poem index

Song of Devils

Thomas Shadwell
Prepare, prepare, new guests draw near,
And on the brink of hell appear.

Kindle fresh flames of sulphur there.
     Assemble all ye fiends,
     Wait for the dreadful ends
Of impious men, who far excel
     All th' inhabitants of hell.

     Let 'em come, let 'em come,
To an eternal dreadful doom,
     Let 'em come, let 'em come.

In mischiefs they have all the damned outdone;
Here they shall weep, and shall unpitied groan,
Here they shall howl, and make eternal moan.

By blood and lust they have deserved so well,
That they shall feel the hottest flames of hell.

In vain they shall here their past mischiefs bew

Eternal darkness they shall find,
     And them eternal chains shall bind
     To infinite pain of sense and mind.

     Let 'em come, let 'em come,
To an eternal dreadful doom,
     Let 'em come, let 'em come.

From The Libertine, 1676. This poem is in the public domain.

Thomas Shadwell

by this poet

poem
Dear pretty youth, unveil your eyes,
How can you sleep when I am by?
Were I with you all night to be,
Methinks I could from sleep be free.
Alas, my dear, you're cold as stone:
You must no longer lie alone.
But be with me my dear, and I in each arm
Will hug you close and keep you warm.