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THE
King of Poland's Ghost:
OR;
A DIALOGUE betwixt PLUTO and
CHARON, upon his Reception.
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Pluto. HOld Stygian Sculler, what hast brought me here?
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Charon. The Soul Sir of your long-wish'd noble Peer.
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Pl. What? not the King of Polands? Ch. Yes, 'tis it.
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Pl. You old Tarpawlin, will you ne're learn Wit?
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Who bid you touch at Dantzick, and be hang'd,
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D' ye think my Furies long to be harangu'd?
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Ch. Stop the mistake, and let your Passion cease,
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He ne're came there, for Polands still in peace;
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But I suppos'd you waited for your Prey,
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And therefore Amsterdam'd him in his way.
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Pl. Pox on your Zeal, you did it for your Fare,
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Could'st think I want Incendiaries here?
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Ch. No, no, Sir; I have Passengers enough
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That spoke their Places, and gave Earnest too;
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And though y' had Boute-feu's enough before,
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Yet such as this ne're touch'd th' Infernal Shore:
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Scilla, Sejanus, Catiline, and Noll,
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Must give our Politician the wall.
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They, cruel wretches, sought Imperial sway
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By Fire and Slaughter, ours a milder way.
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They fought e'ne like your Furies for a Crown,
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He by Petitions softly bowls it down.
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Kings may be fell'd, and never hurt a Limb,
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And Plutos self fall gently under him.
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But Sir, you're safe, for ere he came at Styx,
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He drew and rack'd off all his Politicks.
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See the Noble
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Peer's Speech
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Pl. I can't tell that, Coopers are cunning blades,
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We Devils scarce can dive into their Trades;
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The Lees of one rich Pipe may ferment more,
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And I am plaguy loth to lose my Power.
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Ch. Fy Pluto! y'are too jealous of your Peer,
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He that hath been your Drudge this 50 year;
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If you begin to slight old Servants thus,
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'Twill be a great discouragement to us.
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Pl. Why did'st not take Elizium in thy way?
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Ch. Why Sir, the Keeper feign'd he'd lost his Key,
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And would not slip the Lock for all my Pray'rs;
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I touch'd besides at Purgatory Stairs,
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(The Trimmer's Office, as some term it well,
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Because it squints both toward Heav'n and Hell)
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But 'twould not do. Pl. No? what could they object?
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He seems the very Founder of the Sect.
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Ch. 'Tis true; but they urg'd, 'twas like an Inn
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Where Folks a while were baited for their Sin,
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Then like cur'd Lunaticks turn'd out again.
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And they alledg'd, my Charge was past all cure,
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And nothing in the World was e're said truer;
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For 'tis not all the Saints in Heav'n and Earth,
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Were he once in, could ever pray him forth.
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Pl. Well Charon, I forgive thee, for I see
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Thou speak'st both for thy Client and thy Fee:
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But how stand Causes on the Brittish Shoar,
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Since they have lost the Bawble they adore.
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Cha. Why they resent it in a various way,
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And some there are who do not stick to say,
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"That the Elm-board foregroan'd this fatal Day.
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That th' Albion Rocks relent, and change their hue,
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And ev'n Tyburn puts on Mourning too.
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Your dear Friend Titus cloaths himself in Crape,
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(Masculine Titus) your outdoing Ape,
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Who's got above the Dispensation of a feeble Rape.
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Others there are who are not troubled much,
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But rather seem beholding to the Dutch;
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For this one kindness they to Britain do,
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Commutes for Chatham and Amboina too.
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