Mr. Hampdens Speech occasioned upon the Londoners Pe- tition for PEACE.
|
BUt will you now to peace encline,
|
And languish in the maine designe,
|
and leave us in the lurch;
|
I would not Monarchy destroie,
|
But only as the way tinjoy
|
the ruines of the Church.
|
Is not the Bishops Bill denid,
|
And we still threatned to be trid?
|
you see the King embraces
|
Those counsells he approvd before,
|
Nor does he promise which is more
|
that we shall have their places.
|
Did I for this bring in the Scot,
|
(For tis no secret now) the plot
|
was s and mine together;
|
Did I for this returne againe?
|
And spent a winter then in vaine
|
once more tinvite them hither.
|
Though more our money then our cause
|
Their brotherly assistance drawes
|
my labour was not lost;
|
At my returne I brought you thence
|
Necessity, their strong pretence,
|
and this shall quit your cost.
|
Did I for this my Country bring,
|
To helpe their Knight against their King,
|
and raise the first division;
|
Yet I the business did decline
|
Though I contrivd the whole designe,
|
and taught them to petition.
|
So many nights spent in the City
|
In that invisible Committee,
|
the wheele that governs all;
|
From thence the change in Church & State,
|
And all the mischiefes beares their date
|
from Haberdashers Hall.
|
Did we force Ireland to despaire?
|
Upon the King to cast the war
|
to make the world abhor him;
|
Because the Rebels used his name,
|
Though we ourselves can doe the same
|
while both alike are for him.
|
Then the same fire we kindled here
|
whilst we pretend to quench that there,
|
and wisely lost that Nation;
|
To doe as crafty beggars use
|
To maine themselves only tabuse
|
the simple mans compassion.
|
Have I so often past between
|
Winsor and Westminster unseen?
|
and did myselfe divide,
|
To keep his Excellence in awe,
|
And give the Parliament the Law,
|
for they knew none beside.
|
Did I for this take paines to teach
|
Our zealous ignorance to preach,
|
and did their lungs inspire
|
Read em their texts, shewd them their parts
|
And taught them all their little arts
|
to fling abroad the fire
|
Sometimes to beg, sometimes to threaten,
|
Then say the Cavaliers are beaten,
|
and strooke the peoples ears;
|
And straight when victories grow cheap,
|
And will no more advance the heap
|
to r[a]ise the price of fears,
|
And now the books, and now the bells,
|
And now our arts the Preacher tells
|
to edifie the people;
|
All our Divinity is news,
|
And we have made of equall use
|
the pulpit and the steeple.
|
And shall we kindle all this flame
|
Only to put it out againe,
|
and must we now give ore,
|
And only end where we begun,
|
In vaine this mischiefe we have done
|
if we can do no more.
|
If men in peace may have their right,
|
Where is this necessity to fight
|
and break both law and oath?
|
Who say that they fight for the cause,
|
And to defend the King and laws,
|
but tis against them both.
|
Either the cause at first was ill,
|
Or being good it is so still,
|
and thence they will infer
|
That either now, or at the first
|
They were dceived, or which is worst
|
that we ourselves may erre.
|
But plague and famine will come in,
|
For they and we are near of kin,
|
and cannot go asunder;
|
For while the wicked starve indeed,
|
The Saints have ready at their need
|
Gods providence and plunder.
|
Princes we are if we prevaile,
|
And gallant villaines if we faile
|
when to our fame tis told,
|
It will not be our least of praise
|
When our new state we could not raise
|
we have destroid the old.
|
Then let us slay, fight, and vote
|
Till London be not worth a groat,
|
oh tis a patient Beast,
|
When we have gald and tird that mule,
|
And can no longer have the rule,
|
weele have our spoile at least.
|
|
|
|
|
|