And tear his flesh, and set your feet on 's neck;
And make his filthy Den so desolate,
To th' astonishment of all that knew his state.
This done, with brandish'd Swords to Turky goe,
For then what is 't, but English blades dare do?
And lay her waste for so 's the sacred Doom,
And to Gog as thou hast done to Rome.
Oh Abraham's seed lift up your heads on high,
For sure the day of your Redemption 's nigh;
The Scales shall fall from your long blinded eyes,
And him you shall adore who now despise,
Then fulness of the Nations in shall flow,
And Jew and Gentile to one worship go;
Then follows days of happiness and rest;
Whose lot doth fall, to live therein is blest.
No Canaanite shall then be found i' th' Land,
And holiness on horses bell's shall stand;
If this make way thereto, then sigh no more,
But if it all, thou did'st not see 't before;
Farewell, dear Mother, rightest cause prevail
And in a while, you'll tell another tale.

This, like all her earlier work, is heavy reading, the account
given by "Old Age" in her "Four Ages of Man," of what he has seen
and known of Puritan affairs, being in somewhat more lively
strain. But lively was an adjective to which Mistress Anne had a
rooted objection. Her contemporaries indulged in an occasional
solemn pun, but the only one in her writings is found in the grim
turn on Laud's name, in the "Dialogue" just quoted, in which is
also a sombre jest on the beheading of Strafford.