Song of Devils
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.