Oh, heavens! the weakness of my unkind father!
Better some peasant had begot me rather:
He would not black himself, his wife defame,
And after marriage bastard me proclaim;
Through panic fear thus in Perillus roar
To gratify a brother or a whore;
Honor disclaim, by fools and knaves beguiled,
Nay, would it pass, deny me for his child;
Destroy my right 'gainst God and nature's laws
To prop the falling of their tott'ring cause;
Pursue a chase more of the goose than fox
Called the shammed story of the blackened box;
Deny the truth long in the ashes hid,
Disowning now what Bishop Fuller did;
How he performed the marriage office ere
You could enjoy my wronged mother dear.
All other terms she scorned with her soul,
Though means were used with her both fair and foul:
Witness yourself what Mother Queen did do
Besides the offers that were made by you.
When mighty passions brought you down so ill,
Your grief befooled the French physician's skill,
And at grim death's approaches out did cry,
" Oh! let me marry with her, or I die. "
'Twas then she yielded and became your wife:
Sir, this is truth! I'll prove it with my life.
But you may save the trouble, if you please:
Speak like yourself, and all the kingdom ease.
You are my father, sir; I'll duty pay
Unto yourself until your dying day.
But when that falls (which God foreslow), sir, I
Will take the name of royal majesty,
Without offense to any, as my due,
Giv'n me by God, by nature, sir, and you.
Then (if I live) the wronged world shall know
In wedlock I was got, and born in't too;
That I am heir undoubted to the crown,
And will enjoy it when you lay it down,
In spite of Papists, mauger all their hate;
Their hope shall find I am legitimate.
England, stand by me with your utmost breaths:
I'll ruin Rome, or die ten thousand deaths,
And make France tremble also, ere I've done;
Destroy those plagues that murder Christendom
That true religion in the land may flow,
Not forms and int'rest which are called so;
And should I ever alter what I say,
Let God forsake me on my dying day.
Enough, brave prince we'll take your royal word,
And will defend you by the dint of sword
'Gainst all opposers, whosoe'er they are.
We'll stand or fall, and in your fortunes share;
And after Charles, who wrongs you of your crown,
Shall cut a million of true English down.
Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Better some peasant had begot me rather:
He would not black himself, his wife defame,
And after marriage bastard me proclaim;
Through panic fear thus in Perillus roar
To gratify a brother or a whore;
Honor disclaim, by fools and knaves beguiled,
Nay, would it pass, deny me for his child;
Destroy my right 'gainst God and nature's laws
To prop the falling of their tott'ring cause;
Pursue a chase more of the goose than fox
Called the shammed story of the blackened box;
Deny the truth long in the ashes hid,
Disowning now what Bishop Fuller did;
How he performed the marriage office ere
You could enjoy my wronged mother dear.
All other terms she scorned with her soul,
Though means were used with her both fair and foul:
Witness yourself what Mother Queen did do
Besides the offers that were made by you.
When mighty passions brought you down so ill,
Your grief befooled the French physician's skill,
And at grim death's approaches out did cry,
" Oh! let me marry with her, or I die. "
'Twas then she yielded and became your wife:
Sir, this is truth! I'll prove it with my life.
But you may save the trouble, if you please:
Speak like yourself, and all the kingdom ease.
You are my father, sir; I'll duty pay
Unto yourself until your dying day.
But when that falls (which God foreslow), sir, I
Will take the name of royal majesty,
Without offense to any, as my due,
Giv'n me by God, by nature, sir, and you.
Then (if I live) the wronged world shall know
In wedlock I was got, and born in't too;
That I am heir undoubted to the crown,
And will enjoy it when you lay it down,
In spite of Papists, mauger all their hate;
Their hope shall find I am legitimate.
England, stand by me with your utmost breaths:
I'll ruin Rome, or die ten thousand deaths,
And make France tremble also, ere I've done;
Destroy those plagues that murder Christendom
That true religion in the land may flow,
Not forms and int'rest which are called so;
And should I ever alter what I say,
Let God forsake me on my dying day.
Enough, brave prince we'll take your royal word,
And will defend you by the dint of sword
'Gainst all opposers, whosoe'er they are.
We'll stand or fall, and in your fortunes share;
And after Charles, who wrongs you of your crown,
Shall cut a million of true English down.
Honi soit qui mal y pense.