〈…〉 am not I Pope of Rome  
torment me not before my time is come.  
F. you are Cause of my Continual pains▪  
My soul is Lost for your Ambitio●s gains  
O Christ who mercy 〈◊〉 for th●e▪  
With Bloody hands 〈…〉  
〈…〉 and be forever blest▪—  
〈…〉 that happy place of rest▪  
I am perplexed with perpetual fright  
 
TO Godfrey's Ghost I wish all things 〈…〉  
〈…〉 may have our Pope of Rome 〈…〉  
Lo us depart and 〈…〉 fate  
 
 
 
The POPE Haunted with Ghosts, in Relation to Sir Edmund bury Godfrey's Murder, and the late Sainted Traitors, The Figures being by the Verses at large Explained.   Nuncio. 
Horrors and Death! what dismal Sights Invade  
His Nightly Slumbers, who in Blood does Trade.  
Hear how they Curse him all, but he who fell  
Great Britain's Sacrifice by Imps of Hell;  1. Pope. 
How do my Eyeballs Roul, and Blood run back.  
What Tortures at this sight my Conscience Rack;  
Oh! Mountains now fall on me, some deep Cave  
Pity me once, and prove my speedy Grave,  2. Fiend 
By Hell's Grim King's Come and, on whom I wait  
I've brought your Saint his Story to relate;  
His Torments, and the Horrid Cheat condole,  
You fixed on him to Rob him of his Soul.  1. Pope. 
Oh! spare my Ears I'll no such Horrors hear;  3. Coleman. 
You must, and know your own Damnation's near  
You must e'er long be Plunged in Grizly Flame  
Which I shall Laugh to see, tho' Racked with pain  1. Pope. 
Horrors! 'tis ' Dismal, I can hear no more,  
O! Hell and Furies, how I have lost my Power  4. Sir E. Godfrey. 
See Sir this Crimson Stain, this baleful Wound  
See Murdered me, with Joys Eternal Crowned  
From Sacred Bliss my Sunft-winged Soul did glide  
Conducted hither by my Angel-Guide,  
To let thee know thy Sands are almost run,  
And that thy Thread of Life is well nigh Spun;  
Repent you then, Wash off the Bloody Stain,  
Or You'll be Doomed to Everlasting Pain.  5. Angel. 
Come Worthy of Seraphic Joys Above,  
Worthy Our Converse, and our Sacred Love;  
Come let us hence, and leave him to his Fate,  
When Divine Vengeance shall the Business State  1. Pope. 
I'll Horror seizes me, I cannot fly;  
Oh Ghastly! yet more Apparitions, nigh  6. Whitebread. 
Thus wand'ring through the gloomy Shades at last  
I've found Thee, Traitor, that my Joys did blast,  
The half what we Endure no Tongue can Tell;  
The Endless Tortures we Endure in Hell  
This for a Bishopric I undergo,  
But now would give Earth's Empire were't not so.  1. Pope 
Retire, good Ghosts, or I shall Die with Fear  7. Harcourt. 
Nay Stay Sir, first you must my Story hear:  
How could you thus Delude your Bosom Friend,  
Your Foes to Heaven, and us to Hell thus send;  
Damnation seize you for't, e'er long you'll be  
Plunged Head long into vast Eternity;  1. Pope. 
Ho! Cardinals and Bishops hast with Speed.  
Bell, Book, and Candle fetch, let me be Freed:  
Ah! 'tis too late, by Fear Intrane'd I lie,  8. Bishop. 
Herd you that Groan with speed from hence let's fly  9 Cardinal. 
The Fiend has got him, doubtless let's away,  
And in this ghastly place no longer stay.  
FINIS.