The Papists Lamentation for
the loss of their Agent William Viscount Stafford, together with the dread
they are possessed with, fearing that more will quickly follow him the
same way.
Preparations will be made
For those that cursed Plots have laid,
For to be brought to Tryal fair,
And now theyr filled with dispair
Tune of, Fair Phillis your prevailing charms, or A Fig for France.
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LAment, lament you Saints of Rome,
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Since Stafford hath receivd his doom,
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And we poor Souls are left behind
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Perplext and troubled in the mind,
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We see that God did strangly blast,
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And brought to light your Plot at last.
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Sure tis he hates such horrid things
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As Massacres, and killing Kings.
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Let us lament his Rigid Fate,
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Who for Romes cause we know of late
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Did like a stubborn Papist dye
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In hopes to live eternally,
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But in our Consciences we know
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It is unlikely to be so,
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For God doth hate such bloody things
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As Massacres, etc.
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Some others daily we Expect,
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That took such courses indirect,
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Must follow him the selfsame way,
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And on the Block their Heads must lay,
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But if impartially we speak,
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The Devil did their ruine seek,
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For God doth hate such bloody things
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As Massacres, etc.
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See how the Stratagems of Rome,
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Have wrought these bloody Actors doom,
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That have been fifteen years about,
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What some few years have quite brought out,
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And Stafford he hath led the Van,
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A Traytrous wretch and wicked man,
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Tis sure God hates such bloody things
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As Massacres, etc.
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This is a Tenet of our Faith
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No other Church in Europe hath,
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Never to rest till we have done
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The work the Devil sets us on,
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Yet though in Plots our lives we spend,
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Theyl come to nothing in the End
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For God doth hate such bloody things
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As Massacres, etc.
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Though all the Wits of France and Spain
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More Plots contrive, twill be in vain,
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And let his holiness the Pope,
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On whom we Papists fix our hope,
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Spend all his dayes in such designs,
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The Heavens will still find Countermines
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And blast such wicked bloody things
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As Massacres, etc,
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The Protestants we plainly see,
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Protections have of high degree,
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That none can do them any wrong
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Who in their faith are firm & strong,
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But idle worshippers do fall
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By hellish Plots, in deadly thrall.
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For God doth blast such bloody things
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As Massacres, etc.
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Then let us all renounce and fly
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From this our strange Idolatry,
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That our designs may prosperous be
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Else tis in vain we plainly see,
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For who with heaven doth not advise
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In vain are their conspiracies.
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For God doth hate such bloody things
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As Massacres, etc.
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But we have stubborn hearts and do
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Resolve against whats just & true,
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Since Popes can Absolution give
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For our misdeeds we do believe
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This makes us all less care to take
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Though oft it makes the Actors quake,
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For God doth hate such bloody things
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As massacres, etc.
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Tis strange to think what Friends we had
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In England where our hearts now sad,
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Were once with joy compleatly filld,
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To think what blood would there be spilld,
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And in a moment we were lost,
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Our Plots discoverd, all things crost,
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For God doth hate such bloody things
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As Massacres, and killing Kings.
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