<!DOCTYPE ETS PUBLIC "-//UMDLPS//DTD EEBOPROOF 2.0//EN">
<ETS>
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<REVDESCR>
<CHANGE>
<DATE>2007-11-04</DATE>
<RESPSTMT>
<NAME>Mona Logarbo</NAME>
<RESP>MURP</RESP>
</RESPSTMT>
<ITEM>Proofed and reviewed as part of batch B071015.apex.</ITEM>
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</REVDESCR>
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<EEBO>
<IDG S="marc" R="UM" ID="A81038">
<STC T="W">C7194</STC>
<STC T="T">669.f.11[86]</STC>
<BIBNO T="umi">99869433</BIBNO>
<VID>162738</VID>
</IDG>
<TEXT LANG="eng">
<BODY>
<DIV1 TYPE="poem">
<PB REF="1" MS="y"><!-- PDF PAGE 1 -->
<HEAD>CROMWELLS PANEGYRICK.</HEAD>
<L>SHall Presbyterian bells ring <HI>Cromwels</HI> prai&s;e,</L>
<L>While we &s;tand &s;till and do no Trophyes rai&s;e</L>
<L>Unto his la&s;ting name? Then may we be</L>
<L>Hung like the bells in our dependencie.</L>
<L>Well may his No&s;e, that is dominicall,</L>
<L>Take pepper in't, to &s;ee no Pen at all</L>
<L>Stir to applaud his merits, who hath lent</L>
<L>Such valour, to erect a monument</L>
<L>Of la&s;ting prai&s;e; who&s;e name &s;hall never dye,</L>
<L>While <HI>England</HI> has a Church, or Monarchy.</L>
<L>He whom the laurell'd Army home did bring</L>
<L>Riding Tryumphant o're his conquer'd King,</L>
<L>He is the Generals Cypher now; and when</L>
<L>Hee's joyn'd to him, he makes that one a Ten.</L>
<L>The Kingdomes Saint; <HI>England</HI> no more &s;hall &s;tir</L>
<L>To cry St. <HI>George,</HI> but now St. <HI>Oliver.</HI></L>
<L>He's the Realmes En&s;igne; and who goes to wring</L>
<L>His No&s;e, is forc'd to cry, <HI>God &s;ave the King.</HI></L>
<L>He that can rout an Army with his name,</L>
<L>And take a City, ere he views the &s;ame:</L>
<L>His Souldiers may want bread, but n'ere &s;hall fear</L>
<L>(While he's their General,) the want of Beer;</L>
<L>No Wonder they wore Bayes, his Brewing-fat</L>
<L><HI>(Helicon-like)</HI> make Poets Laureat:</L>
<L>When Braines in tho&s;e Ca&s;talian liquors &s;wim,</L>
<L>We &s;ing no Heatheni&s;h <HI>Pe&auml;n,</HI> but a Hymne;</L>
<L>And that by th' Spirit too, for who can chu&s;e</L>
<L>But &s;ing <HI>Ho&s;anna</HI> to this King of Jewes?</L>
<L>Tremble you <HI>Scoti&s;h</HI> zealots, you that han't</L>
<L>Freed any Con&s;cience from your Covenant:</L>
<L>That for tho&s;e bald Appellatives of <HI>Cau&s;e,</HI></L>
<L><HI>Religion,</HI> and the <HI>Fundamentall Lawes,</HI></L>
<L>Have pul'd the old Epi&s;copacy down,</L>
<L>And as the Miter, &s;o you'le &s;erve the Crowne.</L>
<L>You that have made the Cap to th' Bonnet vaile,</L>
<L>And made the Head a &s;ervant to the Taile.</L>
<L>And you cur&s;t &s;pawne of Publicans, that &s;it</L>
<L>In every County, as a plague to it;</L>
<L>That with your yeomen Seque&s;trating Knaves,</L>
<L>Have made whole Counties beggerly, and &s;laves.</L>
<L>You Synod, that have &s;ate &s;o long to know</L>
<L>Whether we mu&s;t beleeve in God, or no;</L>
<L>You that have torn the Church, and &s;ate t' impaire</L>
<L>The Ten Commandements, the Creed, the Prayer;</L>
<L>And made your honours pull down heavens glory,</L>
<L>While you &s;et up that Calfe, your <HI>Directory:</HI></L>
<L>We &s;hall no wicked Jewes-ear'd Elders want,</L>
<L>This Army's built of Churches Militant:</L>
<L>The&s;e are new Tribes of <HI>Levi;</HI> for they be</L>
<L>Clergy, yet of no Univer&s;itie.</L>
<L>Pull down your Cre&s;ts; for every bird &s;hall gather,</L>
<L>From your u&s;urping back, a &s;tollen feather.</L>
<L>Your Great Lay Levite <HI>Prynne,</HI> who&s;e Margent tires</L>
<L>The patient Reader, while he blots whole quires,</L>
<L>Nay reames with Trea&s;on; and with Non&s;ence too,</L>
<L>To ju&s;tifie what e're you &s;ay or do:</L>
<L>Who&s;e circumci&s;ed eares are hardly grown</L>
<L>Ripe for another Per&s;ecution:</L>
<L>He mu&s;t to <HI>Scotland</HI> for another paire;</L>
<L>For he will lo&s;e the&s;e, if he tarry here.</L>
<L><HI>Burges</HI> that Reverend Presbydeane of <HI>Pauls,</HI></L>
<L>Mu&s;t (with his Poundage) leave his Cure of Souls,</L>
<L>And into <HI>Scotland</HI> trot, that he may pick</L>
<L>Out of that Kirk, a nick-nam'd Bi&s;hoprick.</L>
<L>And <HI>Calamy</HI> mu&s;t now re&s;igne his place,</L>
<L>Becau&s;e <HI>Scalpellum</HI> has cut through the <HI>Ca&s;e;</HI></L>
<L>The Protean <HI>Hollis,</HI> that will never burne,</L>
<L>Mu&s;t here or'at Tiburne take another turne.</L>
<L>And <HI>Will the Conquerour</HI> in a <HI>Scotti&s;h</HI> dance</L>
<L>Mu&s;t lead his running Army into <HI>France.</HI></L>
<L>Or he and <HI>Stapleton</HI> among tho&s;e Crews</L>
<L>In <HI>Holland</HI> build a Synagogue of Jewes,</L>
<L>And &s;pread Rebellion; Great <HI>Alexander</HI></L>
<L>Fears not a Pillory, like this Commander.</L>
<L>And Bedlam <HI>Iohn,</HI> that at his Clerks &s;o raves,</L>
<L>U&s;ing them not like &s;ervants, but like &s;laves.</L>
<L>He that &s;o freely rail'd again&s;t his Prince,</L>
<L>Cal'd him <HI>di&s;&s;embling &s;ubtile Knave,</HI> and &s;ince</L>
<L>Has &s;till'd the whole Army Bankrupts; &s;aid, that none</L>
<L>Of their E&s;tates were equal to his own:</L>
<L>He that was by a &s;trong ambition led</L>
<L>To &s;et him&s;elf upon the Cities head:</L>
<L>But when he has re&s;tor'd his both-&s;ide fees,</L>
<L>Hee'll be as poor, or they as rich as hee's.</L>
<L>And that &s;till-gaping Tophet Gold&s;miths Hall,</L>
<L>With all his Furies, &s;hall to ruine fall.</L>
<L>Wee'l be no more gull'd by that Popi&s;h &s;tory,</L>
<L>But &s;hall reach heav'n without that Purgatory:</L>
<L>What honor does he merit, what renown</L>
<L>By whom all the&s;e oppre&s;&s;ions are pul'd down.</L>
<L>And &s;uch a Government is like to be</L>
<L>In Church and State, as eye did never &s;ee:</L>
<L>Magicians hold, hee'l &s;et up Common Prayer;</L>
<L>Looking in's face, they find the <HI>Rubrick</HI> there.</L>
<L>His Name &s;hall never dye, by fire nor floud,</L>
<L>But in Church-windows &s;tand, where pictures &s;tood:</L>
<L>And if his &s;oul lothing that hou&s;e of clay,</L>
<L>Shall to another Kingdome march away,</L>
<L>Under &s;ome Barnes floore his bones &s;hall lye,</L>
<L>Who Churches did, and Monuments defie:</L>
<L>Where the rude Thra&s;her, with much knocking on,</L>
<L>Shall wake him at the Re&s;urrection.</L>
<LG>
<L>And on his Grave &s;ince there mu&s;t be no Stone,</L>
<L>Shall &s;tand this Epitaph; <HI>That he has none.</HI></L>
</LG>
<CLOSER><SIGNED><GAP DESC="foreign"></SIGNED></CLOSER>
</DIV1>
</BODY>
<BACK>
<DIV1 TYPE="colophon">
<P>Printed in the Yeer 1647.</P>
</DIV1>
</BACK>
</TEXT>
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