%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> A / VISION / In the TOWER, / To the L. H----d / In his CONTEMPLATION. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer 1681-1681 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 06/24/2014 32728

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

R186053 ANd is it so? Or am I in a Dream? / Can I be Catcht in the Snare, my self did Frame? Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 76 1: 76 A / VISION / In the TOWER, / To the L. H----d / In his CONTEMPLATION. A VISION In the TOWER, To the L. H----d In his CONTEMPLATION. A VISION In the TOWER, To the L. H----d In his CONTEMPLATION. Printer N.T. 1681-1681

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family Featured folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 6/24/2014 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America crime politics/ government punishment supernatural/ magic Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 6/24/2014 12:25:21 PM XBallad Chow, Jeremy Created XML Version of Ballad 6/24/2014 12:25:21 PM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/24/2014 12:25:21 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/24/2014 12:25:21 PM Transcriptionist Two Oberlander, Lindsay Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/24/2014 12:25:21 PM Transcriptionist One Rendt, Ariel Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/21/2013 Checker William Hildalgo Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 4/27/2013 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/24/2012 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/5/2012 Bibliographer Shannon Meyer Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 10/15/2012 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">A</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">VISION</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">In the TOWER,</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To the L. H----d</hi></seg> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">In his CONTEMPLATION.</hi></seg>
ANd is it so? Or am I in a Dream? Can I be Catcht in the Snare, my self did Frame? And am I Catcht? 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, Strove to out-strain great Chitophel's old Crest. And now my Mercenary men and I, Must by Laws Regal Institution Die. This Smilling Plot Auspicious did appear, To us Creators of its moving Sphere. 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 Cherisht, than Sweet Plot we have done thee. And fearing thou, shoudst Faulter, Starve or Die, States great Physitians with their Chymistry. Compounded Antidots did dayly try, That thou might Live Monarchy to Destroy. And must I now, the Brother of thy Father, Both he, and thee, and I, Dye altogether.? Yet, my dear Nephew, do not dye for fear, Whilst we are Alive, thou needst 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 three pack, Where thou shalt ride 'm, till their Heart strings crack. As men ride Post when every Jadd doth tire, Leaves them half Dead, and Belly deep in Mire, Thou still shalt have fresh Pads to Ride or Drive, Deer Plot ther's none shall live, thee to Survive. If I this Dubious point of Fortune Weather, We'le make the 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. Do'st thou not see Grimm 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: Ans-
Answer, Why what art thou that Interrupts my Muse, And doth 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 doth arise. And haunts these Nautious, Fulsom, Stinking Cells, Where Antick Spirits, meet to Charm their Spells. Ghost, No, no, Inhumane 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 Murthered, Which thy own Vote, and all thy Interest furthered. Tho' I a Howard am, as well as thou, So near Allyed, my Innocence thou 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 Imbrued, Which thou in thy Caballs so long pursued. And to prove, 'tis no Delusions Influence, Thy Looks (by Sympathy) draws Blood from hence. Thou canst not on me so Prophanely gaze, But my Guiltless Blood, flies in thy Guilty Face. Packt, Perjur'd Emissaries was your Law, Which your black Conscience brib'd 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 Condemn'd, To which thy Leading Vote did condescend. When Sentence on my Innocence was past, The Tears of Crocodils, thou Weeptst as fast; As if too late Compassion thou hadst took, Then in the Crowd thou quickly me forsook. Then with the City Caballs, thou straight return'd, And of your conquest Boasted, though Suborn'd. Let this thy Conscience move, with Guilty Fears, And go submit unto thy Fellow Peers, Which have been Captives here almost three Years. Owne all thy Treachery to Truth, and Them; Think what it is to bear a Traytors Name, To thee that's 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, 'T will save thy Soul, if not thy Body too. And thus Farewel, these Minnuts I did Borrow, Old Sh------ he'le Condole with thee to Morrow.
LONDON, Printed by N.T. 1681.