An account of an apparition that appeared to Titus Oates Harris, Anthony. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription B23950 of text R225637 in the English Short Title CatalogTextual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 5 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 2 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2018 B23950 Wing H837 13528761 ocm 13528761 206097 2240851929

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 Early English books online text creation partnership. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. B23950) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 206097) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1551:15) An account of an apparition that appeared to Titus Oates Harris, Anthony. 1 sheet ([2] p.) Printed by Nat. Thompson ..., [London] : 1684. Caption title. Imprint from colophon. Signed: Anthony Harris. Reproduction of original in the Harvard University Library. eng Oates, Titus, 1649-1705 -- Poetry. eebo An account of an apparition that appeared to Titus Oates n/a 1684 2 809 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 A This text has no known defects that were recorded as gap elements at the time of transcription. 2013-12 Assigned for keying and markup 2013-12 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2014-02 Sampled and proofread 2014-02 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2014-03 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
An ACCOUNT of an APPARITION That appeared to TITUS OATES . SOme night late past , as I ( accursed ) lay , Tumbling and Tossing , wishing long for day ; Just fallen into a Sleep , I did Espy ( Methought ) some frightful Things approaching nye My trembling Bed : Those who at first appear'd , Were naked Men with Crimson Blood besmeer'd , Dragging their Bowells trayling at their Heel , Their Breasts ript open , wanted Hearts to feel : They gently came , and drew near to my Bed , Shew'd what , and who they were but nothing said ; At which I then ( though ne're before ) turn'd red : In every Gesture you might plainly find , A Soul compos'd , and a well order'd mind , They knew me not , their Thoughts did soar more high , Their Eyes and Thoughts were fix'd above the Sky : But with true Consort each did Sing this Song , O Lord most Holy , Lord most Just , how long ? Just following them , came Two so closely joyn'd As Matrimonial Bands had e're design'd ; For Man and Wife , ( Perhaps they so might be , ) The one drest Man-like , t'other contrary ; The Robes he wore were of a Scarlet dye , Of Aspect Reverend , full of Gravity : In whose right Hand fast held ( me thought ) I saw A Book , Intituled , Govern by the Law . Her Dress as Vestal Nuns are made to wear , From Head to Foot , did purely White appear ; Whose Eyes were Cover'd with the Finest Lawn ; In her right Hand a Naked Sword was drawn , Pointed towards me , at which I trembled more , Then at the Bleeding sight I nam'd before . As if she knew me , she did boldly come , Inquir'd for Conscience , I reply'd , from home ; Quoth she , How long ? I said , I cou'd not tell , She very seldom us'd with Me to dwell . Then with a Bold ( I thought commanding ) word To th' Scarlet Gown cryes , Judgment give my Lord . He seem'd reserv'd , and would but little say , Yet shook his Head , Look'd Stearn , and went away , With threatning Signs of a severer day . At whch I wak'd from that most dismal Dream . And thus I write upon the Tragyck Theme . Alas those inward Pangs I hourly feel , Are now grown greater than I can reveal , None e're more sensibly than I , cou'd tell , How like a wounded Conscience is to Hell : My crying Crimes , like Vipers dayly tear My Bleeding Intralls , and I 'm all dispair : The Fate of Judas was more mild than mine , He shew'd Repentance of his Treacherous Crime : Favour was granted to that Cursed Elf , And strength of Mind enough to hang Himself . But I more miserable far than He Who dare not do what none will do for me , Ungrateful Ketch where 's thy Civility ! You know that lately , might I had my Will , And Cornishes and Bethels Sheriffs still , I wou'd have sworn whilst Death had Power to Kill , And was in all Superlatively ill . For I , more fierce than all the Devils , hurl'd , And strove to turn to Chaos all the World : For which I 'm Plagu'd , and Burn with more than fire , By the strict Vengeance of th' Almighties Ire . To Heaven I dare not look , that Glorious Throne Did evermore my Hateful Crimes disown . Th' Infernal Spirits seem to dread me too , Or envy that my Crimes did Theirs out-do . Proscrib'd by all , Where Wretched shall I flye ? To hide my Guilt from GOD's All-searching Eye . — But hold , have I not read Pythagoras Faith , and what th' Egyptians said Of Transmigration of the Souls of Men , Into some Birds or Beasts , alas ! What then ? Where may I search ? for either Beast or Fowl Deserves the Plague of such a Loaded Soul ? What Land e'r so accurst as to produce So foul a Creature , to so foul a Use , Unless perhaps on that Unhallow'd Ground Where my Learn'd Tutor dy'd , such may be found . If that proves true , then Titus thou art blest , And in that hope , accursed Oates take Rest . By ANTHONY HARRIS .

Printed by Nat. Thompson at the Entrance into the Old Spring-Garden , near Charing-Cross . 1684.