FAUXS' GHOST: OR, Advice TO PAPISTS Novemb. 5. 1680.  


THe Morning of that day was almost come,  
Which once, the Daring Catiline's of Rome  
Designed to make Great Britain's day of Doom.   
(November's Fifth,) a Day which had not Heaven,  
(Just when the Fatal Stroke was to be given,)  
Stretched out its Saving Hand, had seen the Fall  
Of King and People; Root, and Branch, and all:  

A Day which since, (and may it Ever be!)  
Has been, by all true Protestants, to Thee,  
And to thy Praise, Great God, Devoted Solemnly.   
'Twas just before the Morning of This Day,  
As in my Bed, in a Deep sleep I lay,  
I felt a sudden Trembling seize my Heart,  
And a Cold Sweat ran over every Part:  
Methought, the Room I lay in was O'erspread  
With thick Black Darkness, such as hides the Dead;  
And to increase the Horrors it brought there,  
Loud Thunders Roared throu●h all the troubled Ai●;  
And Dismal Lightnings Rev●l'd in the Clouds,  
Which fight winds drove on in trembling croud●:  
Such was that Hour, I thought it could Portend  
No less, then that the World was at an End.  
When lo! methought, a Mighty Earthquake came  
And Cleft the Ground; then, in a Sulphurous Flame  
That seemed to fill the Chamber, strait arose  
A Ghastly shape, Ugly and Black as those  
We Paint the Devils in; its Glaring Eyes  
Looked like two Comets of a Monstrous size.  
So Hideous 'twas, I guessed it strait to be  
Some Damned Arch-Traytor's Ghost; but whose, to me  
Was something hard, at first, to Understand;  
But when I spied th' Dark Lantern in his Hand,  
I knew 'twas FAUX, (that Darling of the Devil,)  
That strove it Outdo even Hell itself in Evil.  
Methought he Frowned, and deeply seemed to groan,  
And (with a Horrid Voice,)  
'Twixt Grief and Rage, at last, thus made his Moan:  
And is it come to this? (cried he) did I  
So Great, so Glorious an Example die,  
To teach succeeding Ages how to Dare,  
And at the Highest Crimes not shrink, nor fear;  
And yet can you, ye Dull Tame Sons of Rome,  
(Unworthy to be thought from Thence to come,)  
When 've so far, and Venturously passed,  
Leave the Great Work but done by Halves at last:  
All 've yet done has only rendered Us,  
And our Religion the more Odious.  
But Pardon me, dear Sons o'th' Church, 'tis Zeal,  
(Zeal for the Holy Cause,) makes me reveal  
My Grief so Passionately; besides, you know,  
I'm newly come from a Hot Place Below.  
I know you Plotted well, and Plot on still;  
And till Our End's accomplished Ever will:  
But I Dislike the Method you Proceed in,  
It is too Mean; set all the Land a Bleeding;  
With Fire and Sword, the Heretics Destroy,  
And Endless Fame for the Brave Act Enjoy:  
Do what I aimed at; let that Viper's Nest,  
That Conventicle of Heretics i'th' West,  
That now sit Plotting how to Extirpate  
Us, and Religion, find a sudden Fate.  
Ah! had the Fatal Squire a while but spared  
Those Famous Modern Hero's, they'd have Dared:  
Coleman, Groves, Pickering, Whitebeard, all the Crew  
That strove in Royal Blood their Hands t' Imbrue;  
Had they but lived yet Undiscovered, what!  
Oh! what had they now done! rather what not?  
Yet some are Living, Roman-souled indeed,  
That for the Sacred Cause dare boldly Bleed:  
There's Don Thomazo, (Curse on th' Renegade!)  
Had he stood firm what Work would he have made!  
But to spare Names, (to all our Hero's Shame,)  
Our brave Bold Heroine hath Engrossed all Fame;  
She who like Hecate, dire Mischief loves,  
And, though o're-powered. Undaunted on still moves.  
Celier! Famous Celier! whose Name at Rome,  
Shall like the Sun, shine to all Times to come,  
And dim the Glories of all Saints that are  
Recorded in the Sacred Calendar:  
On then, True Daughter, of so Great a Sire;  
Thy Holy Father bids thy thoughts aspire;  
And though Confined in such Ignoble Walls,  
Plot still King's Murders, and great Kingdom's falls.  
And oh! ye Men, for shame, at last be Brave;  
Let not a Woman all the Honour have;  
And be assured, if you but dare do Well,  
We'll arm, to aid you, all the Powers of Hell.   

With that, methought he Vanished, with a Noise  
Dreadful and Loud as thousand Thunder's Voice:  
I started, and awaked, and Kneeling there,  
To England's Gracious God addressed this Prayer;  
Great God, who hitherto hast saved this Land,  
Oh! stretch out still thy all-Protecting Hand:  
Keep safe our Sovereign from Hell and Rome,  
And ne'er let Popery into England come.   
FINIS,   

LONDON. Printed for Mr. Benskin, in Green's-Rents near Fleet-Bridge.