Page:Poetical Works of John Oldham.djvu/115

The faithful band, whom I and Home have chose,
The last support of our declining cause;
Whose conquering troops I with success have led
'Gainst all opposers of our Church and Head;
Who e'er to the mad German owe their rise,
Greneva's rebels, or the hot-brained Swiss;
Revolted heretic!, who late have broke
And durst throw off the long-worn sacred yoke;
You, by whose happy influence Rome can boast
A greater empire than by Luther lost:
By whom wide nature's far-fetched limits now,
And utmost Indies to its crosier bow.
'Go on, ye mighty champions of our cause,
Maintain our party, and subdue our foes;
Kill heresy, that rank and poisonous weed,
Which threatens now the church to overspread;
Fire Calvin, and his nest of upstarts out,
Who tread our sacred mitre under foot;
Strayed Germany reduce; let it no more
The incestuous monk of Wittemberg adore;
Make stubborn England once more stoop its crown,
And fealty to our priestly sovereign own;
Regain our church's rights, the island clear
From all remaining dregs of Wickliffe there.
Plot, enterprize, contrive, endeavour; spare
No toil nor pains; no death, nor danger fear;
Restless your aims pursue; let no defeat
Your sprightly courage, and attempts rebate,
But urge to fresh, and bolder, ne'er to end
Till the whole world to our great Caliph bend;
Till he through every nation everywhere
Bear sway, and reign as absolute as here;
Till Rome without control or contest be
The universal ghostly monarchy.
’Oh! that kind Heaven a longer thread would give,
And let me to that happy juncture live:
But 'tis decreed!'———at this he paused and wept,
The rest alike time with his sorrow kept: