The Fourth Volume of the Writings Of the Author of the London-Spy Prose and Verse [by Edward Ward] |
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The Anathema;
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 | The Fourth Volume of the Writings Of the Author of the London-Spy |  |
The Anathema;
or, a Curse upon the Nation's Enemies.
Curse on the Authors of our present Woes,
Whether they're Magpy wing'd or black as Crows,
Whether they're Eagle Ey'd, Nos'd like a Hawk,
Yielding as Down, or stubborn as a Rock,
Whether their native Wool they only wear,
Or that the Wolves in foreign Skins appear,
Whether obscurely, or in publick Great,
Shelter'd in Church, or honour'd in the State,
Whether a mighty Legion or a few,
A blind, mistaken or a wilful Crew,
Whether Whigs, Jacobites, High Church or Low,
Guided by the right, or mis-led by F---;
Curse on 'em all that lend an helping Hand,
To th'Spoil and Ruin of their Native Land,
Living or dead, may none escape their due,
But Divine Vengeance still their Guilt pursue,
That those whose Avarice brings Crowds to starve,
May never fail to share what they deserve,
If Living, may such shame their Crimes reward,
That may remain for ever on Record,
Unraz'd, unblotted, that their Sons may see,
Written at large, their Father's Infamy,
To th'Scandal of their curss'd Posterity.
May they become a Sacrifice to th'Hate
And Rage of those that raiss'd 'em to be Great;
May those they most confide in as their Friends,
Prove treach'rous and betray them to their ends;
Nay, those who at their plentious Tables feed,
That cringe for Gifts and flatter them for Bread,
On whom their Favours, chiefly they bestow,
May they alone contrive their overthrow,
And prove the first that shall the means invent,
To bring you to Disgrace and Punishment,
Beneath which Fate, may you unpitty'd fall,
By some insulted, and condemn'd by all,
Thus may old Hammond's Gallows be your Fate,
That your Examples, tho some years too late,
May caution others how they prove unjust,
And to their Country's Ruin wrong their Trust.
Whether they're Magpy wing'd or black as Crows,
Whether they're Eagle Ey'd, Nos'd like a Hawk,
Yielding as Down, or stubborn as a Rock,
Whether their native Wool they only wear,
Or that the Wolves in foreign Skins appear,
Whether obscurely, or in publick Great,
Shelter'd in Church, or honour'd in the State,
Whether a mighty Legion or a few,
A blind, mistaken or a wilful Crew,
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Guided by the right, or mis-led by F---;
Curse on 'em all that lend an helping Hand,
To th'Spoil and Ruin of their Native Land,
Living or dead, may none escape their due,
But Divine Vengeance still their Guilt pursue,
That those whose Avarice brings Crowds to starve,
May never fail to share what they deserve,
If Living, may such shame their Crimes reward,
That may remain for ever on Record,
Unraz'd, unblotted, that their Sons may see,
Written at large, their Father's Infamy,
To th'Scandal of their curss'd Posterity.
May they become a Sacrifice to th'Hate
And Rage of those that raiss'd 'em to be Great;
May those they most confide in as their Friends,
Prove treach'rous and betray them to their ends;
Nay, those who at their plentious Tables feed,
That cringe for Gifts and flatter them for Bread,
On whom their Favours, chiefly they bestow,
May they alone contrive their overthrow,
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To bring you to Disgrace and Punishment,
Beneath which Fate, may you unpitty'd fall,
By some insulted, and condemn'd by all,
Thus may old Hammond's Gallows be your Fate,
That your Examples, tho some years too late,
May caution others how they prove unjust,
And to their Country's Ruin wrong their Trust.
If dead, at Midnight may their Spirits rise,
And with their gastly Looks their Friends surprize,
Visit by turns their Agents of their Pride,
And those that made them wicked e'er they dy'd,
With doleful Groans theirf rightful Ears pursue,
And bid 'em give to Cæsar what is due;
With threat'ning Woes disturb their Rest each Night,
And haunt 'em till they do the Publick Right,
Thus restless, for the crying Wrongs they've done,
May their Souls wander tho their Sands are run.
And their vile Dust by wicked Hands be torn
From their close Urns, and made the People's Scorn,
Be toss'd, like worthless Rubbish, up and down,
For every common Foot to tread upon,
Till their curss'd Ashes undistinguish'd fly,
Like Atoms, 'twixt the Surface and the Sky,
And as they're raiss'd and scatter'd by the Wind,
Strike, as they mount, surviving Traytors blind;
O! what eternal Curse can be too Great,
For those who thro Excess of Pride or Hate,
Reduce their Native Country to a wretched State.
And with their gastly Looks their Friends surprize,
Visit by turns their Agents of their Pride,
And those that made them wicked e'er they dy'd,
With doleful Groans theirf rightful Ears pursue,
And bid 'em give to Cæsar what is due;
With threat'ning Woes disturb their Rest each Night,
And haunt 'em till they do the Publick Right,
Thus restless, for the crying Wrongs they've done,
May their Souls wander tho their Sands are run.
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From their close Urns, and made the People's Scorn,
Be toss'd, like worthless Rubbish, up and down,
For every common Foot to tread upon,
Till their curss'd Ashes undistinguish'd fly,
Like Atoms, 'twixt the Surface and the Sky,
And as they're raiss'd and scatter'd by the Wind,
Strike, as they mount, surviving Traytors blind;
O! what eternal Curse can be too Great,
For those who thro Excess of Pride or Hate,
Reduce their Native Country to a wretched State.
| The Fourth Volume of the Writings Of the Author of the London-Spy | |