A COUNTER-BLAST TO THE PHANATICKS, Those Prodigious Catter-pillers, Hatcht by the Jesuits, whose Father is the DEVIL, and God-Father the POPE.
On their last Insurrection against the Life of his most Sacred MAJESTY, CHARLES the Second, KING of Great Britaine, France and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, &c.
HOw? the Phanaticks sway? they stab the King?
Dam'nd fools! could they imagine such a thing?
Then, Sprats shall conquer Whales, the guilty Owle,
The Eagles, and the Mice shall Lyons rule.
Courage my friends; Phanticks, like Venus mole,
Doe add a lustre to a Loyal soule.
Like Wisps, which scoure better Vessels, They
Doe brush our sinns, and then are cast away.
They are but sauce to sweeter meat; by their
Vices, more pleasing our Virtues are:
Spawned by Belzebub, brought up from Hell,
In Christ his Name, Christianity to Quell:
King Jesus they are for, (so th' damned Crew,
That Murther'd him, was for King Jesus too)
Fond Bedlams! what! could they think that Heaven,
Would taint the world with Phanatick leaven?
That Christ would be Crown'd, King, and Soveraigne,
By'th' wicked, silly, base Phanatick Traine?
Are these St. John's, to cry, make straight the way,
And in the mean time Murther, Kill and Slay?
Think they, that God, his servant Charles would save
From Tyrant Oliver's and grander Rebels grave?
To give him up, to such poor Mirmydons, as these,
Whose very looks would breed a new Disease.
Away, vile brood of Hereticks, go tell,
Your master Jesuits (those Imps of Hell)
That force of
Gun-powder treason.
Gun-powder could not destroy,Nor hurt, the sacred line of Charles le Roy:
Much lesse such Schismaticks, as you; whose race
Is unto Dunn, and Tyburne a disgrace.
But, why should I blurr paper with such blots
Of impudence, the Kingdoms pest, and spots;
Dreggs of the baser sort, whose only fame,
Is to act wickednesse, in God's good Name?
My Muse, abjure such Dunghill birds, as they,
And leave them to infernal Hawkes a prey.
Behold! your gracious King! whom I am sent,
To give all honest Israelites content:
The Royall line! and their mirac'lous fate!
These, these, are best for thee to Celebrate.
'Tis true, two branches of the Royal Oake,
Are
Since the Restauration.
past to Heaven by the Fatall stroak;But three remaine; thus God doth grace,
Both Men and Angels with the Royal race.
Phanaticks judge their death a curse for sin, why?
Because for sin 'tis that Phanaticks dye,
Yet sure, if none but sinners dye, why fade
Phanatick Saints? for what was heaven made?
But cease my daring Muse; the very word
Phanatick, makes a true man draw his sword:
'Tis able to hatch Witches, nay make Pluto
Doubt where he's the greatest divel, or no:
He's a single Devil, but in this one,
Phanaticks, dwells more then a Legion.
'Tis sins Epitome, of ignorance the summe
Of Evils genus generalissimum.
Like Sampsons Foxes by the tail, All sin,
And sects do joyn in a Phanatick's skin:
Phanatick, and not be poysoned, to quote,
A man had need first drink an Antidote.
But since such Vermin hang, and Charles doth Reign,
I'le sing the praise of my Dread Soveraigne:
Who though a Prince disguis'd, or sun 'ith clouds,
He sojourned a while with forreign Crouds:
Yet now his Own have Owned him their King,
All Nations to his grace shall homage bring.
Kings; nay victory it self, shall deem it pride,
To be made subject unto such a guide:
His presence is a heaven, in him's the summe,
Of all our hopes, past, present, and to come:
Comparisons by him get a degree,
For he is greater then the greatest, He
Hath made the Gods seem impotent, for they
Can't give us greater blisse, then Charls his ray:
Nor Rider's words, nor Tulli's Eloquence,
Can half expresse his grand magnificence,
Hee's more then Men or Angels can rehearse,
The fame and Phaenix of the universe.
In briefe.
He doth as farre Excel all men in Piety,
As the Phanaticks doe in Villany.
Giles Duncombe of the Inner Temple Gent. Author of Scutum Regale, the Royall Buckler. Or, Vox Legis, a Lecture to Traytors.