Close ×

Search EBBA

Advanced Search

EBBA 36424

British Library - Luttrell Ballads
Ballad XSLT Template
AETERNITATI SACRUM.
Or a MONUMENT Erected and Consecrated to the memory of that GREAT MINISTER of State, and famous
MASTER of the ORDINANCE for battering Church Windows, BLEW DICK of Thanet.

HE's dead and gone. Now who, or whither;
Would any know, let them come hither.
'Tis he, whose zeal for Knoxes crew,
Got him the name of Dick the Blew.
Who, like an arrant Jugler, took
Religion up but for a cloak.
Who did the Serpents craft approve,
But would not own the harmless Dove.
Who dealt (though not with Whores and Bawds)
Not Peters more, in pious Frauds.
Who wore Sheeps-cloathing next his skin;
But lodg'd a Ravening-Woolf within.
Who others goods did oft invade,
But never restitution made.
Who, like a Presbyterian Cheat,
Mean Flocks renounc'd, to flie at great.
Who at small Gnats was wont to strain,
But swallowed Camels without pain.
Who from a Ceremony fled,
And yet Rebellion followed.
Who Princes murd'ring much decry'd,
Yet Cromwels High-Court justifi'd.
Who, whil'st he Organs overthrew,
The Trumpet of Sedition blew.
Who Self-denial Preach'd; but then
The practice left for other men.
Who hated Peace, but courted Strife;
And would not swear, but lye for life.
Who was against all Forms, unless
It were a Form of Godliness.
Who did Idolatry detest,
But Sacriledge could well digest.
Who Saints from Windows tumbled, and
Yet let his Dad, the Devil stand.
Who, 'cause Salt-waters best to scoure,
To clean the Church, be-piss'd the flore.
Who, that he might convert the Jew,
The Christians Badge, the Cross o'rthrew.
Who therefore threw the Myter down,
That he might after cast the Crown:
And such Triumphant-Saints as he
Chant out their Hey then up go we.
Who, like as all weak Brethren did,
Took (right or wrong) the strongest side.
And was resolv'd, what e'r was Trump,
To follow sute, though 'twere the Rump.

Whose worth, or wit, no times would own,
Till Dunces had put Doctors down.
Who was betimes a Knave-in-grain,
And Elder-grown, might pass for twain.
Who liv'd not loved, and when dead,
Was neither miss'd, nor pitied.

But is he gone! Then whither, pray?
To Heaven or Hell? What shall we say?
If merit here take place, his face
Not more like Judas, then his case.
And if his Work and Wages sute;
That Heaven's not his, is past dispute.
Then Hell must be. But, Reader, stay,
Is he not gone another way?
He needed purging (sure enough)
So full the wretch of vitious stuff:
We'll then for once admit the story,
And think him gone to Purgatory.
Where let him stay, nor thence get free,
Till Heaven shall want such Saints as he.

Mean time, how smiles the Earth! as pleas'd
Of such a burthen to be eas'd.
Whil'st Kent, asham'd to own the Lout,
Is glad the Fiery meteor's out.
Whose Famous Church the Brute so bang'd,
She's vext at heart he was not hang'd.
And that of all the Graceless pack,
An act of Grace should save his neck.
Vowing henceforth (at once the Picts)
To guard Sarre-Wall against Blew Dicks:
(As Goths and Vandals were to Rome)
The Scourge of Kent and Christendome.

But Charity bids Passion cease;
Then, gentle Reader, go in Peace.


Dignum laude virum Musa vetat Mori.
Vivit post Funera Virtus.
London, Printed by Peter Lillicrap, for H. Brome at
the sign of the Gun in Ivy-lane, 1662.

View Raw XML