SYLLA'S GHOST: A SATYR Against AMBITION, AND The Last Horrid Plot.
—Sejanus ducitur unco Spectandus, gaudent omnes, Quae labra, quis illi Vultus erat, Nunquam (fi quid mihi credis) amavi Hunc hominem.—
Juven.
LONDON, Printed by John Harefinch, in Mountague-Court, in Little Britain, MDCLXXXIII.
To His Grace CHRISTOPHER DUKE OF ALBEMARLE, &c.
May it please your Grace,
WERE I to present a Poem equal to your Grace's merit, I should justly be guilty of a Crime unpardonable, in addressing this, which contains nothing but the unpolish'd draughts of an incultivated Muse, and therefore must implore Your Graces pardon for the Presumption I take to send it into the Censorious World under your Grace's Patronage; all that I can say in it's Defence is, that though it may appear rude and disorder'd, not set forth with so Beautiful an Outside, nor dress'd in such gawdy Trappings, as the real and innate worth of the Subject ought to Challenge, yet your Grace will soon discern the foot-steps of a Loyal Endeavour; and indeed nothing ought to Presume to approach your Grace's hands, but what has some Impression of Loyalty instamp'd upon it.
If Vertue be the only Nobility, certainly there is no greater Vertue than Loyalty, and consequently no greater Nohility; it blasts the long and tedious Rolls of Pedigrees, and makes Antiquity it self become her adorer.
Nam Genus, & Proavos, & quae non fecimus ipsi Vix ea Nostra voco—
[Page] Yet if Nobility can be deriv'd from Ancestors, your Grace has a double Claim to it, the unparallell'd Actions of your renowned Father, (whom the best of Kings, our present Sovereign, Honour'd with the Appellation of Father) render your Grace Noble, but your Vertue and unshaken Loyalty render you much more so, not only an Heir to his Fortunes and Honours, but to his stock of Vertues, which your Grace has so far improv'd, that I might truly stile you, (and without flattery) one of the strongest Props and Pillars both of Church and State. And, my Lord, I have all the reason in the world to Confirm it, when I consider in how lofty and sublime a Sphere his Majesty has been pleas'd to place you, where your Grace shines like a Star of our first Magnitude, and one of the brightest Jewels in his Sacred Crown.
This (my Lord) arms me with the Confidence to lay this my poor, yet Loyal endeavour, at your Grace's Feet, where I doubt not, but it will meet with a Candid Entertainment. Thus once more imploring your Grace's Pardon, wishing you length of Days, and a continual increase of Riches and Honour, I am
Your Grace's Most Humble, and Devoted Servant, C. C.
A SATYR against AMBITION AND THE Last Horrid Plot.
IN Golden times, when
Saturn's peaceful Throne
Was undisturb'd by his aspiring Son;
When just
Astraea poiz'd her equal Scales;
Whose flight the Earth e're since, in vain, bewails;
When Peace, and smiling Innocence possest
The spotless mansions of each happy Breast;
No Birds but
Halcyons plough'd the fragrant Air,
And every thing mov'd tuneful in its Sphear,
When influenc'd by kind Heaven, the teeming Soil
Brought forth her Fruits without or pain or toyl;
It was an happy Age, no Pride was then
E're known to fill the furious breasts of men;
No Sin, or Guilt was then, no factious Jarrs,
No Civil Tumults, nor intestine Wars,
No Mortal wounds were then by Discord made,
No reaking Gore e're soyl'd the shining Blade;
Seditious madness then could never arm
This whiter Age of Love to publick harm;
Happy was man then in so blest a fate,
A little lower than an Angels state:
Then in a dismal Vault, where
Phoebus's ray
Never approach'd, nor the least spark of Day;
Howling, in Chains, the Fiend
Ambition lay.
Nor knew she how to exercise her rage,
And fire mens Breasts, till the succeeding Age;
[Page 2] Till haughty
Jove rebellious prov'd, to shew
What his great Mind would for Heav'ns Empire do,
Usurp'd the Throne, and his own Father slew;
Strait then he set the
green-ey'd Monster free,
And bade her roam and range at Liberty.
Scarce was young
Jove settled in's Father's Throne,
Scarce did he call the Diadem his own,
'Ere rank
Ambition had possess'd the World,
And o're the spacious Earth its plagues had hurl'd.
Jove shook his Tresses, and with Fury said,
Since the black Venom o're the Earth is spread;
Since all Mankind's in horrid Vice involv'd,
And my great Power slighted, I'm resolv'd
Nor Prayr's nor Tears shall o're my will prevail,
The foaming waves shall come and ruine all.
Thus said—Heav'ns Casements strait did open fly,
And flouds of horrid Rain rush'd from the dark'ned Sky.
Scarce was his mighty Fury at an end,
Scarce he began to People th' Earth agen;
But a new stock of Monsters strait was grown,
Not by our Grand-sire
Deucalion sown;
But rankly sprung from curs'd
Ambition's Seed,
('Tis fair to look on, but a poys'nous weed,)
Titans they call'd 'em, each with hundred hands,
Contemn
Joves Thunder, and his Power withstand.
These soon resolv'd to seize his mighty Crown,
And from Heav'ns-Arch pull the Usurper down.
Ossa upon
Olympus top they threw,
And then huge
Pelion upon
Ossa too,
Two or three Mountains more they thought would do.
Till
Joves loud Thunder from the injur'd Sky,
Made the Earth's Sons in their own Mother lye.
[Page 3] Whose cursed Off-spring has e're since remain'd,
And o're the Universe vast Conquests gain'd.
Did not the first-born man, the mighty
Cain,
With furious Emulation fir'd, disdain
That any, nay, a Brother's Sacrifice,
To Heaven, should more grateful prove than his:
Nought but his Bloud atton'd the sacred Crime;
Tho he himself was made the Curse of Time.
How did
Abimelech, the Tyrant, sway,
And his great Soul to horrid deeds betray,
As Seventy Brethren at one blow to slay?
Nay, the more base, and weaker Woman can,
In this, out-do the Lordly Creature Man.
Did not the furious
Athaliah, fir'd
With hot
Ambition, and with
rage inspir'd,
All branches of the Regal-Line cut down,
Whose
Birth might make 'em look towards a
Crown?
Ah, curs'd
Ambition! Honour-blasting fume,
Canker of Greatness, that dost all consume;
The
Curse of Kingdoms, and the
Bane of States,
On whom so many fatal Mischiefs wait.
O the attempts this Hell-born Greatness makes!
What horrid Methods and dire Rules it takes
Basely to compass its designed Ends,
Treading upon the Necks of dearest Friends,
Brother 'gainst brother plots, and Sons inquire
Into the age of their too long-liv'd Sires;
Strangers with Iron-rods must bruise the Land,
And all alike must bow to th' conquering hand.
The greedy Rich, the needy Poor devour,
Their Judge was
Appetite, their Law was
Power;
Robbers the Field, and Souldiers sack'd the Town,
No sense of Dangers could Oppression drown;
[Page 4] I'th' Court, or open
Forum to complain,
Was Crime enough to plague you worse again;
Nor was their Lust less lawless, or less bold
Than all their study'd Arts for Blood, and Gold.
Weak Beauties they decoy'd, and forc'd the strong,
And made no difference 'twixt the old and young;
Nor did the Sword's less cruel Empire cease,
But rul'd and rag'd alike in VVar and Peace:
Virgins were ravish'd, aged Matrons made
Objects of Lust, and Victims to the Blade;
Nor the least pity or remorse was shown,
From their first shriek, to their last dying groan:
Infants were pull'd from their dear Parents Arms,
Their Prayers and tender tears had lost their charms,
The Temples flaming, and the Gods pull'd down,
And blood and ruin rag'd in every Town,
Old-age dishonour'd, lawless Youth bore rule,
And Vertue made a sneaking Ridicule.
Methinks I see grim
Scylla's Ghost appear
With furious looks, and wild dishevel'd hair,
Pointing out Death and slaughter every where,
Prompting the
Catilines of this head-strong Age
To Plots, and Treasons, and Intestine Rage;
I hear the Snakes hiss from the Fury's head,
And see around the place their Venom spread;
Methinks I see the horrid Fiend arise,
Darting infernal Light'ning from his Eyes;
Methinks I view him at the damn'd
Caball,
And each
Conspirator by
Name doth call;
Go on,
Great Patriots, with your
worthy Cause,
Contemn all
Monarchs, and confront their
Laws;
Go on, in your
religious Villany;
And be as fam'd for horrid deeds as I:
[Page 5] Think on the Mischiefs I before have done,
When Son the Father kill'd, Father the Son;
O that I had but
Jove's Celestial Fire,
I soon with my fell Rage would you inspire,
That still should urge you, still your thoughts possess,
With monstrous and Gigantick wickedness.
Or, would the cruel Destinies once more
For a short space my thread of. Life restore,
VVhat glorious and unheard of Deeds I'd do,
Death should be tir'd, and I would still pursue
New horror, till no horror could could be new.
No Sex, nor Age should 'scape my Cruelty,
Nor Infants in the Porch of Life be free.
Thus have I done to be for ever known,
Thus have I done to make the
World my own.
But first, young Pupils, I'd begin at home,
And there lay the first Scene of Bloud to come;
Amuze the Rabble, buzz into their Ears,
And dun 'em still with Jealousies and Fears;
Tell them that Strangers would your Rights invade,
And you your selves be Slaves to strangers made:
Tell them of dire Portents, and fearful Signs,
(Fit masks to cover all your black Designs)
Of
Jago-Pilgrims, Armies in the Air,
And
Traytors, though you tell not who or where;
When you your selves the
real Traytors are.
Assert your
Liberties, and maintain your
Rights,
And
even be the People's Favourites;
Let every
Plot, let every base Design,
Cloath'd with
Religion's fairest out-side, shine;
'Twill please the Vulgar, and advance the
Cause
That bleeding lies, crush't by the stronger Laws;
[Page 6] Still let
Religion be the specious prize,
When
Wealth and
Interest at the bottom lyes;
Interest makes Cowards
valiant, Parties
great,
And is the rankest Venom in a State.
Think on your
Wants, and let their force prompt on
Your free-born Souls to Insurrection;
If any
Roman bloud flows in your Veins,
If any spark of
Roman fire remains;
Think on your
Debts abroad, and
Wants at home,
And that more desperate
Slavery to come;
Your
Youth is blooming, and your
Age in prime,
And all conspire to bless the grand Design;
Your number's mighty, and your Party strong,
Rise then, great Spirits, and revenge your wrong:
Nought but your Sloth and Folly can prevent
So
great, so
pious, and so
brave Attempt;
Unless, like vulgar Slaves, you'd rather dy,
Than free-born men to live victoriously.—
So said—an ominous silence fill'd the place,
And Horror strait appear'd in every Face;
With Groans and desperate Rage departs the Fiend,
But left his
loathsom, sulphurous Breath behind.
—The
curs'd Advice no longer was withstood,
They strait resolv'd to Christen all in Blood;
Voting it
Justice, Innocents to kill,
And
meritorious, Royal-blood to spill.
Too well they knew what secret Magick lies
In their
Religion, Rights and
Properties:
This arms the Rout, and makes the Faction great,
And breeds the tallest Monsters in a State.
The
first that mov'd within this
Treacherous Sphear
Was once a
real fix'd, now
wandring Star.
[Page 7] Ah!
Lentulus, how Graceful was thy meen?
In thy fair Breast what Vertues once were seen?
Flush'd with green Honour in his Golden dayes,
His early Valour won the Victor's Bays.
His blooming Fame by every Muse was sung;
And his great Name the ecchoing Valleys rung.
He forc'd the
Northern Rebels to obey,
And to their
Caesar just Allegiance pay.
In Peace no less was his great Youth approv'd,
Ador'd by many, but by all belov'd;
Still by his
Gracious Father was caress'd,
With more than common Happiness possess'd,
And in his
Favour exquisitely bless'd.
Then he was Loyal—had he kept but here,
He still had shin'd within our Hemisphere,
Had not the too large draughts of Honour's bowl
Debauch'd his
Genius, and o're-charg'd his Soul:
Had not that
Pigmy-Proteus of the State
Decoy'd his Sense, and urg'd him to his Fate;
By him he fell, by him his Easie Breast
Was with
Ambition's tow'ring thoughts possest,
Hence was it, that he needs must soar so high,
To spread his Streamers in the open Sky;
Big with vain hopes, he travers'd all the Land,
Whilst hot-brain'd crowds still prest to kiss his hand;
These drank his Health in every jocund Bowl,
And with the thoughts of Empire charm'd his Soul,
That three
Cornelii were to reign in
Rome,
Cinna and
Sylla past, and
Lentulus to come;
These with loud shouts, and acclamations high,
Send up his bubble-Name to th' lofty Sky;
The Cods bless
Lentulus, was all their cry.
[Page 8] Thus on the wings of Popular applause
He bore the
Idol of the Rout, the
Cause.
Royal and Rebel too! 'tis wondrous strange;
What
Circean Charm could work so ill a change?
Like him of old, (as sacred Stories tell)
The Rebel-regiment of Angels fell;
How happy still, how glorious had they been,
Had not Ambition been a God-like sin?
Th' Almighty Power they boldly did defie,
And thought to Lord it o're the Deity;
Till to the dark Abyss of horrid Night
He forc'd the plotting Troops to take their flight.
Next him, tho deeper in the black Design,
For horrid deeds renown'd, was
Catiline,
With a foul Soul in a fair Body fixt;
Thus Aconite with th' choicest Wines is mixt;
Fair to the outside, but within doth kill,
Like deadly Venom in a Golden Pill.
Betimes
Ambition his hot thoughts possest,
And sow'd its fatal Seeds within his Breast.
Nor did his thoughts only on
Greatness run,
Nor did
Ambition only reign alone:
Well might
Aurelia curse th' unhappy day,
When at her feet her
Rebel-brother lay:
When naked from his lewd, incestuous Bed,
Trembling, and pale, the debauch'd Charmer fled.
Ah,
Catiline! the Gods are ever just,
And oft severely punish Lust with Lust;
Else why did beauteous
Laura spend her Charms
Within the Circle of another's Arms?
Must this to
Plots and
Massacres invite?
And thy bold Soul to
Treason strait excite?
[Page 9] Could nought your lawless bloody rage suffice,
But God-like
Caesar fall the Sacrifice?
And for none other Crime than this alone,
For being his Glorious Martyr'd Father's Son.
Next him in order rash
Cethegus came,
One that by Blood and Wounds hath got a Name,
An upstart Bully, whose chief Talent lyes
In Swearing, Duels, nauseous Whores, and Dice.
Down with 'em to the Ground, the
Hot-spur bawls,
Not all
Jove's thunder shall prevent their falls.
Lop every Branch of the
Caesarean Line,
To prove Succession's not of Right Divine,
What my
Strong Arm 'ere now has done, you know,
For want of work 'twill dull and useless grow,
'S'death, I'll murder all the Senate at a blow.
The talking Consul shall in Flames expire,
And his own Palace prove his funeral pyre.
Mistaken
Hector, stop thy rash career,
Princes, and States are Heavens peculiar Care,
The Gods protecting them, protected are.
Think what in
Scotland thou before wa'st known,
Then a Moss-Trooper, now a Vagabond;
Think on thy former Murders, think tho Fate
Defers a while, yet 'twill not always wait;
Traytors at last to their own Grief will find
The Gods are never deaf, nor like
Tiresias blind.
Next the
Scotch Augur enters, who but he,
The Chaplain to the precious Villany;
That motly Popish-puritan, who swears
'Tis meritorious, what the Party dares.
All the past precedents that are now in Hell,
Cannot this Priestly Villain parallel;
[Page 10] What Bigots are those silly Fools, he cryes,
That a
religious Monarch Idolize?
When Princes by their Subjects Fury fall,
Th' old Romish Gentleman shall pay for all.
That Prince that doth his Subjects Rights annoy,
'Tis fit his Subjects should that Prince destroy.
It is not for Religion that he dyes,
But for his Subjects Rights and Liberties;
'Tis such a deed't would make the whole
World shake
And
Foreign Princes more
indulgent make,
And
other Subjects our
Example take;
'Tis great, and glorious, and would raise our Names
Higher than his that fir'd
Diana's Fane.
And he that this transcendent deed shall do,
To his great Name a lasting Statue's due,
Higher than th Monument, and deserves to be
Enroll'd amongst the
Liberatores Patriae.
These things thus ransack't in the dire Cabal,
Some neighbring Forces to their Aid they call,
The
Scotch Allobroges were soon betray'd,
And Horse and Armour promis'd to their Aid.
A People envious of the
Roman Fame,
And bore a mortal hatred to their Name;
Unnat'ral Monsters, who to break their Chain
Would still rebell, tho knew 'twas but in vain.
Thus when they'd every where Sedition sown,
And the rank Venom to that height was grown,
Though with the greatest care, the impious Crew
Conceal'd the Villany they thought to do;
Though Plots on Plots, and new Designs were laid,
Yet still they were discover'd, still betray'd;
When at the last, Impatient of Delay,
The Purging Poyson found its Sought-for-way.
[Page 11] Then like obscene, and dismal Birds of Prey,
Dreading the piercing Power of
Phaebus ray,
To bogs, and Glomy Regions took their flight,
And Skul'kt in the obscurer shades of Night.
Soon as the horrid Stratagem took Air,
And reach'd the injur'd God-like
Caesar's Ear,
The pious Prince with sacred anger fir'd;
(Like some great Prophet from above inspir'd)
Unhappy men, said he, that know no odds,
Between my Peaceful reign, and
Cromwels Iron-rods,
What makes 'em thus in love with misery?
And free-born-men to Plot for slavery?
Has time yet the remembrance worn away,
Of that deplorable, unhappy day,
When at the stake three helpless Kingdoms lay?
When all the
Isle by threatning storms was tost,
When
That a King, and
I a Father lost;
What loss, what ruine did we then sustain?
And must the same be Acted o're again?
Have we not felt great Heav'ns avenging hand,
But lately stretch'd to vex our factious Land!
What raging Pestilence has there lately been,
When Thousands gasping in one Street were seen
Yet all too little to attone the Sin.
That done—succeeded Next, th' all-Conquering fire,
And Earth as well as Heaven did Conspire
To purge the Nation, and avenge the Blood,
Of a slain
Monarch, one so
great, so
good;
Must wretched
Albion then for ever be
The only stage of Blood and Cruelty?
No more let Mercy and indulgent Grace
Possess the wrong'd
Astraeas awful Place.
[Page 12] No more shall it be said, the tottering Cause
Shall go unpunish't by th' impartial Laws;
But let unbiass'd Sentence still be given,
'Twill wash the Guilt, and grateful be to Heaven.
But why, ye mighty Powers, should
Caesar prove
So much unhappy in his Subjects Love?
'Twas never known that Heav'n afflictions sent
Upon a Prince that's wholly Innocent;
Why should Sedition with so black a dye,
Strike at such sacred marks as Majesty?
Are these the tender-Concienc'd-men, who dare
Attempt what others do with horror hear;
That would to
Moloch sacrifice the Nation
Under the specious mask of Reformation.
Grant Heaven their fury may no further run,
They've kill'd the Father, and would fain the Son.
Let their Seditious Rage be at an end,
And smiling Peace once more the Throne ascend.
No more let Impious Faction rule the Day,
Nor point to Anarchy th' unhappy Way;
Let all Rebellion, Discord, Vice, and Rage,
That have in
Patriots forms debauch't our Age,
Vanish with all the Ministers of Hell,
And meet the Fate of base
Achitophel.
No more let Civil Wars torment our Isle,
But all things with an Halcyon quiet smile,
And
Caesar blest with more than
Nestor's Years,
(Caesar, the Theam of all our Pray'rs and Tears)
With Choicest blessings, Heaven crown his Reign,
And grant once more our Golden Age again.
In him let every Subject happy prove,
And he be happy in each Subjects Love.
FINIS.