On the Death of that GRAND IMPOSTOR OLIVER CROMWELL, Who died September the 3. 1658.
SO let him die? so to his Grave be sent?
And as his life, his death prov'd turbulent:
In such loud Tempests let him end his days,
As Witches their accurs'd Familiars raise.
The Divel in a dreadfull Hericane
Approches thus the trembling Indian
Those happy storms, how highly should we prize
Had they but sooner sung his Exequies,
E're he had perfected that black Design,
Which to this day brands the first Cataline,
And stopt those lowder cries of bloud that call
For Curses, to attend his Funeral.
The tracing of those sanguine paths he trod
Made Atila be styl'd, The Scourge of God.
Well made this Scarlet Hypocrite his boast,
Not in the Prince of Peace, but
His usual expression
Lord of HoastThough to rejoice in numbers of
Dunbar and Worcester.
Men slaineSuits not with
Termed so by his owne gang.
David, but with Tamberlain.Yet well were we if his immortal hate
Had ended in the ruine of the State:
But who the Churches Miseries shall scan,
Will finde him Englands Dioclesian.
'Twas not enough himself t'have guilty bin▪
But Jeroboam must make Israel sin:
All must obedient be to his behests,
Making the meanest of the People Priests;
And Golden Calves must now be Gods to them,
Bethel's preferr'd before Jerusalem:
There must they Sacrifice and Incense burn,
For fear the Crown to David's House return
Who since that Heav'n would not him sooner dead,
Yet that his Hand had earlier withered.
Printed for J. Williams at the Crown in S. Pauls Church-yard. 1661.