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           Of the SEVEN


WHere is there Faith, or Juſtice to befound ?
Sure, the World Trembles, Nature's in a found,
To fee her Pious Sons, Deſign'd to Fall
A Victum, for Religion, Truth and All.
The Charms of Piety, are no Defence,
Againſt the New found Power, that can Diſpence
With Laws, to Murder Innocence :
Surely, unleſs ſome Pittying God look down,
And ſtop the Threatning Torrent, it will drown
Divinity it Self.——
The Biſhops Priſoners are, we tamely ſee ;
The Reverend Prelats forc'd to Bow the Knee
To Anti-Chriſt : No, Mighty Monarch know,
Tho' we rauſt pay to Cæſar what we Owe ;
There is a Power Supreme, by which You Live,
Whoſe Arm is longer, and Prerogative
Larger by far, than Yours, whoſe very Word
Can blaſt Your Hopes, and turn Your two edg'd Sword ;
Can make this Titular Vice-gerent know,
Vertue, like Palm's Depreſt, do's higher grow.
Tho' Roab'd in all the Grandure of the State,
Courtiers, like Radient Stars about You wait,
Midſt of Your Glorious Joys, when You put on
That Awful Preſence, which becomes a Throne :
Belſhazzer like, Three Words upon a Wall,
'Twill Daſh Your Joys, and make Your Glory Fall :
His Holyneſs, That Patriot of Strife,
Tho' he can grant You Pardon, cannot Life.
Ariſe then, Mighty Sir, in God-like Mean !
As of thy Valor, Let thy Truth be Seen,
Free from Miſtruſt, Let all Your Words be clear
By Action ; Let Your Promiſes appear,
Protect the Church, which brought You to the Crown ;
You know 'tis Great, and Honourable to Own,
A Kindneſs done ; But to Reward with Death,
The Happy Inſtruments, That gave You Breath,
Is mean ; and might a Catholick Conſcience ſting,
To cut the Hand of that, Anoints You King.

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