Poems on Affairs of State :: :: University of Virginia Library

Truth brought to Light:

Or, Murder will out.

By S. College.

Would the World know how Godfrey lost his Breath?
This tells the Tragick Story of his Death:
Not borrow'd from the feigned Ghost appearing
Unto us Mortals, so the Story clearing;
Or taken from the Narrative of Prance,
Where he too modest does on Persons glance;
Tho there's enough for all with half an Eye
To scan some Villains in this Tragedy.
An Oedipus there needs not to explain
The wretched Norfolk's House in Clements-Dane:
Or how the Owner Godfrey did persuade
To eat his last, and basely him betray'd.
Hear but the Villain how he did ensnare
This gen'rous Soul into his bloody Fare.

Pray, good Sir Edmund, stay, I beg the Boon
Of some Discourse with you this Afternoon,
In a Rehearsal of this Hellish Plot,
Which you by Oates's Depositions got;
You shall oblige me ever, and you will
Preserve our King and Kingdom from their Ill.
Tho of the Church of Rome you know I am,
I would be thought a Loyal English Man:
For if their damned Plot be as I hear,
I'll curse the Pope, and leave their Church I swear.

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And as to what you plead as your Excuse,
You have some Friends at home you shall abuse
By your long stay, I will a Footman send,
That shall acquaint your Servants and your Friend,
You have some Bus'ness that detains you here;
And therefore they must not expect you there.

Thus by a Syren's Tongue and Popish Guile,
He did persuade his stay, and sent mean while
Unto his Ban-dogs, that they might way-lay him
As home he went, and barb'rously slay him.
Lo! here's the Project of a Popish Peer,
To murder Men in Love by Lordly Cheer:
From which, till known, the Wise have no defence,
Nor can escape Rome's treacherous Pretence.
The best of Men by wretched means they kill,
To serve their Church, and gain their cursed Will.
Say but Rome's Vicar, Such a Man must die,
That's Crime enough, no matter how or why.
His Hounds of Blood and cruel Beasts of Prey,
Who call it Merit to deceive, betray,
Murder whole Nations standing in their way.
So fell the Noble Godfrey by the hand
Of D's, E's, Ld's, and Q's of Royal Band,
Whose direful Dirge they sung in Northern Tone,
Where York and Norfolk kept the time as one:
And treach'rous Tom made England's Treasure pay
Rewards to those that did his Life betray.
That Osb***n Villain, raised by his skill
Of pimping, and procuring to our Will;
The worst of Slaves, that so he might be great,
Expos'd his Wife and Daughters to our Heat.
Ah! blessed Tool at our most gracious need,
That never fail'd us so to do the deed!

Next sail'd the Portsmouth Frigat with the Elves,
And as is said, is steered by our selves;
Blown by the blast of Bellas—curs'd Spleen;
And yet it seems was Musick for a Queen;

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And so delighted England's harmless Chip,
That made her dance, and 'bout the dead to skip
In Masquerade, by Faux his Lanthorn drest,
Where her dear Priests the holy Murder blest.
Prejudg'd by them they this Conclusion draw,
A Ducal Dinner's Death by Martial Law.
By these Rome's Vassals did in order get,
That Godfrey's Life might have a Somerset,
And die for daring to inspect the things
Of Mother-Church, of holy Pope and Kings;
And the Retinue, Banditti of Hell,
Welch Powis, Peters, Stafford, Arundel,
And thousands more of that accursed Brood,
Who would convert us by a Sea of Blood,
And turn the Laws of England out of doors,
By Standing-Army, Pensioners and Whores,
Bastards sans number, at the Nation's Charge,
For whom we have been taxed oft at large;
And made to buy our Ruin with our Coin,
Which went for Votes, and Plots, and Countermine.

Alas! poor Nation, how art thou undone
By a bad Father, and now a worse, his Son!
What have these Cubs of Scotland brought upon us?
There's nothing left but Lord have Mercy on us!