After a bad oft comes a worse;
Evil on evil, curse on curse:
So James to Charles succeeds, who fitter?
Of a French Popish mother’s litter
This was the next and favourite whelp;
He with Judge Jefferies’s help,
A fell-fang’d lurcher, hot for blood,
The gallant Algernon pursued;
Hamper’d him basely in a Coop,
Then ran him down, and cried whoo-whoop!
But though so fierce to treat this man ill,
His Jesuits used him like a spaniel;
Rated him soundly, or carest,
As served their ends and purpose best,
Which not long after to his cost
He felt, his crown and kingdom lost.
Ev’n then these Masters gave not o’er,
But taught him lessons as before;
How he might render Heaven his debtor,
And earn another crown and better:
Told him, ’twas highly meritorious
To exalt the Pope, and kill old Glorious:
That what he did t’avenge his Father,
He might do for himself, and rather.
So with his Priests and his Assassins,
By machinations, plots, compassings,
He struggled long against hard odds
To advance the Devil’s cause and God’s.
Hopeless at last, his means all spent,
He died a Murderer and a Saint.