Mr. Coleman's LEGACIES OR, A DISCOVERY OF POPISH MALICE; WITH AMPLE CAUTIONS To beware of Dangerous Seducers.  
With Allowance.  
LONDON, Printed for D. M. 1679.   

Mr. Coleman's LEGACIES OR, A DISCOVERY OF POPISH MALICE.  
DEAR Country, where my Infant Breath I drew,  
Thy Interest once I eager did pursue;  
Employed my Thoughts, and so compelled my Will  
To be obedient to thy Dictates still:  
Serious in nothing but what just might prove  
To settle Friendship, and Eternal Love:  
Bound in my Conscience to protect thy Cause,  
The which long started at the breach of Laws;  
Disowning baseness, and all private Sin,  
That opes the Soul and lets black Treasons in.  
Ah!— had I but so happy been to know  
That Blissful State, and to continue so:  
Free had I been, as Nature could afford,  
Protected by great Justice's awful Sword,  
The which now Fate turns on me; I must feel  
The weighty pressure of offended Steel,  
Breathed from destructive Air, the cruel Gild  
For which my Blood must be so justly spilt:  
Air breathed from Rome, pernicious Tempests roll,  
To blast with Mildews, spot the candid Soul  
With lasting stains; make it more vile than he,  
Who counts himself on Earth a Deity:  
Composed of Dust, yet arrogates the name  
Of him who rules the Universal Frame;  
Deceiving mortals with a fond conceit,  
That murders will promote 'em, make 'em great,  
But the Design is to support his Seat;  
The which on seven high Mountains placed there Waits  
The Triple Sisters on the Triple Fates,  
Pride, Treason, Envy, and a thousand more,  
Attend his Courts; of which pernicious store  
He sends abroad dire Troops throughout the World,  
Made fit for mischief, and like Torches hurled  
In mighty Piles, breed dangers where they come,  
And vex the Nations with Commands from Rome;  
Denouncing Purgatory and the Fire.  
Where Active Spirits work and never tyre,  
Till money frees 'em, or they there must stay,  
Till Plato's year of Jubilee makes way  
For their releasements: This did I believe  
Till kinder Heaven did kindly undeceive,  
And made me sensible of my Estate,  
How I stood tottering on the brink of Fate,  
By undermining Priests was prompted too  
The cruelest things that wretched man could do;  
All dangerous Ills, winged with the foulest Crimes,  
That thoughts can centre at, or blackest Times  
Expose to mortal Eyes, or bring to light,  
Hatched in the shades of everlasting Night;  
'Twas my intent to put in practice all,  
But dreadful sins on the Promoters fall;  
Pounding to Atoms those who strive to raise  
The bailful Engines, and extincts their days;  
For Kings are Heavens great Viceroys, and that God  
Who gave them Power defends them with his Rod:  
The Sacred Name of Majesty's Divine,  
A God compacted in a mortal Shrine:  
In vain are Plots, in vain Conspiracies,  
Rome vainly vaunts of bearing Heavenly Keys;  
Celestial! no— for why she oft mistakes  
Them for the Keys that ope' Infernal Lakes,  
From whence such swarms of deadly Locusts fly,  
Whose dusky Wings obscure the clearing Sky;  
Devour the Nations, and with Poyson-stings,  
Corrupt the Scriptures, life Eternal springs;  
Such have in thee, O British Island, made  
Dissension, Murders, and had all betrayed;  
Had Mercy not the Fatal Act denied,  
And turned the deadly Arrows in their side;  
Preserved the guiltless, and the guilty found:  
Witness myself, in dangerous Mischiefs drowned,  
Must suffer justly, justly doomed must die,  
For Crimes deserving more, if more can be;  
And likewise all those cruelmen that strive  
To ruin Nations, must at last arrive  
To like disgraceful Ends, Rewards for those  
Who Trade in mischief, or with Treason close.  
Monks, Jesuits, and all the wretched Train!  
O eat such crafty men, who strive to Reign  
And Lord it o'er the Consciences of men,  
To bring them into Slavery again;  
Worse than Egyptian-bondage, worse than all  
That did in Egypt Jacob's Sons befall.  
Nay worse than Babylonish Tyrants, they  
First seize, and then insult upon the Prey:  
With smooth pretexts lead simple Souls aside,  
And make 'em then the Trophies of their Pride:  
Therefore beware of such, lest aftertimes  
Should haunt your Conscience with Eternal Crimes.  
Blush not at admonition, but beware,  
Lest you're entangled in the self same Snare  
That is my lot, when all the Priests of Rome,  
Have not the Power to save you from the doom  
So justly passed, no nor themselves secure  
From dangers that their Fatal Prides inure.  
Therefore my Friends, whoever you are, take heed  
That you no farther do in Ills proceed;  
Lest you a wretched Expiation make,  
And with me justly my Reward partake.  
FINIS.