pother And with one hand pretend to rear You pull down with the other But what is 't now that I must do My Kingdoms to extend That I may see at last that you Are really my Friend POPE Why first I 'le give you all those Lands That 'gainst me do Rebel Go take them strait into your Hands I 've curst their Kings to Hell I freely to the King of Spain The British Islands gave He wanted strength those Isles to gain Which I am sure you have TVRK You 're generous Sir and at one word Great Territories grant Which if Men gain not by the Sword They must for ever want So while you Saintship give to some And frankly Heaven bestow I doubt what ere 's decreed at Rome Their Portion is below POPE Whether Heav'n and Hell are in my gift I do not greatly care Let learned Men those Questions sift sure earthly Kingdoms are I can from antient deeds declare What pow'r belongs to me The greatest Kings are what they are By my Authority TVRK I 've often heard what Tricks you use To help you in your needs Sometimes you do the World abuse With forged Books and Deeds Sometimes you Kingdoms give away As now you do to me Hoping that thus obliged they Your Vassals still will be POPE If I your Benefactor be I hope you won't think much When I 've rais'd you to high degree To Honour me as such If Vniversal Monarchy You do receive from me The Vniversal Pastor I May be allow'd to be TVRK I understand your kindness now Me thus you will advance If unto you I 'le cringe and bow And after your Pipe dance Then you 'l unto me be so kind That you will crack your brain Some place i' th Alcoran to find That shall your Pride maintain This Honour more you 'l on me heap Whenever I you meet That on my Knees I strait must creep To Kiss your Worships Feet When ere your Pride I do oppose You 'l curse me strait to Hell My Subjects too shall ne're want those Shall stir them to Rebel You still unto me plagues will send As you have done to others From Priests I must my self defend Worse than aspiring Brothers Where you set foot no Prince is free But strait must be your slave Good Sir pray cease to treat with me I other business have On Sir John Oldcaste Lord Cobham who suffered ' December 1417. ROMES old new fraud in Cobhoms Fate we view The Hereticks must still be Traitors too All Popish Sham-plots are not hatch'd of late Long since thir Int'rest cnllid in the State For God and for the King the Prelates cry'd But only meant thir own Revenge and Pride Had the sly Meal-tub fadg'd or Irish Oathes Been Jury-proof old Churches hated Foes Ere now had been Old-Castled Hang'd and Burn'd And Loyalst Patriots into Rebells turn'a But Midwife time at last brings Truth to light For after Death each Man receives his right Then sleep brave Hero till last Judgments day Raisins to Glory thy twice martyr'd Clay Romes Malice and thy Innocence display Ignoramus a Song To the Tune Law lies a bleeding 1 SInce Popish Plotters Join'd with Bog-Trotters Sham Plots are made as fast as Pots are form'd by Potters Against these Furies There no such Cure is As what our Law provides our True and Loyal Iuries The Action and Paction Thar breeds our Distraction Is secretly contrived by the Popish Faction Who sham us and flam us Trepan us and damn us And then grow enraged when they hear Ignoramus 2 Traytors are rotten Yet not forgotten Nor Meal Tub Devices which never well did cotten At evr'y Season Inventing Treason And Shams that none believed that had or Sense or Reason With fetches and stretches These notorious Wretches Would get loyal Subjects into their bloody clutches They sham us and flam us c. 3 If wicked Tories Could pack their Iuries That would believe black white and all their lying Stories Then by Art Stygian Whig's prov'd a Widgeon And should be hang'd for plotting against the Popes Religion They 'd hear a and swear a Thing that was a meer a Gross Lie as e'r was told and find it Bella vera Then sham us and flam us c. 4 This IGNORAMUS For which they blame us And to the pit of Hell so often curse and damn us Are Men by Tryal Honest and Loyal And for their King and Country ready are to dieall They show it and vow it Honest Men to know it Their Loyalty they hold and never will forgo it They sham us and flam us c. 5 At the Old-Baily Where men don't dally And Traytors oft are try'd as Coleman Whitebread Staley Was late Indicted Witnesses cited A loyal Protestant who spight of Rogues was righted Offences commences 'Gainst all Mens Senses 'Cause the honest Jury believed not Evidences They sham us and flam us c. 6 For which a Villain Who for ten Shilling To hang a Protestant shall be found very willing Now at this season And without reason Shall call the Jury Traytors and the Law make Treason In fashion is passion Curses and Damnation How quiet should we be were Rogues sent to their station They sham us and flam us c. 7 'Las what is Conscience i th' Iesuits own Sence For the Church one may lie and forswear without offence Now what a Lurry Keeps barking Tory 'Cause he is not able the Innocent to whorry Doth wrangle and brangle 'Cause he cannot intangle Nor bring honest Tony to the Block or Triangle They sham us and flam us c. 8 I 'll tell you what Sir You must go Plot Sir And get better Witness e'r wise men go to pot Sir When such abettors Protestant haters Would damn their souls to hell to make them wicked Traytors We mind it and wind it And are not now blinded For what we now reject no honest Iury ' le find it They sham us and flam us They ram us and dam us When according to the Law we find Ignoramus A SONG 1 A Pox on Whigs we 'l now grow wise let 's cry out guard the Throne By that we 'l damn the Good Old Cause and make the Game our own Religion that shall stoop to us and so shall Liberty We 'l make their Laws as thin as Lawn such Tory Rogues are We. 2 When once that Preaching Whineing Crew are crush'd and quite undone The Poor we 'l banish by our Laws and all the rest we 'l burn Then Abbey-Lands shall be possest by those whose right they be We 'l cry up Laws but none we 'l use such Tory Rogues are We. 3 The Name of Protestant we hate the Whigs they know it well And since we can't it longer hide let 's Truth genteely tell Now Dam me is good Manners grown and tends to Gallantry We 'l S the Nation out of Doors such Cursed Rogues are We. 4 What care We for a Parliament no Mony comes from thence Would they but
our God Or else must We not in Heaven have aboad Must Fire and Wood burn all that won't bow Worship S. Doll and the Devil knows who Must Ignorance be our Guide to Glory Then Heaven I 'm sure is but an Old Story Must all Men be blind that open their Eyes That Priests may do what they please with their Wivesâ— Must killing of Kings and Princes to boot Be Marks that the Pope is sound at the Root Must a Conclave of Rogues and Jesuit Priests Perswade all the World to Worship the Beast Must the Pope order all by Sea and by Land Who must turn out and who is to 〈◊〉 Must those be intrusted that swear and receive What e're you impose that they may deceive Must Iudas be saved that eat of the Sop No by the Mass he deserved the Rope Must such be employed at Sea and at Shore That would subvert all to set up the Whore Must those be good that designed to seem such Who in Parliament time subscrib'd to the Church Must We all be undone by a damn'd Popish Crew Some that is about us and some We ne're knew Must the King and his Friends see and know this And yet be advised that nothing's amiss Must this be the Trap then the Devil take it Our Hogs We 've brought to a blessed Market Vpon the Execution of the late Viscount STAFFORD I. SHall every Jack and every Jill That rides in State up Holbourn Hill By aid of Smithfield Rhymes defie The Malice of Mortality And shall Lord Stafford dye forgot He that would needs be such a Sot To dye for love of a damn'd Plot No Viscount no believe it not II. Diana's Temple all in flame Advanc'd th' Incendiaries Name Ruffians and Bauds and Whores and Theives In Ballad Records live new lives And shall a Lord because a Traytor In such an Age so given to flatter Want that which others Saints to him Ne're want to fame them Words and Rhime III. Oh Sir the Papishes you know Have much more gratitude than so For this same Lord that brake the Laws Of God and Man to serve their Cause Shall live in Pravers and Almanacks Beyond what Ballad-Monger makes And some Years hence you 'l see shall work Such Miracles would turn a Turk IV. Blest is that Man that has a Box To save the Saw-dust in that sokes His tainted Blood or can besmeare One corner of his Muckinder Oh! then some Ages hence they 'l cry Lo Stafford's Blood and shed for why For nothing but because he sought To kill his Prince and sham the Plot. V. Now they that dye for crimes like these The Papists send to Heaven with case For they secure 'em safe from Hell Which once believ'd the rest is well A strange Belief that Men should think That were not drunk with worse than Drink That such Rewards as Deifying By Treason should begain'd and Lying VI. The Man that for Religion dyes Has nothing more before his Eyes But he that dyes a Criminal Dyes with a load and none can call Religion that which makes him dream Obduracy can hide his shame VII The Pope may do what he Conjectures As to the business of his Pictures The Colours ne're can hide the Crimes Stories will read to after Times And 't will be found in the Hangman's Hands Will strangely blur the Pope's Commands VIII Had he but shewed some Christmas Gambles And Headless took St. Denis Rambles The Plot had been a damnable thing And down had gon the Scaffolding But 'cause his Lordship this forgot Men still believe there is a Plot. IX Where was St. Dominick asleep Where did St. Frank his Kennel keep That on a business so emergen They did not brisly teize the Virgin To let his Lordship play a Prank Her Grace becoming and his Rank X. But they that Heaven and Earth Command You see sometimes they 're at a stand For truth to tell ye should the Saints Be bound to hear all Fools complaints Their Lives would be as void of mirth In Heaven as formerly on Earth XI Now Balladâ—wise before he 's dead To tell ye what the Sufferer said He both defended and gain-said Held up his hands and cry'd and pray'd And swore he ne're was in the Plot No by his Vicountship God wot XII Come come Sir had it not been better To have dy'd to Death common Debter And that upon your lasting Stone This Character had been alone Here lies a very Honest Lord True to his King true to his Word XIII But those of your Religion Are now a days so damn'd high flown You think that nothing makes a Saint But Plot refin'd and Treason Quaint And Heaven accepts no Offerings But Ruin'd Kingdoms Murdered Kings XIV Now you that knew who were his Judges Who found him Guilty without grudges Who gave him over to the Block And how he sham'd to save the stroak If you believe the Speech he made ye Le'strange and P ton's shame degrade ye XV. Thus us'd all Arts that could cajole You may be sure his silly Soul And were those promises perform'd With which his Conscience they had charm'd Who would betray a Cursed Plot To be when Dead the Lord knows what XVI But if those jolly Promises Do send thee into Little â—ase As certainly they must undo thee What ever Fools and Knaves said to thee Then Phlegeus like in Hell condole And Curse them that betray'd thy Soul XVII Now God preserve our Noble King And bless all them that thus did bring Unto the Block that silly Head That car'd not what it did or said And all good Men may Heaven defend From such a vile untimely End The Lord STAFFORD's Ghost c. FRom Stygian shade lo my pale Ghost doth rise To visit Earth and these sublunar Skies For some few moments I'm in Mercy sent To bid my Fellow-Traytors to Repent Repent before you taste of Horrid Fate Your Guilt confess before it be too late I am not here arriv'd on Earth to tell The hidden secrets that belong to Hell Nor am I sent to publish or declare Who are tormenters whom tormented there For now I know that it is Heavens decree These things to Mortals still shall secrets be Who have fantastick Dreams and nothing know Of what is done above or yet below But I have seen with my Immortal Eyes Things that with horror do my Soul surprize Too late alas too late I see my Sin With strange Chymera's I 've deluded been By a curs'd brood who sounded in my Ear Dye obstinate no Chains of Conscience fear Upon us firmly let your Faith be built We can and do Absolve you from your Guilt And after this you need no more Repent For you a Martyr dye and Innocent O Cursed Men who on Wretches thus Intrude And thus poor Souls Eternally delude Whilst they believe what these deluders say Liâ—e is snatch'd from them and they drop away And falling down by Charon Death they 're hurl'd Into the Mansions of a dismal
what had surely it befell Viz. All Protestants that therein dwell Oh! that this time allotted me Whereon depends my Eternity May tend to extirpate Popery May I therein do all such things As may Attone the King of Kings Which is the thing true comfort brings And likewise warn poor England yet In this dark day e're it be too late To avoid both French and Popish State And may it as one Man oppose It self to Ruin by its Foes And strive to save it self from Threat and Woes May now my Soul lie down in Peace And ne're hereafter may it cease To praise the God of Infinite Grace Pl. What long Harangues Sir have you madâ— You 've made me by 'em quite afraid To Persevere in what I said I do confess likewise that I Concern'd was much i' th Villany For which I am Condemn'd to Die And that from Popish Treachery England was like Reduc'd to be To French and Romish Tyranny But this I always took for Truth That what comes out o' th' Churches Mouth Is Oracle from North to South And when I knew the Church had given Power to go on with the Old Leaven I thought it surely come from Heaven But now I doubt I was mistaken And fear Rome Babel will be shaken If England throughly awaken I am in Truth in doubt we shall E're long receive a lasting fall Ne're more to vex the World at all And though I Dye o' th' Church of Rome Yet I believe those things will come Upon her which will be the Final Doom Fitz. Sir If you do these things Believe Your self you wretchedly deceive If that you quickly don 't receive The Protestants Religion 's good Which I almost Conform to cou'd But for my having sought their Blood Pl. If then Sir you are not convinced Which is the Right pray do not mince it But leave to Time for to evince it And let us hearttly both joyn And in our Prayers now combine I' th' words of the ensuing Line Both. May God long Bless the King we Pray And all Plots 'gainst him still bewray Popish and Factious and let all Men lay Amen The Answer of Coleman's Ghost to H. N's POETICK OFFERING Rise Nevil Rise and do not punish me With the vain sight of your Idolatry You may with equal Reason call upon The good Saint Iâ—arus or Phaeton Who do the Sacred Name deserve as far As some who blush in Roman Kalendar With like Ambition I design'd to know No other Triumphs but of things below And rather labour'd how there might be given French Crowns postponing all the Crowns of Heaven Favour'd in this because kind Heaven declines My high Intrâ—gues and baffles my Designs None with more covetous Zeal pursu'd our Cause Or fell a more due Sacrifice to Laws In that sad day when strangled Life expir'd And the just flames my bloody Limbs requir'd Whilst my hot Soul in hasty flight retires From Tyburns only Purgatory Fires Immortal shapes crowd on in Troops to view My Plotting Soul and stopt me as I flew Such Spirits who Incarnate ever mov'd In their By-Paths and never quiet lov'd The Cunning Machiavel drew near and fear'd Screek't aâ— the sight of me and disappeard Shewing how weak all human Plots are laid Where Hopes and Souls have always been betray'd Scylla and Marius wondring at our Crimes Pityed the near misfortune of our times Sigh'd at those streams of blood which were to run And curst our Tables of Proscription Fierce Cataline our Villany decry'd To whom the bold Cethegus soon reply'd How New Rome imitates and yet exceeds In dire Conspiracies our puny deeds Great Caesars Ghost with Envy lookt on me That for Romes sake I aim'd at more than he To Conquer all the Isles of Britanny Yet blam'd the Cruelties which were to come From that Dictator which now reigns at Rome Spiritual Dictator who more controuls Than he and claps his Fetters on our Souls He told me old Romes Walls had longer stood If Romulus had spar'd his Brothers blood And that Romes happiness grew always worse When it resembled the fierce Wolf its Nurse Ah my good Friend how clearly do I find In this new State the faults of human kind Nothing procures so high a place above As Universal Charity and Love Infus'd and manag'd by the Heavenly Dove Heav'n is quiet Kingdom which we call Your injur'd Scriptures true Original There no false Comments on the Text appear Nor must Trents Swurioâ—s Council domâ—â—eer Sometime with me dear Nevel you must grant The Church Triumphant to be Protestant If against them on Earth Romes Malice thrives 'T is not Romes Cause prevails but their ill Lives So Babylon of old vext Israel And wicked Men raise Enemies from Hell As once on Earth I did your good attend So now for Love I am your Ghostly Friend Let your Soul hate all bloody ways and things To subvert States and Laws to murther Kings Or you are sure to equal my disgrace And without Mercy you may name your place A Dialogue between the POPE and the TURK Concerning the Propagation of the Catholick Faith POPE HAil mighty Monarch by whose aid I hope I shall subdue And for the future make afraid The whole Heretical Crew You will both wise and grateful prove While you with me combine Who always have shew'd you my love And now your good design TVRK What mean these ambiguities With which to me you come Is th' Oracle of doubtful lies From Delphos gone to Rome Your kindness I ne're understood Whatever you pretend To him to whom you ne'er did good How can you be a Friend POPE Ungrateful Man do you forget How I did once betray The Grecian-Empire which as yet Your Scepter doth obey I did the Greeks to Florence call And kept them there with me And you were Master made of all Before we could agree TVRK This manifests your wickedness And makes your cause yet worse I see no reason you to bless Though Greece hath cause to Curse You prove your Treachery indeed But not your love to me You 'd ne're have helpt me in my need If they 'd submitted t' ee POPE I think I stood your Friend good Sir When Iames did aspire I both did keep him Prisoner And poyson'd him for hire Then against France 't was I did send For your victorious Arms With promise that I would defend Your Kingdoms from all harms TVRK Two Hundred Thousand Florens when You did my Brother's work You had The Benefactor then Was not the Pope but Turk 'T is true me once you did invite Your int'rest to advance Not cause you lov'd me but for spite Against the King of France POPE Though still Ingratitude you pay For kindnesses good store If you 'l be rul'd I 'le on you lay One obligation more I 'le raise your Empire yet so high That you shall straitway yield That I pull down and only I Do Monarchies rebuild TVRK For all your talk I still do fear That while you make a
which depend more than three Kingdoms Fates May your blest Union calm out jarring Notes And Publick-Good give Birth to all the Votes From each true English Heart these Vows are sent Long live our King Long sit our Parliament A short Reply to Absalon and Achitophel IN pious times when Poets were well bang'd For sawcy Satyr and for Sham-Plots hang'd A Learned Bard that long commanded had The trembling Stage in Chief at last run mad And Swore and tore and ranted at no rate Apollo and his Muses in debate What to do with him one cry'd let him Blood That says another will do little good His brains infected sure under his Nose We 'le burn some Feathers of Peru who knows But that may bring him to himself again Ay for some time says Clyo she was more For Opiates others for Hellâ—bore Apollo having heard all they could say Rose up and thankt them said he 'd try away He hop'd would do then call'd a Noble Friend Well verst in Men and beg'd of him to spend Some time and pains upon this wretch which he Agreeing to went presently to work Open'd his head saw where the Maggots lurk Took many of them out put them in Sut Then Added Mercury and Nitre to 't Mixt and infus'd them well and after all Distil'd them in a Limbeck Comical And drew a Spirit very Soveraign For those are troubled with the fits o' th' Brain And gave our Poets some all he could make The peevish Squeamish self-wil'd Coxcomb take It did him good and cur'd him of those Fits But 't was too little to restore his Wits For since he has gin o're to Plague the Stage With the effects of his Poetick rage Like a mad Dog he runs about the Streets Snarling and Biting every one he meets The other day he met our Royal CHARLES And his two Mistresses and at them Snarles Then falls upon the Ministers of State Treats them all A-la-mode de Billingsgaâ—e But most of all the glory of our gown He must be bark't at Drivil'd pist upon He whose soft tongue had charmes enough t' asswage The Tygers fierceness could not scape the rage Of this same whifâ—ing Cur poor Cerberous That taught the Rogue to bark was serv'd just thus This Vipers brood contrary to all Laws The torn out Entrails of his Parent knaws He gives no quarter spairs no friend nor foe And where he once gets hold never lets go Until he breakes a Tooth which he hath done So oft of late that he hath few or none Left in his mouth Nay which is worst of all On his Physitian he does always fall And find him out where e're he is and bawl Eternally taking in Evil part What he good man did by the rules of Art And for his good assisted by a Set Of the most able Leâ—ches he could get Apoâ—lo vext to see there was no more Eâ—fect of Medicine bid his Friend give o're And sent some Chirurgions to him to anoint The Carcase of the whelp in every Joynt With 〈◊〉 of Crab-tree than which nothing â—etches The itching Venome out of Scribling Wretches Better or sooner but I know not how It came to paâ—â— wâ—th him it would not do For â—ince his being anointed he is â—un Yâ—lpâ—ng with Towâ—er up and down the Town And crying out against an Absalon And an Achitopâ—el The Currs had got Between them in their Mouths a new Shâ—â—-Plot The Twentieth of the Kings â—â—me say indeed It is the same that Mother 〈◊〉 hid Deep in the Meal-tub only new lick't o're Aâ—d brought to better shape by half a score Of â—rish Mongrels newly fetcht from thence The best in Enâ—land at an Evidence A little bribe will make them swear devoutly They 're much more famous for their swearing stoutly Then for their fighting so this kind of Cattel Are better far at Roguery than Battel An Irish man's Antiwood-cock cares To venture nothing but his head and Ears This Copper coâ—n will never with us pass It looks so scurvily nay it smells of Brass How could you think this would be currant here That is not so at home 'T is cry'd down there What then shall we do now saith you had best Try Scotland next now it hath past the Test Come hither my Dog Towser come for I A new Experiment intend to try I 'le have thee worm'd hold out thy Venom'd Tongue What a huge Worm is here 'T is an Inch Long And of the Jebusite smells very strong If this won't do thou shalt be fairly hung Oliver Cromwels Ghost By Doctor Wild. ROws'd from Infernal Caverns void of Light Where Traytors Souls keep an Eternal Night Through the Earths friendly Pores at last I come To view the Fate of Mangled Christendome Treason and Blood Ruin and Usurpation Deceit Hypocrifie and Devastation Envy Ambition and untam'd desire Still to gain more still to be mounted higher Wars Janglings Murders and a Thousand more Vices like these you know were heretofore The only grateful Bantlings which could find A kind Reception in my gloomy mind But now alas I 'm chang'd the Pondrous guilt Of Treason and the Sacred blood I spilt Those crouds of Loyal-Subjects I made groan Under pretence of strict Religion When I my self to speak the Truth had none Too weighty for my strugling Soul did grow And prest it downwards to the shades below Where it these twenty years has Silent lain â—ormented with Variety of pain â—oo great for fleshly Mortals to sustain Noâ— hâ—d it buâ—g'd as yet but that the Fame Of 〈◊〉 Conspiracies and Murders came 〈◊〉 the Infernal Gates so fast that I 〈◊〉 others good forgot my misery 〈◊〉 whilst the busie Daemons were Imploy'd â—n culling out a bloody Regicide â—â—ilkt my Keeper and with wondrous pain Once more I mount my Native Soyl again Where to my Grief more Villanâ—es I view Than Heav'n e're Pardon'd or than Hell e're knew Since Lucifer's like Romes Destructive Pride Both Damn'd himself and all his Imps beside Though old in Artful Wickedness I be Yet Rome I now Resign the Wall to thee Thou in this single Plot hast now done more Than Mankind helpt by Hell could do before What! was thy swell'd Ambition grown so wide That nought but Kings could satisfie thy Pride Must Monarchs whom the Heav'n it self do's prize Now become Morsels for thy gaping Vice Methought though hot with Gluttony thou burn A Pious Justice might have serv'd thy turn Especially when to conâ—ent you more Spitted on 's Sword and Pickled in his Gore But now your aim we better understand He was the Whet you gap'd for all the Land Strange Cormorant that in her monstrous Breast Could at one meal three butcher'd Lands digest Ye Powers I thought my Countries Innocence When in fierce Whirlwind you had born me hence And by the Pow'r of your most just command Restor'd the Scepter to the owners hand Would have sufficient bin to Wall you free From the Ass â—ults of suâ—h an Enemy I little thought when