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.

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