Classic Poem

I NEEDE not call thee from thy miterd Hill
Apollo, anger will inspire my quill
If nature should deny, rage would infuse
Virtue as mutch as could supply a muse.
Satyres run best when Classhing tearms do meet,
And Indignation makes them knock their feet.
To bee methodicall in Verse, & rhime
In sutch inuectiues is the highest crime.
Who Euer saw a firy passion breake
But in abruptnes? thus my pen must speak
Make at Each word a period, which may show
As Cornes of pouder, & then fire the row
With sharp artic'late blasts, which breathing on
Those lines, may 'nflame each hot expression.
This Annuall subiect (which now cals the nine)
Must be shot through with quils of porcupine.
What soul is that, which thinkes hee doth but see
Laws in the graue, & bleeding maiesty,
Purple redy'd in Blood, the miter Croune
And all inferiour Eminence cast downe?
But he will truly sweare that dire intent
Is both deuoyd of name & president.
Poore infant Roome thought parricide a crime
Beyond Commission, but succeeding Time
(Made conuert by Experience) wisely tyd
The Viper with his fellow Parricide.
That sin (though highest & prodigious) is
A Veniall mischiefe if compard to this,
A sin accumulate, where you may see
All other sins not in Epitome
But in full Volume, not claspt up in one
But the sum totall in expansion.
The auncient Stagarite that did Controule
The transmigration of a flitting soul,
Had he now breathd would haue reuers'd his pen,
And sworn Cethegus & those hayr-braynd men
Had here reuiud, & in this romish trayne
Came to react their former selues agayn
And had success applauded the designe,
We might in blood haue pledgd thee, Cateline
Diuinity (that cannot yet search out
Hels proper ubi, leuing all in doubt
Whether in ayre, fire, or earth cannot tell)
Might in their vault haue found the locall Hell.
There might one Blast (had fortune giuen way)
Outvy'd Joues cannon & turnd night to day.
White, had become Pluto's black hall, the Throne
His footstoole, Thames had turnd to Phlegethon,
The boats to Charons vessels, which had bin
Too few for Soules then to haue Sayled in.
But neerer prouidence, & higher powers
Surround a King, whose Soul though cloathd like ours
In robes of mortall clay, yet doth it ly
Beyond the sphere of strongest Villany
If then heauens King of Kings doth send from thence
At birth a tutelar Intelligence
Unto ignobler persons, sure for him
He hath assign'd an Angell for each limb.
Then
Let not succes of smaller crimes egg on
The daringst spirit to attempt a Throne.
This high wrought plot untreasond, may cast down
The proudest hopes of striking at a Crowne.