Haile From The Dead, Or From Eternity Poem by George Alsop

Haile from the dead, or from Eternity,
Thou Velvit Relique of Antiquity;
Thou which appear'st here in thy purple hew,
Tell's how the dead within their Tombs do doe;
How those Ghosts fare within each Marble Cell,
Where amongst them for Ages thou didst dwell.
What Brain didst cover there? tell us that we
Upon our knees vayle Hats to honour thee:
And if no honour's due, tell us whose pate
Thou basely coveredst, and we'l joyntly hate:
Let's know his name, that we may shew neglect;
If otherwise, we'l kiss thee with respect.
Say, didst thou cover Noll's old brazen head,
Which on the top of Westminster high Lead
Stands on a Pole, erected to the sky,
As a grand Trophy to his memory.
From his perfidious skull didst thou fall down,
In a dis-dain to honour such a crown
With three-pile Velvet? tell me, hadst thou thy fall
From the high top of that Cathedral?
None of the Heroes of the Roman stem,
Wore ever such a fashion'd Diadem,
Didst thou speak Turkish in thy unknown dress,
Thou'dst cover Great Mogull, and no man less;
But in thy make methinks thou'rt too too scant,
To be so great a Monarch's Turberant.
The Jews by Moses swear, they never knew
E're such a Cap drest up in Hebrew:
Nor the strict Order of the Romish See,
Wears any Cap that looks so base as thee;
His Holiness hates thy Lowness, and instead,
Wears Peters spired Steeple on his head:
The Cardinals descent is much more flat,
For want of name, baptized is A Hat;
Through each strict Order has my fancy ran,
Both Ambrose, Austin, and the Franciscan,
Where I beheld rich Images of the dead,
Yet scarce had one a Cap upon his head:
Episcopacy wears Caps, but not like thee,
Though several shap'd, with much diversity:
'Twere best I think I presently should gang
To Edenburghs strict Presbyterian;
But Caps they've none, their ears being made so large,
Serves them to turn it like a Garnesey Barge;
Those keep their skulls warm against North-west gusts,
When they in Pulpit do poor Calvin curse.
Thou art not Fortunatus, for I daily see,
That which I wish is farthest off from me:
Thy low-built state none ever did advance,
To christen thee the Cap of Maintenance;
Then till I know from whence thou didst derive,
Thou shalt be call'd, the Cap of Fugitive.