Hell shook, for devils dread Almighty power, At every shock they fear'd the fatal hour,

T'he adamantine pillars mov'd, And Satan's pandemonium tremblid too ;

The tottering seraphs wildly rov'd, Doubtful what the Almighty meant to do; For in the darkest of the black abode There's not a devil but believes a God.

Old Lucifer has sometimes tried

To have himself be deifi'd; But devils nor men the being of God denied, Till men of late found out new ways to sin, And turn’d the devil out to let the Atheist in. But when t'ie mighty element began,

And storms the weighty truth explain, Almighty power upon the whirlwind rode,

And every blast proclaim'd aloud There is, there is, there is, a God.

Plague, famine, pestilence, and war,

Are in their causes seen,
The true original appear

Before the effects begin :
But storms and tempests are above our rules,

Here our philosophers are fools.
The Stagirite himself could never show,

From whence, nor how they blow.
'Tis all sublime, 'tis all a mystery,
They see no manner how, nor reason why;
All Sovereign Being is our amazing theme,

"Tis all resolv'd to power supreme;

From this first cause our tempest came, And let the Atheists 'spite of sense blaspheme,

They can no room for banter find, Till they produce another father for the wind.

Satire, thy sense of sovereign being declare,

He made the mighty prince o' th' air, And devils recognize him by their fear.

Ancient as time, and elder than the light, E're the first day, or antecedent night,




E’re matter into settl'd form became,
And long before existence had a name;
Before th' expanse of indigested space,
While the vast no-where filled the room of place.
Liv'd the First Cause, the first great Where and Why,
Existing to and from eternity,
Of his great Self, and of necessity.
This I call God, that one great word of fear,

At whose great sound,
When from his mighty breath 'tis echo'd round,
Nature pays homage with a trembling bow,
And conscious man would faintly disallow;
The secret trepidation racks the soul,
And while he says, No God, replies, Thou fool.

But call it what we will,
First being it had, does space and substance fill.
Eternal self-existing power enjoy'd,
And whatso'er is so, that same is God.

If then it should fall out, as who can tell,

But that there is a heaven and hell, Mankind had best consider well for fear 'T should be too late when their mistakes appear ; Such may

in vain reform, Unless they do't before another storm.

They tell us Scotland 'scaped the blast; No nation else have been without a taste :

All Europe sure have felt the mighty shock,

'T has been a universal stroke.
But heaven has other ways to plague the Scots,

As poverty and plots.
Her majesty confirms it, what she said,

I plainly heard it, though I'm dead.

The dangerous sound has rais'd me from my sleep,

I can no longer silence keep;
Here satire's thy deliverance,
A plot in Scotland, hatch'd in France,
And liberty the old pretence.

Prelatic power with Popish join,
The queen's just government to undermine ;


This is enough to wake the dead,
The call's too loud, it never shall be said

The lazy Satire slept too long,
When all the nation's danger claim’d his song;

Rise Satire from thy sleep of legal death,

And reassume satiric breath; What though to seven years' sleep thou art confin'd,

Thou well may'st wake with such a wind.

Such blasts as these can seldom blow, But they're both form’d above and heard below. Then wake and warn us now the storm is past, Lest heaven return with a severer blast.

Wake and inform mankind

Of storms that still remain behind.
If from this grave thou lift thy head,
They'll surely mind one risen from the dead.
Though Moses and the prophets can't prevail,

A speaking satire cannot fail.
Tell 'em while secret discontents appear,

There'll ne'er be peace and union here.
They that for trifles so contend,
Have something farther in their end;

But let those hasty people know,
The storms above reprove the storms below.

And 'tis too often known;
That storms below do storms above fore-run ;

They say this was a high church storm,

Sent out the nation to reform;
But th' emblem left the moral in the lurch,
For 't blew the steeple down upon the church.

From whence we now inform the people, The danger of the church is from the steeple. And we've had many a bitter stroke,

From pinnacle and weather-cock ;
From whence the learned do relate,
That to secure the church and state,

The time will come when all the town,
To save the church, will pull the steeple down.



Two tempests are blown over, now prepare
For storms of treason and intestine war
The high-church fury to the north extends,

In haste to ruin all their friends.

Occasional conforming led the way,
And now occasional rebellion comes in play,

To let the wond'ring nation know,
That high-church honesty's an empty show,

A phantom of delusive air,
That as occasion serves can disappear,

And loyalty 's a senseless phrase,
An empty nothing which our interest sways,

And as that suffers this decays.


Who dare the dangerous secret tell,

That churchmen can rebel.
Faction we thought was by the Whigs engross’d,
And forty-one was banter'd till the jest was lost.

Bothwell and Pentland hills were fam’d,
And Gilly Cranky hardly nam'd.

If living poets dare not speak,

We that are dead must silence break;
And boldly let them know the time's at hand,
When Ecclesiastic tempests shake the land.
Prelatic treason from the crown divides,

And now rebellion changes sides.
Their volumes with their loyalty may swell,

But in their turns too they rebel ;

Can plot, contrive, assassinate,
And spite of passive laws disturb the state.
Let fair pretences fill the mouths of men,

No fair pretence shall blind my pen;
They that in such a reign as this rebel,
Must needs be in confederacy with hell.

Oppressions, tyranny, and pride,

May form some reasons to divide ;
But where the laws with open justice rule,
He that rebels must be both knave and fool.
May heaven the growing mischief soon prevent,

And traitors meet reward in punishment.

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