A Word of Ireland
Not of the Nation universally, nor of any man in
it, that hath so much as one haire of Christianity
or Humanity growing on his head or beard,
but onely of the truculent Cut-throats,
and such as shall take up Armes
in their Defence.
These Irish anciently called Antropophagi, man-eaters: Have a Tradition among them, That when the Devill shewed our Saviour all the kingdomes of the Earth and their glory, that he would not shew him Ireland, but reserved it for himselfe: it is probably true, for he hath kept it ever since for his own peculiar; the old Fox foresaw it would eclipse the glory of all the rest: he thought it wisdome to keep the land for a Boggards for his unclean spirits imployed in this Hemisphere, and the people, to doe his Son and Heire, I mean the Pope, that service for which Lewis the eleventh kept his Barbor Oliver, which makes them so blood-thirsty. They are the very Offall of men, Dregges of Mankind, Reproach of Christendome, the Bots that crawle on the Beast taile, I wonder Rome it self is not ashamed of them.
I begge upon my hands and knees, that the Expedition against them may be undertaken while the hearts and hands of our Souldiery are hot, to whom I will be bold to say briefly: Happy is he that shall reward them as they have served us, and Cursed be he that shall do that work of the Lord negligently, Cursed be he that holdeth back his Sword from blood; yea, Cursed be he that maketh not his Sword starke drunk with Irish blood, that doth not recompense them double for their hellish treachery to the English, that maketh them not heaps upon heaps, and their Country a dwelling place for Dragons, an Astonishment to Nations: Let not that eye look for pity, nor that hand to be spared, that pities or spares them, and let him be accursed, that curseth not them bitterly.