The POPE Haunted with Ghosts, in Relation to Sir Edmundbury Godfreys Murther,
and the late Sainted Traytors, The Figures being by the Verses at large Explained.
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Nuncio.
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Horrors and Death! what dismal Sights Invade
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His Nightly Slumbers, who in Blood does Trade.
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Hear how they Curse him all, but he who fell
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Great Brittains Sacrifice by Imps of Hell;
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1. Pope.
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How do my Eye-Balls Roul, and Blood run back,
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What Tortures at this sight my Conscience Rack;
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Oh! Mountains now fall on me, some deep Cave
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Pitty me once, and prove my speedy Grave,
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2. Fiend.
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By Hells Grim Kings Command, on whom I wait
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Ive brought your Saint his Story to relate;
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His Torments, and the Horrid Cheat condole,
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You fixd on him to Rob him of his Soul.
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1. Pope.
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Oh! spare my Ears Ile no such Horrors hear;
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3. Coleman.
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You must, and know your own Damnations near
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You must ere long be Plungd in Grizly Flame
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Which I shall Laugh to see, tho Rackd with pain
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1. Pope.
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Horrors! tis Dismal, I can hear no more,
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O! Hell and Furies, how I have lost my Powr
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4. Sir E. Godfrey.
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See Sir this Crimson Stain, this baleful Wound
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See Murtherd me, with Joys Eternal Crownd
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From Sacred Bliss my Swift-Wingd Soul did glide
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Conducted hither by my Angel-Guide,
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To let thee know thy Sands are almost run,
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And that thy Thread of Life is well nigh Spun;
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Repent you then, Wash off the Bloody Stain,
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Or Youl be Doomd to Everlasting Pain.
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5. Angel.
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Come Worthy of Seraphick Joys Above,
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Worthy Our Converse, and our Sacred Love;
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Come let us hence, and leave him to his Fate,
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When Divine Vengeance shall the Business State
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1. Pope.
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Chill Horror siezes me, I cannot flye;
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Oh Ghastly! yet more Apparitions, nigh.
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6. Whitebread.
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Thus wandring through the gloomy Shades at last
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Ive found Thee, Traytor, that my Joys did blast,
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The half what we Endure no Tongue can Tell;
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The Endless Tortures wee Endure in Hell,
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This for a Bishoprick I undergo,
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But now would give Earths Empire wert not so.
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1. Pope
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Retire, good Ghosts, or I shall Dye with Fear
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7. Harcourt.
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Nay Stay Sir, first you must my Story hear:
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How coud you thus Delude your Bosome Friend,
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Your Foes to Heaven, and us to Hell thus send;
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Damnation seize you fort, ere long youl be
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Plungd Headlong into vast Eternity;
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1. Pope.
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Ho! Cardinals and Bishops hast with Speed,
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Bell, Book, and Candle fetch, let me be freed:
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Ah! tis too late, by Fear Intrancd I lye,
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8. Bishop.
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Heard you that Groan? with speed from hence lets flye
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9. Cardinal.
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The Fiend has got him, doubtless lets away,
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And in this ghastly place no longer stay.
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