Poor Robins dream, or, The Visions of hell with a dialogue between the two ghosts of Dr. T. and Capt. B. Poor Robin. 1681 Approx. 16 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 5 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2006-02 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A55414 Wing P2884 ESTC R30535 11353082 ocm 11353082 47556 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A55414) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 47556) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1468:4) Poor Robins dream, or, The Visions of hell with a dialogue between the two ghosts of Dr. T. and Capt. B. Poor Robin. Winstanley, William, 1628?-1698. 6 p. Printed by M.S., London : MDCLXXXI [1681] In verse. Dr. T. is Ezerel Tonge; Capt. B is William Bedloe. Sometimes attributed to William Winstanley who wrote under the pseudonym Poor Robin. Reproduction of original in the University of Illinois (Urbana-Champaign Campus). Library. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng Tonge, Ezerel, 1621-1680. Bedloe, William, 1650-1680. Popish Plot, 1678 -- Poetry. 2005-08 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2005-11 SPi Global Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2005-12 Andrew Kuster Sampled and proofread 2005-12 Andrew Kuster Text and markup reviewed and edited 2006-01 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion POOR ROBINS DREAM , OR THE VISIONS OF HELL : WITH A DIALOGUE Between the Two GHOSTS OF Dr. T. and Capt. B. LONDON : Printed by M.S. MDCLXXXI . POOR ROBINS DREAM , OR THE Visions of Hell. WHen th'charming News had passed Charing-Cross , And they depos'd , that would dismount that Horse . The Senators their hated patience forc't , As Thames once for Sempronia stopt her course . Like Boys that were just from a Vineyard skar'd , All stood amaz'd , but never a word was heard . But when they found they were pursu'd by none , But th' Master stood only to keep his own . They then unto their wonted passion flew , And swore they 'd prove those Grapes to be their due , Next time they came they 'd have the Master too I' th City . All their steady-Heads they tost , Like Wives at Billingsgate , when a good Bargain 's lost . Ballads of grief about the Town they sent , As if they lost a Loyal Parliament . Such clam'rous Consternations , with false Cryes , Enough to tear great Jove down from the Skies . None daring to confront those Factious Atheists , Dreading that scand'lous Name they call , Church-Papist . Then I e'ne laid me down upon my Bed , Where sundry Contemplations seiz'd my troubled Head. In a trembling Trance I on a sudden fell , Wherein I saw that damned Den call'd Hell. Where ten thousand Scenes , with Legions of black Fiends , Of burning Rebels , there they made their Skreens . Old Noll and Bradshaw , Ireton and Pride , Burning like Beacons ; on the other side Then perjur'd Rogues , drawn up in arched Rings , Their Tongues like Serpents , shew'd their flaming Stings , Thought I , Is this the fruit of killing Kings ? When that Scene chang'd , methought I clearly saw , A solemn Conventicle groan out yells of woe . Their Hats pinn'd to their heads with fiery Nails , Their Ears drawn out as large as Spanish Frails . Their Eyes like oval Lanthorns ; glowing Rouls , Or flaming Flambois , from their treach'rous Souls . Their Mouths unto their ugly Ears were drawn , Spirits froth'd out , like poyson'd , foul Frog-spawn . Upon their Backs was writ in bloud , I see , Damn'd for Rebellion and Hypocrisie . ' Mongst this prodigious and confused throng , The Holder forth was called Dr. Tonge ; Who so excell'd , Hugh Peters being there ▪ That he was forc'd to fall into the Rear . Till interposed by a Champion stout , With flaming Sword made way through th' hellish Rout. B. And cry'd to T. thou damned Orator , Thou art the cause of my Soul burning here . T. Why what wast thou when first I did thee know ? But one condemn'd for Robbery by the Law. B. Why what wast thou poor Fool in Forty one ? But a poor Weaver then leapt from thy Loom . Then stept into a Tub to preach Sedition , And took the Covenant for thy Commission . Which thou pursu'd till all the Rump was ruin'd , And Charles return'd , and to his Right resum'd . And then thou made a Breech of thy own Mouth , Swore back again , but never preached truth , And in thy Age , more treach'rous , than in youth . T. That cannot be imputed perjury , To swear for those that rule by tyranny . Or for any else , as Times may turn by fits , That 's but a knack of living by ones wits . But I ne're rob'd upon the King's High-way , Nor boasted on 't unto my Friends next day . Nor I ne're feign'd my self to be a Lord , Nor pilfer'd Coyn without the help of Sword , Nor ne're was proved perjur'd by Record . B. Thou damned Hell-hound , hast thou now forgot , Who was so active in the Popish Plot ? 'T was thou that patcht up O's Depositions , And then deliver'd them without Commissions . Which thou taught him pretend he had disperst , Then thou thy self turn'd tails and was releast . Yet still thou didst persevere in thy sin , Taught Tony and the rest to bring me in . To meet you at Cabals , and Foxes-hall , Where I receiv'd my Lessons from you all . You taught me what to speak , who to impeach , All Loyallists you brought within my reach . Both Queen and Duke I to the Block must bring , Nay — had I liv'd , I must have peacht the K — Now who 's the cause of my Soul's suffering ? T. All this I own was truth , and ten times more , But thy black Soul was damned long before . Thou hadst committed Murther , Theft and Rape , So 't was impossible thy Soul shou'd ' scape . For hadst thou liv'd till each true string had twang'd , Thou then hadst surely been both damn'd and hang'd . B. Thou splay-mouth'd Fiend , I hold thy words in scorn , Thou deserv'dst hanging long e're I was born . Thou and thy Brother Baxter , Spawns of evil , Who kept your correspondence with the Devil . And spew'd your poyson over Three brave Nations , And brought in Oates to all their desolations . The Devil taught you how to tutor Cooper , And Belzebub himself his Over-looker . One Paw upon the Tap holds in the Bong , The other guides his tottering Head and Tongue . And cryes , My Tony thou shalt live to see Englands destruction , and its Monarchy , And my chief Engine , Tony , thou shalt be . And of all the Plots and Sham-plots thou art Father , And all the Evidence thou 'st patcht together ; For which Indulgence I 'le inspire thee still , And thus the Devil helps old Machiavel . T. Why ? Tony was the cause of my Damnation , It was his malice that enflam'd the Nation . 'T was He , under pretence of doing good , That squeez'd poor Innocents , and broacht their bloud . 'T was He that made his Grace a stalking Horse , And hid himself behind his pocky Arse . 'T was he that taught Tub-Preachers to seduce The People , to choose Members for their use . Such as in the late Rebellion play'd their parts , And now are downright Rumpers in their hearts . To all the Olivarians that are living , His damned Documents he 's daily giving . 'T is He that all the Rebels now controuls , For fear they should repent and save their souls . Or rather that they may come boldly on , By force of Arms to end what he begun . Or else his Head must fly for what is past , And 's Tap must burst , to shew his soul is curst . B. For Godfrey's death , 't was thou perswaded me To come in guilty ; that black Perjury Doth gnaw my soul in these infernal flames , That guiltless bloud cryes vengeance through my veins , And showrs upon me in perpetual streams . I swore that of that Murther I did know A man , that in my life I never saw , Yet three mens Lives I took by perjur'd Law. T. Tony and Godfrey's Brother that contriv'd , To make the forged Plot the more believ'd . The truth of which they never yet would tell , Neither Oates , nor us that 's now in Hell. If e're that stifled Murther be unvail'd , Old Tony's mouthing Gang will soon be quail'd . And those Cabals which daily now devise , As th' old one dyes , to make new Plots to rise . They 'l then disperse , lest they all be trapann'd , And their wise heads forsake their souls that's damn'd . B. Thou now speak'st like a Subject when't's too late , Or one that knew not what they would be at . 'T is their ambition to be thrown in Gaols , 'T would raise the Rout if Habeas Corpus fails . Then Tony'l grin and prog about for Coin , T' encourage his possessed herd of Swine . Lurk in his hole to see 'em stave and tail , But ne're come out , till he finds who 'l prevail . T. When he was young , he never durst to fight , But in malicious mischief took delight . For when the Nation flow'd with bloud before , Tony was always thirsting after more . How many thousand pound this Plot has cost him , To buy the blouds of those that never crost him ? When he has got poor Innocents condemn'd , By his patcht Evidence , how eagerly he 'l send To those that have most int'rest in the Rout ? He 'l hire them t'come to force the Prisoners out , To see them sacrifice before his Snout . Which they 'l soon do , or else break down their hold ; For why , they 're Tony's Cattle bought and sold ? While they are butchering , old Tony flears , For more such Bargains , smells with both his ears . Tony hir'd Ar. for to cut 's own Throat , Ar. was cunning , did but half the Joke . Yet kept his money , and remain'd his debter , And promis'd him the Lives of some was better . Tho' Tony's sides have several teer of holes , He lusts after bodies , as the Devil after souls . For if e're this trade of Papist-hanging's ended , He 'le bring in Presbyter and Independent . Both Care and Curtis , Smith and pillor'd Ben , After the best , he 'le hang the worst of men . All that his Pate hath drawn in to support him , He 'le hang them all , if Fate do ever thwart him . Both Lords and Evidence that 's now for him , Nay perhaps his Grace , who now he 's making K — Or those who all this prosecution commence , He can hang them with the same Evidence . Should we have liv'd till such a Change broke forth , To save himself he would have hang'd us both . He 's such a Knave , and they such silly Elves , When he has a mind , he 'le make'um hang themselves . B. Heart , Bloud and Wounds , wou'd he have hang'd up Bedlow ? Oh — that my Lady Mother did but know — That cursed Cannibal ? had I liv'd two years longer , I 'de have hang'd him , that rotten damn'd Whoremonger . Let 's out of Hell , the Porter we can bribe , We 'le bring him Tony's soul , or some of that damn'd Tribe . We 'le tell the K — that Tony is the cause Of all this plotting , and subverting Laws . That Tony is so treacherous and so apish , That he 's the head of all the plotting Papists . For 't was his Plot , and none but he contriv'd it , And he 's the Rogue that ever since reviv'd it . Each Prison round the Town he searches duly For Evidence , to recommend to Rowly . But takes such pains to teach each Tool its Chapter , As a man to make a Spaniel Dog a Setter . Which must impeach Bishop and Judges too , And all that for the K — withstand his Crew . The Courtiers he corrupts till they 're discarded , Then by his Tribe for him they must be guarded . While he sits at the helm to guide Sedition , All legal Laws he counts meer Superstition . He sits environ'd round with Brother-Vipers , Who imitates his Nods like Scotch Bag-pipers . Pendent and Bitter , and Mare-frigging Quaker , Keep time , Tony , that brave Law Bear-baiter . For he united them to stand together , ' Gainst all that 's Lawful , Loyal , or whatever That 's direct opposition to the Crown , To pull the Bishop and Monarchy down . But he illustrates his grave Dispute , By quaint Objections , coyn'd against the D — ' Gainst him his Bristles hath long time stood snarling , Yet cannot spit his poyson beyond Sterling . Could He wrench out that Pillar of the State , He thinks the rest would fall in 's hands by fate , What a graceful Noll old Tony then would make ? Just like a Monkey he 'd become the Throne , His Court Buffoons , and Pugs of the same Spawn . Then Tony would be sure that all 's his own . Could he perswade the K — to sell his Brother , He 'd never break his brains to find another . To keep Sedition , and support the State , Tony himself would be legitimate . Let 's give the K — this Caution , for 't is true , That he in time may know what 's best to do . With that a thundring noise their Contract broke , The Den was darkned with infernal smoak . Horror of yells and groans the Spirits strains , Till on a sudden all flasht out in flames . In which the Conventiclers sprawling cry'd , For all Eternity must this abide ? With that a shower of Bloud fell down upon 'um , In which they spew'd and stunk like Rebels , dam 'um ▪ For 't was the bloud of Innocents they 'd drawn , When they liv'd here , to make the King their own ▪ Some of the Heads were hang'd up by the Tongues , The rest the Devils pitch about with Prongues . To make way for approaching great Procession , Which howl'd and roar'd without an intermission . Their Tongues hung out with Froth like lathering Soap , These were the Rabble burning of the Pope . ' Mongst whom were Curtis , Harris , Smith and Care , The Scene was just like that at Temple-bar . Both Pope and Pageants , Jeffreys and the Friers , But every step knee-deep in Bloud and Fires . Of those that did support 'um and the Rout , But there they roar'd , and here they us'd to shout . Both Squibs and Crackers from their mouths did fly , ' Gainst Church and State they belcht out Blasphemy . Their Skins were vail'd with City-Mercuries , Seditious Libels and their forged Lyes . Which taking fire at once made such a smother , Down fell the Pageants , Rout , and all together Did sprawl and howl in that infernal Flame , Then I awakt , and all was but a Dream . FINIS .