A Prophecy

THY King (O may I call him by that Name ?
But he shal be the last that e'er shal bear it).
No Man more heartily shal hate his Wife
Then he shal Thee ; nor fly with more impatience
Into a yielding Mistress' dear Embraces
Then he to Belgia's shore, Belgia thy Rival
In Empire and in Interest. She shal Triumph,
Shal to the farthest East send forth
New Colonies and build her proud Abodes
On Ganges and in India, She shal have Treaties
Made for Her sake alone and Kingdom given.
Thy Miters shal be worn by Men at best
Stupid and Ignorant, scarce capable
To guide a Parish Flock, by others famous
For Rapes, and Outlaw'd from their Native Country
For having by Vile Treasons giv'n up
The Masters that had fed them, Fools and Madmen
Shal Prophecy false dreams, that take distemper
For Revelation
And comment Blasphemy on sacred Scripture
These, these shal Rule thy Clergy.
Thou shalt have Priests immerst in Lust & Gluttony
And Bishops Three times Married, thy Cathedrals
The Seats where Prayer and Hospitality
Shou'd dwell, shal be the Taverns of the Land,
Where drunken bowles incessantly go round
In leud debauch and midnight Dice are Hurl'd,
The Beds wherein the weari'd Pilgrim us'd
To ease his crippled Limbs, he now shal find
Possess'd with Women, Nurses, She Attendants
And a dishonest Brood of ugly Children.