Transcript: A most ioyfull Songe

 

TRANSCRIPT:

A most joyfull Songe, made in the behalfe of all her Majesties
faithfull and loving Subjects: of the great joy, which was made in London. at the taking of the late
trayterous Conspirators, which sought oportunity to kyll her Majesty, to spoyle the Cittie, and by forraigne invasion to overrun the
Realme: for the which haynous Treasons, fourteen of them have suffred death on the 20. &. 21. of Sept. Also, a detestation against those Conspira-
tors, and all their Confederates, giving God the prayse for the safe preservation of her majesty, and their subversion. Anno. Domini. 1586.

To the tune of: O man in desperation.

OH Englishmen with Romish harts, what Deuil doth bewitch you,
To seke the spoyle of Prince and Realme, like Traytors most vntrue.
Why is your duetie so forgot, vnto your Royall Qu_ene,
That you your faith and promise breake, O viperous broode vncl_ene.

Blessed be God who knew your thought, and brought your treason out:
And your destruction now hath wrought that made vs so in doubt.
For if you might haue had your willes to make your bloudie day,
Many a widowe and fatherlesse childe, had then cryed wellaway.

Many a Citie had bene sackt, whose houses had bene firde.
Yea, many a Peere had lost his life, these fruits you all desirde,
But now fourteene of you haue felt, that death you haue deserued,
And God (in mercie) from your hands, our prince and vs preserued.

And would you seeke your Countries spoyle, your Mother and your Nurse,
That fostred you and brought you vp, what treason may be wurse?
Why is your false and poysoned harts, surprised with such hate,
That you must nedes by forraigne power, suppresse your happy state.

Why doo you beare such foolish loue vnto the Ragges of Rome,
That you would seke swete Englands spoyle, and Princes deadly doome,
Will nothing serue your deuillish turne in this your deadly strife,
But euen the blood of your good Quene, and her to reaue of life.

Doo you not know there is a God, that guides her night and day,
Who doth reueale her foes attempts, and brings them to decay,
O wicked men with Tygers harts, nay Monsters I should say,
That sekes to spoyle so good a Quene, as none the like this day.

Her tender loue, procures your hate, her mercie makes you bolde,
Her gentle sufferaunce of your pride, presumptuous vncontrolde,
Doth make you to forget your God, your selues and dueties all,
Whereby you bend your busie braines to mischiefe and to thrall.

Know you not who her highnes is? King Henries daughter dere,
The mightiest Monarche in his dayes, or hath bene many a yere:
She is our Prince and soueraigne Quene, annointed by Gods grace,
To set forth his most sacred word, his enimies to deface.

Haue you not holy scripures read, how byrds with fluttering winges,
A Traytours thought they will betray against annoynted Kinges,
God will no secret treason hide, against a wicked Prince,
Much more, for safety of the good, their foes he will conuince.

Therefore you cruell cankred crue, why seke you mischiefe still,
For to attempt with violent handes, Gods chosen for to kill.
How dare you once in hollow hart, thinke ill of such a Quene,
Whom God himselfe doth fauour so, as like was neuer sene.

Haue you such wicked hatefull hartes, in thirsting after blood,
That with false Iudas you can beare, two faces in one hoode?
Too often hath her Maiesty behelde without mistrust,
The outwarde smiles of Crokadiles, whose harts were most vniust.

O liuing Lord who would suppose that vnder veluets fine,
Such cankred poyson should be hid, as hath bene found this time.
Is this the precious faithfull fruite, which doth from Papists spring?
Are these the workes whereby they thinke Gods Kingdome for to win?

Is not their gredie thirsting throates yet satisfied with blood?
When as it streamde downe Paris streets, much like to Nylus flood.
Or are they not yet dronke enough, in quaffing bloody bowles,
But looke they for a second draught among vs English soules.

O England, England yet reioice, thy God beholdeth all,
And he hath giuen for euermore thy foes a shamefull fall.
By him all Kinges and Princes raigne, he giues them life and breath,
He hath set vp and will maintaine our Queene Elizabeth.

The secret drift and ill intent, of her late hatefull foes,
Vnto all faithfull Subiects ioyes, the Lord did well disclose.
Yea many Traytors false of faith, through his most mighty power,
Are taken in most happy time, and sent vnto the Towre.

Which happy sight for all to see, did glad eche Subiect true,
And many thousands ranne apace, those Caytiues vile to viewe.
Whom when the people did espie, they cryed lowde and shryll,
There goe the Traytors false of faith, which sought our Queene to kill.

There goe the wretched wicked ones, her Citie meant to spoyle,
And murther all her Citizens, but now they haue the foyle.
There goe the enimies of the Realme, did thinke to ouerrunne
All England: to let in the Pope, but now Gods will is doone.

God sent them now their due deserts, as they in hart conspyrde,
To take away our gracious Queene, and Citie to haue fyrde.
God graunt we neuer liue to see, that dismall day to haue,
Who blesse our noble Qu_ene and Realme, and eke her Citie saue.

And thus the people still did cry, both men and women all,
And children yong did shout alowde, and Traytors Traytors call.
Yea thousands trudging to and fro, to meete them still did runne,
And some stoode fasting all the day, till that day light was doone.

To see these Traytors taken so, their harts for ioy did spring,
And to declare this perfect ioy, some ranne the Belles to ring.
The Belles I say did brauely ring, that day and all the night,
And throughout stately London streetes reioyced euery wight.

And when the day was past and gone, and that the night drewe neere,
The worthy Citizens many a one, prepared their good cheare.
And Bondfyres did they merely make, through all the streetes that time,
And in the streetes their Tables stoode, prepared braue and fine.

They came together (gladly all, and there did mery make,
And gaue God thankes with cheerefull hates, for Queene Elizabeths sake.
In solempne Psalmes they sung full sweete, the prayse of God on hie,
Who now and euer keepes our Queene from Traytors tyranny.

But when our noble gratious Queene, did vnderstand this thing,
She writ a letter presently, and seald it [...]th her Ring.
A Letter such of royall loue, vnto her Subiectes eares,
That mooued them from watry eyes, to shed forth ioyfull teares.

O noble Queene without compare, our harts doth bleed for woe,
To thinke that Englishmen should seeke, thy life to ouerthroe.
But here we humbly do protest, oh gracious Queene to thee,
That Londoners will be loyall still, whilst life in them shall be.

And all that would not gladly so, spend forth their dearest bloode,
God giue to them a shamefull ende, and neuer other good.
And Lord with hart to thee we pray, preserue our noble Queene,
And still confound her hatefull foes, as they haue alwayes beene.

FINIS.
T.D.
Printed at London by Richard Jones.