BRADSHAW'S GHOST; A POEM: OR, A Dialogue between John Bradshaw, Ferryman Charon, Oliver Cromwell, Francis Ravilliack, and Ignatius Loyola. 1660. Bradsh. COME, Charon, come— Cham What unexpected shade Is this that thus imploreth Charon's aid? Brad. 'Tis I Char. Raven, I know that tone, That durst to boad destruction to a Throne: Thy guilt's too heavy, and in vain implores A Sculler's help; your Lordship should have Oars. Lay down your Burden, then I'll carry you; I cannot waft Bradshaw and a Murderer too. Have you drunk Lethe yet that forgot Noll lately passed; alas, he broke my Boat: Besides the Ford is shallow. Brad. Never think Of that, your danger then is less to sink. 'Tis strange, shall I water want? It cannot be: I have spilt Blood enough to make a Sea. By all that's bad, we'll swim it o'er: then come, My Keel shall blow my Mare Mortuum. Let but the winds be good, and we'll prevail, Curses and Sighs shall swell the labouring Sail. Char. First, let met know what haste hath brought thee here: Didst thou ride Post upon the * Tyburn, three-legged Mare? Or did thy Murdering Soul unto this Ford Fly from the point of some Revenging Sword? Brad. I Murdered not myself; and none but I Dur●… attempt that venturous Act, to vie With Hell for th' Ruff, and double o'er again The seventy sevenfold Punishment of Cain. My P●●ow was my block, and Swans did bring My Scarlet Soul upon their milky wing. Char. 'Tis strange; yea, and unnatural, to see That such a Rogue should die, and naturally: Sure millions would have Ravished thy Breath, But that none durst attempt that deed but Death. For Justice could not be Revenged on you, Unless ●e could kill Soul and Body too. But why do you come here? get you to Hell For to Read Lectures unto Machiavelli: Your Borgia could do that, and I have Reason To keep you back; Pluto would think it Treason. You and your Partner sure will pluck him down, Hell is not dark enough to hid his Crown. Brad. Charon, don't fear, I'll warrant we'll agree, For Hell and I were ne'er at enmity. Char. Give me your Naulum, then take here this cup Of Lethe, think 'tis Blood, and swill it up.— Brad. That won't wash Gild, 'tis as good let it alone: And as for Money, I will give you none.— I've a Commission, mind from whom I am sent; You're Ferryman unto the Parliament.— Char. Lambert hath shut that Door, and as for me, You shall not enter here without a Fee. Should I waft Roundheads o'er for nought, I find, C●…elion-like, my Sails must live by wind. Had you the Bishop's Lands, and could not bring One Tithe to me? at least an Offering. You shall not o'er on tick, for pay you must; When Infidels do meet, ne'er talk of trust. Bradsh. There's . Cham What's the Motto? O, 'tis thus; The Commonwealth of England; God with us. You Worship Coin, your Golden Calves, I see, Have got a pretty stamp, a Deity. But prithee, Bradshaw, now thou art come, let's know How thou and Pride did chance to fall so low. You went for Saints on Earth, were 〈◊〉 not far More fit for you i'th' Heavens to shine a Star? Brad. My Brother Pride his thoughts on Hell did fix, For to brew merry Beer and Ale with Styx. His Trash would not vent there; the Angels they, He thought drank nothing but Ambrosia: And somewhat else besides increased his Fears, There was a grudge betwixt him and the Bears. And Charon, as to me your Questions are Most Foolish; know you not that Charles is there? To drive black Pluto's Coach I'd rather deign, Than to be Waggoner to Charles' wain. Char. Were you out, you should scarce come in again: This Ferry-boat was never made for Man. But you may go 'cause you're Nolis stalking-horse, Rather for Beast, or something that is worse. Brad. More Ass I; but I am rid on't I suppose, And shall be even with him in spite of's Nose. I must confess my Purple Robes alone Did serve to make a Foot-stall for his Throne. Nought could be done, I say't to my Disgrace, By's Iron-sides, but for my brazen face: I scorned to pluck off Hat to Majesty▪ Although I made him pluck off's Head to me: Though he amazed, it stirred not me; his Breath Could not move me, although it frighted Death. My Perjured Soul could easily dispense To cut a way for Noll through Innocence. Yet entered not I on the Mine before I thought myself secure of half the Ore: I thought my gains were good, the stakes being down; I quickly made a Football of the Crown: But Noll tripped up my heels, that surly Soul; And I was glad at last I escaped the Goal. He got the gain, and lost his Soul and all, That * Nolls Wife. Joan might sell her Kitchen-stuff at Whitehall. Here's Land: what Clouds are these? what, does Hell turn Out all her Lights? 'cause she for me might mourn. Has Pluto Tinderboxes? Char. No. Brad. What then? Hath Noll a Nose will light those Flames again? Char. Beware, lest hoodwinked thus, you stray go on Close by Coetus, then by Acheron. Cerberus longs to see you, he'll afford Three Salutations to you in one word. Fling him a Heart, for there belongs a fee To the Doorkeeper as well as unto me. Bradsh. Thanks for this needless Counsel: But ne'er tell Me that I ere was out of the way to Hell. Cromwell the Great being Linkboy, sure he knows The way, if not, we'll follow both his Nose. Farewell. But now I stray, the darkness is So great, I shall not find the way to miss: I ne'er walked wrong, though I am ne'er right, for where So I am, Hell properly is there. But stay, what's that? why should I be afraid Of what is but the Shadow of a Shade? Methinks I hear a voice, which cries, stand back: Why, who art thou? Rau. I am Ravilliack. Brad. What empty thing art thou? As for my part, I am as th' Soul of th' Rump should be a fart Lately let, you shortly shall have more; Lambert hath kicked their Arse-ships out of door. Rau. Welcome, most Reverend shade; than you art sent With an Embassage from the Parliament. Brad. No: for Infernal Aid we always were Sure to have that as well in Peace as War. Your Counsel needless was, for we were so evil, None there but could be Tutor to a Devil. I'm come to commence Villain, something more; I did perform my Acts on Earth before: The World and Hell my Merits know, and to Be short, Ravilliack, I'll take place of you. Rau. Pardon, bold Shade, if I desire to know If ever 've deserved that place or no. First, we'll dispute, what do you think of that? And we'll choose Pluto for to moderate. Brad. Go, Pupil, undergraduate Friend; tush he That well can Judge, must more than Devil be. If that we must, let's be tried by such things As well do know what 'tis to Murder Kings. Such should be Judges for us: Ay, such should, Whose guilty Souls speak nothing under Blood. Fiends of a double die, such as do scorn To swear, unless they're sure to be forsworn: Nor for Secluded Members they are sent, For Judges we'll have an Old Parliament; There's Members here enough, why do I stick? Enough to make a Body Politic. Rau. Pretty State-Monster, a fine hoddy doddy, One, as they say, that is more Arse than Body. Brad. Disdain 'em not, you cannot parallel Such true falsehearted Devils not in Hell. There was no Reason for't; though Lambert bore A spite to th' House to turn it out o'th' door: To me it always seemed exceeding fit, What Members, pray you, ' sides the Rump shall sit? Yet 'cause you stand upon't, I'll ne'er abuse Your Privilege: Ravilliack, you may choose. I and my Partners shall not value you, With Machiavelli, and all Loyola's crew. Farewell, prepare against the Judges Call, For I must speak a word or two with Noll. Lie, Swear, Forswear, all this I'll grant to you: Nay, and your Mental Reservations too. You shall Condemn yourselves, you'll see in fine, And Bellarmine shall confute Bellarmine. Oliver. Welcome to mourning; welcome, Shade in brief, You're very welcome to the Joys of Grief. I pray do you no Letters with you carry? Nor from soft * 2 of Olivers Sons. Richard, nor from simple Harry. Methinks 'tis very strange, that * oliver's Secretary Thurlow's grown So proud, he will not write a word for * Olivers Wife. Joan. Poor wretch, her Breeding ne'er taught her a word, She knew no Character but that o'th' Sword; Though Lambert's Wife and I to th' cotquean Did read the Hornbook o'er and o'er again. But waving Pusses Majesty, pray how Doth Mice and Rats in the House of Commons do? Their leaving of the House, makes me to think That the Foundation belong will sink. Brad. My heart is almost broke, you can't believe How I am vexed: I made no more to grieve, Now all things do concur to misery, All because you and I did disagree. Fools that we were, to mind we did not call, Satan divided against himself, must fall. Oliver. Tush, that is only Scripture; why, I say That all the Bible is Apocrypha. Brad. What if we went for Saints? 'tis all one thing For to abuse the Scripture and the King. Nay, our Thanksgivings too were always lest, When such long Graces we had at a Feast, Before you would kill, you'd have Peter Call, And make your Enemy a Mock-Funeral. He laughs your Army's Sanctified Word; His Wit did lend an edge unto your Sword. Nay, and the Devil doth on Scripture call, Then when he would be Devil most of all. Oliver. 'Tis very true. But prithee let me know A brief Relation, how all things do go. Brad. Why Noll, 'twould make a heart of stone Relent, A Booth does dare the House of Parliament. They talk of Kings: Nay, which is worse, I do Fear all the Nation will turn Honest too. One true Religion hies unto its Mother; The Church and Taxes do avert another. One thing or other makes 'em all to cry we'll be Apostates to Apostasy. Things are so bad, they'd all be good, were't not For these three Fiends, Vain, Haslerig, and Scot Dippers and Quakers they their Lepers be; All in the Nation's Discord do agree. Vain was Anointed Rogue, though so to do, Were for to lose the Oil and Labour too. Noll, why were you not King? when you did see A was, you well might Herod be. Oliver. Why, I was more; the truth to lay you down, No Hat but mine i'th' Kingdom wore a Crown. I only Lords created, truly seeing Me out of nothing leap into a Being. I made 'em better than myself, Earls then, It was below 'em to be Gentlemen. What odds have Awls and Swords when they go to't? I vampt the old worn-out Hewson Lord to boot. Brad. You Hewsoned it, 'tis twenty now to ten, But that his Lordship's at his Last again. Oliver. But hark, now Quakerism gins to down: Think you that Puritans will put on Lawn? Brad. No; white is Innocent: nay, I'll tell you what, The Whore of Babylon's Smock is made of that. Peter's to try this Turkish point, thought meet A while for to do penance in a sheet. Oliver. That was a merry Rogue, and truth to tell, I liked his way of Laughing Men to Hell: Dull heavy looks I like not, I protest, Except in Quakers, such as are possessed. Brad. Alas, the Times are Honest like to be; Men must not wear Cloaks for Piety. Satan will go no more to Church I fear, If that the Fashion brings up such lewd ware: To let him have no Pew, it were uncivil; Where Surplices are Jerkins, farewel Devil. Oliver. In my Time 'twas not so; the Clergymen Had not such plenty sure of Linen then. The Bishops were so poor, that they, alack, Were glad they had a Surplice next their back: I stripped their Mother Church, and without jest, I think that Scotch-cloth fits Religion best; For pray now, why should not the wear of Cloaks As well fit John of Styles, as John of Nokes? As for the honest Scotch, we ne'er shall want Their Aid, for they have took the Covenant: 'Gainst all that's good, they are quite Bankrupt now, They Sold their King and their Religion too. They against Nature sin, should they be good; They're born perfidious, and should They Love Religion, than we needs must all Confess that Act to be unnatural. None yet was ever good, till he forgot, And was ashamed of the Name of Scot Brad. The Court is set, I must away, and try To bear away the Prize of Villainy. I a Solicitor want, and may go look For one, unless I chance to meet with Cook. Oliver. Go on and prosper; as for th' other, he Is an honest man, if but compared to thee: If Murder can add merit to thy Praise, The Elysian Fields can ne'er supply thee Bays. But why talk I of Bays? I there did Flatter, Thy Symon's Neck better becomes a Halter. Brad. Ravilliack, speak, for I will give thee first, Or any odds, because thy Cause is worst. Ravilliack's Oration. Rau. Know then, most Reverend Loyola, I do Myself and cause both recommend to you: Were I indifferent bad, I'd ne'er engage Your Devil-ship into my Patronage. This Hand brought Harry's Letter, whose sad date Ended his days, I was the Post of Fate. He scarcely Read a Sentence, I did doom His Life unto a period should come. I made the Flower-de-luce to bleed, and yield For to be quartered in a bloody Field: I Murdered Harry, whose Auspicious Birth Presaged a League even 'twixt Heaven and Earth: And what doth aggravate my business, I Did kill Religion out of Piety. I offered up that Sacrifice alone, None else durst make an Altar of the Throne: And shall I now be brought in Competition With Bradshaw? Youngest Son unto Perdition. I bathed myself all over in the Flood; He only washed his hand in Royal Blood. He thinks one Action will Surname him Great, When all my Life was a Religious Cheat: But talk detracts from deeds. Not Tully's wrack Of words could reach unto Ravilliack. I'll say no more, but keep the place, were it For nothing but 'cause I am a Jesuit. Bradshaw's Oration. Brad. 've said too much, but not enough; go to: There is not one of th' Rump but's worse than you. You killed the King of France, and then all's said; I King of France and England Murdered. My fault exceeds yours, and more weight doth carry Than it, by how much Charles exceedeth Harry: Yours was Lay-murther. Sacrilege mine. You can't Like me boast: You a King killed, I a Saint. They me i'th' Book of Martyrs will Remember, And as to Faux, give a day in November. Your Murder was Religious; true, and I Committed too a Pious Villainy. In Charles I killed the Church, that's more than you; I Sacrificed the Priest and Temple too: I made the Cushions Blocks: The Butchers wore The Sleeves that Canterbury had before. I Capel slew, if they the Saints did tract I slew, they'd muster up an Almanac: Their Bloods would add new Rubrics, whilst that they Blush all the Year into one Holiday. Nor sinned I singly, I made hundreds be Copartners with me in that Villainy. I made them sin, in that I made 'em join, So that I challenge all their Sins as mine. I did Hell far more Service than you can, 'Twas I that favoured the Puritan: Nay, I did Love the Scots and Quakers too, Ravilliack, Cook must have the place of you. You'll not be in my class: Nay, all my pack Of Hellhounds are above Ravilliack. Not one of Charles' Silver hairs I shed, In value but might purchase Harry's Head. And does your Dagger think for to outbrave My Axe? I killed, but yet debarred a Grave: So that in hindering Charles a Tombstone, I A Monument built to my own Infamy. I plucked his Statue down; what should I have For my Deserts? I Murdered his Grave: Nor was I this alone content to do, I made Cloaks Preach him Traitor, Tyrant too: And made 'em swear't, I did so watch their waters, All Treason did commit, except the Traitors. What think you then, that he deserved hath, That killed both the Defender, and the Faith? Judge all! and if the place you me deny, Why then you're worse Devils all than I Loyola's Oration. Loyola. 'Tis bravely said of both: Nor can I tell, If this Man, or if that Man do excel: Degrees are wanting due to both to give, For they must be beyond superlative. They both are Rogues in grain, both dipped in blood Of Kings— But yet methinks I should Give one the place: It grieves me sore to see The Rump thus baffle my Society. Bradshaw did kill a God: My Rogue comes after, And can amount no higher than Manslaughter. The thoughts of Bradshaw's worth doth make me mad, For's one that hath outdone whatever's bad. O that I lived but again, that I Might be the Founder of a Rump, and die! For their Association scorns to be Companions with my Society. Learning is needless, they a way have hit, That makes 'em to be wise beyond all wit. Like Fox's Tails (I must unto you tell) One Rump doth far a thousand Heads excel. They cut men's throats by Law: Nay, and they do Make Justice guilty of the Murder too. So when you say, the King's killed, 'tis not meant By Bradshaw, but by my Lord Precedent. Their Labouring Souls first bring forth Mischief, than They Christened after it was cast; so when Rape, Murder, Sacrilege, called that Pious Hector Their Godson, Butcher Cromwell, Lord Protector. Cowards o'th' Rump were Worthies: Fleetwood thus From's Valour scorned to be called Valorous. See what an Act of Parliament can do! If they but Vote him Valorous, he is so: For though the snivelling Sinner deserved banging, For he had ne'er the wit to merit hanging. Strange Operation of the Rump, the Fool The Devil, he's but Clerk to their Close-stool. For the Rumpish Members Honour, I think fit We Act that Member first of all should sit. I like this topsy-turvy, we'll be led By England, and the Arse shall be the Head: And next Thanksgiving-dinner, our Old Nick Shall feed on Rump, 'twill make him Politic. We'll Knight it, if your Judgements be like mine, It shall be Sir Rump, we'll have no more Sir Loyn. They should be welcome all, but that I fear They would prescribe new Models to us here: They merit not this place alone, but well Do for themselves deserve another Hell. But 'cause here are not all, till th' other please To come, let's Entertain and Honour these. In the mean time, that Bradshaw may Inherit Present Possession of his former Merit, To him as Rump o'th' Rump let us present The Chair, for he was still their Fundament. If you think fit, all I'd have you do, 'S to speak your mind then in a word or two. Applaudunt Omnes. Because thou'st done so ill, thou hast done well; Bradshaw, thou art Lord Precedent of Hell. FINIS.