%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> A NEW-YEARS GIFT: / BEING / A POEM Dedicated to the lasting Memory of That Worthy and Learned / Dr. TITUS OATS, the First Discoverer of the Popish Plott, to destroy the Sacred / Person of his Majesty, and to Extirpate the Protestant Religion. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1680-1680 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 04/30/2012 32203

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

R26196 GREAT! ----- I am in a plunge what more to say, / Our Great Creator shall we call Thee? Nay: Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 133340 A NEW-YEARS GIFT: / BEING / A POEM Dedicated to the lasting Memory of That Worthy and Learned / Dr. TITUS OATS, the First Discoverer of the Popish Plott, to destroy the Sacred / Person of his Majesty, and to Extirpate the Protestant Religion. A NEW-YEARS GIFT: BEING A POEM Dedicated to the lasting Memory of That Worthy and Learned Dr. TITUS OATS, the First Discoverer of the Popish Plott, to destroy the Sacred Person of his Majesty, and to Extirpate the Protestant Religion. A NEW YEAR'S GIFT: BEING A POEM Dedicated to the lasting Memory of That Worthy and Learned Dr. TITUS OATS, the First Discoverer of the Popish Plot, to destroy the Sacred Person of his Majesty, and to Extirpate the Protestant Religion. 1680-1680

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 4/30/2012 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America country/ nation mythology/ Classical religious groups Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 4/30/2012 4:32:06 PM XBallad Ly, Nancy Created XML Version of Ballad 4/30/2012 4:32:06 PM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/30/2012 4:32:06 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/30/2012 4:32:06 PM Transcriptionist Two Grafals, Michael Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/30/2012 4:32:06 PM Transcriptionist One Wong, Bethany Transcription of ballad manuscript 8/3/2011 Checker Jonathan Forbes Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 5/2/2011 Bibliographer Shannon Meyer Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 11/22/2011 Checker Eric Nebeker Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/22/2011 Checker Eric Nebeker Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
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GREAT! --- I am in a plunge what more to say, Our Great Creator shall we call Thee? Nay: That Title is too great, we all must own Due only unto GOD (to HIM Alone;) The highest Titles by which men express Their Deityes or Demi-Gods are less Than Thy Deserts: should we Contract Thy Fame Within such narrow Limits, Thou mightst blame Mankind, and justly Brand us with a Blot Of shame so foul as could not be forgot; Had All Angelike Souls, Enlargd, that might Retain Conceptions of Thy Worth Aright, Then neither Prose nor Verse would needfull be To tell All Future Ages, Thou art He Whom God hath sent into the World to Reare A New Meridian in our Northern Sphere: To tell All Ages which shall after come Thou art the Harbinger of suddain Doom (More Fatal than Great Hannibal) to Rome: He only threatned (as did many more) And only made their large swoln Heart-strings sore By driving them into a Punique Fright, But Thou hast broke Their haughty Heart-strings quite; We cant express This Wondrous Act of Thyne, But by such Characters as are Divine! Shall we compare Thee then to Alexander, To Hannibal, or any great Commander? For shame: These, are All-Man-Sirs, Hectoring Boys, Who having purchasd Ginger-bread and Toys, (For Towns and Castles are such things,) suppose They only merit Titles who have Those, Although They swim to Empires in a Flood Of Fathers, Mothers, Widows, Childrens blood, Spending their precious time in Emulous wrangle (In dust and croud and sweat) to catch a Spangle. Great Caesar shall we Style Thee? that were less Than if we ownd (which yet we must profess) We know not what to call Thee, but Our Heart, Our Life, Our Breathing Soul, Our Vital Part: Our almost All we have, and Dear to HIM Who did Entrust Thee (for Our Cherubim) To Guard Our British Isle (that little World) Which else had Topsie-turvy quite been hurld, And to a dismal Chaos had been brought, More dreadful than the most tremendous Thought. Great Guardian of this Honourable Trust, Blessd to All Ages (though by Rome Accursd.) We read in ancient Story of Saint George, Who stuck his Launce into a Dragons gorge: We knew His Name-sake also at the Charge To tug home Our Great Charles his loaden Barge. Both These wrought Wonders! but Thou hast Outdone Those Heroes, and far greater Fame hast won; The former slew a Beast with Spear and Sword, But Thou Unarmed wast, yet, by Thy Word (Spoke Powerfully) Thou gavst a Mortal Wound To Rome (the Old Great Dragon) and the Sound Of Thy Name only, brought Death, and did Slay All Serpents, Tigers, Panthers, Wolfes of prey, Who in That mighty Forrest lurking lay.
By which means, Thou hast brought the World to Rest, Which by This Vermine hath been sore Oppressd; Of All brave Champions, it shall be confessd, To Thy Eternal Praise Thou art the Best. The Latter placd Our Monarchs Crown ons head, But in All after Worlds, it shall be said That, Thou, didst Raise Him Up, even from the Dead! And His Three Kingdoms also didst Thou Save By This Strange Resurrection from the Grave! Blessd Wonder of Our Age! we cant give ore But must Contemplate on Thee more and more: Were England, India, we should Thee Adore! Thou art The Skilfull Pilot of Our Age, Who, when Romes Water-floods began to Rage, And all its rolling Billows (Ghastly Waves More dismal than the most untimely Graves) Began to Overwhelm Our Floating Boat, When we were Sleeping, and had scarce a Thought Of Danger nigh, Then, did Thy Watchful Soul Find more than English Courage to Controul That Tempest which had like to Overwhelm, If (under GOD) Thou hadst not sat at Helm. Great OATS, when we were breathing out our last, Thy wakefull Thoughts on Englands Clock were cast: Thou heardst It strike Our Midnight, whilest the Popes False Dial pointed Noon, by Its secret gropes Was almost at the Solstice of His hopes; Which (to Thy constant Praise) did end in Tyburn Ropes; A New-Years Gift we seek for, but find None To Give, which we can truly call Our Own. Thou hast long since each Corner of Our Heart, (Except that which for GOD is set apart, And for our King:) None can say This -- is myne Or That -- though we Possess, the Right is Thyne: Yet since all Tenants to their Landlords bring A Token of their Duty (though the thing Is inconsiderable) Thou wilt not scorn Though we can bring Thee but this Pepper-Corn; Accept It (Dear Sir) since That round dark Ball Shews that we fain would give Thee More than All We have; AND, if All Earth were Ours to give, It is Thy Due, (Blessd Instrument by Whom we Live;) Away with Alablaster Statues, Those Are Puppet-like, fit but for Bartholms Shews: We cannot carve Thy Worth in Monument Of Stone or Silver, (though our good intent In that dumb Signature we may present;) These are such Hieroglyphicks, as the Rust Of Cankring Time Consumes and turns to dust; But Thyne shall never Fade, (Thou Wise and Just.) Since then no curious Art of mortal Man A Shadow of Thy Self so lively can Describe, but that Thy strange Illustrious Ray Will suffer some Unjust Eclipse that way, OUR GREAT OMNIPOTENCE, for Thy Blessd Sake A Miracle to work did undertake, That All succeeding Ages may Rehearse His Glory, in Thy Praise, beyond all Verse.
FINIS. Anno Dom. 1680.