That living Library and Master of the Sciences, the profound
Philosopher, Sir Kenelns Digby, who (which I am much astonisht
at) came over two Months since to visit his Bedlame Countreymen;
the Conspirators having (seemingly) condiscended to permit
him to compound, have now upon better consideration voted
his banishment (must Sir Kenelm be compelled to remain Royall,
some Sphinx give a solution of this riddle) he is commanded to
depart this Common-wealth (for now it is no more a Kingdome
inhabited by men, but a Common-wealth managed by Monsters,
and peopled with subordinate beasts) within ten dayes, and it is
imposed on him a command not to return without the assent of
the Religious Rebels, upon paine of death.
Away Sir Kenelm, in the Court of France,
Laugh at the fallacy, of Time, and chance.
And now, as if they meant to introduce barbarism in an instant,
and to leave the people not so much as one Loyall Levite, the truly
Learned Orthodox and excellent Divine Master Hall of Saint
Bartholmews, was three dayes since dragg'd out of his dwelling
House, his Goods plundred, and his Library seazed on, and the
next thing they intend against him, is to Suspend him the exercise
of his Ministeriall function; they are now about to proceed severely
against all Papists and those popishly affected (the Roman
Catholicks averre that Ignorance is the mother of Devotion, they
by their proceedings make it infallible, that they imagine Ignorance
the best mother and nurse of Rebellion and Heresie) expect
to heare shortly of the demollishing of all Temples and Houses of
Gods worship the melting of all Bells, burning of Books of good
litterature, and the cajoling of all learned men:
And next to see their pomp and glory die,
And buried in poore Englands ashes lie.
FINIS.