NEWS FROM ROME, OR, A DIALOGUE Between His HOLINESS AND A Cabal of Cardinals AT A LATE CONCLAVE: Consulting The most Effectual Remedies to Recover the lost Credit of HOLY CHURCH in ENGLAND.  
Worthy the Perusal of all true Protestants.  Pope. 

MEN, Brethren, Fathers, Sons of Holy Love  
Advise your Sire, what course or way to move;  
Our Plots are Frustrate, our Designs all crossed,  
And I fear England (so much longed for) lost  
By Heretics we're foiled and run aground,  
And Mother Church has got a Fatal Wound;  
Now to retrieve all, get and save our Friends,  
Let's stop at no thing that may reach our ends;  
Be speedy in your Counsels and advice,  
Speak freely all, and be in nothing nice.   

At this a loud mouthed Cardinal straight risen,  
And in these Words his mind did thus diselose:  
Most Holy Father I dare boldly say  
That our own People, our designs betray,  
For they who seek a Precipice to Clime,  
Will lose no Opportunity or Time.   

Yet ours in both have failed, the more accursed  
Are we, to let our Scorpion's Egg be burst;  
For had we struck, when Gloucesters' Duke did fall,  
We in fit season, had dispatched them all;  
Or taken hold upon those Precious Days,  
When the Fifth Monarchy, first spread its Rays;  
When they with Blinded Zeal were so Enraged,  
Father 'gainst Son, Brother 'gainst each Engaged:  
Or else, when London was a Sacrifice,  
Whose Flames the Signal should have been to rise,  
But we in that too basely were put off,  
By that Dam'd Fool of Fools Old Doting Goff;  
Whose Friends and Powers in France not ready we●●,  
Nor e'er will be t'advance St. Peter's Chair?  
We to a fit time must let it run,  
And now you see, what a line Thread ye've spun?  
Had I been there, but Heaven be Praised i'm here,  
When this discovery did first appear;  
The Sun that Sets, should not have Rose again,  
 many Thousands of them had been slain:  
You should have ●ict the time, then made ●m Bl●ed,  
Delays in every thing do Danger breed.  
Had you then given the Blow, 'thad been no Plot,  
'Tis only Treason 'cause it prospered not:  
Nor can it be Retrieved, 'tis past all hope,  
And they may thank themselves for th' Axe and Rope;  
Alas our Plots are grown so Weak and Poor,  
That we're out done by every Common Whore:  
Each nights Intregue of hers, has plainly shown,  
More Conduct than, all our Cabals can own;  
We're so Unfortunate, 'tis hard to tell,  
Whether our Assistance, is, from Heaven or Hell.   

This said he sat; Then cardinal who was by,  
His Counsel being asked, did straight Reply;  
I'll little say, for 'tis not worth the while,  
We are so full of Fraud, Deceit and Guile:  
That I much fear God has forgot us quite,  
And left us to the Devil, and so good night.   

He quits his place, and from the Conclave goes,  
At which another Cardinal arose:  
And doing Homage to his Holiness,  
Did to him in these Words himself address:   

What has be●n spoke already is to true.  
Therefore to England, ye may bid Adieu.  
Alas, your Bulls, Indulgences and Pardons  
They know as well as we's not worth four Farthings.  
Your Bendictions and Anathem'as.  
Of no more value are, than those in Plays,  
Your Legends, Relics and your Purgatory;  
The first are Fopperies t'other is a Story,  
Yet you grant Dispensations, faith be civil;  
Tell me who warrants 'em, God, or the De●il:  
Father, here is none but Friends; I fear this Wound  
Will through our Tottering Babel to the ground.  
How can you hope Succels in any thing,  
Or to your Yoke those Freeborn People bring?  
When Hell itself abounds not in such Sin,  
As at this time our Church does wallow in:  
Which of us all, His Holiness not spared,  
Of God or Goodness has the lust regards  
Murders and Whoredoms are our smallest Crimes;  
By Poisons most unto Promotion climbs;  
Name me but one, has got the Papal Seat  
By Just Desert, and I shall hope well yet.  
A Sister's Ravishment is held no Sin  
With their own Offspring, some have wicked been.  
Remember pray, who whored MAROZIA,  
Who was incestuous with OLYMPIA;  
And do you now complain, and are at stand?  
Pray what ere prospers that you take in hand.  
She whom the Darling of the Church you call;  
Our Engine P— ne'er sters to stop our fall;  
'Tis true, She did dissolve the P—  
For which I wish we do not ' all repent;  
And yet what Pardons and Indulgences  
Were daily sent her to bring things to pass?  
Now she does nothing, gives our Friends, no hope.  
Neglects both Jesuit, Cardinal and Pope,  
While she her Coffers and her C— has crammed;  
She does not value if we all were damned.  
Nor would I have you ever trust again  
A Woman of Portugal, France, or Spain:  
He thus broke off, then came and sat him down;  
At which his Holiness began to frown;   Pope. 
Saying my Lord, you're very plain with me;  
You are well read i'th' Lives o'th' Saints I see:  
But know, who ever does possess this Room,  
Is freed from sins past●, present and to come.  
We cannot ere tho' all these things we do;  
In us it is not, tho' 'tis sin in you.  
We are God's Vicegerent and the Church's Head,  
Can pardon sins, both to the quick and dead.  
But why do I these trivial things relate,  
Greater Concerns we now have in debate.  
Once more I say all our Designs are crossed,  
And if not timely helped, our best Friend's lost.  
Think of the Lords i'th' Tower how they're engaged;  
'Gainst whom the Heathen are so much Enraged;  
These Persons too, of more Renown and Fame,  
Whom you all know, and I forbear to name;  
I Pardons and Indulgencies can give,  
To all the rest whether they die or live,  
But these are not such Fools ere to Rely,  
On Bulls or Pardons, when they come to die:  
Now how to save em●, were a work indeed,  
Your best of Council give, ne'er was more need;  Card. 
At this one rose and bowed; and thus did say  
 please your HOLINESS. I'll show the way,  
P— must not sit, that first resolve,  
Either Prorogue'em, or else them Dissolve:  
Before the Council then, let the Lords come,  
And there receive from them, this heavy Doom.  
Let all their Estates be then Confiscated.  
We had better bear, with that then lose a Head.  
Then let them all be sent to Banishment,  
That they their Horrid Treason may Repent.  
But as they cross the Seas, 'twill wash the slain,  
And they ere long shall be called home again;  
Mean time their Heirs, all their Estates shall beg,  
And gain 'em too, by making of a Leg;  
This by the means of P— shall be done,  
She will obtain it, for a Buttered Bunn.  
She Dalilah-like, must Samson bind with Cords,  
Freedom to gain for our Philistine-Lords.  
The Commons will at this be all enraged;  
We matter not so our Friends are disengaged;  
Then all our Engines set to work again:  
Corn grows the better for a shower of Rain.  
This is the only way to quite your fears,  
And set them all together by the Ears  
FINIS.