Perkin's Passing-Bell, OR THE TRAYTORS FUNERAL: BEING A New POEM on the REBELLS Overthrow, on Monday July the 6th Three Miles from BRIDGWATER.

This may be Printed, R. L. S.

A Wake my Muse! great Fame Allarms my Eares,
Bells, Trumpets, Drums, Affright the spatious Spheares;
In gentle Strains assist me to repeat
A Nobles Fall, (would he were Good as Great!)
Oh Perkin! Perkin! how could'st thou Combine
Thy own Destruction, in thy Ages Prime,
By such ignoble wayes, and forcing Fate
To check thy Pride Fond and Degenerate;
Shall Brittains Monarch's too to tender Love
(Bestow'd on thee) thus, undeserved prove.
How could'st thou then in such an horrid Cause
Turn Traytor, to divide, and humane Laws?
How could'st thou thus then so unnatural be
[...]
How could'st thou Plot 'gainst such a King as He?
One who had heap'd such Honours on thy Head,
And yet could'st thou ungrateful wish him Dead,
Not only wish him so, but in that Strife
To Act a part that was to take his Life;
Yet, cause thy Blood from Noble Springs do Flow,
Would Errour and not Malice make thee so!
Would thou wer't over reach'd that so the Sin
Might be less thine, than theirs that drew thee in:
Fain would I think it were with thee, as they
An Ignis Fatuus leads out of the Way,
So thou o'er sway'd by 'th' Pious seeming Wits
Of Hells chief Agents, (Jugling Parasites)
By specious Arguments and Pious Fraud,
Such as Geneva Demons do Applaud,
Wer't by that Hellish Brood drawn in to be
An Actor in that Dismal Tragedy
That boldly aim'd at Sacred Majesty
Far worse than Witchcraft sure's Rebellious Sin,
The first of Woes the Devil usher'd in,
Unhappy England fam'd for Civil Wars,
PLOTS upon PLOTS, and everlasting Jars.
Yet more Unhappy, those produce its Woe
Invoke the Curses that attend it now,
That basely strive to Undermine the Throne,
When Heaven decreed it for Great JAMES alone;
(A Princely abstract of a Glorious Hue,
Descent of King and Priest and Prophet too;
Whose grand Experience of a Quondam Age
Invests him as the great'st Europian Sage)
Not for a Graceless Wretch whose Actions Sing,
Sing and declare a Traytor, not a King,
Unworthy of his Prince, whose tender care
For him did every Day and Hour appear;
Brought him in Favour from a mean Degree
Advanc'd him to a State of Dignity;
Made him the Minion of the Court and King,
And when from Court at last the Bird took Wing
And soar'd with Icarus in too high a Sphere,
Ungratefully Conspiring to Ensnare
His Royal Father, and his Uncle too,
In Curss'd Cabals with tho Fanatick Crew:
Yet yet his great Indulgence still's so Great,
On fain'd Repentance he forgives the Cheat,
Presents him to his King, whose tender Love
Did once again his Royal Pitty Move.
But here (Tongue can't express) th' Ungratitude
Of this Vile Wretch thus Barbarously Rude
Unhappy State of Monarch's who do Good
Even to those that strive to shed their Blood;
Yet more unhappy those attempt the Fact,
Heavens will revenge so Monstrous soul an Act;
Protect our Royal King, Defend his Crown,
Bring all Fanaticks with Rebellion Down;
Add Luster to the Throne, dispel all Fears,
Extirpate Faction, with the Fruit it Bares;
Induce the Blessings of a Glorious Life,
That all the Nation live as Man and Wife.
By just Experience now the Rebels see
The Effects of their Damn'd Disloyalty:
The Royal Army Flesh't because that's Just,
Upon the Traytors with great Courage Thrust,
Beat off their Fury, force the Whiggish Rout
With doubty Blows to wheal and tack about:
Then happy those that with the greatest Speed
Could by their Flight avoid the Martial Steed.

LONDON, Printed by George Croom at the Sign of the Blue-Ball in Thames-street over against Baynard's-Castle, 1685.

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