AN ADDRES TO THE Lyon in the Tower.
THINE only Friend on Earth
(the Hangman) stays
With Halter
(ready Nooz'd) to end thy Days;
And give some Respite (to thy
Guilty Breast)
(From Ghosts) that
Haunt Thee since thou wert i'th'
WEST.
Those Shades that (stabb thee) and disturb thy sleep,
When from thy guilty Sheets thou
dar'st not peep,
Nor open
Claring Eyes, lest thou should'st
See
Some of
Those Thousand Western GHOSTS; by
Thee
With
Bloody Mouth doom'd to
Ʋntimely End.
GUINEAS (
that sometimes would make thee a
Friend
To those thou
Hatedst;) would not
(then) suffice,
Thy
Cruelty out-bids thy
Avarice,
(That Avarice) by which
thou us'd to Steer,
When on thy
Sullen Bench at
WESTMINSTER.
STRANGE! Thou should'st derogate
from all thy Tribe!
Oh,
Ho! The Broad-Seal was the
Greatest Bribe!
Suetonius says, that
NERO (thus) would come
In's Shirt (
New-sled from Bed) to the
next Room;
Where
his Guards watch'd, frighted
(as well as he)
A
Thing in WHITE, with Ghastly Looks, to see;
Hairs
bolt Ʋpright; a Ghost, they
thought it; for
(Thus Guiz'd) they
could not know their Emperour,
His Visage was so chang'd: Oh
Ghastly Sight!
The Stoutest YEOMEN of his Guards to
Fright!
They fled
from It, thinking it was some
DEVIL,
(Or Hellish Ghost that
Walk'd; 'twas one as
EVIL;
As bloody and
as bad all-out as HE,
As bloody and as bad
(almost) as THEE,
Or the
Third Richard, th' best of all you
Three.
Richard and
Nero too, (Vile Men!) Did
Slay
Their
nearest Kindred;
This,—brave
Seneca;
The other,
Worse; but
HE ordain'd
good LAWS,
Which thou hast from
the Groundsell raz'd; because
The
Tempting BENCHES brib'd thy Soul; for rather
Than
not come there, thou would'st
have Sold thy Father:
Nay, (like POPE
Sylvester, thou wast so evil)
Both
SOƲL and BODY freely to the Devil.
Methinks I
see thee March (with Guards)
to th' WEST,
(With
Bawling Roaring Lyon's Mouth thou'rt blest,)
Gaping and
Foaming, Eager to be there,
To Gorge with Blood
thy Guilty MAW; for
Here
Thou
ne'er could'st Glutted be; but
KETCH may give
Thee
Blood enough, when thou shalt
Cease to live.
Let
True Repontance Chear thee when thou
Hangs;
Oh that
thy Hell on Earth may end thy
PANGS!
LONDON: Printed by G. L. at the Two Swans without Bishopsgate. 1689.