ENGLANDS Miseries
Crown'd with Mercy.
Shewing the tender mercy and goodness of Almighty God in preserving is most Gracious
Majesty, and his Royal Brother, from the cruel and bloody hands of their Enemies in the late horrid Plot.
To the Tune of Aim not too High.
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OLd England now rise up with one accord,
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And render forth thy praises to the Lord,
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For it is he that did securely keep,
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This from thy enemies whilst thou didst sleep.
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But if thou fear the Lord and serve him true,
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Thou needest not to fear what strength can doe:
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For why the Lord by his almighty power,
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Can cast down thousands of them in an hour.
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It's he can cast them down or raise them up,
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It's in his power to make them tast his Cup:
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But those that serve him and on him depend,
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He surely doth preserve till life doth end.
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Within the later heavy plots of strife,
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Was laid which threatened death unto each life:
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Our Gracious Soveraign, and his brother kind,
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Those traytors would have killd with bloody mind
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But Lord preserve them both and keep them still
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According to thy wonted blessed will,
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Lord grant them happiness with peace and joy,
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And that they may all hellish plots destroy.
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And now good people I to you will tell,
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This horrid plot was surely hatcht in Hell:
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And Satan to these men had given power,
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But God almighty soon did them devour.
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First at New-Market they a fire contrive,
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Thinking to leave no Christians there alive:
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But blest be God the fire was sooner blown,
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Than they expected, so the Plot was known.
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And hereupon the King and his Nobles fled
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From thence to Cambridg being fill'd with dread
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As well they might for why those villains had,
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A worser plot in ambush for them laid.
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Some of these Traytors had confest and said,
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Within the way a Cart they had convey'd:
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And overthrew it cross where they should go,
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Thereby to work poor Englands overthrow.
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They Pistols Guns and Blunderbusses had,
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Great store to make the stoutest heart seem sad;
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On either side the way they placed were,
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For to destroy the flowers of England dear.
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But God who for his Servants doth provide,
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Preserv'd sweet Englands flowers and them did guide,
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And so I pray to God to keep them still,
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That bloody Traytors may not have their will.
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Down on your knees you Rebels great and small
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And pray to God he may forgive you all:
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For if on earth he don't your Sins forgive,
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Besure your Souls shall ne'r in heaven live.
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You greatest Gods are gone who gave you light
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Lord Russel he hath took his last good-night,
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Shaftsbury, Hone, vile Rouse, and Walcot too,
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Hath of fair England took their last adieu.
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For Rebbels more lies ready to be try'd,
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I wish they may have all the Fish they Fry'd,
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And taste the Liquor which for us they brew'd,
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God Save the King, and so I do conclude.
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