COLLECTION OF Wonderful Miracles, Ghosts and Vision.

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HIS Grace to perform this Famous Tryal of Skill, with great Magnificence and Solemnity, order'd that his Militia, the Porters, Tinkers and Chimney Sweepers and Broom-men of London, together with the Squires of the Body, commonly called the Black-guard, should be ready with the aforesaid Attendants to wait upon his Person to the place of Execution, followed with several Pageants and Artificial Devices, curiously re­presenting the famous Adventures of ancient Heroes, par­ticularly Don Quixots storming the Windmill for an In­chanted Castle. But before these extraordinary prepa­rations could be compleated, the malitious Papists have spitefully poyson'd all the Lyons in the Tower, except the Dukes; whereupon his Grace is advised by his own Privy Council the Rabble, not to venture on that Lyon, but rather try the good nature of the Leopard, who they say was certainly begot by a Lyon, as his Grace by a K. and therefrre cannot but favour such pretenders to Roy­alty, in hopes himself may at last become K. of the Beasts.

Tom Ross's Ghost to his Pupil the D. of M.

SHame of my Life, Disturber of my Tomb,
Base as thy Mothers Prostituted Womb;
Huffiing to Cowards, fawning to the Brave,
To Knaves a Fool, to credulous Fools a Knave,
The King's Betrayer, and the Peoples Slave,
Like SAMƲEL at the Necromantick Call,
I rise to tell Thee, God hath left thee, SAƲL?
I strive in vain the Infected Blood to cure,
Streams will run muddy where the Spring's Impure.
In all your Meritorious Life we see
Old TAAFS invincible Sobriety.
Places of Master of the Horse and Spy,
You (like Tom Howard) did at one supply:
From SIDNEYS Blood, your Loyalty did spring;
You shew us all your Fathers but the KING,
From whose too tender and too bounteous arms,
(Ʋnhappy He who such a Viper Warms
As Dutiful a Subject as a Son)
To your true Parents the whole Town you run:
Read if you can, how th' old Apostate fell,
Out-do his Pride, and Merit more than Hell:
Both he and you were gloriously bright,
The first and purest of the Sons of Light:
But when like Him you offred at the Crown
Like Him your angry Father kickt you down.

The Oxford Aldermans Speech to his Grace the D. of M. at his Entrance into that City about Sept. 1680.

STtout Hannibal, before He came to Age,
Perpetual Wars with Rome was forc'd to Wage!
YOƲ lead Ʋs to such Wars; O Happy We!
Great Prince! YOƲ are a Soldier good as He:
Though some will say (to give the Devil his due,)
HE was as good a Protestant as YOƲ.
YOƲ to that Whore of Whores, the Whore of Rome,
Devoted from your own fair Mothers Womb;
Though in the Schools of Jesuits true bred,
YOƲ scorn'd to learn of Them to Write or Read.
A Protestant! (the more to be Admir'd,)
That never were Instructed, but Inspir'd.)
So unconcern'd from Popery You pass,
No Ʋse of Ʋnderstanding in the Case.
True Interest (that all other thing, o'repowers),
And Generous Indignation made YOƲ Ours.
Even so in Spain to Mass come Trading Jews,
Cast Drabs turn Quakers but to spite the Stews.
But Fears and Jealousies YOƲ We scorn,
That are so true a Son of Honour Born;
And since have made both Gog and Magog bleed,
Act but the Demagogue, You'l do the Deed:
You'l Dam and Ram proud Antichrist to Hell;
But for him first to Work One Miracle.
He that with Four hard Words and One Grave Nod,
Turns an Insipid Wafer into God;
Were YOƲ a Dough-bak'd Duke, with less [...]ado,
To Prince of Wales might Transubstantiate YOƲ.
Do YOƲ but say't, We'll Swear that You are so,
And rather Kiss Your Hand, than Kiss his Toe:
Resolv'd, Resolv'd. It must not be gainsaid;
Faith We'll believe Your Mother was a Maid.
Why should You think Ambition any Crime?
We'll make You Duke of Venice in good time:
Or, if YOƲ scruple to Ʋsurp the Crown;
Having once Rais'd ƲS, YOƲ may then sit down.
YOƲ, or Your Friends shall have the foremost Place;
Perhaps We'll joyn Sir A—st—g with Your Grace:
Whether YOƲ Reign, or HE, it's all One,
Great Alexander's Dear Hephestion.
But When YOƲ come to Reap these Goodly Fruits,
Sweet Sir, Remember These Our Humble Suits,
First, Let these Lordly Bishops go to Pot;
'Tis plain their Lordships all are in the PLOT,
They hold none lawful Heirs, but lawfully begot,
Our Common-Wealth 's a Castle in the Air,
If we pray for KING in Common-Prayer.
These paltry Schollars, blast Them with one breath,
Or They'l Rhime your Grace and Ʋs to Death.
Then O Brave We! then Hei for our good Town!
Then up go WE when Wit and Sense go down.

The GHOST of the Late PARLIAMENT, to the New one to Meet at Oxford.

FRom Deepest Dungeon of Eternal Night,
The Seats of Horror, Sorrow, Pains and Spight.
I have been sent to tell Your Tender Youth
A Seasonable and Important Truth!
I feel, (but Oh too late,) that no Disease,
Is like the Surfeit of Luxurious Ease;
And of all other, the most tempting Things.
Are too much Wealth, and too Indulgent Kings.
None ever was Suparlatively Ill,
But by Degrees, Industry and Skill:
And some, whose Meaning hath at first been fair;
Grow Knaves by Use, and Rebels by despair.
My Time is past, and Yours will soon begin,
Keep your First Blossoms from the blast of Sin;
And by the Fate of my Tumultuous Ways,
Preserve Your selves, and bring Serener Days.
The buisy subtil Serpents of the Law,
Did first my Mind from true Obedience draw,
While I did Limits to the KING Prescribe,
And took for Oracles that Canting Tribe;
I chang'd True Freedom for the Name of Free,
And grew Seditious for Variety.
All that oppos'd me were to be accus'd,
And, by the Laws Illegally Abus'd.
The Robe was summon'd M—d in the Head,
In Legal Murder, none so deeply read:
I brought him to the Bar, where once He stood;
Stain'd with the (yet Un-expiated) Blood
Of the brave Strafford, when Three Kingdoms rung
With his Accumulative Hackney Tongue.
Prisoners and Witnesses were waiting by,
These had been taught to Swear and those to Dy;
And to expect their Arbitrary Fates,
Some for Ill Faces, some for Good Estates:
To fright the People and Alarm the Town,
B. [...] and O. [...] Imploy'd the Reverend Gown:
But while the Tripple Mitre bore the Blame,
The Kings Three Crowns were all their Aim.
I seem'd, (and did but scem) to fear the Guards,
And took for mine the B. [...] and the W—s,
Anti-monartick Heriticks of State,
Immoral Atheists, Rich and Reprobate-
But above all, I got a little Guide,
Who every Foard of Villany had Try'd;
None knew so well the Old Pernicious way,
To Ruin Subjects and make KINGS Obey;
And my small Jehu at a furious Rate,
Was driving Eighty back to Forty Eight.
This the King knew, and was Resolv'd to bear;
But I mistook his Patience for his Fear.
All that this Happy Island could afford,
Was Sacrific'd to my Voluptuous Baord.
In his whole Paradice One only Tree
He had Excepted by a strict Decree;
A Sacred Tree which Royal Fruit did bear,
Yet It in pieces I Conspir'd to Tear;
Beware my Child, Divinity is there.
This so Out-did all I had done before,
I could Attempt, and He endure no more.
My Un prepar'd and Un-repenting Breath,
Was snatcht away by the swift Hand of Death;
And I (with all my Sins about me) hurl'd,
To th'utter Darkness of the Lower World:
A Dreadful Place, where You too soon shall see.
If you believe Seducers more than Me.
FINIS.

A Canto upon the Miraculous Cure of the Kings-Evil, performed by his Grace the D. of M.

AS Popish Farriers us'd to Pray▪
In their own Trade the good St. L [...]y,
The Saint to whom they have Recourse,
As to Heavens Master of the Horse.
To him they loudly cry for Mercy,
On Ragged Colts that have the Farcy.
For Hacknys Gall'd to Him they Pray,
And Drink dead Drunk upon his Day.
So to his Grace of Monm. Trots,
A Filly Fole that had the Bots.
For still she knew, (and twas no News,)
He keeps the Mares though not the Mews.
But had you seen the Skittish Jade,
You would have thought her Drunk or Mad.
For at first dash His Hand she Seiz [...]d,
Much was the th' Ambitious Heroe pleas'd.
So sweetly did Don Quixot Grin;
When the Maid Marrian of the Inn,
He thought was some Enchatned Queen.
Askt his Dead doing Hand to Kiss,
But wat white Devil Danc't in this?
Some Fly, some Rat, or great Old Pus,
Or Spirit Mephostophilus:
Or Pug, that Paracelsus wore
In th' Pumel of his Sword before;
Or Healing Vertue, That as rare is,
Is sent His Grace by's Aunt of Fairyes.
Who Aids him thus in Hugger mugger,
So did Doll Common Abel Drugger.
Some sweaty Devil in his Palm,
Transfuses Brine instead of Balm.
And Brine you know is good for th' Itch,
In any Mangy Dog or Bitch:
Long in his Fist the Leprous Drab,
Paddles and pores familiar Scab.
The Witch her Dam had set her Fancy,
A gog upon this Chyromancy;
To view each Line the Hag Importunes.
And thus Young Gipsie reads his Fortunes.
The Men of Westminster shall pass,
High Votes in Honour of your Grace;
No Prayers for fear of the Black Rod,
They'l Vote (I fear) No King, No God.
Goeat stickling there shall be for two,
Pillory'd Benjamin and you.
What will you give me this next Spring,
If then You are not Crown'd a King,
By Oates before we reap next Crop,
Oats in a Tub will preach you up.
So Sybil ended her vile Guessing,
And each to other gave their Blessing.
But O the Green-sick Girls may Boast,
This Duke hath Cur'd them to his Cost.
Though now he cuts his Capers high,
He may with Falstaff one day cry,
(When Age hath set him in the Stocks,)
A Pox on my Gout, a Gout on my Pox.
Yet that Fat Knight with all his Guts,
That were not then so sweet as Nuts,
Tho oft He boldly fought and winkt,
Led Harry Monmouth by Instinct,
Reveres a Buckram Prince of Wales,
His Great Heart quops, his Courage quails.
The Lyon Rampant is too wise,
to touch a Prince, though in Disguise:
Much less a Prince, so Kind and Civil,
To Touch a Kingdom for Kings-Evil.
He means to make it (for its Health,)
A Common Whore, a Common-wealth.
The stroaker Graitrix was a sot,
And all his Feat-Tricks are forgot;
But Duke Trinculo, and Tom Dory,
Will be a Famous Quack in Story;
Let every Scabby City Cuckow,
Fly into Your Hedge-lane to look You,
If Seven Sons do Things so Rare,
In You Seven-fathers have a share.
Shew us some more of these fine Mocks,
Shew your Black Art, shew your Black Box.
'Tis thought you've there some pure Receipt.
Great Mountebank of our sick State.
Your Zany, who this Cure reveals,
Tells us in March your Highness heals.

LONDON, Printed for B. R. and DW.

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