THE Protestant Joiner's Ghost TO Hone the Protestant Carpenter IN NEWGATE.  
With his CONFESSION.  Col. 
HOne! Oh! Hone! Oh! Hone! Oh!  Hone. 
What dismal Voice is this, nay, now I find I must be Hanged. This is as the Sound of the last Trump, shrill and terrible as Death.  Col. 
Do you not know me yet, That and that for your Confession.  (Pinches him) Hone. 
Oh my Ribs! Oh my Side!  Col. 
The Trial being so near at the Old Bailie, I am sent to Torment thee, my Ghost shall haunt thee to the Gallows if thou Confess a Syllable.  Hone. 
My Journeyman Stephen! the Protestant Joiner! Chip of the Old Block of Rebellion! dost thou not know thy old Master?  Col. 
Yes, yes my old Master the Protestant Carpenter that Wainscoted the Room at the Devil for the Green Ribbon Club, and Carved Rebellion and the Sacred Slaughter of Kings about the Frames and Chimney Pieces. Yes, Hone the Carpenter that hewed out the way to Destruction, that swore the Death of Kings and Princes, and now swears as hard for 'em and against himself, Hone the betrayer of the Cause, and Impeacher of the Brethren, Hone the Apostate, Hone the Backslider, Hone the Turncoat, Hone the Changeling.  Hone. 
Now let me die for a Traitor, if thou be not thyself this very Apostate, this Turncoat, this Changeling. Now thou art Changed since I see thee? thou look'st as if thou hadst been hanged alive upon one of thy own Gibbets, and fed all this while upon Shave and Saw dust.  Col. 
Yes, I was foreman of the Plot, and carved it and plained it, till I made it as smooth as a Deal Board. Any fool that kenws how to manage it might nap upon a King. But you with your hacking, and hewing, your splitting and sawing, have sawed it all to pieces. Yourselves dropped into the Saw-Pit, and lie Buried in your own Dust.  Hone. 
Indeed we have wanted thy helping hand, the Cause has gone much down the Wind since so hopeful a Branch was lopped off from the Root of Rebellion. Where hast thou been all this while.  Col. 
In Hell, In a deeper Vault than Deerhams Dungeon, 16 Fathom beneath the Lowermost Abyss where this Plot was first brewed, and where such Plotters will be Rewarded.  Hone. 
Indeed this was a Reach beyond the Devils Ela. But what hast thou been doing all this while?  Col. 
Building of Gibbets for Traitors and King-Killers, and now they come so fast, that I want a Journeyman.  Hone. 
Canst thou not Remove Tyburn, it will save a world of Carpenters Work.  Col. 
That's kept for Whigs and Plotters in this Life; How Shad— l and the fat Turnspit would make a Gallows swag, there are others have outrun the Constable; But hang it, Rebellion is nothing till they be catched.  Hone. 
Prithee Stephen, who was catched at Oxford.  Col. 
If I was catched, I made no pitiful howling Lamentation, or whining Confession, to the betraying of the Cause or the Brethren; I brazend it out to the last.  Hone. 
With more than the Doctor's Impudence till the Rope choked thee, for a Lie never would. But prithee tell me, for thy excellent Skill in Joining Dissenters, and Turning Monarchy into a Commonwealth, how has thy Master the Devil Employed thee ever since thou dropped from the Tree at Oxford, like a solon Goose into the Lake.  Col. 
The first two Years I was Employed in making Protestant flails.  Hone. 
Protestant flails! I can tell thee where there are Five Thousand at this time in one place.  Col. 
You had best tell the King and Council.  Hone. 
I have done it already.  Col. 
Now 5000 Legions of Devils with 5000 flails, be dashing out thy Brains for 5000 years together, was there ever such an Ass trusted with so great a Secret?  Hone. 
Was there ever such an Owl in Pursuit of the Eagle, when thou oughtest to have been mouseing amongst thy own Vermin at home. Well, thou art an Angel of Light, and the Ass cannot choose but open his Mouth. What hadst thou to do at Oxford with thy Arms, and Armour Cap. a Pe, and Protestant flails to dash out the Brains of Monarchy, and overturn the whole structure of Church and Government. Thou designedst a plaguy turn in the State, but that thou hadst thy last turn at the Gibbet, and lest as thy Journeymen to do thy work at Newmarket, where our whole Plot was overturned, and now it is come to our turn to follow.  Col. 
Indeed your Plot at Newmarket, your Cart cross the way, your twenty Blunderbuses, six Inches Diameter; your Horseraces and Hunting Matches, your Arms and Insurrections, were in a fair way to take effect. But Fires and Dissolutions are fatal to our Conspiracies.  Hone. 
And a Rope will put an end to 'em.  Col. 
With your Cowardly Confessions, and Treacherous Impeaching of one another.  Hone. 
Wouldst thou have me to brazen it out like thyself, and go to the Devil with a Lie in my Mouth? Will a Vote of the Factious Rump save us from the Curse of King-Killing hereafter? Will our putting it upon the Papists (as Oats did on Pickerin) pass upon the Devil. Will M— pass for a Head-piece? West for a wise Councillor, or the Solamanca Bloodsucker for a Saviour in the other World? For my part, before I have to do with such a pack of Rebels, I'll turn Loyal, Confess, and Repent though I hang for't.  
The Ghost had no sooner-heard him talk of Repentance, but with much Indignation incensed, he Vanished in a Flash of Fire, throwing the Bed-Staves about the Room, and the Doors oft the Hings, with that Terrible Noise, that it shook the Foundation of the uppermost Hell. With a terrible rattling of Links and Chains; The Noise was given out that a Prisoner had escaped, which Alarmed the Captain, and his Janizaries to pursue, but they could not catch him.   

LONDON, Printed for J. Smith. 1683.