PACKINGTON'S
POUND.
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I.
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WHen the Joy of all hearts, and desire of all eyes,
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In whom our chief Refuge, and Confidence lies,
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The Protestant Bulwark against all Despair,
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Has depriv'd us at once, of her Self, and her Heir:
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That hopeful Young Thing
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Begot by a King,
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And a Queen, whose Perfections o're all the world ring.
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A Father whose Courage no Mortal can daunt,
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And a Mother whose Virtue no Scandal can taint.
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II.
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When Jeffrys resigns up the Purse and the Mace,
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Whose impudent Arrogance gain'd him the place:
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When, like Lucifer, thrown from the height of his Pride,
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And the Knot of his Villany's strangely unty'd.
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From the Chancery Bawling,
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He turns a Tarpaulin,
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Men still catch at anything when they are falling:
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But to hasten his Fate, before he cou'd scour,
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Be was tak'n at Wapping, and sent to the Tow'r.
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III.
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When Confessor Petre's do's yield up the Game,
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And proves to the worst of Religion a shame,
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When his cheating no more o're our Reason prevails,
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But is blasted like that of his true Prince of Wales:
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Which was his Contrivance,
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And our wise K------s Connivance,
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To establish the Papists, and Protestants drive hence:
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But their Cobweb Conception is brought to the Test,
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And the coming of ORANGE has quite spoil'd the Jest.
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IV.
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When Peterborough Noted for all that's ill,
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Was urg'd by his Wife to the making his Will;
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At the hearing which words, he did stare, foam and roar,
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Then broke out in Cursing, and calling her Whore.
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And for Two Hours at least
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His Tongue never ceas't,
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He rail'd on Religion, and damn'd the poor Priest,
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And his Friends, who had hope to behold him expire,
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Are afraid by this Bout they shall lose their desire.
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V.
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Young Salisbury fam'd in this great Expedition,
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Not for going to War, but obtaining Commission;
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It's no Mystery to me, if his Courage did fail,
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When the Greatest of Monarchs himself did turn Tail:
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So that if he took Flight,
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With his Betters by Night,
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I am apt to believe the pert Spark was i' th' right:
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For the Papists this Maxim do everywhere hold,
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To be forward in Boasting, in Courage less Bold.
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VI.
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Nor shou'd Bellasis, Powis, and Arundel throng,
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But each in due place have his Attributes sung.
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Yet since 'tis believ'd by the strange turn of Times,
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They'l be call'd to account for their Treasonable Crimes,
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While the Damn'd Popish Plot
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Is not yet quite forgot,
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For which the Lord Stafford went justly to Pot;
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And to their great comfort I'le make it appear,
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They that gave 'em their Freedom, themselves are not clear.
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VII.
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W. Ws. that Friend to the Bishops and Laws,
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As the Devil wou'd have it, espous'd the wrong Cause;
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Now loath'd by the Commons, and scorn'd by the Peers,
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His Patent for Honour, in pieces he tears.
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Both our Britains are Fool'd,
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Who the Laws Over-rul'd,
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And next Parliament each, will be plagu'ly School'd:
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Then try if your Cunning can find out a Flaw
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To preserve you from Judgment according to Law.
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VII.
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Sir Edward Hale's Actions I shall not repeat,
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Till by Axe, or by Halter, his Life he compleat;
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Pens History shall be related by Lobb,
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Who has ventur'd his Neck for a Snack in the Jobb.
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All their Priests and Confessors,
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With their dumb Idol-Dressers,
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Shall meet that Reward which is due to Transgressors.
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And no Papist henceforth shall these Kingdoms inherit,
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But ORANGE shall reap the Reward of his Merit.
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