%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> (1) / A / Congratulation / OF THE / Protestant-Joyner / TO / Anthony King of Poland, / Upon his Arrival in the Lower World 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 06/19/2014 33877

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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

R29678 WElcom, my Lord, unto these Stygian Plains; / Welcom unto a Land where Discord reigns: Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 1256 1: 1256 1: 1256 1: 1256 (1) / A / Congratulation / OF THE / Protestant-Joyner / TO / Anthony King of Poland, / Upon his Arrival in the Lower World (I) A Congratulation OF THE Protestant-Joyner TO Anthony King of Poland, Upon his Arrival in the Lower World (1) A Congratulation OF THE Protestant Joiner TO Anthony King of Poland, Upon his Arrival in the Lower World 1683-1683 N. Thompson

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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 Featured 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 6/19/2014 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America country/ nation labor/ craft politics/ government religious groups Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 6/19/2014 7:33:29 PM XBallad Cortes, Phillip Created XML Version of Ballad 6/19/2014 7:33:29 PM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/19/2014 7:33:29 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/19/2014 7:33:29 PM Transcriptionist Two Koath, Jayne Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/19/2014 7:33:29 PM Transcriptionist One Keller Scotch, Grace Transcription of ballad manuscript 8/1/2013 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 4/25/2014 Checker Charlotte Becker Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 3/25/2013 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/24/2012 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/21/2012 Bibliographer Elizabeth Aguilar Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 11/21/2012 Checker Elizabeth Aguilar Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
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Joyner. WElcom, my Lord, unto these Stygian Plains; Welcom unto a Land where Discord reigns: This is a Land Your Lordship will approve, From whence these States hope you will ne'r remove; Welcom to These, as to the States above. From Them I'm come, and this bless'd News I bring, Discord is dead and they have chose You KING. Pride, Envy, Malice, Hell would soon decay, Should Peace appear, and Discord fade away. Anth. Thanks Friend, whoe'r thou art, for this bless'd News; The Name of King I hate, yet can't refuse; I wish some other Name they would confer. Joyn. What think You then, my Lord, of Emperour Anth. Spoke like a Roman Soul; who, though they hate The Name of Kings, yet Emperours create. Joyn. Or, if these please not, what if You should be Dubb'd of Mankind Plenipotentiary? Anth. Spoke like a Non-con's Soul, that very Name Does all my Vitals heat, and sets my Soul on flame. A Let
(2) Let me embrace, and hug thee in my Arms; That Hogen-mogen word is full of Charms: There's Beauty in't, that leads my Soul away, And I must follow, though I go astray, Joyn. What means my Lord by that recanting Speech? To go astray implies You've made some breach. Anth. The observation of it does imply You have been bold i'th' world as well as I. Joyn. 'Tis true, my Lord, I aim'd at mighty Things, To Subvert Kingdoms, and to Murder Kings; To teach the Nation to be Picts once more, And die their Skins with their own crimson Gore: That is the truest stain, that ne'r will out; Witness His Father, murder'd by the Rout. Anth. That's the dead-bone, which (touching)bleeds a-new; And that's the cause I did the Son pursue: Like Cataline, our Mischiefs are not sure; But by effecting greater to secure. Joyn. But since i'th' world Your Taper does not shine, Like Damocles tho Presbyterians dine; The Sword of Justice trembles o'r their head, And hangs secur'd but by one single Thread; There needs no Atrapos to cut the String, One blast of Treason more against their KING, Does all the Vengeance on their own heads bring. Anth. You seem a Convert now; Prithee declare, What is your Name? From whence, and what you were? Joyn. My Lord, survey this Face, and You will find (With a small recollecting of Your mind) What my Profession was, and what's my Name, By whom employ'd, from whence, and what I am. Anth. I seriously observe you, but can't tell, You are so alter'd since you came to Hell; But guess you are a Man of no great Fame; Nor ever had, until of late, a Name: A Name, I mean, that does deserve Renown For Murder, or for striking at the Crown. Joyn. Small Shrubs, my Lord, may tall as Cedars grow; What was John Leyden and Massanello? What was Wat Tyler and Jack Straw of late? And our prodigious Oliver's great Fate, That made all Europe shake? To such a height I might have rose; but Fortune ow'd a spight, And struck it home just in the nick of Time; And for a Throne, I did a Gallows clime. My Lord, you sure may know me now; --------- Anth. I do; Your Name is Colledge, and I pity you. But
(3) But prithee tell me, for I fain would know, In all my journey hither, to and fro, I could not spy one glimmering light of Heav'n; For all was dark, but what from hence was giv'n, Only some Link-boys Skeletons did ply I'th' way, with Lights most dreadful to the eye. What is the reason? For I've heard men tell Strange Stories, and that viewing Heav'n is Hell, And not enjoy't; Prithee what shall I do? I'd give a world that happy place to view. Joyn. The reason is, You did in Holland die; A place that to the Centre lies so nigh, That you're no sooner dead, but you are here; It is a shorter cut by half a year: It lies so low and sunk so deep i' th' Sea, It wants the use o' th' Primum Mobile. Had you in England staid, and dy'd as I, You might have clipt the Air, and reach'd the Skie. Anth. But since I'm forc'd into this dark abode, Describe the pleasures of that blessed Road: I fancy that some pleasure will ensue, To hear that told which I shall never view. Joyn. No sooner was my Soul discharg'd of Clay, But up it sprang, and pinion'd quick its way; I pass'd the Orbs, with wonder and delight, And wa'n't took notice of in all my flight; At last, on Heav'ns Battlements I stay'd, And all that bright Imperian round survey'd; Observ'd how th' Primum Mobile did fly Ten thousand times more swifter than the Eye: The vast Expance did all with Glory shine, And ev'ry thing I saw was all Divine; A Gate of Pearl did on my right hand stand, And Peter, (as I guess, by th' Keys in's hand) Who ope'd the door, and all pure Souls receiv'd. I thought to enter too, but was deceiv'd. Anth. What happiness to those blest Souls was giv'n! Who'd plague their King and Countrey to lose Heav'n! Joyn. He took me by the hand, and turn'd me round; Bid me avaunt, for that was holy Ground: Yonder's your Road; down there the Angels fell, And so must you. At which I struck at Hell; For in a moment (so quick was my Fate!) My Head was dash'd against Hells Iron-gate, (Which then was shut) A wonder to the Crowd! Open the door! I boldly yaul'd aloud: A Thund'ring Voice I heard; From whence? From who D'ye come? I strait reply'd I came from Yon; I
(4) I am a Joyner by my Trade, and come To fit and Wainscot up his Lordship's Room. At which the Gates flew ope, I entred in, Swept clean the Room of all things there but Sin; She must remain, and your Companion be, Forever, and to vast Eternity. Anth. I'm mad! I rave! The Vulture gnaws my Breast! I wou'd repose, but 'tis in vain to rest. No rest is here! My scorching Entrails burn! And all my Guts to horrid Snakes do turn! Oh, cursed Fate! that I should die so soon, When all my Treasons scarce did reach their Noon! Oh! had I but a little longer stood, I would have made the Nation flow with Bloud: But I am dead; yet still I must Rebel, And add more Flames unto the Flames of Hell; I'll make grim Pluto tremble in his Throne, And all the Subterranean Empire groan; I'll make 'em drink again the bitter Cup, And undermine their Hell, and blow 'em up. With that he foam'd at mouth, hung out his Tongue, (At which a horrid ugly Scorpion hung;) His Eyes so hot did glow, made Fiends admire; And burnt so fierce, as Hell itself cry'd Fire: But a shagg'd Fiend appear'd, and in a trice Hurl'd his hot Soul into a Hell of Ice; Where may each Traytor, that their KINGS controul, Find this Estate entail'd upon their Soul.
FINIS. LONDON: Printed for N. Thompson, Anno Dom. 1683.