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         Wild, Robert, 1609-1679.
      
       
         
           1678
        
      
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             Oliver Cromwells ghost, or, Old Noll newly revived
             Wild, Robert, 1609-1679.
          
           4 p.
           
             s.n.,
             [London :
             1678?]
          
           
             Caption title.
             Signed: R.W.
             Reproduction of original in the Harvard University Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Cromwell, Oliver, 1599-1658 -- Poetry.
        
      
    
     
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           Oliver
           Cromwells
           GHOST
           :
           OR
           OLD
           NOLL
           Newly
           Revived
           .
        
         
           
             ROws'd
             from
             Infernal
             Caverns
             void
             of
             Light
             ,
          
           
             Where
             Traytors
             Souls
             keep
             an
             Eternal
             Night
             :
          
           
             Through
             the
             Earths
             friendly
             Pores
             at
             last
             I
             come
          
           
             To
             view
             the
             Fate
             of
             mangled
             Christendome
             .
          
           
             Treason
             ,
             and
             
               Blood
               ,
               Ruin
            
             ,
             and
             Usurpation
             ,
          
           
             
               Deceipt
               ,
               Hypocrisie
            
             ,
             and
             Devastation
             ;
          
           
             
               Envy
               ,
               Ambition
            
             ,
             and
             
               untam'd
               desire
            
             ,
          
           
             Still
             to
             gain
             more
             ,
             still
             to
             be
             mounted
             higher
             :
          
           
             
               Wars
               ,
               Ianglings
               ,
               Murders
            
             ,
             and
             a
             Thousand
             more
          
           
             Vices
             like
             these
             ,
             you
             know
             were
             heretofore
             .
          
           
             The
             only
             grateful
             Bantlings
             ,
             which
             could
             find
             ,
          
           
             A
             kind
             Reception
             in
             my
             gloomy
             Mind
             —
          
           
             —
             But
             now
             alas
             I
             'm
             chang'd
             —
             the
             Pondrous
             guilt
          
           
             Of
             Treason
             ,
             and
             the
             
               Sacred
               Blood
            
             I
             spilt
             ;
          
           
           
             Those
             crouds
             of
             
               Loyal
               Subjects
            
             I
             made
             groan
             ,
          
           
             Under
             pretence
             of
             strickt
             Religion
             ,
          
           
             When
             I
             my self
             ,
             to
             speak
             the
             Truth
             ,
             had
             none
             :
          
           
             Too
             weighty
             for
             my
             strugling
             Soul
             did
             grow
             ,
          
           
             And
             prest
             it
             downwards
             to
             the
             Shades
             below
             ,
          
           
             Where
             it
             these
             Twenty
             Years
             has
             Silent
             lain
             ,
          
           
             Tormented
             with
             Variety
             of
             Pain
             ,
          
           
             Too
             great
             for
             fleshly
             Mortals
             to
             sustain
             .
          
        
         
           
             Nor
             had
             it
             budg'd
             as
             yet
             —
             but
             that
             the
             Fame
          
           
             Of
             
               Plots
               ,
               Conspiracies
            
             ,
             and
             Murders
             came
          
           
             To
             the
             Infernal
             Gates
             so
             fast
             ,
             that
             I
             ,
          
           
             For
             others
             Good
             ,
             forgot
             my
             Misery
             :
          
           
             And
             whilst
             the
             busie
             Daemons
             were
             imploy'd
          
           
             In
             culling
             out
             a
             Bloody
             Regicide
             ,
          
           
             I
             bilkt
             my
             Keeper
             ,
             and
             with
             wondrous
             Pain
             ,
          
           
             Once
             more
             I
             mount
             my
             Native
             Soyl
             again
             ;
          
           
             Where
             to
             my
             Grief
             ,
             more
             Villanies
             I
             view
             ,
          
           
             Than
             Heav'n
             e're
             Pardon'd
             ,
             or
             than
             Hell
             e're
             knew
             .
          
           
             Since
             
             Lucifer's
             like
             
             Rome's
             Destructive
             Pride
             ,
          
           
             Both
             Damn'd
             himself
             ,
             and
             all
             his
             Imps
             beside
             :
          
           
             Though
             old
             in
             Artful
             Wickedness
             I
             be
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             Rome
             ,
             I
             now
             Resign
             the
             Wall
             to
             thee
             :
          
           
             Thou
             in
             this
             single
             Plot
             ,
             hast
             now
             done
             more
             ,
          
           
             Than
             Mankind
             ,
             helpt
             by
             Hell
             ,
             could
             do
             before
             .
          
        
         
           
             What!
             was
             thy
             swell'd
             Ambition
             grown
             so
             wide
             ,
          
           
             That
             nought
             but
             Kings
             could
             satisfie
             thy
             Pride
             ?
          
           
             Must
             Monarchs
             ,
             whom
             the
             Heav'n
             it self
             do's
             prize
             ,
          
           
             Now
             become
             Morsels
             for
             thy
             gaping
             Vice.
          
           
             Methought
             ,
             though
             hot
             with
             Gluttony
             thou
             burn
             ,
          
           
             A
             Pious
             Justice
             might
             have
             serv'd
             thy
             turn
             ;
          
           
             Especially
             when
             ,
             (
             to
             content
             you
             more
             )
          
           
             Spitted
             on
             's
             Sword
             ,
             and
             Pickled
             in
             his
             Gore
             ;
          
           
           
             But
             now
             your
             aim
             we
             better
             understand
             ,
          
           
             He
             was
             the
             Whet
             —
             you
             gap'd
             for
             all
             the
             Land.
          
           
             Strange
             Cormorant
             !
             that
             in
             her
             Monstrous
             Breast
             ,
          
           
             Could
             at
             one
             Meal
             three
             Butcher'd
             Lands
             digest
             .
          
        
         
           
             Ye
             Powers
             !
             I
             thought
             my
             Countries
             Innocence
             ,
          
           
             (
             When
             in
             fierce
             Whilwinds
             you
             had
             born
             me
             hence
             )
          
           
             And
             by
             the
             Pow'r
             of
             your
             most
             just
             Command
             ,
          
           
             Restor'd
             the
             Scepter
             to
             the
             Owners
             hand
             )
          
           
             Would
             have
             sufficient
             bin
             to
             Wall
             you
             free
          
           
             From
             the
             Assaults
             of
             such
             an
             Enemie
             .
          
           
             I
             little
             thought
             ,
             when
             last
             I
             took
             my
             leave
             ,
          
           
             And
             sadly
             entred
             my
             unwelcome
             Grave
             ,
          
           
             That
             e're
             the
             Porphry
             Idol
             could
             command
          
           
             So
             great
             a
             Friendship
             in
             our
             Native
             Land
             ;
          
           
             As
             by
             that
             means
             to
             hope
             to
             circumvent
             ,
          
           
             With
             black
             Design
             ,
             both
             King
             and
             Government
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             yet
             take
             heed
             ye
             Romish
             Idiots
             ,
          
           
             That
             have
             a
             hand
             in
             these
             most
             Hellish
             Plots
             ;
          
           
             Who
             by
             your
             base
             contrivance
             ,
             hope
             to
             bring
          
           
             Ruin
             to
             Nations
             ,
             Death
             unto
             a
             King
          
           
             Beware
             ,
             I
             say
             ,
             by
             my
             Example
             ,
             do
             ,
          
           
             For
             there
             's
             a
             God
             above
             do's
             all
             things
             view
             :
          
           
             Tho
             wrapt
             in
             Clouds
             amongst
             the
             Skies
             ,
             he
             dwells
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             he
             discerns
             you
             in
             your
             closest
             Cells
             ;
          
           
             See's
             your
             Contrivances
             ,
             and
             whilst
             you
             poor
          
           
             Conceipted
             Traytors
             think
             your selves
             secure
             ,
          
           
             He
             your
             clandestine
             Plots
             does
             plainly
             view
             ,
          
           
             And
             will
             divulge
             them
             ,
             and
             their
             Actors
             too
             .
          
           
             Trust
             my
             Experience
             ,
             one
             ,
             who
             if
             you
             will
          
           
             Believe
             ,
             what
             all
             the
             World
             says
             of
             him
             still
             ,
          
           
             Had
             no
             small
             share
             of
             Pride
             ,
             Ambition
             ,
             Wit
             ,
          
           
             Courage
             and
             Conduct
             too
             to
             manage
             it
             .
          
           
           
             By
             which
             I
             wrought
             my
             Curst
             designs
             so
             high
             ,
          
           
             I
             could
             have
             match'd
             my
             
               Brewers
               Family
            
          
           
             With
             the
             best
             Blood
             in
             Brittain
             .
             Right
             or
             wrong
             ,
          
           
             Or
             Life
             or
             Death
             ,
             attended
             on
             my
             Tongue
             :
          
           
             All
             the
             three
             Kingdoms
             truckled
             to
             my
             Will
             —
          
           
             But
             what
             of
             this
             ?
             —
             I
             was
             a
             Traytor
             still
             .
          
           
             Nay
             ,
             so
             intemperate
             was
             my
             folly
             grown
             ,
          
           
             I
             boldly
             offer'd
             at
             the
             Sacred
             Crown
             ;
          
           
             Which
             though
             I
             mist
             ,
             —
             yet
             by
             a
             holy
             Cheat
             ,
          
           
             At
             last
             I
             gain'd
             to
             fill
             the
             tott'ring
             Seat
             ;
          
           
             And
             made
             Ten
             thousand
             Souldiers
             Arm'd
             ,
             appear
          
           
             With
             Roaring
             Guns
             ,
             to
             plead
             my
             Title
             there
             .
          
           
             Not
             doubting
             but
             that
             happy
             Seat
             should
             be
          
           
             Transfer'd
             from
             me
             to
             my
             Posteritie
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             all
             was
             insignificant
             ,
             when
             Death
          
           
             Unkindly
             Robb'd
             me
             of
             Beloved
             Breath
             :
          
           
             My
             Titles
             all
             forsook
             me
             ,
             and
             my
             Race
             ,
          
           
             Instead
             of
             them
             ,
             inherit
             my
             disgrace
             .
          
        
         
           
             This
             is
             the
             Fate
             of
             Traytors
             here
             ;
             but
             know
             ,
          
           
             That
             could
             you
             think
             what
             they
             endure
             below
             ,
          
           
             I
             'm
             sure
             you
             would
             be
             Loyal
             ;
             but
             the
             Pope
          
           
             By
             prating
             Jesuits
             ,
             has
             so
             rais'd
             your
             hope
             ,
          
           
             That
             I
             in
             vain
             those
             Tortures
             now
             should
             tell
             ,
          
           
             You
             'l
             know
             them
             when
             I
             meet
             you
             there
             —
             Farewel
             .
          
        
         
           
             
               R.
               W.
            
             D.
             D.
             
          
        
         
      
    
     
  

