A Second Message TO Mr. WILLIAM LAVD Late Archbishop of Canterbury, now prisoner in the Tower: In the behalfe of MERCURIE.
Together With a Postscript to the Author of that foolish and ridiculous Answer to MERCURY.
Printed in the yeare 1641.
A Second Message to his Grace a CANTERBURY.
My Lord,
OF late a letter to your Grace was sent;
Which now I hear gives you much discontent;
Your rage and fury waxed wondrous hot,
And would the author curb, but yet could not,
For want of power, which of late you had,
Which makes you grieve to see't, makes us so glad;
O could your lofty mind mount up againe,
You'd persecute good Christians amaine;
But stay my Lord, no thing so sure as this,
Laud must e're long the block or gibbet kisse:
Therefore in vaine it is for you to vex,
For'twill but more and more your mind perplex,
I'm sure 'twas true that he writ to your grace
And I will justifie it to your face,
Nay all the world can justifie beside,
That all is true, and you are not belide;
It may be you will say it was too tart,
Remembe [...] then that you made one man smart
With heavy punishment though'twas not he
That did offend against your majesty,
For he along the fields simply did walke,
And with the Prentices he ne're did talke,
And yet you caused the poore man lose his life
As tho [...]gh he had bin causer of that strife;
What though he were, did he deserve such death,
As to have stopt the passage of his breath?
Nay more then this which grieves me to relate,
He quartered was, and hanged at each gate:
Well'twas my Lord unjustly done I'm sure,
And therefore fit you something should indure;
Then be not angry at the words we write,
When from the darke we bring you to the light,
For all this while in darknesse you liv'd in,
But in th'light you'd walkt it had better bin,
And then you might in State have lived still,
But selfe to ruine brought by doing ill;
Perchance you'le not confesse, but say'tis no
Such matter as we do against you shew,
But that you thinke your crimes wee'l aggravate,
Because so suddenly your pul'd from State;
Alas'twas time that you from State should fall!
For else you would have brought us under thrall:
I dare be bold to say, yout hought e're now,
To make all England to your altars bow,
You tooke a speedy course, yea that's most true,
And alwaies favour'd that most wicked crew,
I meane the Papists who have ever sought,
With wicked plots to bring our land to nought;
But they nor all the wicked pangs in hell,
Our blessed Gospell ever shall expell;
For now you see to nought their plots God bring
That they ne're can accomplish any thing.
For God above who sits an eyes them all,
Even at the utmost time, makes them to fall.
For when they'ave gotten to the height of pride,
Unlikely 'tis that they should long abide,
For at the last they ever tumble downe
To'th ground, with all their honour and renown,
Examples far I need not goe to shew,
Your selfe is one, and others of your crew,
But for all this perhaps you still will say,
You aim'd at Englands good when you bore sway,
But'tis not true my Lord I will avoucht
For then to altars you had never croucht,
Nor had you bow'd then unto Jesus name,
In outward adoration of the same;
Whenas that all our best and godli'st men,
This outward adoration doe condemne,
Nor had you then so wickedly abus'd,
Such godly men as pious preaching us'd:
Well then my Lord here convict of sin
For you have done most wickedly therein
And all your deeds continually were evill,
Which savour'd not of God but of the devill,
Whose slave yo've bin this many years I'm fraid,
And wickedly his banners have displaid;
Now to requite your paines, he you hath brought
Unto that woe that you would ne're have thought,
For if three years ago one had told you
That you must fall and all your wicked crew,
Tush, tush, you'd say I will not it beleeve,
That till I die, mine honour I shall leave:
But now you see your honour you have lost,
And of your wicked projects you are crost:
Well then, My Lord, your misery lament,
And God of's mercy grant you may repent.
A POSTSCRIPT TO THOMAS HERBERT, Author of that foolish and Ridiculous answer to Mercuries Message.
HOw now what's this laid open to our view,
Some foolish Pamphlet of the Popish crew?
But is't no worse, I'm sure it is no better,
The Titles call'd an Answer to a Letter,
Wherein the Author does his venome spit,
And proves himselfe, dissembling Hypocrit;
Hypocrisie he often does relate,
But to his shame, I speak't, 'tis his owne state,
For right, for wrong, for any thing heel be,
For truth, for error, or Hypocrisie;
His wits he alwaies bends for to devise
Some wicked thing that's nothing else but lyes:
Mark and behold his Hypocriticke str [...]ine,
How he does fl [...]tter the bad and good disdaine,
When he begins at first he stands am [...]z'd
But presently his lying muse he raz'd,
And first the Scriptures to his owne ends rests,
And counts that worst, which all men counteth best,
Namely, at the Name of Iesu we should bow,
Does not saies he the Scripture it allow,
[...] men of better judgement then his grace,
D [...]e not [...]xpound such meaning or that place:
B [...] nowadaies the Scriptures much abus'd,
[...] very boy that here before it us'd.
N [...]x [...] after that he talkes of ten p [...]und bribe,
W [...]tch he for want of that was c [...]us'd to scribe
B [...]lads and Bookes for that is all his trade,
And 'mongst the rest of late this answer m [...]de:
But it matters no [...], for no man tooke it well,
But c [...]unt [...]d 'twas a wicked deede of hell,
And for the short hair'd crew which he counts ill,
It not deceiv'd, the same's his Master WILL:
And for his part, we know him very well,
His long shag'd lockes, and tatter'd coat him tell,
F [...]r R [...]putation he can have no more,
H [...]e's run so deepely in the Chandlers score,
And those sociats with whom he is partaker,
A [...] best they are but wretched b [...]llad makers.
Indeed Tom Herbert he did wondrous well,
That at the latter end his name did tell,
For now tis told [...]broad that he did write
An answer to a Letter out of spite:
What has he got for this his wicked deed,
But lost his name for want of taking heed,
For [...]ot a bad words in't that Author writ,
But he does know he hath deserved it.
And now my lines Ile leave to all mens view,
My Muse shall cease, but heel be paid his due.
The Authors Answer will come forth ere long,
And cut and flash him deepe, but wont him wrong,
Heel speake the truth, and stop his mouth for ever,
That he it answer cant, with's best endeavour;
But if he doe, I know 'twill be so lame,
That no wise man will read it ore for shame,
My Muse to write of thee againe shall rest,
Mine owne, not yours, for so I hold it best
FINIS.