DING DONG, OR Sr. Pitifull Parliament, On his Death-Bed.

His Pulses felt by Doctor KING, and his water cast by Doctor BISHOP.

His last Will, and Testament, with his Death, Buriall, and Epitaph.

By Mercurius Melancholicus.

Hast, hast, good Sexton, toule the bell;
Even at the point of death
Lies our most blessed Parliament,
And scarce can draw his breath.
Goe call the Doctors; Priviledge,
Thou art his serving creature.
Tell Doctor King, he needs must come,
To helpe restore his Nature.
Ruine Directory, hast I say,
Call Doctor Bishop hither;
Tell him, our dying Parliament,
Want him, and King together.
O Nol, O Tom, O Rainsborow,
O Devill, Foole, and Knave.
Come close the eyes of your Deare State,
And lay him in the grave.

Printed in the Yeare. 1648.

Sir Pitifull Parliament on his Death-Bed.

Induction.
Our high and mighty Parliament,
Fell sick of late with discontent.
The businesse thus, a Scotchman came,
(Whom for his owne sake) I'le not name;
And justling him, began to say,
Why do'st thou God, and Man betray?
And do'st thy league with me forsake,
Not suffering me for to partake;
Of all thy glory and degree,
Nor do'st set up Presbyterie:
Be sure ere long, arm'd Cap a pee,
Strict Vengeance I will take on thee.
Hee gone, one Poyer, with his Mate,
Called Powell, who by happy Fate;
Had ceazed Pembroke Castle; and
Incited all for CHARLES to stand.
Came in and said, O cursed Devill!
We'l make the now repent the evill,
Thou hast these seven yeares put in ure;
Yet would'st have us to count thee pure.
This put Sir Parliament, in dread,
And presently, he tooke his bed.
Where a sore sicknesse ceazed upon him,
That he dispaires to shake if from him.
And now alas, he's drawing on,
And sinking to perdition.
Enter Mr. Vete.

O Run, run, Mr. Priveledge or we are all lost, Sir Pitifull Parliament hath taken griefe, which hath so prevailed over his powers and mastered his faculties, that he is now be­come a meere Skelleton and lies drawing on—away with winged hast—harke how he groanes—his heart-strings [Page 2] crack like a Cable, when the affrighted Barke breakes from the Anchor,—hee yawnes againe,—O good man, that hee that hath beene so long florishing, of such health of body and wealthy above Craessus, should now bee wasted with a Scotch Feaves, and shaken to pieces, with a Welsh Ague, and fall as poore as Ir [...]s; O runne, runne good Priviledge, some Aqua­vitae, for our sicke Parliament, or all's lost.

Mr. Declaration.

The Doctors, the Doctors, post, post, for the Doctors, doe you two, stand here like statues to behold your sick Master surrender his Ghost; dare you be Spectators with the Divell; O Mr. Priviledge, O Mr. Vote, one of you runne for Doctor King, the other for Dr. Bishop, but bid the last not to appeare in his Lawne sleeves; for the shape of any thing resembling Innocence, will hasten my Masters end,—runne, runne, for Gods sake:

To fetch the Doctors, Priviledge, and Vote
Are gone, they'r come, and now what followes note,
Behold Sr. Parliament, here in his bed,
Sr. Ralph Rebellion, holding of his head:
With all the Rabble, of his new made Creatures,
Knowing their names, you needs must know their natures
Mr. Rebellion.

For Pluto's sake cheare up Sir, or else all Hell will be sor­rowfull, O how his temples beat, as if hee were possest with a Vertigo good Sir bee comforted, the Scots are not yet com­ming, Prince CHARLES is yet in France, Poyer may yet bee nam'd, the Londoners are still Sir at your service, the Coxcombs are bewitcht unto their ruine you yet may Rule the roast o're King and People, why should you dye yet.

Pitifull Parliament.

O Rebellion, thy comforts come too late, my Conscience, [Page 3] ō my Conscience, 'tis that kills me were there no opposition, J am a man that am di'd o're with blood, am guilty of an hun­dred thousand lives,—oh, oh,—I have for to inrich my pri­vate Cosers, undone a Nation, made ten Thousand beg, have wrongd my King, that is the best of Princes, pull'd downe all order in the Church and State, and introduc't the worst of Turcisme,—oh—oh.

Rebellion.

Conscience is meerly, but an ayrie sound; shall fear perswade you Sir to penitence, recall your wonted temper, and imagine to be as great as ever, deare Sr. without you, I that have seaven yeares, maskt with the vayle of seeming Pity, been worshipt as a god shall now decline into my wonted orbe, and abhor­red, as the worst of Devils.

Pitifull Parliament.

I can hold out no longer, 'tis in vaine for me to cheare my selfe, when Death's approaching, shift for thy selfe Rebellion, I must leave thee, I see as in a glasse my Fate is cast, and that the King will have his owne againe; and if the words of dy­ing men be Oracle, beleeve then▪ that ere Three yeares are ac­complisht, all things will be as they were seaven yeares since, 'tis best for me to dye and so escape the fury of those Lyons, wait to teare me; dost thon not know the Commons of this Isle have found their errour, and doe now resolve to have one King, rather then forty Tyrants; seest thou not how my mise­ries throng about me, perceivest thou not that Heaven it selfe is bent to give a period to my undertakings, all England, Ire­land, Wales, Scotland; yea the Universe, protest to fall them­selves or ruine me: Where's Mr. Covenant.

Mr. Covenant.

Here Sr. yet with no weeping eye, doe I deplore your miserable Fortune; for you have dea't with mee, as some with Iades, ride them of their legges, then turne them to the Commons: I have beene hackney to you Sr. this seaven yeares, have made great journyes, and yet carried dou­ble, and but of late when you were swolne with pompe, [Page 4] and hemd about, with all mistaken glories, when I expected love and great preferment, you thrust me forth of doores, with scorne and obloquie, for which you now lie Cauving.

Pittifull Parliament.

I never meant for to make thee my Rivall, how ere, for to adde to my owne advantage, I entertained and hugd thee in my bosome, Machiavill was my master, any thing that might helpe forward my curst undertakings, Oaths, Cove­nants, and Protestations, with or against God, all was one to me; home to thy Blew Capt brethren, both I and thee must neere expect our wishes; the King, the King man, now must rule againe.—Where's Mr. Plunder.

Mr. Plunder.

Here my deare Master.

Pittifull Parliament.

O my delicious servant, to thee J am ingaged more then to all my creatures, thou hast been my supoorter all a-long, nor shall I leave behind me now I die, a doir, but what by thy helpe I have gained.

Mr. Plunder.

Be chearfull Sir, I still am your true Trojan, give me but Warrants signed with your hand, Ile plunder all without di­stinction, fetch you in Money, Cattell goods and Treasure, make you Delinquents, let me make them poore, shew me a Cleargie man, that doth preach sound Doctrine, whose life con­formable unto his words, whose Charity extends unto ye poore, dares build Almshouses, whose sawcinesse is such that he dares pray for the King Queen and Progenie, Ile soone ceaze on his living and estate, and command none for to afford him succ­our, shew me an honest harmlesse meaning man, who hold it best untroubled to remaine, and view the fate of things and not to meddle, whose happy soule addors the golden meane, and wisheth truth alone may get the better, Isle strip him of his te­nements and lands, and trie his patience more, then Sathan Iobes or shew me but a Citizen whose Chests, ring, loud with silver bells, though he be nere so honest and upright though he sought for Cause and Covenant; yet this vast treasure shall [Page 5] pronounce his doome; that he is rich shall be a heynons crime, all that he is possest of I will rifle, to adde unto your store.

Pittifull Parliament.

Thou hast been faithfull in thy undertakings, but my imploying thee hath been my ruine; come all at once about me, Mr. Privi­ledge, Mr. Vote, Mr. Declaration, Mr. Rebellion, Mr. Covenant, and Mr. Plunder, my glasse is almost runne, I now must leave you to be the scorne and hate of after Ages; yet ere I make my Exit 'twere convenient that my last Will, and Testament, were drawne, which shall be in this forme.

THE Last Will, and Testament of Sir Pittifull Parliament.

In the name of Lucifer, Amen.

I Sir Pittifull Parliament, lying very sick and weake, of a dis­ease called, the Scotch March, and Poyers resolves, doe make this my last Will and Testament, in manner and forme following.

Imprimis; I give and bequeath, all my plundered houshold­stuffe, money Plate and Iewels, unto our grand Patron Plu [...]o, who is the God of riches, which I desire him to improve and distribute to his best advantage, either for the allurement of those wicked men, who shall after my decease have an itching fancie to pocket Reformation; and shall zealously affect to be called a Parliame [...]t, though they forfeit the Essence thereof, and instead of being the peoples preservers, become their destroyers, the Plunderers of their goods, the betrayers of their Lawes, and the murtherers of your persons.

Item; I give and bequeath all my Ordinances, Votes, Protest­ations, Declarations and Covenants, to my dearly beloved brother▪ the Master of the Ottaman Empire▪ willing and desiring my said bro­ther, to take speciall notice, of their sense and meaning, to the end he may be throughly instructed, how to be more barbarous, sen­suall▪ [Page 6] and devilish in the contextures of all his Edicts then ever here­tofore, & the true reason that I make my aforesaid brother, my law­full Inheritor of the aforesaid, Votes, Protestations, Declarations, and Covenants, is because I conceive they are onely fit for his imploi­ment, & not to be used by any of my neighbouring states, when now at the point to depart, I heartily implore to avoide them, lest they prove as fatall, and destructive to themselves and their Nation, as they have been omminous to me and my Countrimen.

Lastly; for that I have not deserved, eternall happinesse, but my owne intellect informing that I merrit the lowest and hottest place in Tartarus, I bequeath my soule to him whose assistance J have amply injoyed these seaven years, and wishing the whole world to make me their President, lest they fall into the same predi­cament, I bid the world farewell.

Epitath.

Here lies a Devill, whose Angel-like hew;
Deceived the vul [...]r; and in all mens view,
He was a Saint, but ere he died, 'twas found,
He tooke that shape, the deadlier to wound.
Vnder pretence, of pious Reformation;
He ruin'd quite, the famous English Nation.
And while he fain'd to root out Popery;
Eradicated Christian verity.
Leading the people in thick fogs, and mists,
While they like fooles, obeid base Factionists.
He did his best to cause his King to die,
For ever to extirpate Monarchye
While a cloud of errors dim'd Gods glory▪
The like cannot be paralelled in story.
He fell at last the mo [...]sters Fate it was,
To fall by those, his ends had brought to passe.
And here he lies without a Tombe interr'd
Whose name is both by God, and man abhord.
FINIS.

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