The Manner of the Barbarous Murther of
JAMES,
Late Lord Arch-Bishop of St. Andrews,
Primate and Metropolitan of all Scotland,
And one of his Majesties most Honourable Privy-Council of that Kingdom; May 3. 1679.
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WHen Rome, by Godfrey's Death, had proudly shown
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The greatest Horror could by Man be done;
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Hell stood amaz'd a while, and blusht to see
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It self out done by Romish Cruelty:
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At length, Grim Lucifer the Silence broke;
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And to his Imps, in furious tone he spoke:
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See yonder reeking Murder! Come, lets sit
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In strong debate, and strive to rival it;
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Or else, as Novices, to Rome wee'l go,
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And send the Pope to Mount our Throne below.
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In hot dispute, the black Cabal had spent
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A little Time, when with a full Consent,
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It was resolv'd; Ten Furies, who exprest
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A greater Love to Blood, than all the rest,
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Should with as many Scottish Ruffians Joyn
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To act, on Pious SHARP, this Damn'd Design;
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For, who that knows that Murder, can (indeed)
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Think it by any here on Earth Decreed?
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When every horrid Circumstance does tell,
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It could be Plotted no where but in Hell:
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Though some sad Mortals do delight in Blood,
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They could not be thus Wicked, if they wou'd.
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For what Infernal could enhance the Guilt,
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More than in this, A Prelates Blood was Spilt!
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Whose Sacred Function, was enough to quell
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The Thoughts of Vengeance in an Infidell.
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But yet nor this, nor's Silver colour'd Hairs,
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His Learning, Piety, his Daughters Pray'rs;
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His Virtues, Prudence, Loyalty, nor Age,
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Were Charms enough, to stop these Ruffians Rage:
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Who only therefore Long'd to shed his Blood;
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Because they knew him Innocent, and Good:
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That so their Crime might unexampled seem,
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Not in the Murder, but in Murthering him.
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Nor does the manner of this Murder, less
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The heighth of their Impiety express:
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Behold! how like a Dog, they Hawl and Draw
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Him from his Coach, not fearing Heav'n nor Law!
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See, how the Coach-man Tumbles from his Box;
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And poor Postillion fell'd, like Fatted Ox!
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Whil'st on her Knees, the weeping Daughter Craves
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Her Father's Life, and's threatned by the Slaves!
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Whil'st others, by a Show'r of Passes Given,
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Let out his Blood, and send his Soul to Heaven!
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If any Villians, for the Future, wou'd
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Know the worst way, to dip their Hands in Blood,
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Let them to Scotland go, to end that Strife,
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This Prelate's Fall, will Teach them to the Life!
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