Selected quad for the lemma: war_n
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A62201
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A Satyr by way of dialogue between Lucifer and the ghosts of Shaftsbury and Russell.
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1683
(1683)
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Wing S717; ESTC R32325
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3,335
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6
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A SATYR By way of DIALOGUE Between Lucifer and the Ghosts of Shaftsbury and Russell Shafts WElcome dear Brother Traytor to the Laws Thrice welcome bold Espouser of our Cause Infernal Tribes of Fiends their Homage pays And your false Head bedecks with fiery Bays Heav'n had almost o'er Hell a Conquest won Had not your Prudent Conduct theirs out-done For when the tottering Cause did faintly droop Her Friends being fled brave you alone stood up For her Defence that you with Potent Hand And Prudent Heart confounded half the Land For still so soon's they view'd your awful Face Each Rebel did himself in 's Posture place Then with uplifted Voice and hideous Cries Proclaim'd your Praises to the troubled Skies Geneva's Hopes had turn'd to damn'd Despair Had not your daring Mind disperst her Care You from her Eyes all Tears clean wip'd away Banish'd her Darkness and confirm'd her Day And had the juster Heav'ns adjourn'd my Fate I 'd wrought both Down-fall of the Church and State Had not th' All-seeing Power descry'd my Crime And snatch'd me from God's Earth before the Time What Judas or Achitophel e'er hatc'd And more should been by my Adventures match'd I 'd made both King and Bishop tumble down I 'd rent the Surplice and consum'd the Crown Who dar'd but lisp'd the Name of King or Pope Without a Sentence past should stretcht a Rope Geneva Hell and I to Heaven and Rome In spite of Law would soon denounc'd their Doom Your Tub-men Prelat's Flesh should serv'd to feast Because they speak the Language of the Beast With Hellish Darts against both Church and Laws And rably Guards I 'd fortify'd the Cause Three Kingdoms weary'd of a peaceful Reign Should been embroil'd in Blood with our Design Father should Son and Children Parents kill'd But our damn'd Plot by Hell we would fulfill'd And when the Fiery Tryal crown'd the Day Wee 'd still been clear'd by Ignoramus Sway. In Fine in Golden Letters each Whigg's Name should blazed be in the Records of Fame But now too late I'n vain condole my Day My Tap was run I could no longer stay I hope the World knows still I did my worst And in promoting Plots was still the first T' each common Vice I was by Nature mov'd In higher Crimes by Art and Age improv'd Yet for all this our Plot 's like to decay Our Leaders faint and Brethren go astray Oh could the juster Judge of Israel's Tribes Found m' Ignoramus for Fanatick Bribes And had your Earthly Jury found thus ev'n This makes me curse our Laws since us'd in Heav'n Now with damn'd Furies since confin'd to lodge Wee 'll ne'er give o'er but bear Mankind a Grudge Let them conspire above and wee 'll plot under To furnish Hell and all the Prisons plunder Russ Why this Address bold Wretch dar'st th' own thy Guilt Do'st know how many thousand Bloods thou 'st spilt Curst be the day when first I saw thy Face I banish'd Reason to give Treason Place Traytor to God thy King and Friend that 's worse Crouds that ador'd before thy Fame does curse In Prime Of the damn'd Plot ' gainst State and Church You sneak't away and left me in the Lurch With dull mechanick Monsters and a Crue Of Thick-skull'd Fools who did our Snares undoe Thrice happy Thoughts had sure possest my Mind Had I but made you leave your Head behind Which had I done I should enjoy'd your Brains With my poor Head and sav'd the Hang-man's Pains But now alas the dismal days are come Which our Cabals did still design for Rome And in Infernal Caves damn'd must I lie Plotting in vain with Devils for Liberty Nor did I as some Traytors did to peach To save my Soul nor our black Guilt did preach To Tory Blades For had I cut my Throat My Blood would cry'd A damn'd Fanatick Plot But I true Traytor-like in Flower of Age With an undaunted Mind did mount the State Where to the World I'n spite of King and Laws With my last Gasp of Breath prest home the Cause Cry'd for our Liberties and Countreys Good In open Shame is shed my guiltless Blood Which squeez'd salt Tears forth from each Traytor 's Eyes With Sighs and Hellish Groans they fill'd the Skies Such bold Examples still prevail much more To smother Plots than any Sham before I hope there 's not one Covenanter left That is not of his Sence and Soul bereft Who dares deny he 's Debtor for his Breath To my good Service done at th' hour of Death My Life t' an end renouncing God and King The Devil the Dr. and my self did bring With Reverence I must remember's Gown That seldom but at fatal Hours is show'n And for my sake I hope he 'll save my Watch Which I did him present with not Squire Katch Against the Maxims of both Sence and Reason I blest my fatal Hour and hugg'd my Treason Of two great Ev'ls the greater did I chose My Life by Law not for the Law to lose I thank'd my Stars like some Turk Jew or Tartar That there I dy'd a Traytor not a Martyr Shafts Most brave audacious Champion of the Cause Our chief Deformer of both Church and Laws Let 's still persist in Vice shun doing Good Oh could we cool our Tongues in Royal Blood Old Noll the Devil proud Cataline consult What from the worst of Plots may most result Those upstart Traytors must not be compared With one whose Family was ever feared But for my part you 'll grant I 'm an Old Rogue And while on Earth ' mongst Traytors bore a Vogue Know by Compulsion you 'r sent here to dwell But I my self came Volunteer to Hell Yet next to Belzebub and me you shall Be still preferr'd before the whole Cabal For Rebel-like you still contriv'd new Plots And fill'd each Loyal Scutcheon full of Blots And in your utmost Minute shew'd more bright Than Phoebus mounted in 's Meridian Height You vouch'd your Blood for Protestants was spilt Nay more confest the Fact deny'd the Guilt You did not like mechanick cowardly Fops Confess so soon's they saw their fatal Ropes But Traytor-like joyn'd to the Cause new Growth Expiring like a Rogue with Lye in Mouth By which I hope the Multitude you mov'd To plot a-new since all you said's approv'd For sure the Rabble will believe you sooner Than Wallcot Rouse or any Whiggish Joyner Well let 's plot on in spite of Laws and Reason We 'll please our selves in Flames contriving Treason We 'll still conspire below to ruine Earth Till Friends and Foes both curse our fatal Birth We 'll send Advice to Titus and your Friend For Oaths and Pray'rs with them are Blasts of Wind And can procure a Pack of Helter Skalters To furnish Necks as long as Katch can Halters Russ Well since poor Mortals can't revoke the Day When past but to succeeding Fate give way must then let damn'd dispair seize every Heart And Fiends their Hellish Malice t' us impart We 'll take the Cov'nant from its Maker's Hand To 's hellish Laws and him that firm we 'll stand ' Gainst Heav'n and King we 'll streight go levy War Curst Hosts of Hell shall aid us from afar Would that the House were once assembled here We'd pass the Bill in spite of any Peer And if our Plots cannot perplex the Nation The Devil himself we will depose from 's Station And if our Shams take not as they 're appointed To touch the Person of the Lord 's anointed We 'll streight a full Discovery then make And on our Friends a whole Revenge we 'll take For nought but the whole Ruine of Mankind Can please a Rebell-Whigg's Blood-thirsty Mind Lucifer Bravely resolv'd true Whiggs by Hell I swear Such ploting Heroes dare not think of Fear Old Noll and I were quite wore out of Hopes Till now reviv'd by you the Causes Props Now for its sake and mine we 'll march about To keep the kindled Fire from dying out New Treasons I 'll convey'n your Speaker's Ears T' incense the Rabble with Seditious Fears To tell the King 's a Tyrant and a Papist Worse then a Jew yea worse than Turk or Atheist And that he with his Bishops daily prop Th' Interest of the French King and the Pope If that 's deny'd I 'll bid them mark the Skies What dreadful flaming Meteors there arise I 'll say these are the Missioners of Rome To signifie True Protestants their Doom And when like Deluges the Waters stand Shews that the Beast will float within this Land Let 's term the Papists dying words but Wind Equivocating Shamms t' ensnare the blind And since the City Charter has been gone Both Judge and Jury Papists ev'ery one Swear Howard was a Papist born and bred The Joyner a rank Jesuite by Trade Tell 'ts more genteeel conspiring and a ploting Than Tory-like to Whoring lye and Sotting When any Mischief's acted by our Sotts Make Titus blame his horrid Popish Plots But 's Hand is out 'ts long since he kist the Book Which makes me fear his Oaths will ne'er be took If any frailer Brother should confess Straight have him swore a Priest in Trades-man's Dress And doubtless e'ery Goal before 't be long Will by the Faithful Traytors be made strong At last with Whiggs when surfeited they swell They 'll spew them forth by Cart-Loads into Hell London Printed in the Year 1683.