A Psalm of Mercy

Usula ( who cry's Ends of Gold and Silver ) reads, and all the Sisters sing .

To the Tune of, Now thanks to the Powers below!

Sing it in the Nose.

What a Reprobate crew is here,
Who will not have Jesus reign?
But send all our Saints
To Bonds and Restraint,
And kill 'um again and again?
Let's rise in a holy fear,
And fight for our heavenly King;
We will ha' no power
But Vane in the Tower
To rule us in any thing!
Come Sister, and sing
An Hymne to our King,
Who sitteth on high Degree;
The Men at Whitehall ,
And the wicked shall fall,
And hey, then up go We.
A Match, quoth my sister Joyce;
Contented, quoth Rachel too;
Quoth Abigaile , yea, and Faith , verily,
And Charity , let't be so.
Our Monarchy is the Fift,
Shall last for a thousand years;
O'th' wicked on earth,
There shall be a dearth,
When Jesus himself appears!
And we are the Babes of Grace,
The fruits of an holy seed:
For old Father Cann
(That Reverend man)
Begat us in Word and Deed.
The earth is our own,
For Title there's none,
But in the right Heirs of Sion:
Then let us be free,
For verily we
No King ha' but Judah's Lion.
'Tis verity, quoth old Joane ,
And Sooth, quoth my sister Prue ,
'Tis manifest truth, quoth mortified Ruth ,
And the Gospel is so, say's Su .
The Bishops and Bells shall down,
For we have an holy Call;
The Saints are beyond
All Order and Bond
Of duty to Priests of Baal .
Their Pipes and Organs too,
Their Superstitious Shirt,
Their Canons and Bulls,
(To cozen poor Gulls,)
Wee'le trample 'um in the Dirt.
No Ordinance shall
Command us all,
For we are above their thrall
We care not a Straw
For Reason or Law;
For Conscience is all in all.
Ay marry, quoth Agatha ,
And Temperance , eke also,
Quoth Hanna , it's just, and Mary it must
And shall be, quoth Grace , I trow.

The Steeple-house Lands are ours,
Kings, Queens, Delinquents too,
And James's and all
The Court at White-hall ,
And Somerset -house also.
For The'balds it is our right,
And Marrow-bone-Park to boot,
And Eltham's our own.
And Endfield there's none,
But our selves that shall grub a root,
And Greenwich shall be
For Tenements, free
For Saint to possess Pell-mell .
And where all the Sport
Is at Hampton Court ,
Shall be for our selves to dwell.
'Tis blessed, quoth Bathsheba ,
And Clemence , w' ar' all agreed;
'Tis right, quoth Gertrude , and fit say's sweet Jude .
And Thomasine yea indeed.

For Husbands we shall have none,
But Brothers in purity;
We will not be Wives
And tye up our Lives
To Villanous slavery;
But couple in love and fear;
When mov'd by the spirit to't;
For there is no sin
To let a Saint in,
When he has the grace to do't.
And thus are we taught,
No folly is wrought,
When Brothers will execise;
Both Kiffin and Hills
(No Printer of Bills )
Have prov'd it in ample wise.
'Tis true, quoth Elizabeth ,
And 'tis very good, quoth Pris ,
And Aquila too will have it be so,
And so will my Sister Sis .

What though the King Proclaim's
Our Meetings no more shall be;
In private we may
Hold forth the right way,
And be, as we should be, free,
Our Husbands wee'l make believe,
We go but to take the aire,
Or visit a Nurse,
And lighten their Purse
With a little dissembling Prayer.
Or if they be crosse,
(Let 'um stand to the losse)
We'l tempt our Apprentices,
(By writing a Dash
To cozen the Cash,)
And make 'um meer Novices.
Oh very well said, quoth Con ,
And so will I do, say's Franck .
And Mercy cry's I, and Mat , really,
And I'm o' that mind, quoth Thank .

Wee'l cut off the wicked Rout,
And bath us all in their Blouds;
Their Houses and Land
Wee'l have at Command.
And common upon their Goods.
No mortal King nor Priest,
No Lord, nor Duke wee'l have,
Wee'l grind 'um to Grist,
And live as we list,
And we will do wonders brave;
Come Dorcas and Cloe ,
With Lois and Zoe
Young Letice and Beterice and Jane ,
Phill, Dorothy, Mawd,
Come troup it abroad,
For now is our time to reign
Sa, sa, quoth my sister Bab ,
And Kill 'um, quoth Margery;
Spare none, cry's old Tib , nor quarter say's Sib .
And hey! for our Monarchy.

Let's all take the Sacrament,
That we to each other be true,
And kill without pity
In Country and City,
The wicked ungodly Crew.
We'l favour no Sex, nor Age,
No Quality, nor Degree;
But all shall to Pot,
Both English and Scot ,
That hinder our Liberty.
The Maior of the Town ,
(That terrible Brown ,)
And Cox and the Captains all,
Wee'l torture and slay
In a merciless way,
And mince 'um, like herbs, as small.
Ay, that is the way, quoth Emm ,
Quoth Phaebe , we conquer shall;
Say's Lucy , 'tis well; quoth Jylian and Nell ,
'Twill make us amend for all.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.