A Journey to Hell or, A Visit paid to the Devil. A poem. The Second Edition [by Edward Ward] |
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 | A Journey to Hell |  |
After some short retirement from the Bench,
Their fiery Drowths with Stygian Juice to quench,
Th'infernal Judge refresh'd with his retreat,
Return'd, and reassum'd his Judgment seat:
The grave Chief-Justice thus in order plac'd,
And Hell's black Bar with Learned Council grac'd,
The loud-mouth Cryer in King Pluto's Name,
(Commanding Silence) did the Court proclaim.
This done, the Turnkey of the deep Abyss,
Where Souls lay scorching for their Wickedness,
Was loudly call'd, in order to prepare
His sinful Remnants for the Stygian Bar,
The swarthy ill-look'd Goaler soon appear'd,
With his grim Whiskers, and his grisly Beard,
Arm'd with dire Serpents, of a size o'ergrown,
And Scorpions tuck'd into a Leathern Zone;
Follow'd by sighing Troops, thin-jaw'd and pale,
Ratling their Chains like Fellons in a Goal.
The languid Tribe all sorrowful appear'd,
Bemoaning what eternal Doom they fear'd,
Foretold by Conscience e're their Souls were try'd,
The sad Rewards of Avarice and Pride;
For Conscience will fore-judge, tho' ne'er so sear'd,
And damn the Guilty e're their Cause be heard.
When the stern Cerb'rus had with painful Care,
Marshal'd his drooping Pris'ners round the Bar.
The awful Court beheld the trembling Sprites,
And thus the Clerk the sinful Herd indicts.
Their fiery Drowths with Stygian Juice to quench,
Th'infernal Judge refresh'd with his retreat,
Return'd, and reassum'd his Judgment seat:
The grave Chief-Justice thus in order plac'd,
And Hell's black Bar with Learned Council grac'd,
The loud-mouth Cryer in King Pluto's Name,
(Commanding Silence) did the Court proclaim.
This done, the Turnkey of the deep Abyss,
Where Souls lay scorching for their Wickedness,
Was loudly call'd, in order to prepare
His sinful Remnants for the Stygian Bar,
The swarthy ill-look'd Goaler soon appear'd,
With his grim Whiskers, and his grisly Beard,
Arm'd with dire Serpents, of a size o'ergrown,
And Scorpions tuck'd into a Leathern Zone;
Follow'd by sighing Troops, thin-jaw'd and pale,
Ratling their Chains like Fellons in a Goal.
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Bemoaning what eternal Doom they fear'd,
Foretold by Conscience e're their Souls were try'd,
The sad Rewards of Avarice and Pride;
For Conscience will fore-judge, tho' ne'er so sear'd,
And damn the Guilty e're their Cause be heard.
When the stern Cerb'rus had with painful Care,
Marshal'd his drooping Pris'ners round the Bar.
The awful Court beheld the trembling Sprites,
And thus the Clerk the sinful Herd indicts.
| A Journey to Hell | |