9nd §, No 2., JAN. 12, °56.] NOTES AND QUERIES, 27 
MARVEL’'S GHOST. 
[The following bitter invective addressed to the pious 
but hesitating Sancroft, on his absenting himself from 
Parliament, but directed against the bishops generally, is 
taken from a flying sheet of the time. It deserves to be 
reprinted as a striking illustration of the intense personal 
hatred generated by party spirit which prevailed when 
this satire was written. ] 
“MARVEL’S GHOST: 
“ Being the True Copy of a Letter sent to the A. B. of C. 
upon his sudden Sichness, at the Prince of Orange’s first 
Arrival into London. 
“The Archbishops of Canterbury have put the Kings of 
this Land to much Sorrow and Trouble, for which the 
Kings have used the more Care and Circumspection to 
have such Archbishops placed in that See, as either should 
stand with them, or at least should not be against them.’ 
— Fox, Acts and Monuments, Vol. i. p. 214. 
“The APOLOGY. 
“ When Men of God will do the Devil’s Work, 
And frame New Prayers for Lewis and the Turk. 
In drunken Clubs Religiously Combine, 
To make the lost Mack-Ninny’s Right Divine : 
And the whole Town with Sham Distinctions ring 
Of a de jure and de facto King, ‘ 
And prate of Duty till they’ve lost the thing ; 
When those whose Business ’tis to Preach up Peace, 
Labour to make our Discontents increase : 
Foment Divisions, and new Storms create : 
Defame the King and undermine the State, ‘ 
Which wow'd, were they but hang'd, be fortunaie ; 
What Indignation can be thought severe 2 
How can a true-born English Muse forbear 
To lash their Folly, and Correct their Vice, 
And teach the People whence their Plaques arise ? 
How innocent and good soe’re they seem, 
The source of all our Mischiefs lies in Them. 
From them, as from Pandora’s Box they fly: 
’Tis their corrupted Breath pollutes our Northern Sky. 
Therefore, my Lord, you justly can’t accuse 
This modest Sally of a backward Muse, 
Which had been damned to Silence, and forgot, 
Tf you had not reviv'd it with your Plot. 
*Twas writ to Consolate your Sickness then ; 
Tf you had mended, this had ne’er been seen. 
But since you every Day grow worse and worse, 
And still resolve to be the Nation’s Curse, 
FT also am Resolv'd to let you know 
Flere’s one as Stubborn and as bold as you.” 
2 “The GHOS T. 
“ How just is then the Tribute of our Eyes? 
When Vertue Languishes, and Goodness Dies, 
When holy Prelacy, from Court withdrawn, 
Lies sick at Lambeth in a Shrowd of Lawn! 
Who fearing now Compliance with the Prince, 
Shou’d better Men to equal power advance, 
With-holds his Hand, and in the very nick 
The humourous Prelate willingly falls Sick. 
On what small Props a Church-man’s health depends! 
Draw but one Pin and the whole Fabrick bends; 
Touch but their Wealth, their Power, or their Place, 
They’ll Snuff, and Snort, and Curse you to your Face. 
Has there a Mischief in the World been done, 
E’re since the odious name of B—— known, | 
In which a Clergy-man has not been One! § 
Have there been private Murders, publick Wars, 
Dividing Schisms or Intestine Jars, 
Reproaches, Scandals, Goals, Fines, Bloody Laws, 
Of which they haye not been the chiefest Cause! 
“ Great Constantine, how basely hast thou stain’d 
Those Glorious Laurels that thy Conquests gain’d! 
Untainted Honour with bright Lustre spread 
Itself in shining circles round thy Head, 
Which might have shone till now, belov’d, rever’d, 
In the same Tomb had B—— been interr’d 
With lesser Villains: but nice Goodness spar’d 
Those Foes that shou’d have the same ruin shar‘. 
Those Sanctimonious Robbers that did more 
Infest the Church than Heathen Priests before : 
They with professed Malice Blood did spill : 
These Pray, and Smile, and Flatter when they kill 
They did their Open Enemies annoy: 
These kiss the Friends they Murder and Destroy. 
By these oprest the mournful Church implor’d 
The tardy Vengeance of thy backward Sword. 
Had this been done, had thy Imperial Frown 
~ But smote those haughty Mitred Monarchs down: 
Myriads of Blessings shou’d thy Reign adorn, 
Paid by past Ages, this, and those unborn. 
“Tell me, ye doating Bigots who Revere 
These Raree Shows o’ th’ Church and Pageants here; 
Like Tinsel Mortals on a Gewgaw Stall, 
Fram’d for mere show, and of no use at all. 
Tell me in sober seriousness, unvyext, 
What Holiness is to their Cowl annext: 
What hidden Vertue in their Office lies, 
Unseen by Men of common Sense and Eyes! 
Did e’re a Bishoprick a Man advance 
Above the Rest in Honour, Truth, and Sense! 
Or did a fat Advowson ever make 
A Man preach better, and more labour take? 
They talk’d indeed in very Loyal strain 
To praise the King did God Himself prophane 
But sure we ne’re shall hear of that again. 
Born to themselves, themselves alone they please, 
Steep’t in the Sweets of Luxury and Ease: 
The Land they Canton, and Divide the Spoil, 
And Drain the Moisture of our Wealthy Isle. 
For Palpit-work let those who can do that, 
* They’re all too Dull, too Feeble, or too Fat. 
“ Ave these the Men that hope to Govern now? 
To whom our Church and State again must bow? 
Have we then but the Blessed Prospect seen 
Of dawning Peace, with a vast Gulph between? ~ 
Like Men Condemn’d on flattering hopes born high 
To fall with greater Ruin from the Sky; 
Good God forbid thy Church should e’er be sway’d 
By those again that have thy Truth betray’d: 
