[T]HE
[DE]PUTIES
GHOS
OR
[An] APPARITION to the
[L]ord of Canterbury in the Tower.
[W]ith his complaint unto the
[w]all after the Ghosts departure.
BEING
[A]n Acrostick Anagramme of his
Name.
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WIthout corruption or that corrupted Cave,
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From out that body from the head divided,
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From mortall life, from death, and from the grave,
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And from the Elizian by immortals guided,
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Into the world I come for to reprove thee;
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Because the World reports that I doe love thee.
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Proud Prelate, dost thou startle at a shade?
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What substance have I to make thee affraid,
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Or art thou fearefull of thy sociat's Ghost,
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A voyce, a shade, or fancy at the most?
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Surely your Grace cannot so soon be danted;
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'Tis not the first time we have bin acquainted.
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Why! I am Wentworth, canst thou not abide me?
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Nay surely then I must begin to chide thee.
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Oh would i'de been as loathsome in thine eye,
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When first to Honour I was rais'd so high?
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Or had I never thy confederate beene,
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The tree that's fallen might still have flourish't greene:
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For if i'de never to thy wayes consented,
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Untimely death had surely beene prevented;
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Nor had mine Honours at that day beene stained,
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If I such wicked courses had refrained:
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Then had my wife her husband still enjoyed,
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Nor had my childrens father beene destroyed,
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Whose life was lately tane away by force
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That longer might have liv'd by Natures course,
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And yet to dye I truely had deserved,
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Because with thee, I from the truth had swarved:
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My Lord, you know, it is a trayterous part,
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That any man should seeke for to subvert
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The fundamentall Lawes and Government,
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Confirmed by the course of Parliament:
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And yet my Lord you formerly could say,
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You'd make the proudest Subject to give way
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To what you lift contrary to the Law,
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As if you'd make the Kingdome stand in awe
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Of your great power, such was your foule ambition
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To pull down truth and set up superstition,
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And held the power of Prelacy more great
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Then his that ruleth in the Royall seate:
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Nay more then that, with threatnings interrupted
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The Judges, that their Judgements were corrupted;
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Yet now my Lord, the Law will not forbeare you,
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Since neither Judge, nor Justice needs to feare you.
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But stay my Lord, what meane you thus to tremble?
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Can you not still, with God and man dissemble;
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They went beyond a Canterbury pace,
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That ran so fast to overtake your Grace,
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And yet you see how sudden alterations,
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Move mighty men with Melancholy passions,
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I know my Lord when you was in your prime
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[?]oud not have kept your study halfe this time:
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Oh no my Lord, you then enjoy'd your pleasure,
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Your betters then would stand & waite your leisure,
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The greater sort of persons seem'd to feare you,
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The poore men durst scarce speak, nor come too ne're you,
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But now you see the matter's alter'd quite,
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They bid you shew the utmost of your spite,
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And yet my Lord it is not many yeares,
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They durst to use such speeches for their eares:
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My Lord as I unseene past through the streets,
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I see the multitudes of paper sheets,
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Sent from the Presse, and thus they cry them still,
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Come buy a booke concerning little Will:
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In truth, my Lord, if you your freedome had,
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This were enough to make you run starke mad,
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Therefore I at your grace doe marvell much,
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Your love unto the World it should be such,
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But rather seeke for to be separated
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From such a world, where you are so much hated:
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In any place where men abroad doe walke,
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When dyes the Bishop? thus they use to talke;
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All which my Lord would be but 9 dayes wonder,
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If once your head and shoulders were asunder:
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Alas my Lord why are you loath to dye?
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You have offended full as much as I.
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What feare you meeting Bensteads Ghost in Hell?
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Why? he's in Heaven, for ought that you can tell,
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And if he be in Heaven, yet never feare,
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It may be long ere he doe meet you there,
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And yet methinkes you did but ill in that,
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To hang the man, and knew not well for what:
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Hang'd him said I? nay hang and draw and quarter,
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And yet my Lord, you thinke to dye a Martyr;
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On London bridge you may behold a Head,
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How much is't worse then yours, when once you'r dead,
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And others more my Lord you put in danger,
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who fear'd the rack, more then they did the manger,
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And thus my Lord, you see how times can alter,
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You thought o'th rack, but dream'd not of the halter:
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Which to yourselfe, I leave you now alone,
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Unto the wall speake thus, when I am gone.
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An Anagramme made on the name of William
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Laud.
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Wall vild am I, Or Wall I am vild.
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Wall if thou knew'st thy prisoner were so base,
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And hadst but sense to understand aright,
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Long should I not have lived in this place,
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Lime, wood, & stone would all against me fight,
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If that I had my just deserved doome,
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Archbishop once might bid adieu to Rome,
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Much mischiefe in the Kingdome I have wrought
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Using the meanes to make my name more great,
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Into the land I would have Popery brought,
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Loe here's the downfall of St. Peters seate,
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Downe with it, downe, this is the peoples cry,
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I did offend, and therefore I must dye.
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