THE ANSWER OF Coleman's Ghost, TO H. N's. POETIC OFFERING.  

RISE Nevil, Rise, and do not punish me,  
With the vain sight of your Idolatry.  
You may with equal Reason call upon  
The good Saint Icarus or Phaeton,  
Who do the Sacred Name deserve as far,  
As some who Blush in Roman Calendar:  
With like Ambition I designed to know  
No other Triumphs but of things below;  
And rather laboured how there might be given,  
French Crowns, postponing all the Crowns of Heaven.  
Favoured in this, because kind Heaven declines  
My high Intrigues, and baffles my Designs.  
None with more covetous Zeal pursued our Cause,  
Or fell a more due Sacrifice to Laws.  
In that sad Day when strangled Life Expired,  
And the just flames my bloody Limbs required,  
Whilst my hot Soul in hasty flight retires,  
From tyburn's only Purgatory Fires.  
Immortal shapes crowd on in Troops to view,  
My Plotting Soul and stopped me as I flew,  
Such Spirits who Incarnate ever moved  
In their By-Paths, and never quiet loved.  
The Cunning Machiavelli drew near and feared,  
Screeked at the sight of me and disapeard.  
Showing how weak all human Plots are laid,  
Where Hopes and Souls have always been betrayed.  
Scylla and Marius wondering at our Crimes,  
Pitied the near misfortune of our times,  
Sighed at those streams of blood which were to run,  
And cursed our Tables of Proscription.  
Fierce Catiline our Villainy decried,  
To whom the bold Cethegus soon replied,  
How New Rome imitates and yet exceeds  
In dire Conspiracies our puny deeds!  
Great Caesar's Ghost with Envy looked on me,  
That for Rome's sake I aimed at more than he,  
To Conquer all the Isles of Britanny,  
Yet blamed the Cruelties which were to come,  
From that Dictator which now Reigns at Rome.  
Spiritual Dictator! who more controls  
Than he, and claps his Fetters on our Souls?  
He told me Old Rome's Walls had longer stood,  
If Romulus had spared his Brother's blood.  
And that Rome's happiness grew always worse,  
When it resembled the fierce Wolf its Nurse.   

Ah, my good Friend, how clearly do I find,  
In this new State the faults of human kind.  
Nothing procures so high a Place above,  
As universal Charity and Love,  
Infused and managed by the Heavenly Dove.  
Heaven is a quiet Kingdom which we call  
Your injured Scriptures true Original.  
There no false Comments on the Text appear,  
Nor must Trents Spurious Council domineer.  
Sometime with me, Dear Nevil, you must grant,  
The Church Triumphant to be Protestant.  
If against them on Earth Rome's malice thrives,  
'Tis not Rome's Cause prevails, but their ill Lives.  
So Babylon of old vexed Israel,  
And wicked Men raise Enemies from Hell.   

As once on Earth I did your good attend,  
So now for Love I am your Ghostly Friend:  
Let your Soul hate all bloody ways and things,  
To subvert States and Laws, to murder Kings.  
Or you are sure to equal my disgrace,  
And without Mercy, you may name your place.   
FINIS.