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death_n bring_v great_a king_n 4,380 5 3.4622 3 false
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ID Title Author Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) STC Words Pages
A66010 Oliver Cromwells ghost, or, Old Noll newly revived Wild, Robert, 1609-1679. 1678 (1678) Wing W2143; ESTC R27071 1,586 6

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Oliver Cromwells GHOST OR OLD NOLL Newly Revived 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 Deceipt Hypocrisie and Devastation Envy Ambition and untam'd desire Still to gain more still to be mounted higher Wars Ianglings 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 strickt 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 Tormented with Variety of Pain Too great for fleshly Mortals to sustain Nor had it budg'd as yet but that the Fame Of Plots Conspiracies and Murders came To the Infernal Gates so fast that I For others Good forgot my Misery And whilst the busie Daemons were imploy'd In culling out a Bloody Regicide I bilkt my Keeper and with wondrous Pain Once more I mount my Native Soyl again Where to my Grief more Villanies I view Than Heav'n e're Pardon'd or than Hell e're knew Since Lucifer's like Rome's 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 content 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 Whilwinds 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 Assaults of such an Enemie I little thought when last I took my leave And sadly entred my unwelcome Grave That e're the Porphry Idol could command So great a Friendship in our Native Land As by that means to hope to circumvent With black Design both King and Government But yet take heed ye Romish Idiots That have a hand in these most Hellish Plots Who by your base contrivance hope to bring Ruin to Nations Death unto a King Beware I say by my Example do For there 's a God above do's all things view Tho wrapt in Clouds amongst the Skies he dwells Yet he discerns you in your closest Cells See's your Contrivances and whilst you poor Conceipted Traytors think your selves secure He your clandestine Plots does plainly view And will divulge them and their Actors too Trust my Experience one who if you will Believe what all the World says of him still Had no small share of Pride Ambition Wit Courage and Conduct too to manage it By which I wrought my Curst designs so high I could have match'd my Brewers Family With the best Blood in Brittain Right or wrong Or Life or Death attended on my Tongue All the three Kingdoms truckled to my Will But what of this I was a Traytor still Nay so intemperate was my folly grown I boldly offer'd at the Sacred Crown Which though I mist yet by a holy Cheat At last I gain'd to fill the tott'ring Seat And made Ten thousand Souldiers Arm'd appear With Roaring Guns to plead my Title there Not doubting but that happy Seat should be Transfer'd from me to my Posteritie But all was insignificant when Death Unkindly Robb'd me of Beloved Breath My Titles all forsook me and my Race Instead of them inherit my disgrace This is the Fate of Traytors here but know That could you think what they endure below I 'm sure you would be Loyal but the Pope By prating Jesuits has so rais'd your hope That I in vain those Tortures now should tell You 'l know them when I meet you there Farewel R. W. D. D.