24
For he had neither pith nor power,
To keep my friend from ine an hour:
For when I heard that he was dead,
A legion of my den did lead
Him to my place of residence,
Where still he'll stay and not go hence,
For Purgatory, I must tell,
It is the lowest place in hell;
Well plenish'd with the Romish sort.
Where thousands of them do resort.
There many a Prince and Pope do dwell,
Fast fetter'd in that lower cell.
And from that place they ne'er win free,
Tho' greedy priests for gain do lie,
In making ignorance conceive
They'll bring them from the infernal cave,
Such as do bribe them well with gold,
As heaven with pelf was bought and sold.
Sure that is but a vain deceit,
Contriv'd by Antichrist of late,
To keep the worshippers of the Whore
Senseless in sin, blind and secure;
And to make priests look fat and fine,
Who nought but carnal things do mind;
For this is what I truly know,
They come not back from whence they go.
They who take their abode with me,
From that place they are never free.
This Lag will know, and all the rest
Who of my lodging are possest.
On earth no more they can serve me,
But still I'll have their company.
With this I must my grief allay,
So I no more of Lag will say.
FINIS.
