%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> A Parallel of TIMES: Or a Memento to / the WHIGGS. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1683-1683 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 04/30/2012 32217

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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

R7664 WHat dare not Englands Monsters had they pow'r? / What did they not, when with a Sanguine Showr Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 133788 A Parallel of TIMES: Or a Memento to / the WHIGGS. A Parallel of TIMES: Or a Memento to the WHIGGS. A Parallel of TIMES: Or a Memento to the WHIGS. Printer J. Grantham 1683-1683

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<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">A Parallel of TIMES: Or a Memento to</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">the WHIGGS</hi>.</seg>
But lo a Charg is drawne a day is set The silent lamb is brought, the wolves are met; And wheres the Slaughter-house. Whitehall must be, La[t]ely his Palace, now his Calvarie And now ye Senators is this the thing, So oft declard is this your glorious King? Religion vails herself, and Mouns that she Is forcd to own such Horrid Villanie.
WHat dare not Englands Monsters had they powr? What did they not, when with a Sanguine Showr The Nations were bedued? The Dog-stars heat Had put Three Kingdoms in a Bloody Sweat. Then was the Time when Murder knew no bound, Death and Destruction every where were found. Fates boding Omens still presaging Grief, Widdows and Orphans crys had no relief: The Hell-inspired Hounds had scented Blood, And could not be by force of Law withstood. No Sacred Ties had aw enough to bind Those whom Religions ruine were designd, By Hells dire darkness who with them had joynd, If possible t unhinge the mighty Frame Of Brittains Empire, and eclipse the name Of her Great Monarch whom the Trump of fame Renders Immortal here; whilst he above Triumphs in Glory and his Makers Love. Law and Religion were pretences made To mount the Rebels, till they both betrayd, And in their Soveraigns Wounds them bleeding laid. No less than Royal Blood must seal their crimes, Murders were sports in those dire dismal times, Infamous Canters who nere utterd sence, With Englands great affairs durst then dispence: And judge of those who had the Care of Souls, The Reverend Clergy, each vile wretch controuls. Reason was stagerd, Learning tumbled down, When the backd Rable once had bravd the Crown. When the black Tribe had Treason made no sin, And let destruction like a deluge in, By pulling up the Sluces of the State, Which the long bellowing Surges did rebate; And all into disorderd ruine set, Whilst they in troubled Waters cast their Net: Fishers of Men in one sence termd they are, Who did Mens Lives and Fortunes both insnare.
Then England groand to see her Breast so red, With Blood of her dear dying Children shed, By Murthering Villains that her face ore-spread. Judgement was turnd to Wormwood in that day, Nor Truth nor Justice challengd any sway: Twas the devouring Sword they made their Law, Which Gold or Blood from Loyalist must draw. The Children Banishd, and the Father Slain Did not suffice: Their rage to all his Train Of Nobles did the Monsters soon extend, As if with him Nobility must end; Twas Treason then to be their Soveraigns Friend. The basest of all Man-kind mounted high By this mad Rout, fill all with Tyrany: In every place Death and Oppression raves, All were enslaved to the worst of Slaves: Unless those mighty Souls who scornd to be Connivers at his horrid Villany; But with a brave disde[i]gn contemnd his rage, To Heaven ascending from the Crimson Stage, To meet their Royal Master in that bliss, Which has no end buts endless happiness. But thanks kind Heaven the Storm at length gave way, The gloomy Clouds gave back, long absent Day Rose glorious to refresh our drooping Isle, And made the mournful Nation once more smile. The best of Kings did favour to that earth, Renderd thrice happy by his Reign and Birth: Before whose Face the conscious Rebels fly, Not daring to behold that Majesty In whom Afronts might justly kindle Ire, Fierce as a Whirlwind or devouring Fire, To overwhelm or drive them from that Earth, Which is polluted only by their birth: But see Heavens Pattern---All thats good and great, A King whose Mercy stays the wheel of Fate; He pities those that thirsted for his Blood, And will not add to the too Crimson Flood.
But what avails Royal trancendent Grace Where black Ingratitude has fixd her place? Unless to warm the Monsters, till they grow Impious as that dire Snake found in the Snow; For they no sooner found deaths terror past, But from their holes without a blush they hast: And Croak aloud, their practices renew, Rant at their Rulers, and would Rule them too. The many-headed Monster they revive, And it, like Jehu, furiously they drive: Once more a madding, no ways left untrid To find a Saddle Monarchy to Ride. How with Petitions, how with Juries packd, Have they the Bosoms of the people Sackd, To know the strength of Faction, how it grows? What Loyalist was safe, when they supposd The giddy multitude had with them closd? To such stupendious Insolency grown, Their black mouths spard not to asperse the Throne. At Regal Power they did presume to strike, And durst a Damnd Association like. What Shoals of Evidence like Locust swarmd, With Stings as sharp as Fellest Scorpions Armd, Who must Infallible be deemd, till they The dire Dark Mischief of the Whiggs bewray? But then the Scene is changd; none must believe They can speak Truth: And then the busy Sheriff Must us with Ignoramus undeceive. These and a Thousand more their projects are, Who would our Lives and Fortunes once more share; And where their Will their Powr theyd no Man spare. Then let the Royal Martyrs Fall remain Fresh in our minds, the Shambles of the slain Who guiltless fell; yet lets forgive that score, Pardon whats past; But never Trust them more.
FINIS. LONDON: Printed, by J. Grantham, in the Year, MDCLXXXIII.