NEWS FROM
HELL;
Or the Relation of a
VISION.
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ME thought I saw before mine eyes
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A meagre Ghost to stand:
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And if my fancie judg'd aright
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one of Plutos Band.
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Thou gastly Ghost I charge thee speak,
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And shew the reason why
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Thou waftest through the Stygion Lake
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To fright mortality.
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Yes mortal wretch, see I am come
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From our infernal King,
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From whom to'th' English Nation
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Strange dolefull News do bring:
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Such News it is will make mens hearts
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To quake for dismal fear,
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To what I therefore shall relate
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Lend an attentive Eare.
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A great man lately to us came
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And tydings thither brought
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That treason 'gainst great Plutos State
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The English Nation wrought.
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That very word of Treason did
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Belzebub so affright,
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That of all courage for a while
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He was bereaved quite.
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At length recover'd he burst forth,
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And thus in fury spoke,
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Thou wretch with this thy cursed news
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How durst thou me provoke?
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What? England my sweet darling dear
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Against me Treason plot!
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England so late by us regain'd?
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Tush I believe it not.
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How many of my trusty sprites
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Have I therein imploy'd,
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In whose succesful labours I
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These sixteen years have joyed;
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My first born spirit of Pride I sent,
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Who Acts so well his part,
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There's scarse a man but he hath took
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possession of his heart.
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The Spirit of Mammon also is
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Of all so deified,
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As if the English Nation knew
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No other God beside;
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The Spirit of Lust and of the world,
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I, of envy and of lies,
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Have also place allotted them
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For their solemnities.
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But what black Sugar-candid tricks
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Doth th' Spirit of Errrour play?
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Who as the Wind, the Weather-cock,
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Mens Brains turn's every way.
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Now this opinion they embrace,
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And by and by another,
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Both these disl[i]k'd, a third is best,
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Taught by an holy Brother.
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Shall all this labour care and pains
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(My England to regain)
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Which I, and all my Spiris have tane,
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Prove fruitlesse and in vane,
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Will England now from me revolt,
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And plot against my State?
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Whithout whose help and council they
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Themselves will ruinate.
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'Tis true, they broke their Oaths and Vows
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Which they to Heaven made,
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But yet with me to break their League
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I am sure they are afraid.
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May it please your horrid Devilship?
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The newcome Guest doth cry,
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May not the News I brought disturb
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Your hellish Majesty.
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But if it be not treason too
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What is the truth to tell,
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For truth should not (it is confest)
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At all be spoke in Hell;
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But truth it is, there is sprung up
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In England, late, a Sect,
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Who teach, Salvation doth belong
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To all, without respect.
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Make haste now to return again,
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Assume some body strate,
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And tell some Mortall Wight who may,
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What I shall speak, relate;
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Tell them although they do prevent
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Me in my great designe,
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Yet shall they not my vengeance scape
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For I have Rods in Brine.
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I'le muster Legions of my Spirits,
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And with them council take,
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How 'mong the sottish Elves I may
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Greatest confusion make.
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This Mortal Wight's the news which I
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Came hither thee to tell;
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My Errand's done, and I must now
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Return again to Hell.
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