GARNETS' GHOST, Addressing to the Jesuits, met in private cabal, just after THE MURDER OF Sir Edmundbury Godfrey.  Written by the Author of the satire against Virtue, (not yet Printed.) 
BY hell 'twas bravely done, what less than this;  
What Sacrifice of meaner worth, and price;  
Could we have offered up for our success?  
So fare all they who dare provoke our hate;  
Who by like ways presume to tempt their fate▪  
Fare each, like this bold meddling fool, and be  
As well cured, as well dispatched as he.  
Would he were here, yet warm, that we might drain  
His reeking gore, and drink up every vein:  
That were a glorious Sanction; much like thine,  
Great Roman, made upon a like design.  
Like thine? we scorn so mean a Sacrament,  
To seal and consecrate our high intent,  
We scorn base blood should our great league cement.  
Thou didst it with a Slave, but we think good  
To bind our Treason with a bleeding God.  
Would it were His; why should I fear to name,  
Or you to hear't? at which we nobly aim.  
Lives yet that hated enemy of our cause?  
Lives he our mighty projects to oppose?  
Can his weak innocence, and heavens care,  
Be thought security from what we dare,  
Are ye then jesuits, are you so for nought?  
In all the Catholic depths of Treason taught:  
In Orthodox, and solid poisoning read;  
And each profounder Art of killing bred:  
And can you fail or bungle in your trade?  
Shall one poor life your cowardice upbraid?  
Tame dastard slaves, who your profession shame,  
And fix disgrace on your great Founder's name.  
Think what late Sentries (and ignoble crew,  
Not worthy to be ranked in sin with you)  
Inspired with lofty wickedness durst do.  
How from his Throne, they hurled a Monarch down  
And bravely eased him of his life and Crown:  
They scorned, in Covert, their bold Art to hide,  
In open face of Heaven the work they did;  
And dared its vengeance, and its powers defied.  
This is his Son, and mortal too like Him:  
Durst you usurp the glory of the crime.  
And dare ye not? I know you 〈◊〉 to be,  
By such as they, outdone in villainy  
(Your proper province) true, you urge th●n on,  
Were Engines in the ●act; but they alone  
Share all the Open credit and Renown.  
But hold, I wrong our Church & cause, which need  
No foreign Instance; nor what Others did.  
Think on that matchless Assassin, whose name,  
We with just pride can make our happy claim;  
He who at killing of an Emperor,  
To give 〈◊〉 poison stronger force and power,  
Mixed a G●● with't and made it work more sure.  
Blessed memory, which shall through age to come  
Stand s●●red in the lists of Hell and Rome.  
Let ou● great Clement, and Ravillia'cs' name,  
Your ●●irits to like height of sin inflame.  
Those mighty souls, who each durst bravely die,  
To h●ve a Royal Ghost their company.  
Her●●●ck Art! and worth their tortures well,  
W●●● worth the suffering of a double-hell:  
Th●t they felt here, and that below they fell:  
A●d if these cannot move you as you should,  
〈◊〉 me and my example fire your blood,  
●●ink what I durst attempt; a glorious deed,  
Which durst the fates have suffered to succeed,  
●ad Rivalled hells most proud exploit and boast;  
even that which would the King of fates deposed.  
Cursed be that day, and ne'er in time enrolled;  
And cursed the star, whose spiteful influence ruled,  
The luckless minute which my project spoilt.  
What meant that power, which of itself afraid,  
My glory, with my brave design betrayed?  
Was't that he feared lest I who struck so high,  
In guilt, should next blow up his Realm and sky?  
Or if that failed, at least I would have dared,  
And missing had got off with Fame at worst.  
Had you but half my daringness in sin,  
Your work had never thus unfinished been:  
Had I been Man, and the great Act to do,  
I'd died by this, and been what I am Now;  
Or what his Father is; I would leap hell  
●o reach his life, though in the midst I fell;  
And deeper then before.—  
Let rabble souls, of narrow aim and reach;  
Stoop their vile necks, and dull Obedience preach.  
●et them with slavish awe, disdained by me:  
Adore the purple Rag of Majesty,  
And think't a sacred Relic of the sky.  
Well may such fools be subject to control;  
●o every sceptered wretch that dares but rule:  
Unlike the soul with which, proud I was born;  
Who could that sneaking thing, a Monarch scorn;  
spurn off a Crown, and set my foot in sport,  
Upon the head that wore it, trod in dirt.  
But say, what is't that binds your hands? does fear,  
●rom such a glorious action, you deter?  
Or is't Religion? but you sure disclaim  
That frivolous pretence, that empty Name:  
Mere bugbear word, devised by us to scare  
The senseless rout to slavishness and fear,  
Near known to awe the brave and those that dare.  
●uch weak, and feeble things may serve for checks,  
To reign and curb base mettled Heretics:  
Dull creatures, whose nice boggling consciences,  
Startle, or strain at such like crimes as these.  
Such whom fond inbred honesty befools▪  
Or their old musty piece the Bible Gulls.  
That hated book, the Bulwark of our foes,  
Whereby they still uphold their tottering cause,  
Let no such toys misled you from the Road  
Of glory, nor infect your souls with good,  
Let never bold encroaching virtue dare,  
With her grim holy face to enter there.  
No, not in very dream, have only will  
Like fiends and me, to Act and covet iii.  
Let true substantial wickedness take place,  
Usurp, and reign, let it the very trace,  
If any yet be left of good, deface.  
If ever qualms of inward cowardice,  
(The thing which some dull sots call Conscience) rise,  
Make them in streams of blood and slaughter drown,  
Or with new weights of guilt still press them down▪  
Faith, shame, Religion, Honour, Loyalty,  
Nature itself, what ever checks there be,  
To lose and uncontrolled Impiety,  
Be all extinct in you; own no remorse,  
But that you've balked a sin; have been no worse,  
Or too much pity showed.—  
Be diligent in mischiefs trade; be each  
Performing as a devil, nor stick to reach,  
At crimes most dangerous, where bold despair,  
And heedless blind Revenge, would never dare  
To look; March you, without a blush or fear.  
Inflamed by all the hazards that oppose,  
And firm as burning Martyrs to our cause,  
Then you're true Jesuits; then you're fit to be  
Disciples of great Loyola and me:  
Worthy to undertake, worthy a plot  
Like this, and fit to scourge an Hugenot.  
Plagues on that name, may swift confusion seize  
And utterly blot out that cursed Race:  
Thrice damned be your Apostate Monk from whom  
Sprung first these Enemies of Us and Rome.  
Whose poisonous filth dropped from engendering brain,  
By monstrous birth did the vile Infects spawn;  
Which now infect each Country, and defile  
With their o'respreading swarms this goodly Isle,  
Once it was ours, and subject to our yoke,  
Till a late reigning witch the Enchantment broke.  
It shall again, 'tis Hell and I decree,  
If you but dare make good the prophecy,  
Not fate itself shall hinder.—  
Too sparing was the time, too mild the day,  
When our great Mary, bore the English sway;  
Un-queen-like pity marred her Royal Power,  
Nor was her purple died enough in gore.  
Four or five hundred, some such petty sum,  
Might fall perhaps a sacrifice to Rome:  
Scarce worth the naming; Had I had the power  
Or been thought fit to be her Councillor:  
She should have raised it to a noble score.  
Big Bonfires have blazed; shone each day,  
To tell our triumph, and make bright our way.  
And when 'twas dark in every lane and street,  
Thick flaming Heretics should serve to light;  
And save the needless charge of Links by night.  
Smithfield should still have kept a constant fire,  
Which never should be quenched, never expire;  
But with the Lives of all the miscreant rout,  
Till the last gasping breath had blown it out.  
So Nero did; such was his prudent course  
Used too by all his mighty successors,  
To tame like Heretics of old, by force.  
They scorned dull reason, and pedantic Rules;  
To conquer, and reduce the hardened fools:  
Racks, Gibbets, Halters, were their Arguments,  
Which did most undeniably convince.  
Gray-bearded Lions, managed the dispute,  
And Reverend Bears their doctrines did confute:  
And all who durst hold out in stiff defence,  
They gently clawed, and worried into sense.  
Better than all our Sorbon dotards now,  
Who would by dint of words our foes subdue.  
This was the rigid Discipline of Old,  
Which modern sots for Persecution hold.  
Of which dull Annalises in story tell  
Strange Legends, and huge bulky volumes swell  
With Martyred fools, that lost their way to hell.  
From these our Churches glorious Ancestors,  
We've learned our Arts, and made their methods ours.  
Nor have we come behind the first degree,  
In Arts of rough and manly Cruelty.  
Converting faggots, and the powerful stake,  
And sword resistless our Apostles make.  
This heretofore Bohemia felt, and thus  
Were all the numerous proselytes of Huss  
Crushed with their head; so Waldo's cursed rout,  
With those of Wickliff here were routed out:  
Their names scarce left▪ sure were the means we chose,  
And wrought prevailingly; fire purged the dross  
Of those foul heresies, and sovereign steel  
Lopped off the infected Limbs, the Church to heal.  
Renowned was that French brave, renowned his deed;  
A deed, for which the day deserves its Red;  
Far more, then for a paltry S'aint that died.  
How goodly was the sight, how fine the show,  
When Paris saw through all its Channels flow  
The blood of Huganots; when the full Sein  
Swelled with the flood, its Banks with joy o'reran.  
He scorned like Common Murderers to deal  
By parcels, and peice-meal; he scorned retail,  
Th' trade of death; whole myriads died by th' great,  
Soon as one single life, so quick their fate,  
Their very prayers and wishes came too late.  
This a King did, and great and Mighty 'twas;  
Worthy his high degree, and power and place,  
And worthy our Religion and our Cause,  
Unmatched 't had been, had not Macquire arose.  
The bold Macquire; (who read in modern fame  
Can be a stranger to his worth and name?)  
Born to outsin a Monarch; born to Reign  
In guilt, and all competitors disdain.  
Dread memory! whose each mention still can make  
Pale Heretics with trembling horror quake.  
T'undo a Kingdom, to achieve a Crime  
Like his, who would not fall, and die like him?  
Never had Rome a nobler service done;  
Never had Hell, each day came thronging down  
Vast shoals of Ghosts, and mine was pleased and glad,  
And smiled, when it the brave Revenge surveyed.  
Nor do I mention these great Instances,  
For bounds and limits to your wickedness.  
Dare you, beyond, something out of the road  
Of all example; where none yet have trod,  
Nor shall hereafter: what mad Catiline  
Durst never think nor's madder poet feign.  
Make the poor buffled pagan-fool to own,  
How far in gallant mischief overcome,  
The old must yield to new and modern Rome.  
Mix I'lls past, present, future in one Act,  
One high, one brave, one great, one glorious fact:  
Which hell and even I may envy.—  
Such as that jove himself may wish to be,  
A complice in the mighty villainy,  
And barters Heaven, and vouchsafe to die.  
Nor let delay (the bain of enterprise)  
Mar yours, or make the great importance miss.  
This fact hath waked your Enemies, and their fear,  
Let it be your vigour too, be swift to dare;  
Hasten, and let your deeds forestall intent;  
Forstall e'vn wishes, ere they can take vent;  
Nor give the fates the leisure to prevent.  
Let the full clouds which a long time did wrap  
Your gathering Thunder, now with sudden Clap,  
Break out upon your foes; dash, and confound,  
And scatter wide destruction all a round:  
Let the fired City to your plot give light,  
You razed it half before, now raze it quite:  
Do't more effectually; I'd have it glow  
In flames unquenchable as those below.  
I'd see the miscreants with their houses burn,  
And both together into Ashes turn.  
Bend next your fury to the cursed Divan;  
That damned Committee, whom the fates ordain,  
To all our well laid Plots to be the bane.  
Unkennel those State foxes where they lie,  
Working your speedy fate and destiny.  
Lug by the ears the doting Prelates thence;  
Dash Heresy together with their Brains  
Out of their shattered heads; lop off the Lords  
And Commons at one stroke, and let your swords  
Adjourn 'em all to th'other world.—  
Would I were blest with flesh and blood again,  
But to be Actor in that happy scene:  
Yet still I may be by▪ and glut my view,  
Revenge shall take its fill, in state I'll go  
With Captive Ghosts t'attend me down below.  
Let these the handsells of your vengeance be,  
Yet stop not here, nor flag in cruelty,  
Kill like a Plague or Inquisition; spare  
No age, degree, or sex: only to dare  
To own a life; only a soul to wear.  
Be crime enough to lose no time nor place,  
Be sanctuary from your outrages.  
Spare not in Churches, kneeling Priests at prayer;  
The interceding for you, slay even there:  
Spare not young Infants smiling at the breast,  
Who from relenting fools may mercy wrest.  
Rip teeming wombs, tear out the hatred brood  
From thence, and drown them in their mother's blood.  
Pity not Virgins, nor their tender cries,  
The prostrate at your feet with melting eyes:  
All drowned in tears, strike home as 'twere in lust,  
And force their hands to guide the fatal thrust.  
Ravish at the Altar, kill when you have done;  
Make them your Rapes and Victims too in one.  
Nor let grey hoary hairs protection give  
To Age, just crawling on the verge of life:  
Snatch from his leaning hands their weak support,  
And with it knocked into the Grave in sport.  
Brain the poor Cripple with his crutch, then cry,  
you've kindly rid him of his misery.  
Seal up your ears to mercy; lest their words  
Should tempt a pity, ram 'em with your swords,  
(Their tongues too) down their throats; let them not dare  
To mutter for their souls a gasping prayer,  
But choked in th' utterance, and stab it there.  
'Twere witty handsome malice could you do't)  
To make 'em die, and make 'em damned, to boot.  
Make children, by one fate with Parents die,  
Kill in revenge, the next posterity:  
You'll so be pestered with no Orphans cry,  
No Childless Mothers curse your Memory.  
Make death and desolation swim in blood,  
Throughout the Land, with nought to stop the flood  
But slaughtered Carcases, till the whole Isle  
Become one Tomb, become on Funeral Pile.  
Till such vast numbers swell the countless sum,  
That the wide grave, and wider hell want room,  
Great was that tyrant's wish, which should be mine,  
Did I not scorn the leave of a sin.  
Freely I would bestow't on England now,  
That the whole Nation with one neck might grow,  
To be sliced off, and you to give the blow.  
What never Saxon rage could ere inflict,  
Nor Danes more savage, nor the barbarous Pict;  
What Spain, nor Eighty eight could ere devise,  
With all its fleet, and fraught of cruelties:  
What Medina ne'er wished, much less could dare,  
And bloodier Alva would with trembling hear;  
What may outdo all prodigies of old,  
And make their milder cruelties untold:  
What Heavens Judgements, nor the angry stars,  
Foreign Invasions, nor Dome●●ck wars;  
Plague, Fire nor Famine could effect or do;  
All this, and more, be dared and done by you.  
But why do I with id'ler talk delay,  
Your hands, and while they should be acting stay?  
Farewell.—  
If I may waft a prayer for your success.  
Hell be your aid, and your high projects bless.  
May that vile wretch, if any here they be,  
That meanly shrinks from brave Iniquity;  
If any dare feel pity or remorse,  
May he feel all I've bid you act, and worse:  
May he by rage of foes unpitied fall,  
And they tread out his hated Soul to hell,  
May's name and carcase rot, exposed alike to be,  
An everlasting mark of grinning Infamy.  
FINIS.