WHat time a Storm Impended o're our State,
Plotted by Forrain and Intestine Hate,
When Belgick Brutes, and Traitors had intent,
Like Vaux, to undermine our Parliament:
And with the Devil, undertook a Course
To get by Fraud, what they ne'r could by Force:
When Brandy sail'd, and nought remain'd to them
(Distressed Devils) but a Stratagem;
When they had done all that the Dutch were able,
And found Deceit was stronger then the Cable,
From their Infernal Country strait they come,
Impostures, to out Seminary Rome;
And mongst us such Dam'd Seeds of Discord sow,
As might ourselves, whom none could else o're­throw.
But Brittains Mighty Caesar soon lookt in,
And saw the Ass coucht in the Lyon's Skin;
Making their closest Machins but his Mirth,
Alas! he spi'd 'em, e're they gave 'um Birth:
And to the Members such a Speech began,
The Voyce of God they cry'd, and not of Man:
Each Sentence so Serene was, and so choice,
If 'twas not Gods, 'twas Gods Vicegerents Voice.
'Twas a Substantial Word, a Word in Season,
Archt o're with Honnour, underpropt with Reason;
So Gracious as his Auditors became,
His Subjects double, both of Joy and Shame:
So Sweet, so Clean, so Keen that every Word
Hew'd down more Lawrel then his Royal Sword.
Above 'em all they saw his Glory Fly,
As high in Parts as Principallity;
There he that worth Ten Thousand of us was,
Did all the Wisdom of his Realms surpass,
They that disputed, do themselves despise,
The People weak are, but the Prince is Wise;
My Lord the King, Wise as Gods Angel is,
Discerning what is right, and what's amiss.
'Has given 'em now an understanding right,
Right as the Righteous Cause, for which we fight.
Now shines the Sun in Uigor and full force,
And all the Glorious Stars observe their Course,
Whose Royal Beams have so Enlightned them,
Midnight cannot conceal a Stratagem.
What Monarch in the World compares with ours.
Heads such a multitude of Councellours,
Who while they well their proper Orbs maintain,
May (under him) be each a Soveraign;
They'r Wise then, that keep close to such a Head,
Whose Arms Expanded over Europe spread:
So shall th' Audacious Dutch, that Huff it thus,
Come Cap in hand, and Truckle under us.
But now we Praise and thanks to Heaven return,
And in Bonefires, that Hagg Discention Burn;
Red Seas of Wine flow from each teeming Terse,
As 'tware the Vintage of the ∆≤niverse:
Agreed, Agreed, they cry, O Heavenly Voyce,
The very Streets themselves seem'd to Rejoyce:
The Spanish Priest, out did us all by odds,
We Burnt but Faggots, but he Burnt his Gods.

London, Printed for Thomas Vere, at the Angel without New-Gate. 1673.

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