Spectrum Anti-Monarchicum.
OR, THE Ghost of Hugh Peters, AS He lately Appeared to his Beloved Son, the whole Assembly OF Fanatick Presbyters.
LO! from the dark Recess of deepest Hell,
Where nought but Souls of blackest Traytors dwell,
Thy Faithless Father comes, whose Cursed Change,
Has made him farr more Active for Revenge.
Awake! and see how (wrapt in flames) I stand
With Injur'd Head lopt off by Hangman's hand.
Lo! its Wise Tongue that spoke that God-like Reason.
Which Daunted Chits and Loyal Fools call Treason.
See! how 'twixt fester'd lips it doth Lament
Of Pains Impatient as of Government.
Ah! Pity Son, Pity thy Father's Case,
Who so unjustly has been doom'd this Place;
A Thousand Tortures hurry through my Blood
Black with Infection as the Stygian Flood.
Now sportive Devils with their tricks of youth,
Naked as (what I never knew) the Truth,
With Senses too too Apt for Life, 't expire,
Drag my unwasting Carcase through the fire.
Then Brawny Fiends full grown for Painful blow
With Rods of Sulphur lash me to and fro—
All Anguish as I run this Dismal Chase,
The Aged Imps spit Nitre in my Face.
Thus Plung'd in griefs when I for Mercy cry,
Insatiate Hell Eccho's Eternity!
This, this, All this, my Darling boy! I feel
Only for Hatching up a Common-Weal.
For th' Pious Rescue of your Ravish'd Laws,
And nobly fighting for the good old Cause.
For making room for Conscience 'gainst your Prince,
For which it has been larger ever since.
For frugal Building up a Tub, in which
The Spawling Sot might Brew as well as Preach,
For Cropping Ceremonies, pulling down
The Church, that We might circumcise the Crown.
For Casting Lots upon the Bishops Lawn,
And making their Possessions Puritan.
For turning Top of House to'th House of Prayer,
And sighing till the Organ-Pipes came there.
For Robbing Sinful Steeples of their Mettles
Beat into Honest Non-Conformist Kettles.
For Sweeping Choirs of Prebendaries clean,
Led by a great fat Bell-Wether, a Dean.
For boldly Levelling these Proud Degrees,
And burning Car-mens Frocks call'd Surplices.
For long defending of your harmless Lives,
Your Precious Liberties, and Pious Wives.
For such bless'd Deeds, such Meritorious things;
Nay! and for this, which greater Anguish brings,
The little Venial Crime of Killing Kings.
And can'st thou hear my troubled Spirit groan
For speedy Vengeance on that Guilty Throne,
And want that saving Vertue to Rebel,
And Damn it with that Law by which I fell?
Art thou not Tyrant-Crush'd? art thou not hee
Would'st blast Succession for thy Liberty?
Art thou not Prelate bound? art thou not one
Would'st Smite that Beast? nay! art thou not my Son?
That Matchless Name of Issue may suffice:
'Tis my Malignant Blood that Qualifies
For strict Revenge, and can your Soul Possess
With Ills as Damn'd as is my Damn'd Distress,
You told me once you would my Griefs abate,
And then Petition'd Hell to vindicate
My Wrongs with thee. What dire Consults? how foul
Were thy Resolves? such as made Fury's houl,
Dread Devils shrink, fresh Judgments rage about,
And Caverns burst to let its Poison out.
'Twas in the Sulphry Womb of Acharon,
Where these delightful Counsels first began.
A Thousands Legions Conventicl'd there,
All Sons of Envy Sullen with despair.
Whilst you the Mistery of my Cause discuss'd,
And Rhadamanthus Cry'd, Revenge was Just.
'Twas here, thou didst Recount and Whisper me
Your Years of Falshood, Days of Loyalty.
Didst thou not tell me thou could'st wisely sound
Riddles of State, that thou might'st States confound,
That thou could'st Set the Trampled Subject free,
And boldly Muzzle Awful Majestie;
Raise new Asylums and Protect our Lives,
By Rifling Kings to Steal Prerogatives?
If these thy Virtues are? lo! then to dye,
Turns my sad Conflict into Victory:
No more I will my Wretched doubts Pursue,
My bloody Principles I find in You.
You and We Devils did together fall.
Rebellion is the Essence of us All.
FINIS.