Father Petre's Lamentation;
OR,
His New-Years-Gift
To the DEVIL.
|
Petre.
|
WHat have we done! now has the gloomy part
|
Unbosom'd all the utmost of its Art.
|
Has Hell ungorg'd, and from its Entrails thrown
|
Off all the Plots which useful might have grown?
|
By which we might have ransack'd all the World,
|
And Hereticks to sad Despair have hurl'd.
|
Devil.
|
Labour I did, and much Pains I took,
|
Thro' all the Creeks of Hell did strictly look,
|
Where I might find one Devil that might be
|
Assisting to our Hellish Massacre.
|
But I am deceiv'd; yet thy Soul must pay
|
Me for my Pains, when hence it flies away.
|
Petre.
|
That I give thee, and would have thank'd thee too,
|
If t' our ruin'd Plots, thou hadst been true:
|
All now are known, and my Assistants are
|
Brought to the Rope, submitting to Despair.
|
The Birth of the false P----- is plainly known;
|
That wretched Door to all the Crowd is shown.
|
Conscience is prickt, which makes 'em more confess
|
Than loaded Hell itself cou'd e're possess.
|
Our Massacreing Arms are all dispers'd,
|
Our Plotting Letters to the World rehears'd:
|
Our Crosses, Books and Papers, now we see,
|
Are come to a deserv'd Catastrophe.
|
Our Fryars, Monks and Jesuits, nay all
|
The Romish Tribe, will in this Conflict fall:
|
And crowded Hell will now so burden'd be,
|
That so at last, there'l scarce be room for me.
|
Devil.
|
Feed not thyself with such vain Hopes as those,
|
To be the first of all I thee have chose:
|
In Purgatory Flames think not to burn,
|
Where after Death, thou say'st, the Souls return;
|
But where thou always must expect to be
|
Tortur'd with Flames and vip'rous Cruelty.
|
Come! hast away! we have prepared Quarters
|
For Thee and thy Fellow Regulators,
|
Nigh Father Garnet, and such Popish-Martyrs.
|
|
|
|
|
|