University of Virginia Library

The Ghost of honest Tom Ross, to his Pupil the Duke of M***mouth.

Shame of my Life! Disturber of my Tomb!
Base from thy Mother's prostituted Womb!
Huffing to Cowards, fawning to the Brave,
To Knaves a Fool, to credulous Fools a Knave,
The King's Betrayer, and the popular Slave.
Like Samuel, at the Negromantick Call,
I rise to tell thee, God has left thee, Saul.
I strive in vain thy infected Blood to cure,
Streams will run muddy when the Spring's impure.
In all your prosp'rous Life we plainly see
Old Taff's invincible Sobriety.
The Place of Master of the Horse, and Spy,
You, like Tom Howard, did at once supply.
From Sydney's Blood your Loyalty did spring,
You shew us all your Fathers, but the King;
From whose too tender, and too bounteous Arms,
(Unhappy he whom such a Viper warms)
As dutiful a Subject as a Son,
To your true Parents, the whole Town, you run.
Read, if you can, how th'old Apostate fell,
Out-do his Pride, and merit more than Hell:
Both he and you were gloriously bright,
The first and fairest of the Sons of Light.
But when, like you, he offer'd at the Crown,
Like him, your angry Father kick'd you down.