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Why do you thus th' old and new prison fill? The church of England, 'tis your protestation ;
Power of dispensing oaths the Papists claim;
tions, Could Yeomans or could Bourchier find it so? Cavaliers' swearing, or your protestations ? The barbarous coward, always us'd to fly,
Nay, though oaths be by you so much abhor'd, Did know no other way to see men die.
Y allow “ God damn me" in the Puritan Lord, Or is 't religion? What then mean your lyes, They keep the Bible from laymen; but ye Your sacrileges, and pulpit blasphemies?
Avoid this, for ye have no laity.
You in an unknown sense your prayers say ;
So that this difference 'twixt you does ensue,
They an unprofitable zeal have got
Ofinvocating saints, that hear them not: THE PURITAN AND THE PAPIST. 'Twere well you did so; nought may more be fear'd, A SATIRE.
In your fond prayers, than that they should be
beard. So two rude waves, by storms together thrown, To them your nonsense well enough might pass, Roar at each other, fight, and then grow one. They'd ne'er see that i'th' divine looking-glass. Religion is a circle ; men contend,
Nay, whether you 'd worship saints is not known,. ; And run the round in dispute, without end : For ye’ave as yet, of your religion, none. Now, in a circle, who go contrary,
They by good-works think to be justifi'd : Mast, at the last, meet of necessity.
You into the same errour deeper slide ; The Roman Catholic, to advance the cause,
You think by works too justify'd to be, Allows a lye, and calls it pia fraus;
And those ill-worksąlyes, treason, perjury. The Puritan approves and does the same,
But, oh! your faith is mighty ; that hath been, Dislikes nought in it but the Latin name:
As true faith ought to be, of things unseen: He flows with his devices, and dares lye
At Wor'ster, Brentford, and Edgehill, we see, In very deed, in truth, and verity.
Only by faith, ye 'ave got the victory. He whines, and sighs out lyes with so much ruth, Such is your faith, and some such unseen way, As if he griev'd 'cause he could ne'er speak truth. The public faith at last your debts will pay. Lyes have possess'd the press so, as their due, They hold free-will (that nought their souls may 'Twill scarce, I fear, henceforth print Bibles true.
bind) Lyes for their next strong furt ha th' pulpit chose; As the great privilege of all mankind : There they throng out at th' preacher's mouth and You're here more moderate ; for 'tis your intent nose,
To make 't a privilege but of parliament. And, howe'er gross, are certain to beguile
They forbid priests to marry : you worse do; The poor book-turners of the middle isle ;
Their marriage you allow, yet punish too; Nay, to th' Almighty's self they have been bold For you 'd make priests so poor, that upon all To lye; and their blasphemous minister told, Who marry scorn and beggary must fall. They might say false to God; for if they were They a bold power o'er sacred scriptures take, Beaten, he knew't not, for he was not there. Blot out some clauses, and some new ones make: But God, who their great thankfulness did see, Your great lord Jesuit Brookes publicly said, Rewards them straight with another victory, (Brookes, whom too little learning hath made mad) Just such an one as Brentford; and, sans doubt, That to correct the Creed ye should do well, Will weary, ere 't be long, their gratitude out. And blot out Christ's descending into Hell. Not all the legends of the saints of old,
Repent, wild man ! or you 'll ne'er change, I fear, Not vast Baronjus, nor sly Surius, hold
The sentence of your own descending there. Such plenty of apparent lyes as are
Yet modestly they use the Creed; for they In your own author, Jo. Browne Cleric. Par. Would take the Lord's Prayer root and branch Besides what your small poets said or writ,
away : Brokes, Strode, and the baron of the saw-pit : And wisely said a levite of our nation. With many a mental reservation,
The Lord's-Prayer was a popish innovation.. You 'll maintain liberty :-Reserv'd “ your own," Take heed, you 'll grant ere long it should be said, For th' public good the sums rais'd you 'll disburse; An't be but to desire your daily bread. -Reserv'd “the greater part, for your own purse.” They keep the people ignorant : and you You 'll root the Cavaliers out, every man ;
Keep both the people and yourselves so too. -Faith, let it be reserv'd here“ if ye can." They blind obedience and blind duty teach : You'll make our gracious Charles a glorious king; You blind rebellion and blind faction preach; -Reserv'd“in Heaven”--for thither ye would bring Nor can I blame you much, that ye advance : His royal head; the only secure room
That which can only save you, ignorance ; For kings; where such as you will never come. Though, Heaven be prais'd!. 't has oft been proved To keep th' estates o' th’ subjects you pretend;
well, -Reserv'd“ in your own trunks.” You will defend) Your ignorance is not invincible :
Nay, such buld lyes to God himself ye raunt, Nay, White, who sits i' th' infallible chair,
And most infallibly speaks nonsense there ;
Nay, Cromwell, Pury, Whistler, sir John Wray, For lesser sinners; that is, I conceive,
He who does say, and say, ands ay, and say; Malignants only: you this trick does please; Nay, Lowry, who does new church-government For the same cause ye’ave made new Limbuses,
wish, Where we may lie imprison'd long, ere we
And prophesies, like Jonas, 'midst the fish; A day of judgment in your courts shall see. Who can such various business wisely sway, But Pym can, like the pope, with this dispense, Handling both herrings and bishops in one day : And for a bribe deliver souls from thence.
Nay all your preachers, women, boys, and mer, Their councils claim infallibility :
From master Calamy to mistress Ven, Such must your conventicle-synod be;
Are perfect popes, in their own parish, grown; And teachers from all parts of th' Earth ye call, For, to out-do the story of pope Joan, To make 't a council oecumenical.
Your women preach too, and are like to be They several times appoint from meats' ť abstain The whores of Babylon as much as she. You now for th’ Irish wars a fast ordain ;
They depose kings by force: by force you'd do And, that that kingdom might be sure to fast, Ye take a course to starve them all at last : But first use fair means to persuade them to it. Nay, thongh ye keep no eves, Fridays, nor Lent, They dare kill kings: and 'twixt yo here's the Not to dress meat on Sundays you're content;
strife, Then you repeat, repeat, and pray, and pray, That you dare shoot at kings to save their life : Your teeth keep sabbath, and tongues working. And what's the difference, pray, whether he fall day.
By the Pope's Bull or your Ox general ? They preserve relics : you have few or none, Three kingdoms thus ye strive to make your own, Unless the clout sent to John Pym be one;
And, like the pope, usurp a triple crown. Or Holles's rich widow, she who carry'd
Such is your faith, such your religion; A relic in her womb before she marry'd.
Let's view your manners now, and then I've done, They in succeeding Peter take a pride:
Your covetousness let gasping Ireland tell, So do you; for your master ye 'ave deny'd. Where first the Irish lands, and next ye sell But chiefly Peter's privilege ye choose,
The English blood, and raise rebellion here At your own wills to bind and to unloose.
With that which should suppress and quench it He was a fisherman ; you 'll be so too,
there. When nothing but your ships are left to you : What mighty sums have ye squeez'd out o'th' city! He went to Rome; to Rome you backward ride, Enough to make them poor, and something witty. (Though both your goings are by some deny'd) Excise, loans, contributions, poll-monies, Nor is 't a contradiction, if we say,
Bribes, plunder, and such parliament privleges, You go to Rome the quite contrary way.
Are words which you ne'er learnt in holy writ, He dy'd o'th' cross; that death 's unusual now; Till th' spirit, and your synod, mended it. The gallows is most like 't, and that's for you. Where's all the twentieth part now, which hath They love church-music; it offends your sense,
been And therefore ye have sung it out from thence; Paid you by some, to forfeit the nineteen? Which shows, if right your mind be understood, Where's all the goods distrain'd, and plunders past! You hate it not as music, but as good :
For you're grown wretched pilfering knaves at Your madness makes you sing as much as they Dance who are bit with a tarantula.
Descend to brass and pewter, till of late, But do not to yonrselves, alas ! appear
Like Midas, all ye touch'd must needs he plate. The most religious traitors that e'er were,
By what vast hopes is your ainbition fed ? Because your troops singing of psalms do go; 'Tis writ in blood, and may be plainly read : There's many a traitor has march'd Holborn so. You must have places, and the kingdom sway; Nor was't your wit this holy project bore ;
The king must be a ward to your lord say. Tweed and the Tyne have seen those tricks before. Your innocent speaker to the Rolls must rise ;
They of strange miracles and wonders tell : Six thousand pound hath made him proud and wise. You are yourselves a kind of miracle ;
Kimbolton for his father's place doth call, Ev'n such a miracle as in writ divine
Would be like him ;-would he were, face and all ! We read o'-th' Devil's hurrying down the swine. Isaack would always be lord-mayor ; anal so They have made images to speak : 'tis said, May always be, as much as he is now. Yon a dull image have your speaker made; For the five members, they so richly thrire, And, that your bounty in offerings might abound, That they would always be but members five. Ye ’ave to that idol giv'n six thousand pound. Only Pym does his natural right enforce, They drive-ont devils, they say: here ye begin By th' mother's side he's master of the horse. To differ, I confess yon let them in.
Most shall have places by these popular tricks, They maintain transubstantiation ;
The rest must be content with bishuprics. You, by a contrary philosophers-stone,
For 'tis 'gainst superstition you're intent; To transubstantiate metals have the skill,
First to root out that great church-oinanırnt, And turn the kingdom's gold to ir'n and steel. Money and lands: your swords, alas! are drawn ['th' sacrament ye differ; but 'tis noted,
Against the bishop, not his cap, or lawn.
Henry! the monster-king of all that age;
Wild in his lust, but wilder in his rage.
Espect not you his fate, though Hotham thrives We thank you for true real fears, at last,
Which free us from so many false ones past; Nor fewer churches hopes, than wives, to see We thank you for the blood which fats our coast, Buried, and then their lands his own to be.
As a just debt paid to great Strafford's ghost; Ye boundless tyrants ! how do you outvy
We thank you for the ills receiv'd, and all TH' Athenians' Thirty, Rome's Decemviry! Which yet by your good care in time we shall ; In rage, injustice, cruelty, as far
We thank you, and our gratitude's as great Above those men, as you in number are.
As yours, when you thank'd God for being beat
THE CHARACTER OF AN HOLY-SISTER.
She that can sit three sermons in a day,
And of those three scarce bear three words away ; The High Commission you call’d tyranny :
She that can rob her husband, to repair
She that with lamp-black purifies her shoes,
And with half-eyes and Bible softly goes ; To the king's will, the laws men strove to draw:
She that her pockets with lay-gospel stuffs, The subjects' will is now become the law.
And edifies her looks with little rufts; 'Twas fear'd a new religion would begin :
She that loves sermons as she does the rest, All new religions, now, are enter'd in.
Still standing stiff that longest are the best ; The king delinquents to protect did strive :
She that will lye, yet swear she hates a lyar, What clubs,pikes, halberts, lighters, sav'd the Five! Except it be the man that will lie by her; You think th' parl'ment like your state of grace;
She that at christenings thirsteth for more sack, Whatever sins men do, they keep their place.
And draws the broadest handkerchief for cake; lovasions then were fear'd against the state;
She that sings psalms devoutly next the street, And Strode swore last years would be eighty-eight. And beats her maid i' th' kitchen, where none You bring-in foreign aid to your designs,
see 't; First those great foreign forces of divines,
She that will sit in shop for five hours space, With which ships from America were fraught;
And register the sins of all that pass, Rather may stinking tobacco still be brought
Damn at first sight, and proudly dares to say, From thence, I say; next, ye the Scots invite,
That none can possibly be sav'd but they Which you term brotherly-assistance, right;
That hang religion in a naked ear, For England you intend with them to share:
And judge men's hearts according to their hair; They, who, alas! but younger brothers are,
That could afford to doubt, who wrote best sense, Must have the monies for their portion;
Moses, or Dod on the commandements; The houses and the lands will be your own.
She that can sigh, and cry “Queen Elizabeth," We thank you for the wounds which we endure,
Rail at the pope, and scratch-out “sudden death :'! Whilst scratches and slight pricks ye seek to cure; And for all this can give no reason why:
This is an holy-sister, verily. • çiz. 1642.
TRANSLATED PARAPHRASTICALLY OUT OF ANACREON.
"These sure (said I) will me obey;
II. DRINKING. Tyc thirsty earth soaks np the rain, And drinks, and gapes for drink again, The plants suck-in the earth, and are With constant drinking fresh and fair; The sea itself (which one would think Should have but little need of drink) Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up, So fill'd that they o'erflow the cup. The busy Sun (and one would guess By 's drunken fiery face no less) Drinks up the sea, and, when he 'as done, Tie Moon and stars drink up the Sun : They drink and dance by their own light; They drink and revel all the night. Nothing in nature 's sober found, But an eternal bealth goas round, Fill up the bowl then, fill it bigh, Fill all the glasses there ; for why Should every creature drink but l; Why, man of morals, tell me wby?
The living and the killing arrow
V. AGE. Oft am I by the women told, Poor Anacreon! thou grow'st old: Look how thy hairs are falling all ; Poor Anacreon, how they fall ! Whether I grow old or no, By th' effects I do not know ; This, I know, without being told, 'Tis time to live, if I grow old ; "T'is time short pleasures now to take, Of little life the best to make, And manage wisely the last stake.
Liberal Nature did dispense
VI. THE ACCOUNT. When all the stars are by thee told (The endless sums of heavenly gold); Or when the hairs are reckon'd all, From sickly Autumn's head that fall ; Or when the drops that make the sca, Whilst all her sands thy counters be ; Thou then, and thou alone, mays't prove Th’arithmetician of my love. An hundred loves at Athens score, At Corinth write an hundred more : Fair Corinth does such beauties bear, So few is an escaping there. Write then at Chios seventy-three ; Write then at Lesbos (let me see) Write me at Lesbos ninety down, Full ninety loves, and half a one. And, next to these, let me present The fair Ionian regiment ; And next the Carian company ; Five hundred both effectively, Three hundred more at Rhodes and Crete ; Three hundred ’tis, I'm sure, complete ; For arms at Crete each face does bear, And every eye's an archer there. Go on: this stop why dost thou make? Thou think'st, perhaps that I mistake, Seems this to thee too great a sum? Why many thousands are to come; The mighty Xerxes could not boast Such different nations in his host. On ; for my love, if thou be'st weary, Must find some better secretary. I have not yet my Persian told, Nor yet my Syrian loves cnrolld, Nor Indian, nor Arabian; Nor Cyprian loves, nor African ; Nor Scythian nor Italian flames; There's a whole map behind of names Of gentle loves i'th' temperate zone, And cold ones in the frigid one, Cold frozen loves, with which I pine, And parched loves beneath the line.
IV. THE DTEL.
Yes, I will love then, I will love ; I will not now Love's rebel prove, 'Though I was once his enemy ; Though ill-advis'd and stubbom I, Did to the combat him defy. An helmet, spear, and mighty shield, Like some new Ajax, I did wield. Love in one hand his bow did take, In th' other hand a dart did shake; - But yet in vain the dart did thru, In vain he often drew the bow; So well my armour did resist, So oft by flight the blow I mist; But when I thought all danger past, His quiver empty'd quite at last, Instead of arrow or of dart He shot himself into my heart.
X. THE GRASSHOPPER. A MIGHTY pain to love it is,
Happy Insect! what can be And 'tis a pain that pain to miss ;
In happiness compar'd to thee? But, of all pains, the greatest pain
Fed with nourishment divine, It is to love, but love in vain.
The dewy Morning's gentle wine ! Virtue now, nor noble blood,
Nature waits upon thee still, Nor wit by love is understood ;
And thy verdant cup does fill; Gold alone does passion move,
'Tis fill'd wherever thou dost tread, Gold monopolizes love ;
Nature's self's thy Ganymede. A curse on her, and on the man
Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing; Who this traffic first began !
Happier than the happiest king! A curse on him who found the ore!
All the fields which thou dost see, A curse on him who digg'd the store !
All the plants, belong to thee; A curse on him who did refine it !
All that summer-hours produce, A curse on him who first did coin it!
Fertile made with early juice. A curse, all curses else above,
Man for thee does sow and plow; On him who us'd it first in love!
Farmer he, and landlord thou! Gold begets in brethren hate;
Thou d:st innocently joy; Gold in families debate ;
Nor does thy luxury destroy ; Gold does friendships seperate;
The shepherd gladly heareth thee, Gold dues civil wars create.
More harmonious than he. These the smallest harms of it!
Thee country hinds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripen'd year!
Phæbus is himself thy sire.
To thee, of all things upon Earth.
Life is no longer than thy mirth,
Happy insect, happy thou ! Around our temples roses twine!
Dost neither age nor winter know; And let us cheerfully awhile,
But, when thou'st drunk, and danc'd, and sung Like the wine and roses, smile.
Thy fill, the flowery leaves among Crown'd with roses, we contemn
(Voluptuous, and wise withal, Gyges' wealthy diadem.
Epicurean animal!) To day is ours, what do we fear?
Sated with thy summer feast,
Thou retir'st to endless rest.
XI. THE SWALLOW.
Foolish Prater, what dost thou
With thy tuneless serenade?
Well 't had been had Tereus made
Thee as dumb as Philomel;
There his knife had done but well. On flowery beds supinely laid,
In thy undiscovered nest With odorous oils my head o'er-flowing,
Thou dost all the winter rest, And around it roses growing,
And dreamest o'er thy summer joys, What should I do but rink away
Free from the stormy seasons' noise : The heat and troubles of the day?
Free from th' ill thou'st done to me; In this more than kingly state
Who disturbs or seeks-out thee? Love himself shall on me wait.
Hadst thou all the charming notes Fill to me, Love, nay fill it up;
Of the wood's poetic throats, And mingled cast into the cup
All thy art could never pay Wit, and mirth, and noble fires,
What thou bast ta'en from me away. Vigorous health and gay desires.
Cruel bird ! thou'st ta'en away The wheel of life no less will stay
A dream out of my arms to-day; In a smooth than rugged way:
A dream, that ne'er must equall'd be Since it equally doth flee,
By all that waking eyes may see, Let the motion t be.
l'hou, this damage to repair, Why do we precious ointments show'r? Nobler wines why do we pour?
Nothing half so sweet or fair,
Nothing half so good, canst bring,
Though men say thou bring'st the Spring,
ELEGY UPON ANACREON. Crown me with roses whilst I live,
WHO WAS CHOAKED BY A GRAPE-STONE, Now your wines and ointments give;
SPOKEN BY THE GOD OF LOVE
How shall I lament thine end,
My best servant and my friend?