The Souldiers sad Complaint.

IS this the upshot then? We that have spent
Our best of Fortunes for a PARLIAMENT?
We that have sweat in bloud, march't o're the Land,
And where our feet did tread, our Swords command?
We that like burning Comets did appeare,
Striking astonishment with pallid feare,
Upon the daring aspect of our Foes,
Forcing even Death, under our dreadfull blowes
To flagg his fatall Standard? We that have
Been (as of Banquets) greedy of a grave?
When through the rivlets of our purple gore
Flow'd streames of Victory unto the doore
Of our high palmed STATE, made GODS: no lesse;
And only happy through our wretchednesse.
When in our calmed postures we draw neare
Creeping addresses to that Lofty SPHEAR
In naked Bodies, broken Leggs, and Armes,
In carved Limbs, which were ere while as Charmes
To quiet Death, and make the Furies husht,
That we should suffer? that we should be crusht
With those iron hands (though guilded with our bloud,
Not seeking others, but their owne selfe-good)
We have upheld? when we make humble plea
With empty entrailes, for our deare earn'd pay,
(Whilest your enlarded guts, and brawny sides
Swine it with Epicurus, stretch your hydes
With glorry morsells) are we kickt away,
As if each Wight had turn'd Apostata?
Is this true Vallors pay? coyn'd out of ayre
And envy? Tyranny? that doth out-dare
The very front of Hell. What, Souldiers? and thus slighted?
The best of actions are the worst requited.
'Tis thought, and fear'd, your eyes that pitty want,
Ere long will turne the world all Adamant:
And every object by reflection,
Be turned into, what you are, a Stone;
Should but your curious, wanton pallats share
As formerly our Fortunes, now our fare,
(Who once lay lugging at that Ladyes Papp
As full of plenty then, as now, mishap)
A two daies sad experience, would condemne
Your great ingratitude; make you contemne
Your cruelties; and bring home to your Gate
As much of love, as hitherto of hate.
Who gave your SENAT being? the Lawes their breath?
Was't not our bloud? our hazzarding of death?
And will you counsell murther? sit to slay
Even those by whom you sit, or whom, you stay?
From your full stores, then reach unto poore soules,
Of what's their due: Necessity controules
The sharpest Lawes. Oh heare their groanes and cryes
Who haplesse lives, and as yet hopelesse dyes.
Per I. H.
FINIS.

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