FAUXS GHOST: OR, Advice TO PAPISTS Novemb. 5. 1680.
THe Morning of that day was almost come,
Which once, the Daring
Catalines of
Rome
Design'd to make Great
Brittains day of Doom.
(
November's Fifth,) a Day which had not Heaven,
(Just when the Fatal Stroke was to be given,)
Stretcht out its Saving Hand, had seen the Fall
Of King and People; Root, and Branch, and all:
A Day which since, (and may it Ever be!)
Has been, by all true
Protestants, to Thee,
And to thy Praise, Great God, Devoted Solemnlie.
'Twas just before the Morning of
This Day,
As in my Bed, in a Deep sleep I lay,
[Page 2] I felt a sudden Trembling seize my Heart,
And a Cold Sweat ran over every Part:
Methought, the Room I lay in was Ore-spread
With thick Black Darkness, such as hides the Dead;
And to encrease the Horrors it brought there,
Loud Thunders Roar'd throu
[...]h all the
[...]roubled Ai
[...];
And Dismal Lightnings Rev
[...]l'd in the Clouds,
Which fighting winds drove on in trembling croud
[...]:
Such was that Hour, I thought it could Portend
No less, then that the World was at an End.
When loe! methought, a Mighty Earth-quake came
And Cleft the Ground; then, in a
Sulpherous Flame
That seem'd to fill the Chamber, straight arose
A Ghastly shape, Ugly and Black as those
We Paint the Devils in; its Glaring Eyes
Look'd like two
Comets of a Monstrous size.
So Hidious 'twas, I guess'd it straight to be
Some Damn'd
Arch-Traytor's Ghost; but whose, to me
Was something hard, at first, to Understand;
But when I spy'd th'
Dark Lanthorn in his Hand,
I knew 'twas
FAƲX, (that Darling of the Devil,)
That strove t' Out-doe even Hell it self in Evil.
Methought he Frown'd, and deeply seem'd to groan,
And (with a Horrid Voice,)
'Twixt Grief and Rage, at last, thus made his Moan:
And is it come to this? (cry'd he) did I
So Great, so Glorious an Example dye,
To teach succeeding Ages how to Dare,
And at the Highest Crimes not shrink, nor fear;
And yet can you, ye Dull Tame Sons of
Rome,
(Unworthy to be thought from Thence to come,)
When you've so far, and Venturously past,
Leave the
Great Work but done by Halves at last:
[Page 3] All you've yet done has only render'd Us,
And our Religion the more Odious.
But Pardon me, dear Sons o'th Church, 'tis Zeal,
(Zeal for the
Holy Cause,) makes me reveal
My Grief so Passionately; besides, you know,
I'm newly come from a Hot Place Below.
I know you Plotted well, and Plot on still;
And till Our
End's accomplish'd Ever will:
But I Dislike the Method you Proceed in,
It is too Mean; set all the Land a Bleeding;
With Fire and Sword, the
Hereticks Destroy,
And Endless Fame for the Brave Act Enjoy:
Do what I aim'd at; let that Vipers Nest,
That
Conventicle of
Hereticks i'th
West,
That now sit Plotting how to Extirpate
Us, and Religion, find a sudden Fate.
Ah! had the Fatal Squire a while but spar'd
Those Famous Modern
Hero's, they'd have Dar'd:
Coleman, Groves, Pickering, Whitebeard, all the Crew
That strove in Royal Blood their Hands t' Embrew;
Had they but liv'd yet Undiscover'd, what!
Oh! what had they now done! rather what not?
Yet some are Living,
Roman-Soul'd indeed,
That for the Sacred Cause dare boldly Bleed:
There's
Don Thomazo, (Curse on th'
Renegade!)
Had he stood firm what Work would he have made!
But to spare Names, (to all our
Hero's Shame,)
Our brave Bold
Heroine hath Engross'd all Fame;
She who like
Hecate, dire Mischief loves,
And, though o're-power'd. Undaunted on still moves.
Celier! Famous
Celier! whose Name at
Rome,
Shall like the Sun, shine to all Times to come,
And dim the Glories of all Saints that are
Recorded in the Sacred Calender:
[Page 4] On then, True Daughter, of so Great a
Sire;
Thy Holy Father bids thy thoughts aspire;
And though Confin'd in such Ignoble Walls,
Plot still King's Murders, and great Kingdom's falls.
And oh! ye Men, for shame, at last be Brave;
Let not a Woman all the Honour have;
And be assur'd, if you but dare do Well,
We'l arm, to aid you, all the Powers of Hell.
With that, methought he Vanisht, with a Noise
Dreadful and Loud as thousand Thunders Voice:
I started, and awak'd, and Kneeling there,
To
England's Gracious God adress'd this Prayer;
Great God, who hitherto has't sav'd this Land,
Oh! stretch out still thy all-Protecting Hand:
Keep safe our Soveraign from Hell and
Rome,
And ne'r let
Popery into
England come.
FINIS,
LONDON. Printed for Mr. Benskin, in Green's-Rents neer Fleet-Bridge.