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A Discourse - Poem by Ralph Birchensha
Wonder to men, worlds glorie, mightie Lord,
Earths monarch, Prince of thrones & powers all,
Peerlesse for praise, famous in factes and deedes,
Guider of Angels, aide of mortall men:
Whose little finger swayes both sea and lande,
And turnes the globe of heauen with his hand.
To gloomie earth all darke and voide of forme,
His blessed breath did giue a happie shape:
His onely word made Sunne, the Moone and Starres,
And at his will, beasts, fish, and foule tooke life:
Nothing there was, or is, or that shall bee,
But his strong hand doth guide and rule wee see.
When Lucifer great Prince of hell had falne,
And mad in malice, wrought mans ouerthrow,
Iehouas hand the instrument did frame,
To vanquish Sathan through the womans seed:
Sweet Christ: Christ Iesus was the onely meane,
That bruis'd his head, his heele, and kingdome cleane.
Great was the iudgement this immortall God,
Vnto the first age for their sinnes did shewe:
Most fearefull floods from heauen windowes fell,
That fifteene cubits mounted boue the earth:
All drowned were, from death not one could part,
But eight, which were inclosed in the Arke.
VVhen Amrophell, Aroch, and Tydall kings,
VVith Chedor, Laomer king of Elam too,
Made bloodie warre gainst Bera Sodom king,
And other Peeres that rulde Gomorah then:
In that same valley which men Siddim call,
King Bera and his Peeres were vanquisht all.
These fierce inuaders hauing conquest got,
In triumph beares the spoile and prey away:
But loe, beholde, the Lord did raise vp strength,
Old Abraham, who with three hundred men,
Fought with these kings, and made them fly amaine,
And so brought backe their wiues and goods againe.
VVhen cursed Pharaoh would not giue consent,
The Israelites from Egypt should depart,
Though God by Moyses mightie wonders wrought,
To cause him yeeld and giue them leaue to passe:
Yet stubbornly proud Pharaoh would assay,
To crosse Gods will and bring them to decay.
But loe beholde, when Israels hope was gone,
And sawe no meane to scape or life to saue,
And bloudie Pharaoh bent to take reuenge,
Then would the Lord make knowne he was a God:
At his commaund the sea was made dry land,
To saue his people from inuaders hand.
But bloudie Pharaoh would not yet relent,
Although he saw a miracle so strange,
But boldly ventred with his horse and foote,
Supposing that that way was made for him:
But when in midst thereof his forces came,
The seas made way, and fiercely on them ranne.
When Korah, Dathan, and bolde Abiram,
Rigd vp the furrowes of rebelling harts,
And had two hundred fiftie captaines stout,
To ioyne with them gainst Moyses Gods chiefe friend:
Loe what insued, God hating rebels all,
The ground doth open, they therein doe fall.
When Arad, Syhon, Og, three mightie Kings,
Opposde themselues gainst Moyses in like case:
And ramd their gates, and shut vp all the waies,
And with fierce fight the Israelites did charge:
Yet God who alwaies for his people stands,
In battaile gaue these Kings to Moyses hands.
When Eui, Reken, Zur, Hur, and Reba,
Fiue potent Kings of Medianits they were,
Attempting boldly Phinehas to charge,
And rankt their forces gainst the Lords elect:
But God that neuer failes to aide the right,
Gaue these fiue Kings to him in the same fight.
When Moyses had nigh space of fortie yeares,
Through wildernesse, hils, dales, and mountaines wide,
Gods people guided towards Canaan land,
Moyses departed, Ioshua tooke the charge:
And first of all his valour for to show,
He gaue attempt to stately Ierycho.
But what the Lord appoints must needes be done.
For whome God fights, they sure are to preuaile.
Mans arme and strength is but too weake a stay,
Small is the meanes by which God winnes the field:
The voice of trumpets shouting therewithall,
Made stony walles, and yron gates to fall.
When great Goliah prest to plague Gods Church,
VVhose height a cubit fully did containe,
Of brasse his helmet cunningly was made,
His brigandine fiue thousand shickels weigh'd:
His speare and shield were all of pure brasse,
His speare in bignes VVeauers beames did passe.
Then high Iehouah little Dauid brought,
All naked in compare of his strong foe,
Who in the sight of all the standers by,
Into his forehead sent so sound a stroke,
As downe the monster fell vpon the earth,
And Dauid there depriu'd him of his breath.
Far more then these Gods register doth yeeld,
That shews his loue and aid to mortall men,
That hath regard vnto his lawes and heast,
And for his right will wrastle with the proud:
For God regards ne horse, nor speare, nor shield,
For without meanes he makes the stout to yeeld.
Most wicked then are Irish rebels breed,
VVhose lawlesse liues weaues on their web of woe,
VVhose wicked facts Moab and Ammon passe,
Farre worse then heathen Pagans of the earth,
The onely monsters that the world containes,
And cursed crue whome all good men refraines.
Rebels to God, despisers of his lawes,
Traitors to Christ, depriuers of his right,
Refusing still the gifts of holie Ghost:
Breakers of peace, reiecters of the truth,
Contemners of Gods word and holy writ,
That guides mens liues the perfect path to hit.
Rebels to Prince, rebels to natiue home,
Traitors to Prince, traitors to countries due,
Supplanters of all rule and gouernment,
Infringing lawes, the waste of Common-weale:
The brood of wolues, the elder sonnes of Cain,
The impes of hell, and very markes of shame.
Champions of hell, borne with bloodie hands,
Haters of truth, sworne slaues to rape and spoyle,
Authors of mischiefe: all on murther set,
Masking with faces like strong plates of brasse:
Furies of hell, shaking their dog-eard locks,
Like damned slaues sprung from most cursed stocks.
Breakers of wedlocke, wantons in their liues,
Most bred vp bastards from their very birth:
Louers of theft, liuing by theeuing trade,
Idle in life, like beasts fed in the stall:
False lying mates, deceitfull and vniust,
Whom God nor man, nor diuell cannot trust.
Idolators, superstitious men,
False worshippers, sworne slaues vnto the Pope,
Trusting to dreames and fained prophecies,
Obseruers of old writs that haue no ground:
More ignorant then beasts are in their kinde,
Willing to lose what chiefe they ought to finde.
Open mainitainers of all runnagates,
As peeuish priests and filthie begging Friers,
Sold Seminaries to the Romish Church,
False traitors to their soueraigne Prince and Queene:
Vilde lothsome locusts crawld from yond the seas,
Whose stinking breaths ingenders sore disease.
That this is true, view Irelands present state,
Which whilome sate in faire and rich attire,
Which whilome flow'd in plentie of the earth,
But now growne naked, feeble, weake and bare:
Who lately held sweete peace both neere and farre,
But now in euery place at deadly iarre.
View now their houses wasted as they lie,
View now their fields all barren round about,
View now their medowes ouergrowne with weedes,
View their high waies vntroden as they are:
All honest trades are ceased very nie,
And plague on plague you perfectly may spie.
The old men wander like as men forlorne,
And women faint for want of some reliefe;
Yong children starue and pine for bread we see,
Most of the poore resemble death in shew:
In stinking holes and vilde vnseemly place,
Are Cels for such in this their dolefull case.
View well their bogs furd all with bloodie hew,
View well their fastnes of the selfesame stampe,
View well their hedges sprinkled all with red,
View well their brookes how bloodie they doe looke:
The blood that Ireland sheds from day to day,
For vengeance cries to God without delay.
What is the cause this land in such termes stands?
But only that the people fell from God,
And brake Gods Sabboths with a mightie hand,
Forsooke the Preachers of his blessed word:
Apostates the most of them haue plaid,
And will not turne for ought that may be said.
Seminarie priests and lying Friers,
First sware them, that Gods word they shall not heare,
And teach them their oth vnto their Prince
May lawfully be broken when they will:
And sweares them, that deuoutly they shall keepe,
What so the Pope of Rome and themselues like.
These are the grounds from whence all mischiefe spring,
These are the causes that rebellion is:
These are the reasons Spaniards inuade,
This is the matter no amendment comes:
For why, the diuell now is busie still,
To draw all men to chuse what best he will.
O famous Queene, who holds this land by right,
Whose care hath been and is, to cure their sore:
What louing fauours hath her Grace bestowd,
On mightie men, and subiects of this land?
Whose wise foresights in time might stop full well,
The streames from whence these mischiefes so do swel.
But well her Highnesse hath from time to time,
Obserued still this nations wandring thoughts,
And seene into their natures and their liues,
Who like yong colts and heifers loue to fling,
That without bits, and bridles, and strong hand,
Will not be held in peace or rest to stand.
The better therefore to instruct their liues,
As louing fathers vse vnto their sonnes,
To keepe them in a liking of good lawes,
And to prouide them tutors of good life:
So did her Grace from time to time elect,
Graue and wise men this land for to direct.
Sussex was one worthie of such a charge,
Sidney another held of good account,
Fitz Williams had the like authoritie,
Lord Gray did also rule by like commaund:
Parret was chosen to the selfesame place,
And Russell held the sword another space.
Lord Burrowes had the soueraigne seate also,
Essex was placed in the chaire of state:
Besides all these Lord Iustices bare sway,
And vnto them graue Counsellors were ioynd:
By whose aduice and gouernment was thought,
Vnto good life that Ireland would be brought.
Besides the charge for these same chosen men,
What summes of gold and siluer hath been spent?
What maste of victuals forth of England come?
What store of powder and munition?
What English blood in Ireland hath been shed,
Since first these Rebels grew vnto a head?
Besides all this, what Irish euer was,
Vpon complaint vnto his soueraigne Queene,
Of wrongs, of losse, of iniurie sustaind,
But in good measure he hath iustice found?
Iustice and mercie, bountie, loue and all,
Her princely breast hath in this land let fall.
Then come all Irish borne of honest birth,
In equall ballance lay thy present cause:
Did euer subiects dealt withall as these,
In such vngratefull sort reward their Prince?
No, no, its hard like president to finde,
Subiects to Prince were neuer so vnkinde.
In lieu of all that hath been said before,
Which were sufficient motiues to preuaile,
In any heart where feare of God did rest:
What hope is yet in this rebellious man?
No hope at all, for why his peacocks plume
Is spread abroad the land for to consume.
This rauening kite, this carren crow by kinde,
These seauen long winters with his bloodie hands
Haue wasted, spoild, and robd from friend and foe,
And fild vp holes, and dennes, and caues therewith:
In trust that men and meanes the way would worke,
To make him king by others harme and hurt.
And not content mischiefe at home to warpe,
In forraine parts like rancor he did plot,
To ioyne with him he drew the Spaniards in,
For men, for money, and what els he could:
Supposing by that meanes about to bring,
To dispossesse the Queene and make him king.
More firme to purchase his aspiring thoughts,
In priuate corners all about the land,
In secret manner he had drawne to him,
All hollow hearts and those of Popish marke:
This monster thus his poison forth had blowne,
And hop'd at last to reape what he had sowne.
But the proud Hamon when he thought all sure,
Was farthest off his purpose and intent:
God sits on high, and sees mens acts on earth,
And topsie turuie throwes the wicked downe:
All ages tels, experience proues it plaine,
In most extreames God raiseth helpe againe.
To buckle with this Archrebell Tyrone,
God mou'd the Queene and Nobles of her land,
To mount to state Mountioy faithfull Peere,
That by his hight might Tyrone trample downe:
And by the Sun-beames spreading from his crest,
The Rebels heart teare from his traitors breast.
And blessed beames, since first they gaue their light,
How hath the streames which faire Mountioy spreads,
Dazled the eyes of Tyrone and his traine,
And dimbd their sight like men thats blindfold led?
For oft we see darke clowdes and foggie mist,
When Sun once shines, it driues them where it list.
Witnesse the Moyrie where Mountioy lay,
In fogs, in winds, in stormes and powring raine:
Not for a night, a day, a weeke, or month,
But more then fiftie daies and winter nights:
When tents, when cabbins, cels, and shelters all,
By whirling winds and stormes were forst to fall.
Close by his side this subtile Serpent lay,
And all the rabble of his rebell slaues,
Like leering foxes in their hatefull dennes,
All furnisht well for to maintaine their broile:
But when as once Mountioy came in sight,
The snailes drew in their heads and durst not fight.
There did Mountioy tyre this Tyrone well;
There did his beames his darkest trench make shine,
There did Mountioy traine him to the field;
There was Tyrone beat from his strongest hold,
And in the end a cowards part did play,
For like false Rebels there they stole away.
But like himselfe Mountioy mounted yet,
And with the brightnes of his flying beames,
Found out the Rebell and his damned crue,
Who in Armah were close and slylie laid:
For why the Moyrie had so curbd the cur,
That he and whelps were glad to run so fur.
There did these snakes roule round their tailes a while,
Yet at the last were forst to cast their skinnes,
Like coward cocks that thinkes their dunghils best,
Durst not abide Armah, where they were in:
For why Mountioy hurld bullets in so fast,
As to Blackwater they were forst at last.
There in their fastnes closely they were laid,
Like hogs in sties, or dogs in kinnels vile,
Like priuie theeues that best loues darksome night,
And hates the Sunne for feare of being seene:
So they in bogs and bushes secret lay,
To kill and murther all that past that way.
But still Mountioy sent forth his brightsome beames,
To let these vipers know he was not farre,
And speedily Blackwater ouer went,
In spite of Tyrone and his boggie crue:
Moyrie, Mountnorris, and Blackwater fort,
Shewes our Mountioy holds Tyrone but a sport.
And well it seemes he found his combe neere cut,
Which made him send post vpon post in speed,
His priests and Friers flocked fast to Spaine,
Well loden all with packs and sacks of lyes:
His blessed father now the Pope must helpe,
Or els is like to lose his chiefest whelpe.
And as in fine it proued to be true,
His plots and letters tooke impression there,
His holy father thought it now high time,
To helpe his grandchild to darke Mountioyes light:
And for his aide the Pope did so preuaile,
As Don Iohn landed shortly at Kinsale.
There did he seate and trench himselfe full fast,
And mand such Castles as he found stood nigh,
Foure thousand strong he found himselfe to be,
And made no doubt but to obtaine the game:
For looke what art or policie could doe,
To make all sure Don Iohn did shifts pursue.
Nothing was wanting but the Rebels aide,
Which when they heard that Don Iohn was so nigh,
Their fainting heart began to come againe,
And with strong vowes protesteth straight to come:
And with such speede as Rebels well could make,
To aide the Spaniard they doe vndertake.
Odonnell with three thousand horse and foote,
Set forward first, like furies come from hell,
Tyrone the traitor hasted with his strength,
Most vgly slaues like to the former sort,
Well furnished, as is their beastly guise,
With armes and victuals to obtaine the prize.
But happie Mountioy hauing heard these newes,
Drew downe his forces towards Kinsale straight,
And nigh Don Iohn began for to approch,
To know the cause and busines he had there:
And as the beast that's pind vp in the stye,
He keepes Don Iohn that out he could not flye.
There did he campe stoutly with all his force,
There made he trenches fit for souldiers vse,
There made he mounts to batter downe the walles,
There made he forts for to offend the foe:
There from such Castles that the Spaniard held,
By force of armes perforce he was expeld.
Here who had seene for more then fifteene weekes,
The lying of our armie at Kinsale,
In open aire, no shelter for reliefe,
Beaten still with winde, haile, snow, raine, and frost,
With thunderclaps and fearfull flames of fire,
Their fairest footing was but durt and mire.
In all which time ranke Rebels held aloofe,
Beating their braines and plotting all they could,
Choaking the aire with their infectious breath,
Fearing the beames would burne from Mountioy came,
For oft before they triall good had made,
To meete them boldly Mountioy was not fraid.
At last a remnant sent from out of Spaine,
Who winds and seas kept houering vp and downe,
Arriued where Tyrone might aide them well,
In number full a thousand fighting men:
Whereby the Rebels better courage tooke,
Being then in strength sixe thousand horse and foote.
Oh, who had seene these black bands come from Spaine,
With Antichrist their masters banner spred,
Stoutly aduanced, spreading in the aire,
Richly set out with Christs fiue bleeding wounds:
And quartred with supposed Peters keyes,
With other tricks which might well babies please.
What deadly curses were there thundred out,
Gainst those that to this standerd beare disdaine?
How deepe to Limbo were all good men throwne?
Booke, bell, and candle curst them all to hell:
Their Agnus deis, Crucifix, and Beades,
Were roundly dealt by those this black gard leades.
But who had seene how Tyrone and the rest,
Had shar'd the bootie fore the field was won,
And with black pennes did dawbe their bloodie books,
Of those whose heads in triumph they would beare;
Would muse to heare, and wonder at the slaue,
That should to Prince and countrie such spite haue.
Now gan the diuell laugh and smile a pace,
To see his imps bent to their cursed wils:
For now it was concluded without let,
The Spaniards should relieued present be:
And to that end a messenger was sent,
To tell Don Iohn their purpose and intent.
On Christmas eue hard at the breake of day,
Appointed was that they would certaine come;
And while on one side they would freshly charge,
Don Iohn by force should issue from the towne:
By which attempt they thought by force and might,
To win the field and darke Mountioyes light.
But our great God whose seate is heauens throne,
And for his footstoole hath the massie earth,
Who rules and guides the hearts of mortall men,
Without whose will a sillie bird fals not:
Who lets men plot and hammer what they will,
Yet as he please it is effected still.
He held proud Pharaoh from his cursed will;
He curbed Korah, Dathan, and the rest;
He hang'd fiue Kings that Israels peace disturb'd;
Oreb and Zeb he threw downe to the ground:
He caused Hamon trie the gibbet furst,
And stout Goliahs forehead to be burst.
He neuer leaues those that put trust in him;
His workes are great, his mercie farre exceeds;
He still rewards all men as they deserue;
He puls downe proud men, and sets vp the weake:
Tyrons false heart the Lord full well hath seene,
And will defend a true and lawfull Queene.
For all the secret working of these imps,
He soone can bring their counsels vnto naught;
He findes the meanes Mountioy shall preuent,
Their purposes and enterprises all:
And in his hand holds fast the turning wheele,
That lifts some vp, some backward makes to reele.
As well appeares by this which doth insue:
For Mountioy hauing knowledge of their plot,
Drew forth not past one thousand of his foote,
Three hundred horse was all he tooke along:
And easily he led them on the way,
With purpose full to keepe the Rebels play.
Quickly he might the enemies behold,
All marshalled with drums and colours spread,
Guided by Leaders of their best commaund,
In battailes plac'd, with wings laid for the time:
With Lions lookes they made a staring stand,
With good aduice to take the fight in hand.
Now doth Mountioyes beames begin to spread,
His presence dims these Rebels sights forthwith,
And gallantly his horse doth giue the charge,
And drawes his foote to offer them the like:
They charge againe, Mountioyes horse then flie out,
And rushed in amidst the strongest rout.
Iehoua now gaue courage to our men,
And in the Rebels strike a slauish feare:
For in a minuit of a time, they gan
To breake their rankes and throw their armes away:
And well was he that best could run or ride,
To trie their valour none durst there abide.
They being broke, God so did strength Mountioy,
And blest the labour of his worthie men,
That they with speed pursu'd the Rebell slaues,
And in a moment had twelue hundred kild:
Nine Colours won, and many captiues tane,
Two thousand armes they lost vnto their shame.
In their pursute the riuers plaid their part,
And rising vp against such wicked imps,
Their mounting waues did sinke them to the deepe,
As most vnworthie to enioy the land:
Happie was he could shun that bloodie day,
And stoutest man that made most haste away.
There might you see a iust reuenge for blood,
Blood cries for blood, for in each dike and gap,
They groueling lay besprinkled all with blood:
One leglesse lay, another wants his arme:
Some all to cut and mangled back and face,
That streames of blood were shed in euery place.
There might you see from East, West, North and South,
The Rauens, Crowes, and foules in flocks to come:
There might you see from euery den and bush,
The greedie wolues and rauening beasts make haste:
As welcome guests vnto so fat a feast,
They cheer'd themselues as well the most as least.
Besides all this, aboue seauen hundred men,
Were wounded sore and hurt in grieuous wise;
There might you heare them howling with loude cries;
There might you see them stampe and stare apace;
There might you see them languish and make mone,
Yet little helpe or succour to them showne.
Thus by Gods helpe Mountioy was the meane,
To daunt the pride of those Arch-rebels all;
And that same pit which they for others made,
Their cursed feete lay caught in the same gin.
And as this fell, so Lord let be thy will,
When next they meete like hap send Rebels still.
Thus are these men who vnderhand before,
Had cast their cards with trust to get the game,
All male content raging in great extreames,
Cursing their chance, returne with all the losse;
Railing the Spanish, saying this and that,
To be the cause of this their hard mishap.
But had you seene these Rebels in their flight,
When as our forces neuer made pursute,
Tweene Cork and Mallo as they past along,
What fearfull fits amazed all their thoughts?
Each bush and blast, each shadow made them say,
Here comes Mountioy, therefore make haste away.
For some of his that were falne in the reare,
Strooke such a terror in his formost men,
That downe goes armes and weapons in great haste,
Doubting our forces had been at their heeles:
But loe Gods hand the wicked to confound,
In Mallow foord two hundred there lay drown'd.
There who had seene the Irish loue to Spaine,
For whose defence the Spaniard thither came,
And for their sakes left children, wife and friends,
What crueltie to them these Rebels shew'd:
They murthred some, some strip'd vnto their skin,
And let them lie to sinke or else to swim.
Thus were these traitors all disperst abroad,
Tyrone himselfe came home not with eight men:
His heart was faint, for Aquavite cals,
His welcome home was sad and heauie lookes:
Wishing they had the Spanish left alone,
And like false Rebels still haue staid at home.
Odonnell hatefull traitor to the world,
With Mustion too, sail'd are into Spaine;
Tyrrill the Rebell tarries still behinde,
VVith new start Rebels sprung vp very late:
VVhose cursed ends no doubt will shortly show,
God hates the works which from such wretches flow.
Now Rebels all and Papists of this land,
You head-shorne Friers, and you lying Priests,
See what vaine hope is in your popish trash,
Your popish standerd was not worth a straw:
Runne therefore headlong, howle, crie and mone,
Throughout the world your shame & losse is blowne.
Mountioy he returnes back to Kinsale,
VVith praise to God for such a blessed day,
Attributing the glorie to the Lord,
In all which fight he lost not full three men:
And souldiers loden were with booties good,
As iust rewards for ventring of their blood.
Here must I marshall in their iust desert,
Sir George Carew of Munster President,
VVhose cost, whose care, and trauell in these broiles,
Liuely laies downe his loue to Prince and state:
Thomond, Clenrickerd, and Lord Awdley eke,
Like to themselues true honour there did seeke.
Sir Richard Wingfield, Marshall of the field,
VVith Sir George Bourchier well deserueth praise;
Dauers, and Lambert, Power, Barley too,
Saint Laurence, Bagnall, Folliot, and Rush:
Godolphin, Greame, with Taaffe, and Captaines all,
Honour haue got by Rebels losse and fall.
All this same while Don Iohn lay very close,
Expecting still when Rebels promise held:
At last got knowledge of the traitors chance,
VVhich made him hang his head like Spanish vse:
He bit his nailes, he leerd vp to the skie,
He stampt the ground, and musing long did lie.
Hope in Tyrone, that course he thought was vaine;
Hope in himselfe, he saw small comfort there;
Hope out of Spaine, he knew that would be long;
Hope for to fight, he found lesse ioy in that.
At last he started from his doubtfull muse,
To call a parley he thought best to chuse.
Forthwith his Drum was sent to shew his minde:
But happie Mountioy had no like thereof,
Whose purpose was to starue and beate him out,
As fittest guerdon for his bold attempt:
Yet still to call for parley he was bold,
And marshall men must marshall orders hold:
Parley obtaind, conditions were agreed,
Good quarter held according to contract,
Mountioy pleasde, Don Iohn was well content,
Of deadly hate more quiet did insue:
Where otherwise, if both had still held out,
Much losse of blood had brought Kinsale about.
By which contract and composition made,
Perforce must make all Spaniards English loue:
And graunt that English thirst not after blood,
But mercie, loue, peace, and all charitie:
Which ornaments both God and man doth like,
And oft preuailes more then doth bloodie fight.
Besides, this course in reason needs must moue,
The Spanish nation Irish Rebels hate,
By whose presumes and vile inticing traines,
Were hither drawne into so hard extreames:
And make them graunt while life they doe endure,
A Rebels word and strength is most vnsure.
And eke the course Mountioy tooke therein,
May draw the Spanish hate to English loue,
Their Irish loue vnto a mortall iarre,
And Irish trust no more to Spanish arme:
England and Spaine by this may quiet bee,
And Spaine no more the Irish loue to see.
By this the world, the Pope, and King of Spaine,
May iudge the conquest that Don Iohn hath got,
Who blustred out halfe Ireland he had won,
And at whose fortune they did so admire,
May now perceiue that Rebels, Priests, and Friers,
Coine naught but lies to fit their owne desires.
And hereby may the King of Spaine obserue,
How God abhors and hates vniust attempts,
And leaue his hate gainst faire Elizabeth,
Virgin Queene, famous for vertuous life:
And blot no more his honour with disgrace,
To backe base Rebels in so bad a case.
Vnto which end, marke but Gods hand herein,
The Spanish present gins to shew their loue,
Hard by Kinsale some bands of English lay,
After the armie was dissolu'd and gon:
Whom Tyrril and new Rebels did deuise,
By strength and force these bands for to surprise.
Where of the Spanish hauing notice got,
Drew forth their men to ioyne with ours straight,
With solemne vowes, there for to liue and die
In English right, and Rebels for to foile:
Thus those which lately sought for English blood,
Will shed their owne to doe our countrie good.
Now sith Iehoua of his mercie great,
Wonderously hath fought in his owne cause,
And giuen now Mountioy for to see,
That counsell, horse, and men get not the field:
But whom God loues, and those who serue him still,
Are sure to conquer as their owne selues will.
Then let Eliza rest still on Gods strong hand,
Obey his lawes, aduance his Gospell pure,
Roote out blind Papists, Priests, and filthie Friers,
Bring all degrees to heare Gods holy word:
Cherish the good, snub such as wicked are,
And then Eliza shall prosper in the war.
Comments about A Discourse by Ralph Birchensha
Poems About Horse
- 451. A Discourse , Ralph Birchensha
- 452. Eppie Morrie , Anonymous British
- 453. Party In A One Horse Town , Kris Whelan (1971)
- 454. I Tell You Then , Michael C. Peterson
- 455. Lady Karen , Pamela lutwyche
- 456. Would You Wear A Cowboy Hat For Me , Anna Pacheco
- 457. Green Horse , Anirban Sengupta
- 458. Morning Sunlight , Anna Hardin
- 459. The Process Of Attraction , Muthu Krishnan
- 460. Oh! Can It Be? , margaret haig
- 461. The Famous Historie: Cap. Viii , Patrick Gordon
New Horse Poems
- Horse, Nassy Fesharaki
- Ride Your Horse Baby, Dorsey Baker
- Horse's Adventure, Jason Bredle
- A Horse Story, oskar hansen
- The Song On Prophetic Oleg Alexander Ser.., Yuri Starostin
- Girl (Three) And The Black Horse, Rg Gregory
- The Poor Horse, Bireswar Halder
- Horses, Rhea Badhwar
- White Horses, Eleanor Farjeon
- King Of The Dung Heap!, Mark Heathcote
- carpe diem