A most joyfull Songe, made in the behalfe of all her Majesties
faithfull and loving Subjects: of the great joy, which was made in London. at the taking of the late
trayterous Conspirators, which sought oportunity to kyll her Majesty, to spoyle the Cittie, and by forraigne invasion to overrun the
Realme: for the which haynous Treasons, fourteen of them have suffred death on the 20. &. 21. of Sept. Also, a detestation against those Conspira-
tors, and all their Confederates, giving God the prayse for the safe preservation of her majesty, and their subversion. Anno. Domini. 1586.
To the tune of: O man in desperation.
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OH Englishmen with Romish harts, what Devil doth bewitch you,
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To seeke the spoyle of Prince and Realme, like Traytors most untrue.
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Why is your duetie so forgot, unto your Royall Queene,
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That you your faith and promise breake, O viperous broode uncleene.
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Blessed be God who knew your thought, and brought your treason out:
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And your destruction now hath wrought that made us so in doubt.
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For if you might have had your willes to make your bloudie day,
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Many a widowe and fatherlesse childe, had then cryed wellaway.
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Many a Citie had beene sackt, whose houses had beene firde,
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Yea, many a Peere had lost his life, these fruits you all desirde,
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But now fourteene of you have felt, that death you have deserved,
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And God (in mercie) from your hands, our prince and us preserved.
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And would you seeke your Countries spoyle, your Mother and your Nurse,
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That fostred you and brought you up, what treason may be wurse?
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Why is your false and poysoned harts, surprised with such hate,
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That you must needes by forraigne power, suppresse your happy state.
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Why doo you beare such foolish love unto the Ragges of Rome,
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That you would seeke sweete Englands spoyle, and Princes deadly doome,
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Will nothing serve your devillish turne in this your deadly strife,
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But even the blood of your good Queene, and her to reave of life.
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Doo you not know there is a God, that guides her night and day,
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Who doth reveale her foes attempts, and brings them to decay,
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O wicked men with Tygers harts, nay Monsters I should say,
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That seekes to spoyle so good a Queene, as none the like this day.
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Her tender love, procures your hate, her mercie makes you bolde,
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Her gentle sufferaunce of your pride, presumptuous uncontrolde,
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Doth make you to forget your God, your selves and dueties all,
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Whereby you bend your busie braines to mischiefe and to thrall.
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Know you not who her highnes is? King Henries daughter deere,
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The mightiest Monarche in his dayes, or hath beene many a yeere:
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She is our Prince and soveraigne Queene, annointed by Gods grace,
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To set forth his most sacred word, his enimies to deface.
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Have you not holy scripures read, how byrds with fluttering winges,
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A Traytours thought they will betray against annoynted Kinges,
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God will no secret treason hide, against a wicked Prince,
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Much more, for safety of the good, their foes he will convince.
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Therefore you cruell cankred crue, why seeke you mischiefe still,
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For to attempt with violent handes, Gods chosen for to kill.
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How dare you once in hollow hart, thinke ill of such a Queene,
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Whom God himselfe doth favour so, as like was never seene.
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Have you such wicked hatefull hartes, in thirsting after blood,
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That with false Judas you can beare, two faces in one hoode?
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Too often hath her Majesty behelde without mistrust,
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The outwarde smiles of Crokadiles, whose harts were most unjust.
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O living Lord who would suppose that under velvets fine,
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Such cankred poyson should be hid, as hath beene found this time.
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Is this the precious faithfull fruite, which doth from Papists spring?
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Are these the workes whereby they thinke Gods Kingdome for to win?
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Is not their greedie thirsting throates yet satisfied with blood?
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When as it streamde downe Paris streets, much like to Nylus flood.
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Or are they not yet dronke enough, in quaffing bloody bowles,
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But looke they for a second draught among us English soules.
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O England, England yet rejoice, thy God beholdeth all,
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And he hath given for evermore thy foes a shamefull fall.
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By him all Kinges and Princes raigne, he gives them life and breath,
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He hath set up and will maintaine our Queene Elizabeth.
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The secret drift and ill intent, of her late hatefull foes,
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Unto all faithfull Subjects joyes, the Lord did well disclose.
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Yea many Traytors false of faith, through his most mighty power,
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Are taken in most happy time, and sent unto the Towre.
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Which happy sight for all to see, did glad eche Subject true,
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And many thousands ranne apace, those Caytives vile to viewe.
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Whom when the people did espie, they cryed lowde and shryll,
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There goe the Traytors false of faith, which sought our Queene to kill.
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There goe the wretched wicked ones, her Citie meant to spoyle,
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And murther all her Citizens, but now they have the foyle.
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There goe the enimies of the Realme, did thinke to overrunne
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All England: to let in the Pope, but now Gods will is doone.
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God sent them now their due deserts, as they in hart conspyrde,
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To take away our gracious Queene, and Citie to have fyrde.
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God graunt we never live to see, that dismall day to have,
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Who blesse our noble Queene and Realme, and eke her Citie save.
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And thus the people still did cry, both men and women all,
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And children yong did shout alowde, and Traytors Traytors call.
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Yea thousands trudging to and fro, to meete them still did runne,
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And some stoode fasting all the day, till that daylight was doone.
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To see these Traytors taken so, their harts for joy did spring,
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And to declare this perfect joy, some ranne the Belles to ring.
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The Belles I say did bravely ring, that day and all the night,
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And throughout stately London streetes rejoyced every wight.
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And when the day was past and gone, and that the night drewe neere,
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The worthy Citizens many a one, prepared their good cheare.
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And Bondfyres did they merely make, through all the streetes that time,
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And in the streetes their Tables stoode, prepared brave and fine.
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They came together (gladly all, and there did mery make,
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And gave God thankes with cheerefull hates, for Queene Elizabeths sake.
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In solempne Psalmes they sung full sweete, the prayse of God on hie,
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Who now and ever keepes our Queene from Traytors tyranny.
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But when our noble gratious Queene, did understand this thing,
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She writ a letter presently, and seald it with her Ring.
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A Letter such of royall love, unto her Subjectes cares,
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That mooved them from watry eyes, to shed forth joyfull teares.
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O noble Queene without compare, our harts doth bleed for woe,
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To thinke that Englishmen should seeke, thy life to overthroe.
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But here wee humbly do protest, oh gracious Queene to thee,
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That Londoners will be loyall still, whilst life in them shall be.
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And all that would not gladly so, spend forth their dearest bloode,
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God give to them a shamefull ende, and never other good.
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And Lord with hart to thee we pray, preserve our noble Queene,
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And still confound her hatefull foes, as they have alwayes beene.
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The names
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of vii. trai-
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tros whiche
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wer execu-
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ted on the
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xx. of Sep-
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tember be-
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ynge Tues-
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day. 1586
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John Bal-
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ard seme-
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nary Peiest,
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Anthonye
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Babyngton
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Esquier.
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Chediorck
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Tichburne
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Esquier.
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The next
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day follow
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ing these 7,
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