 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
Marvil's Ghost.
By Mr. Jo. Ayloffe.
From the dark Stygian Lake I come,
To acquaint poor England with her Doom;
Which by the infernal Sisters late,
I copied from the Book of Fate:
And though the sence may seem disguis'd,
'Tis in these following Lines compriz'd.
When England shall forsake the Broom,
And take the Thistle in the room;
A wanton Fidler shall be led
By Fate to shame his Master's Bed;
From whence a spurious Race shall grow,
Design'd for Britain's overthrow.
These, whilst they do possess her Throne,
Shall serve all interest but their own;
And shall be both in Peace and War,
Scourges unto themselves and her.
A brace of exil'd Youths, whose Fates
Shall pull down Vengeance on those States
That harbour'd them abroad, must come
Well skill'd in foreign Vices home,
And shall their dark designs to hide,
With two contesting Churches side;
Till with cross persecuting zeal,
They have destroy'd the Common-weal:
Then Incest, Murder, Perjury,
Shall fashionable Vertues be;
And Villanies infest this Isle,
Shall make the Son of Claudius smile.
No Oaths or Sacraments hold good,
But what are seal'd with Lust and Blood:
Lust, which cold Exile could not tame,
Nor Plague nor Fire at home reclaim:
For this she shall in Ashes mourn,
From Europe's envy turn her scorn,
And curse the day that e'er gave Birth
To Cæcil, or to Monk on Earth.
And take the Thistle in the room;
A wanton Fidler shall be led
By Fate to shame his Master's Bed;
170
Design'd for Britain's overthrow.
These, whilst they do possess her Throne,
Shall serve all interest but their own;
And shall be both in Peace and War,
Scourges unto themselves and her.
A brace of exil'd Youths, whose Fates
Shall pull down Vengeance on those States
That harbour'd them abroad, must come
Well skill'd in foreign Vices home,
And shall their dark designs to hide,
With two contesting Churches side;
Till with cross persecuting zeal,
They have destroy'd the Common-weal:
Then Incest, Murder, Perjury,
Shall fashionable Vertues be;
And Villanies infest this Isle,
Shall make the Son of Claudius smile.
No Oaths or Sacraments hold good,
But what are seal'd with Lust and Blood:
Lust, which cold Exile could not tame,
Nor Plague nor Fire at home reclaim:
For this she shall in Ashes mourn,
From Europe's envy turn her scorn,
And curse the day that e'er gave Birth
To Cæcil, or to Monk on Earth.
But as I onwards strove to look,
The angry Sister shut the Book,
And said, No more, that fickle State
Shall know no further of her Fate;
Her future fortunes must be hid,
Till her known Ills be remedied;
And she to those Resentments come,
That drove the Tarquins out of Rome;
Or such as did in fury turn
The Assyran's Palace to his Urn.
The angry Sister shut the Book,
And said, No more, that fickle State
Shall know no further of her Fate;
Her future fortunes must be hid,
Till her known Ills be remedied;
And she to those Resentments come,
That drove the Tarquins out of Rome;
Or such as did in fury turn
The Assyran's Palace to his Urn.
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