NEVVES FROM ROME. OR A Relation of the Pope and his Patentees Pilgrimage into Hell, with their entertainment, and the Popes returne backe againe to ROME.
THe Stigian King for honour to his Court
Now sits in state, delighting in the sport
His Furies make him, but they had not long
Practis'd their hellish Gambolls, when a throng
Of unknowne guests were seene, Pluto 'gan frowne,
Their Leader did not vayle his triple crowne;
Then with a contract brow he thus bespake,
Cannot our frowne make this same vassall quake.
Then fell the Pope upon his bended knee,
And cryes, how fares your gracious Majestie.
At length looking about he doth there see,
Sterne Rhadamanthus, with the Furies three;
Three-headed Cerberus, then he doth spy
Jxions wheele, and Theseus misery.
All standing round about him, as to heare
Some unknown matter, his speech was stopt by feare.
At l [...]st forgetting feare, he lowd doth call
Unto his God for justice, that the Hall
Did ring with Eccho, making his complaint
Against the English, till he grew quite saint.
At length he thus proceeded, and did say
They scorne my servants, and me disobay.
But some there are who to me faithfull were,
But they are gone, th'are fled I know not where.
My Goldfinch, Windebanke, my [...]uckling young,
Who could so well pray in ovr Roman tongue;
Are gon for feare of chiding, O they would
Have elevated me, if that they could.
My chiefest Prelate there they keepe in thrall,
Who stands in feare to smell the Judgement hall.
My Iush King is dead, he would be so,
But O my [...]nes doe fall, ev'n by my foe.
Now having fi [...]sh [...], he aloud do [...]h call
Unto his patent friends, that they should fall
Each on his knee, presenting each his gift,
Thinking to gaine great favour was his drift.
The first Tobacco in a pipe well stuft
Presents to Pluto (after i [...] was puft)
Which when the black Tartarian god did smell,
He fretted, fumed, and said, Is not Hell
Stored enough with base sulphurious smoke,
But you must thus conspire me here to choake;
Is not our person stored with fumes enough,
That you must here present us such a snuffe;
Base Varlet, with Heathenish Indian weed,
I present, I abhorre, and for this deed,
I doe exile thee, never to come neare
Our Court againe, without continuall feare;
Lordaine to that faire Elizians field,
Nor joy nor comfort to thee ere shall yeeld;
But thou with Tantalus shalt stand, and thirst,
For thou from henceforth ever art accurst.
Tobacco gone, no longer it must stay
But like a chimney smoke vanish away.
Then down falls Soap, thinking cleane out to wash
Tobacco's staine, but sterne Megaeraes lash
Doth force him up, the Pope doth weep to see,
Soap larders out of Plntoes companie:
Then Bacchus friend upon his knee doth fall
Presenting that which bitter was as Gall,
The price of Wine I meane, but Pluto he
Foreknowing of his plots his signe would see;
Then of his pocket paper out he drew,
Wherein pourtrayed was in lively hue
The forme of couzenage, about her standing
Seven penny pint pots as new landing
On English shore: In her face did he see,
The true effigies of a Patentee:
At length the Wine he did entend to taste,
Which stunke of Horseflesh, then was Pluto past
The bounds of patience, and to all did sweare,
The first Inventer on't should loose an eare.
He was incenst so far that he did vow
That he hereafter never would allow
Such wicked doings, he wished these knaves
Had long agoe been buried in their graves.
If he meant Abell now I cannot tell,
I will enquire the next Post comes from Hell;
Yet Abels sacrifice was first accepted
When wicked Cains his brothers disrespected.
Then did all other Patents kneele together,
But chiefest notice taken was of Leather,
Which to a Coach transformed was not shooes,
Wherefore for him the Furies made a noose,
And hung him out a tanning, but the Pope
Being tormented, was quite out of hope
In Hell to gaine redresse for's miseries,
Wherefore with speed to cursed Rome he flies,
Without his Patents, Charon would not row
Such damned friends, to all the world a foe:
They are in Hell, and there let them still lie,
Who were the causers of much misery:
Jesuites are angry because thus I write,
So let them be, these lines I doe endite
Onely to them, and each close shaved Fryer,
Whom Hell much wants to kindle Plutoes fire:
My Muse is weary of so black a theame,
Wherefore shees flowne unto her sisters streame,
To clense her selfe, I me sure anon againe
Shee will returne, then Ile write better straine.
An Elegiacall Confabulation BETWEENE DEATH and HONOUR.
A Lecture which may be read to the greatest Monarch in the world.
H:
WHat horrid Monster 'ist which I doe see,
D:
One that is come to make a coarse of thee?
Nay, frowne not Honour, thou must me obay;
H:
What art thou slave, which dar'st to me thus say!
D:
My name is death,
Hon:
Death thy selfe enlarge,
Tell me thy nature, office, and thy charge.
D:
For to declare to thee such things are vaine,
I am triumphant, and demands disdaine
Of greatest Monarchs, Death stands not in feare;
Than know proud Honour, Death will never spare.
H:
Base Fiend, what art thou which to me dost talke?
Tell me, what art thou? or else quickly walke.
D:
Alas poore elfe, dost thinke to conjure Death,
Thou canst not, therefore come yeeld up thy breath.
H:
Honour yeeld breath, pray tell me unto whom,
D:
To Death, therefore with speed prepare thy Tombe.
Honour is vaine, 'tis mortall, quickly gone,
This my keene dart shall force the proudest groane.
Then Honour shake off pride, and avoyd lust,
Highest of honours must humbled be 'ith dust.
H:
How Honour humbled? an example show
Then of thy power sufficient I shall know
D:
I am content thy pleasure to fulfill,
Example I will shew, then know my skill.
Had not Lord Wentworth honours? yes tis true,
Who dare deny it, by valour he it drew,
His wisdome unto after ages shall
Renowned be, and live perpetuall.
D:
What is true valour,
Hon:
to overcome 'ith field,
D:
But Death doth force greatest Commanders yeeld.
H:
Since Guns and Rapiers first invented were
Faint-hearted mortalls, of Death stood in feare.
D:
Never before did Honour yeeld to me,
H:
Never true Honour alwaies scap't scot-free.
D:
Honour thou lyst, I am sure ever yet,
Death ruld the roast, man onely turnd the spit.
[Page 8]But yet Ile reall be, Coelick Honour
Is fearlesse still, though Death display his Banner.
But as for such it descends from above,
In man infusd it is by heavenly Jove.
But yet they die which reall Honour have,
And yet their fame survives, they being in grave.
Those which for terrene honours gape and call,
By soaring high oft-times doe catch a fall.
Now answer Honour, tell to me thy minde,
Where like to Death another canst thou finde:
What silent Honour, dar'st thou not reply?
Answer me quick, this Dart must make thee die.
Hector that worthy Prince of famous Troy
I overcame, and with him Priams joy.
These greatest honours had, they Worthies were,
And yet to strike them did not I Death feare.
Then say no more, that I am too too cruell,
The Fates command that we should fight a duell.
H:
O hold, hold Death, to thee doth Honour yeeld,
Conquer'd I am, to thee belongs the field:
Thus world adue, farewell yee mortalls all,
Shrubs may stand fast, when tallest Cedars fall.
T. B.
FINIS.