Bellum presbyteriale, or, As much said for the presbyter as may be together with their covenants catastrophe : held forth in an heroick poem / by Matth. Stevenson, Gent. Stevenson, Matthew, fl. 1654-1685. 1661 Approx. 32 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 13 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2005-03 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A61484 Wing S5500 ESTC R11127 12331171 ocm 12331171 59677 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A61484) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 59677) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 400:23) Bellum presbyteriale, or, As much said for the presbyter as may be together with their covenants catastrophe : held forth in an heroick poem / by Matth. Stevenson, Gent. Stevenson, Matthew, fl. 1654-1685. [2], 22 p. Printed for A. Rice ..., London : 1661. First ed. Cf. NUC pre-1956. Reproduction of original in Huntington Library. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng Presbyterianism -- Poetry. 2004-02 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2004-04 Apex CoVantage Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2004-11 Emma (Leeson) Huber Sampled and proofread 2004-11 Emma (Leeson) Huber Text and markup reviewed and edited 2005-01 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion BELLUM Presbyteriale . Or , as much said for the PRESBYTER As may be . TOGETHER WITH THEIR COVENANTS CATASTROPHE . Held forth in an Heroick Poem . By Matth. Stevenson , Gent. Tantum Relligio potuit suadere malorum . LONDON , Printed for A. Rice , and are to be sold in St. Paul's Churchyard . 1661. To my very good Friend , DR. COLLINS . SIR , I Joy to hear of your Conformity , and think what comfort it must needs be to that Reverend Father , your Bishop . I wish you many and happy dayes in your Cassock and Surplice ; nor am I less glad you have cast off your mourning Cloak of Presbytery , which I am sure S. Paul will never send you back to Troas for ; Praestat recurrere quam malè currere . These twenty years has the Church , like another Rebecca , laboured of two Nations in her troubled womb ; the Presbyterians endeavouring might and main to supplant the Bishops , and plant a company of stinking Elders in their places . But ( God be thanked ) the Confederates have miss'd their mark . My Title-page speaks of War , but peace to you : — Tu tantùm vivere pugna Inque pios dominae posse redire sinus . Which , for the better understanding of such as never arriv'd at Corinth , is thus : — Fight you to scape , And safe retreat into your Ladies Lap. But Sir , did not my good meaning hope for some Candour and acceptance , I should never have had the confidence to present your judicious eye with a Toy so beneath you . Sir , I wish you well ; nay , more , that you were a Bishop : and that you may soon be so , is the hearty Prayer of him that was sometime a Member of yours , but still is , and ever shall be SIR , Your humble Servant , M. STEVENSON . BELLUM Presbyteriale . HAve ye not seen the Coles that lively burn , Of their own Ashes make themselves an Urn : And on occasion from their shady bed Make speedy resurrection from the Dead ? Such are those Classick Glowings that long lie Rak'd up in Embers of Obscurity ; Whose envious Sparks the Presbyterian locks In his close breast , as in a Tinderbox , And but the dread of just Revenge doth hinder , Would turn the Surplice & Lawn-sleeves to Tinder ; Nay , for a little profit , or a Name , Set ev'n the sacred Temple on a flame . His Spleen has its Dimensions so out-swoln , No man can think the fire from Heav'n was stoln , Which , like those Lamps reserved from the Air Continue burning many hundred year . So Presbyterians age to age conceal The fiery bowels of their lurking zeal : As if the sulph'rous Cakes of that deep Cell Were as eternal as the fire of Hell. They wrap the White Witch in a Cloud of night , Dark as the Curtains of false FAUX his light , Til mischief prompts them to 't , then , then , they double Their flames , & make the Church & State their stubble ; And would forestall ( their fury is so fierce ) The Conflagration of the Universe . Some smaller lights hover to and again , Which we call Will i th' Wisp , or Lanthorn men , These like the Gloworm , that terrestrial star , Do sometimes glitter , sometimes disappear . Or like Joan's Candle else , this twinkling train Are out and in , and in and out again . These are those lights upon the Stage , we see Ye going now to act your Tragedie : Those Heresies I mean , those Schisms and Sects By you directed to those sad effects . You the Pyrites are ; these sparks are some Of those that from your flinty bosoms come . You are the Stone , the Steel , Sulphur and Match , These only Tinder are , and apt to catch : In sum thus only differ your Conditions , You are the Aetna , these the Evomitions . And more than this , your actions vary not , One is the Canon , th' other the Case-shot . For , in a word , 't is plain ye both conspire To set the Kingdom and the Church on fire . And to that end the furious brood of Smec Judging themselves too long kept under Deck ; As eager Mastiffs that have long time lain Under restraint of a commanding chain , And now got loose , there 's nothing in their way Which to their teeth shall not become a prey . So 't is , these Classick Currs do nothing fear , But like Acteons Dogs their Master tear . Well had it been , and had I had my will , These Tygres should have been kept muzled still . Foxes I say , that our Church-Vine deface , And plant their stinking Elders in the place . Which they begin , for now of late these Rabbies Have made Cathedrals like old wildred Abbies , And with the Draggon with all fury press To drive the Church into the Wilderness . With their black brood of Angels , Sons of Hell , They help the Devil against St. Michael . There you may look before you and behind , And in the Windows read your envious mind . Which makes me wonder how that Clergy looks To have their Elders learn'd , and burn their Books ! But this of all I do the strangest deem , That Presbyterians , who would Christians seem , Should so forget themselves as not afford A reverence to the shadow of their LORD ; But he must suffer by the English Jew . As in his Person , so his Pourtraict too . Cause crucifying at Jerusalem Was not enough , he now is ston'd by them ; Nay , and his Mother that stands weeping by Must have her Scene too in the Tragedy . Like men possess'd they dwell amongst the Tombs , And rifle Graves , and dead mens resting Rooms . Whom the blest Virgin cannot exorcise With all the holy water of her Eyes . Pitty us Heaven , that labour of a Curse , Were Hell broke loose we could not sure be worse : The Bishop doubtless with much quiet bears His losses , and forgives the Plunderers , Who in so Sacrilegious steps have trod , They have not spar'd the very House of God : And thus methinks I hear them check their Care , Can Servants better than their Masters fare ? To rob the Church a sin is of that stature , Heathens abhorr'd it by the light of Nature . A num'rous Army before Delphos fell , Though it were but the Devil's Oracle . With us the Case ( to greater sin ) does vary ; For God's own House does need a Sanctuary . But this our shame , O may it ne'r be known ! The hands that robb'd our GOD have been our own . And what a vain excuse we do alledge , Pull Idols down , and commit Sacriledge . Thus , PRESBYTERS , ye see what ye have done , Brought CHURCH and STATE into Confusion . EPISCOPACY ( as it well appears ) Has prosper'd in this Church a thousand years . Look back upon the Church , you may derive Its Institution from the Primitive . In sacred Scripture no where it appears , Titus and Timothy were PRESBYTERS . True , such there were with Bishops ( if you 'l hav 't ) Contemporary , but subordinate . It were a fond Conceit , and over-reach'd , To say the Ass was Balaam cause he preach'd . To rule without a King is to no boot : And shall the Church have neither Head nor Foot ? What Order in the Church or State would be , We are convinc'd by our late ANARCHY ; When , notwithstanding all the Lights ye boast , We were in Darkness , worse than Aegypt , lost , Aegyptians , Prince and Peasant , the Text saics , Arose not from their places in three daies ; Yet they knew where they were , which is much more Than we , I 'm sure , could say this good while ; for Ev'ry man with us is out of 's place , The Servant now is where his Master was ; Where the KING sate enthron'd ( under the Rose ) The Beggar has advanc'd his COPPER-NOSE . Now the CLOWN Lords it , and the Gentleman Sees that it will be so do what he can . Whose Taylor 's on his back , his thefts enchases In characters of Gold and silver laces . The Councellor is brought into disgrace , And for supply , the Fool is in his place . And now to see how times and seasons alter , The Thief condemns the Judge unto the Halter ! Well may the Judge in admiration stand , And ( as the Thief did once ) hold up his hand ; Yet strange not at this Metamorphosis , Holding up hands has been the cause of this . To the Exchequer whom would ye prefer , The Cheater is already Treasurer . Touching the Church , ( O that it were a Dream ! ) The Crosier's turn'd into a Weavers beam . In the Dean's Pulpit is a Taylor heard , That measures Time , not by the Glass , but Yard . Weavers and Taylors ? how 's that understood ? Are they to coat the Fathers ? why that 's good . Wolves in sheeps cloathing preach unto their Dams , To have a care of their own tender Lambs . The Soldier preaches with his Sword by 's side , As if therewith he would his Text divide , And open what he understandeth not , As Alexander did the Gordion knot . With infinite Inversions such as these ; As if the whole were the Antipodes , Learning and Liberal Arts turn'd out of door , All were decry'd : Turcism commands no more . We put the BIBLE thus ( Oh sin of Man ! ) In competition with the ALCHORAN . A thing that fals to nothing , if she chance To crack the crazy Crutch of Ignorance : Thus in a maze they have bewildred us ; None but our GOD can be our Daedalus . But this was their design , these their intents , To tear our Church in pieces for her Rents ; A thing my hopes perswade shall never be , Maugre the handy-crafted Hierarchy . Those cursed Corahs , those Church-Catilines , The scue-bald Synod , and her Club-Divines , Hells Ambuscado , nor a Scotish lurch Shall set a Kirk a tiptoes on our CHURCH , Which into heaps ( I hope ) shall ne'r be hurl'd , Until the second Chaos of the World , Under which ( as by Record it appears ) England has flourish'd many hundred years . Ye bend your bows though , and prepare to fight , Bishops the marks are , and Lawn sleeves the white . Instead of our Church-Musick ye suppose None like the twang of the Organick Nose . But yet if some ( you ne'r shall know for certain , If I mean Burgess , and Sir Harry Marten ) Had in their Stews met but with self-like choices , Their want of Noses had untun'd their voices . The purity in Surplice signifi'd , Ye , as the Whore of Bab'lons Smock , deride . Goodness ! how came this secret to be known ? Did any sister measure't by her own ? So likewise that Church-Ornamental Cope Ye call the outward Garment of the POPE , Forgetting these things only represent Paul's Decency , Order and Ornament . And fondly you that Superstition make , Which wiser men but for distinction take . Of Bishops ye complain there 's too great plenty , And yet for one ye strive to set up twenty ; But better with Alcides trace the lists , Than Bryareus that has an hundred fists . Athens can tell you ( with a dolefull groan ) That thirty Tyrants oftner struck than one : In Church or State the difference we see MONARCHY is prefer'd to ANARCHY . But all the business whence they so displease Is only this , their Lands and Pallaces . You therefore in deep policy think fit , Joseph for his gay Coat should to the Pit. Beloved you very impatient are To keep your breeches out of Moses Chair , Ye would so fain be sitting at the Helm , Though ye the Church should in the waves o'rwhelm O how ye tack about , still to enure The Needle to your Northern Cynosure . But this shall come to pass , would ye know when ? At the Greek Calends , and soon enough then . Now let me give you but a Character Of a young Anglo-Scotic PRESBYTER : First he is one whose face with hair's thin thatch'd , One that in Scoggen's pyde Crows nest was hatch'd , Who not yet fleg his godly Mother set An Ordination of the KIRK to get , Wherein she soon prevail'd , and at the grant He stretch'd his jawes , and gulpt the COVENANT ; He knew not what Epicopacy was , And that indeed made him the better pass . Strait then out-went this new imbrother'd Elf , And the next Village set up for himself . He call'd in th' Elders , and he chose out twelve ; And now the Hatchet having got an Helve , He hew'd down sin , and that same very year Most of the sisters backward fell for fear , Or else for love ; for on a time being sifted , They found the man most able and well gifted ; He often knock'd the Fathers out of joynt : No matter though , he still press'd home the point . The Elders Wives were every Sermon at , Yet were not constant Hearers for all that . When any Law-sute in the Parish fell , He and his JURY judged ISRAEL . If any one without his leave should wed , They found his leaving when they went to bed : And more than this this Novice dares to do , Yet this is it ye bring the English to . But stay , though this of Scotish slaves be born , It is a thraldom English spirits scorn . When a Deacon shall a Sermon make , And for his Context all the Bible take ; Here we might , may be , grant him our consents , If he were Register to both Testaments : But ramble how he please , he 's in his Road , For in the Pulpit he still walks abroad ; And if this hour he single out a Text , It is enough if they two meet the next . If he can but devoutly rail upon The pride of Prelats , all his work is done . Or if he can but tell the People how The Saints have given their Foes an Overthrow ; It is no matter if he Nedham quotes : Thus a Diurnal serves him for his Notes . Men need not question the Analysis , His Sermon nothing but Division is . Once he preach'd Faith , the Publick-faith I mean , And that did work Repentance on most men ; For what that old News-monger Nedham saith Was call'd the Publick , prov'd the Punick faith , A kind of Philosophick faith , by which Scarce e'r was poor man sav'd , I 'm sure no rich . But when ye pray , or rather when ye prate ; For many times ye talk ye know not what . Then as if God forgat what went before , Ye to 't again , and tel 't him ore and ore . In terms impertinent , full of levity , Flatness , Confusion , and Obscurity , With Repetitions Vain , Ridiculous , Senseless , and too too often Blasphemous , So tedious , it does all mens patience wrong , May be some Females fancie what is long . If this the Spirit be , then I profess The Spirit leads y' into the Wilderness , Where you might lose your self , but that no doubt , You know in prayer you are easily out . The Laver of Regeneration you Quite lay aside with the Baptismall Vow . The Eunuch ( if amongst your Classick Cinders ) Could not have said , here 's water , then what hinders ? What else would ye , but in your vast desire Forestall Christ's Office , and baptize with fire ? When at the Table of the Lord we stay For Bread and Wine , ye send us empty away . Whom we must therefore worse than Papists call , For they give half , but you give none at all And with your Pharisaick Demagogs , Call it a giving Childrens bread to Dogs . Classicks take heed , 't will be remembered , Ye gave Christs hungry people stones for bread . For Funerals , y' have brought us to that pass , No burial but the burial of an Asse : Methinks a word were sweet in such a place , Where Death even looks the People in the face . Through the Deceased's Coffin , such a sight Would of an ATHEIST turn a PROSELITE . Nay , very Dreams do sometimes men convert , The Phansie turning Preacher to the Heart . When could your words pierce deeper , than imprest VVhen Fear and Sorrow have possest the breast ? Dumb Dogs that from the House of Mourning sneak Leaving the more relenting stones to speak . Strange kind of Brethren ! neither will give bread To those that live , nor bury those are dead . But what My Saviour said , so say I too . Forgive them , Lord , they know not what they do . But ye may see , if on your Schisms ye look , You dearly want our Divine Service-Book . In which is wrapt up such a Form of Prayer . As ( next Christs Pattern ) does transcend compare , Nothing being in 't but of approved worth , Nothing but what the Sacred Text holds forth , Even in its phrase and method signifi'd In terms express , or at the least imply'd . It pass'd the persecution , 't were a story Too dire and dismal for your DIRECTORY . This they have left us for the CHURCHES good , Seal'd and deliver'd with their own hearts blood : A Heavenly Legacy ; By my consent It shall be call'd , The Bishops TESTAMEMT . VVhich you that slight , were you your turns to take Ye would be brought ( I doubt ) as Bears to th' stake . VVhilst for your IDOL none a Faggot kiss : Bishops have bled , Bishops have broyl'd for this . But Faction and Ambition were the cause , And not Religion , Conscience , or the Laws : The Mitre and the means belonging to 't Was that which set this holy war on foot . And finding now the Spirits Sword to fail , The arm of flesh must help it to prevail . VVhen Rebels draw the Sword upon their KING , Into the fire they must the Scabberd fling : No dallying now , down goes the Church's hedge , To make an open way for SACRILEDGE , And the Scotch Boar forthwith's invited in To be partaker of the Prey and Sin : VVho seeing in what straight our Classicks lay , Though he scarce patience had to keep away , But like a Garrison that must resign , On terms though ne'r so hard , rather than pine ; Or as the Scythians that have never fled Their Countrey Confines , but for want of bread . So said these SCOTS , come , up , and let us go , There 's Corn in Aegypt , yea , and Flesh-pots too . But stay awhile , the Jewes must Sampson bind , Or we have Castles in the Air design'd . They must take Strafford off , whose single worth Does weigh down all the Vertue of the North , Thus Wentworth dy'd , whose Innocence was such , That all the Law in England could not touch . Thus fell the Churches Champion , hurry'd hence To leave the Temple void of a defence . Nor is this scum yet to assistance drawn , Till they to them their Souls in Cov'nant pawn . Hinc illae lachrymae , Hence these Traytors bring The Land infected with the cursed thing . This long time Loyal , Learned Church must bow To the Scotch Kirk , she is her Mistris now . The Copy's set , and ENGLAND it appears Must follow 't though in bloudy Characters . Now comes the Army , which , did you but see , You 'd swear it were a Goal-deliverie . First came the Pedlar Lashley with his pack , Not of smal wares , but Oatmeal at his back ; Next came the Horse , which so beheltred were , A man would think them going to a Fair. The Trumpet sounded boote-sele long , But Deil a boot or Saddle in the throng , Except some Jockie , galled with a botch , Got a blew Cap to gratifie his notch . I wonder they ne'r in the stirrop hung , For either foot was with a halter strung ; By which it doth evidently appear , They came to do much execution here . Their boots were wisps they on their Legs did draw , Who then can say , they were not worth a straw ? Thus on their Galloways while the Army jogs , Ye'd swear their muckle Horse were Mastiff Dogs . On whose keen backs they did their bums endorse , As men condemn'd to ride the wooden horse . The Foot march'd in such haste , as I suppose , Many a leg there was out-ran his hose . Their clothes so tatter'd were , one would have swore That they had been in fight the day before ; For every Suite so scollop'd was with rags , Like Dung-hill-Rakers that had rob'd their bags . O , had the Army stood a little still , What work had there been for a Paper-mill ! But that in those so antiquated Cuts The ' Squiers of the body had their Huts ; Of all the Shirts upon their backs , was found Scarce so much Lint would dress a single wound . I might march on , but here 's enough of these : Volumns must speak their Bags and Baggages . Now Presbyterians view your proper studds , These are the Saints ye fetcht for all our Goods , And because those were not enough , they sold Their Sovereign Lord and Master too for Gold. See now your Images , your golden Calves , With price and pray'r procur'd in your behalves : And by vast sums it plainly does appear , That ( truly ) these have been your brethren dear . And certainly you here the Jewes out-do , To give your ear-rings , and your Lop-ears too ; Nay , such a false , such an impost'rous Crew Are yet to learn the way of meaning true . And have a form of fallacy in KIRK , Mecha would not accept it for her Turk . Thus in pretence to bring the Gospel to us , Ye throng'd in swarms of Locusts to undo us , Panthers and Tygres , a ravenous race Of Harpies that forestall the saying Grace . Harpies ? I do correct my hasty pen , These Miscreants had not the face of men . These are your friendly friends ; indeed these are Saints , Canoniz'd in Satans Calendar . Dissention kindled Zealots that desire , Like Salamanders still to live in fire . Yet to these Vagrants have ye ( as I said ) Your KING , your Country , & your Church betrayd ; This was the Crew wherewith ye England vext : Doubtless ye mean to bring the Devil next . But wicked Wagg'ners , see what ye have done , Aspiring to the Charriot of the Sun ; Like busie Flyes ye at the Candle aim , And scorch your selves to Cinders in the flame . Was it for this ye waded through a floud Of Widdows tears , and a red Sea of bloud ? When to your selves ye did propound whole Realms An INDEPENDENT all the plot o'rwhelms . And on the tropick of your trophies stands , Murd'ring your KING when you had bound his hands You that Malignant call'd the Cavallier : Who is Malignant now ? JACK PRESBYTER . What have ye gotten , you and your Scotch Lyon , That built up Babel , and demolisht Sion ? This Up-start Viper all the wealth does share , By you begotten on the womb of war. Thus they whose hopes had made them more than proud , For their so long'd for Juno grasp'd a cloud ; Nor is there Law more right , more just , more due , Than Plunder-Masters should be plunder'd too . Now they have left off action in this Nation , And are turn'd wholly into Contemplation , Which contradicts the Academick Art , Where Theory succeeds the practick part . Platonick Presbyters , how do their Fancies range For sights i th' air , and prodigies more strange Than true ! That Monster in the News books read , Of which the Parson brought the Wife to bed . This is a Fable , and was got ( 't is plain ) As Jove once got Minerva , of his brain . But if ye could not Treason , once a foot , Drive on with Arms , Bug-bears shall never do 't . A rout of holy Hell-hounds that have wrought Treason that others never durst have thought , For aggravation of whose punishment , God has not thought ye worthy to repent . As if it were a sin that ( while ye live ) Heav'n never had intention to forgive . Or sure so mild , so mercifull a PRINCE Might of your stubborness your hearts convince . But they ( and often so it comes to pass ) Whose hands were Iron , have their faces brass . Guilt feeds the fire whose inward burning throws This cloud of smoak upon your duskie brows , And brands ye with Cain's mark , where e'r ye go Any man may a PRESBYTERIAN know . And without judging doubtless men may say 't , It is a Prologue to your future fate , Who thus forestall the Office of the Shrieve , And hang your selves in spite of a reprieve . THE EXECUTION OF THE COVENANT , Burnt by the Common Hang-man Ed. Dun , Presbyter , May 22. 1661. THe news I pray ! what doth this Throng infer ? Do ye not know ? DUN is turn'd Presbyter . Well then ! I see the Bretheren in spite Of BISHOPS , have obtain'd a PROSELITE ; One that will soon be on the Rigid Score , And be a cause of turning many more . Make him an ELDER then ! Indeed ye shall ; For he is one that may Advance you all . That he is now a BROTHER you must grant , For I did see him take the COVENANT . Take it indeed ; yet you must understand , 'T was but to give 't the honour of his Hand : Which he vouchsaf'd with freedom and a smile , And strait commits it to the Fun'ral pile . In which he shew'd himself a CHRISTIAN right , To let the works of darkness come to light . Bark then PHANATICKS , who , like Demophon , Glow in the shade , and freeze still in the Sun. Howl Millenaries , Independents too , And Anabaptists that Heretick Crew Of Presbyterian By-blows ; If these flashes Be sacred to you , come and Urn the Ashes : For we esteem the Reliques of these Sheets Too dirty and debaucht to pave our streets . This Mouth-Granado from that Scotch Witch came To set three glorious Kingdoms in a flame . A Covenant ? No , 't was a Conspiracy , Plotted by Brethren in Iniquity . Treason , to which the acts of Catiline , Sylla and Marius were deem'd Divine . Bold Assassins that durst attempt all ill , And Hollocaust whole Kingdoms to Self-will . Mend , mend for shame , your Brother else will look , To hang the Authors as he burnt the Book : But he presumes , or hopes ye'l rather turn , Than follow your black Juncto to the Urn. While I thus thinking am , who would desire ( Were it to roast a RUMP ) a fitter fire ? In which it now hath pleas'd the Fates to grant The Dissolution of the COVENANT . FINIS .