a good opinion of us, for the allowance to 1 per annum, and a share of all eminent Thanksgiving Dinners, why didst not thou forsee, this great unlookt for unlucky change, thou prognosticatedst peace and tranquility, a happy event to crown all our undertakings, and that wee should prove the most glorious villaines, that ever were, now we find Wharton, is a true Prophet, and that his predictions, are ratified above, his 28 of Iune is come, and destruction dogs us like our Destinie, ô Booker, Booker, did not thy great head harbour one conceit for the security, could thy Chrisolite which thou stolest, shew thee nothing, when thou compilest thy last bumbasted Almanack, our Prophets are planet struck, and our Deviners mad; ô Weaver, what a web have we now upon the Loome, ô Wild, how wildly have we rambled to our ruine, ô Corbet what will become of thy smokey visinemir, which the Cavaliers have threatned to sowse and caribnado, and then send it as an hoggsface to Pluto, for him to feast the Fiends withall, ô Scot, what will now bee thy Lot; ô Warner, wee sorrow for thee extreamly, for the Roguing Apprentices, will now have an opportunity to performe their vowes, and to naile thy leather eares, to the door post of thine own house; ô Lenthall, our flippant speaker. who hast spake so well for us this seaven yeares, and so dexterously, hast pleaded thy own cause, that thou art now master of many millions of money, all which we hope (as forseeing this storme) thou hast convei'd to some forraign land; ô Challenor, what will become of thee, and thy wall eyes, ô Rolles, how are we rowling down the hill on the suddaine, who some few moneths since, sat tryumphing on the top of Fortunes wheele; ô Marten, thou were wise, and gotst thy selfe with thy leash of curtezans into a place [Page 6] of strength, where thou mayest remain with safety, till thy house be fired about thee, thy eares, and thy head sent for a present to the King: whereas we are bare breasted, and stand as marks for the intensed people to shoot at ô Tom Fairfax what will become of thee, when thy gowty legs shall be chopt off, with thy head, and armes and the Cavaliers kick thee up and down Westminster, as a football, ô Nol, Nol, what will become of thy Nese, if thou beest yet mortall, which the Cavaliers will cut off, and fix it for a Reacon, on highgate-hill, oh, oh our Desteny:
Since we must fall, let us with our weight sinke the whole nation:
Let CHARLS be first be made away, by poyson, or secretly strangled, that we may be reveng'd before we die, but see where the Ghosts of Strafford, Laud, Tomkins, Challoner, Bourcher, Burleigh, and an infinite number of other Innocents whom we cruelly murdred, stand waiting to drag us into Phlegeton.