A VISION In the TOWER, To the L. H. In his CONTEMPLATION.  

ANd is it so? Or am I in a Dream?  
Can I be catched in that Snare myself did Frame?  
And am I catched? if so, who is the Cause?  
Can it be those in whom I did Repose?  
If so, must I rail at their Treachery?  
No, they must Die by my Industry.  
I to promote the Factious Interest,  
striven to out-strain great Chitophel's old Crest.  
And now my Mercenary men, and I,  
Must by Laws Regal Institution Die.  
This Smiling Plot Auspicious did appear,  
To us Creators of its moving wheresoe'er.  
It from our Genius drew its right of Birth,  
Which to preserve, must we submit to Death?  
No Infant of the Royal Race could be,  
More cherished, than Sweet Plot we have done thee.  
And fearing thou, shouldst falter, Starve or Die,  
States great Physitians with their chemistry,  
Compounded Antidotes did daily try,  
That thou mightst Live Monarchy to Destroy;  
And must I now, the Brother of thy Father,  
Both He, and Thee, and I, Die altogether?  
Yet, my dear Nephew, do not die for fear,  
Whilst We're Alive, thou needest not to despair.  
If those that have this three years bore the weight,  
Begin to Kick, and do their Rider slight;  
Upon the backs of others we'l thee pack,  
Where thou shalt ride ●m, till their Heart strings crack;  
As men ride Post when every Jade doth tyre,  
Leaves them half Dead, and Belly deep in Mire,  
Thou still shalt have fresh Pads, to Ride, or Drive,  
dear Plot ther's none shall live Thee to Survive.  
If I this Dubious point of Fortune Weather,  
We'l make thee Eminent, as thy own Father.   

Ghost, Vain Mortal Caitif, Scum of Infamy,  
Is this thy Pennance in Extremity?  
Canst thou no more relent in this Foresight,  
But to run Headlong to Eternal Night.  
dost thou not see Grim Death before thee stand,  
With daring Resolution Thee demand?  
For thy Sad Soul can no Compassion take,  
But let it Perish with thy own sought Fate.  
What Black Ambition can Rebellion bring,  
'Gainst so Great a God, so Just, so Kind a King.   

Answer, Why what art thou that Interrupt'st my Muse,  
And dost Griefs Contemplation thus abuse?  
May not I within these damp and dismal Walls,  
Consult what Rising still produceth Falls;  
And how Tradition, proves upon Records,  
We had still Ambitious, and Conspiring Lords?  
But I must be Confronted by such Spies,  
As from the Shades of Darkness do arise.  
And haunt these Naucious, fulsome, Stinking Cells,  
Where antic Spirits, meet to Charm their Spells.   

Ghost, No, no, inhuman Infidel, not so;  
I am not raised from the Shades below,  
Nor is't my Office Dungeons to disturb,  
I am descended from a Higher Orb;  
Come to convince thy weak Atheistick Faith,  
To make thee know, there is Life after Death.  
I am the Ghost of Stafford, which you murdered,  
Which thy own Vote, and all thy Interest furthered.  
Tho' I a Howard am, as well as Thou,  
So near allied, my Innocence you knew,  
On thy Honour Guilty; where's thy Honour now?  
Why Startled thus, to hear Truth open laid,  
Behold here's Staffords-Ghost without a Head.  
Thou in my Guiltless Blood thy Hands Imbru'dst,  
Which Thou in thy Cabals so long pursu'dst.  
And to prove 'tis no Delusions Influence,  
Thy Looks( by Sympathy) draws Blood from hence.  
Thou canst not on me so profanely gaze,  
But my Guiltless Blood, flies in thy Guilty Face.  
packed, perjured Emissaries was your Law,  
Which your black Conscience bribed to make them so;  
You at their Summons gave the Fatal Blow.  
And thus poor Stafford ' s Life was Bought and Sold,  
By double value, Souls as well as Gold.  
To which Thou hast such Contribution paid;  
Beware, the forfeit signifies thy Head.  
Cousin remember, when I was condemned,  
To which thy Leading Vote did condescend.  
When Sentence on my Innocence was past,  
The Tears of Crocodiles, Thou Wepst as fast,  
As if too late Compassion thou hadst took,  
Then in the Crowd You quickly me forsook.  
Then with the City Cabals, You strait return'd,  
And of your Conquest Boasted, though suborned.  
Let this thy Conscience move, with Guilty Fears,  
And go submit unto thy Fellow-Peers,  
Which have been Captives here almost three Years.  
Own all thy Treachery to Truth, and Them;  
Think what it is to bear a Traytors Name  
To thee thats Guilty; but much more to Them.  
Since Thou art Fast, speak Truth, and set them Free,  
No way else left thee to Eternity.  
If this great Work of Consequence thou do,  
'Twill save thy Soul, if not thy Body too.  
And thus farewell, these Minutes I did Borrow,  
Old Sh— he'l Condole with Thee to Morrow.    

LONDON, Printed for T. N. 1681.