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