Classic Poem

Re ader, behold the Counterfeit of him
Who now controuls the land; Almighty Pym !
A man whom even the Devil to fear begins,
And dares not trust him with succesless sins;
A man who now is wading through the Floud
Of Reverend Lauds , and Noble Straffords Bloud,
To strike so high as to put Bishops down,
And in the Miter to controul the Crown ;
The Wretch hath mighty thoughts, and entertains
Some Glorious Mischief in his Active Brains,
Where now he's plotting to make England such
As may out-vye the villany of the Dutch ;
He dares not go to Heaven, 'cause he doth fear
To meet (and not pull down) the Bishops there:
Is it not strange, that in that Shuttle-head
Three Kingdoms ruines should be buried?
Is it not strange there should be hatch't a Plot
Which should out-doe the Treason of the Scot ,
And even the Malice of a Puritan?
Reader behold, and hate the poysonous man;
The Picture's like him; yet 'tis very fit
To adde one likeness more, that's hang like it.