Rome rhym'd to death being a collection of choice poems, in two parts / written by the E. of R., Dr. Wild, and others of the best modern wits.

The Lord STAFFORD's Ghost, &c.

FRom Stygian shade, lo, my pale Ghost doth rise, To visit Earth, and these sublunar Skies; For some few moments I'm in Mercy sent, To bid my Fellow-Traytors to Repent: Repent before you taste of Horrid Fate, Your Guilt confess, before it be too late. I am not here arriv'd on Earth, to tell The hidden secrets that belong to Hell: Nor am I sent to publish or declare▪ Who are tormenters, whom tormented there. For now I know that it is Heavens decree, These things to Mortals still shall secrets be; Who have fantastick Dreams, and nothing know, Of what is done above, or yet below: But I have seen with my Immortal Eyes, Things that with horror do my Soul surprize; Too late alas! too late, I see my Sin, With strange Chymera's I've deluded been, By a curs'd brood, who sounded in my Ear, Dye obstinate, no Chains of Conscience fear: Upon us firmly let your Faith be built, We can and do Absolve you from your Guilt; And after this, you need no more Repent, For you a Martyr dye, and Innocent. O Cursed Men! who on Wretches thus Intrude, And thus poor Souls, Eternally delude:

Whilst they believe what these deluders say, Li••e is snatch'd from them, and they drop away; And falling down, by Charon Death they're hurl'd Into the Mansions of a dismal World, Where Conscience stands, and stares them in the face, Shewing a Table of Eternal Brass: In which in noted Characters are wrot Their whole lifes crimes, which living they forgot. With Conscience these have an Eternal strife, And Curse the vain delusive Dreams of Life: With torment now their crimes read o're and o're, And waking, see they did but Dream before: Too late, and than too late, what Plague is worse? They see their folly, and themselves they Curse; They Curse themselves, because they did believe, And doubtly Curse those who did them deceive. When to the fatal Scaffold I was brought, I said, and did what I was bid, and laught, Tho' Conscience said, I did not what I ought. Stoutly the Guilt, as I was bid, deny'd, And for the Cause, I Rome's great Martyr dy'd. I that Religion then esteemed good, And gladly would have seal'd it with my Blood, Because I then no better understood. Let not the World to vain delusions flye, I did for Treason, not Religion, dye. Tho' on the Scaffold I would not confess, My Ghost, alas! too late can do no less. Let all Complotters warning take by me, The World we may delude, but God doth see;

Tho' what we did should never come to light, It can't be hid from the Almighty's sight: Give God the Glory, and confess your Crime, Confess your horrid Treason while you've time; Publick Confession shews you do Repent, And is the best way to grow Innocent. I see too late, I have been led astray, And by Error, far from Truth, was led away; For that Religion never can be good, That would erect it self by Humane Blood. I pin'd my self upon anothers sleeve, And blindly I did as the Church believe; What my delusive Guides did bid me do, That I believ'd was Holy, Just, and True. With Zeal I acted, and hop'd for Applause, Of Men and Heaven, in so good a Cause: But Oh! I sigh, and now my Airy Ghost, Shivers to think what Blessings I have lost: The broadway to Destruction then I took, And Vertues Road my blinded Zeal mistook. But you my Friends, who yet are left behind, Now to your selves, and to your Souls be kind; Open her Eyes, and be no longer blind, Pry my sad End, do you your Errors find. Confess your Crimes before it be too late, Confess, confess, before you yield to Fate: Before from Life, and from the World you go, Before that you descend to Shades below, Before your Souls taste of Eternal Woe.

Truth cannot Dye, it stronger is than Death, Remains when Mortals have resign'd their breath; To amazed Souls with Conscience she appears, To aggravate, and to encrease their fears. Confess her while you live, though drawn to Sin, Repentance with Confession doth begin. Believe no longer that accursed Brood, Who on the Necks of Kings have proudly trod, Nor him who thinks himself an Earthly God. Those Hectoring Jesuits who so Zealous be, Who think to Rule the World by Policy; Who to the Gallows seem with joy to come, To be the Martyrs, and the Raints of Rome. When Life is fled, and they are gon from hence, In tumbling down are waked into Sense; Where all amaz'd, and wondring where they've bin, They howl, and cry, and wish to Dye agin. Beware I say, be fool'd no longer here, For Rhadamanthus is a Judge severe. Hark! I am call'd, I must descend below, But let me Prophesie before I go: See the bright Star•• which o're your Heads doth shine, I can as well as Gadbury Divine; What the bright stream of Radient Light doth mean, Which every Night so frequently is seen. Hear me, O Rome! though in your Cause I dy'd, Nigh is the setting of your Pomp and Pride: That Star doth shew, that day is near at hand, That Rome no longer shall the world command, And many Years it hath not now to stand.

By that bright stream, which still points to the East, The Everlasting Gospel's Light's exprest: Which just is breaking forth, and doth bespeak, That its most Glorious Day's about to break; When Peace, and Truth, and Righteousness shall stand, Everlasting Pillars set in every Land, And Christ in Power alone the world command. Then shall the world shine with Eternal Glory, And Perhaps, may then leave PVRGATORY.