A TRUE AND PLAIN GENEALOGY OR PEDIGREE OF ANTICHRIST, WHEREIN IS CLEERLY DISCOVERED THAT HE IS LINEALLY DESCENDED FROM THE DEVIL.  

WHo so thou art that dost desire to know,  
The stock whereof proud Antichrist did grow▪  
Whom JESUS CHRIST did long before foretell,  
Should in the Church against the Church rebel,  
Making her mourn with pitiful complaints,  
And being drunken with blood of her Saints,  
Should tyrannising over her remain,  
Until his pride be deeply died in grain;  
And then both he and's Kingdom down should fall  
Without redress or any help at all:  
Whose coming should not be with claps of Thunders,  
But signs and miracles and lying wonders.  
My rustic Muse declares his very name,  
His pedigree, and of what house he came.   

There was a brave heroic Gentleman,  
As ancient as since the world began,  
Whose industry and policy was such,  
That all the world beside had not so much;  
His Engines, Stratagems, and feats of War,  
Made his dominions to extend as far  
As Alexander's, that's surnamed the Great,  
Such was his prowess by the Martial feat,  
Conquering his trade, Apollyon his name,  
Of that grand worthy, this great worthy came,  
One deadly- Darkness was his eldest son;  
And thus (in truth) this royal race begun▪  
And then that Darkness did beget by chance,  
A son, an heir, and called him Ignorance;  
Of his true birth there's no man need inquire,  
You see the son is fully like the Sire.  
This Ignorance lived a while, and then  
He begot Error and his brethren,  
Error begot Freewill and Self-conceit,  
Freewill got Merit, that deceiving bait,  
Merit begot Forgetfulness of Grace;  
And than his son Trangression took his place:  
And that Transgression did beget Distrust,  
Who deeming God less merciful than Just:  
Maugre his justice to maintain his action,  
Begot a son and called him Satisfaction.  
This Satisfaction, ere his father died,  
Being excessively possessed with pride,  
Rejected quite Christ's bloody sacrifice,  
Which once for all he offered in such wise  
That he for all his people's sins thereby,  
Did Gods pure justice fully satisfy.  
The cause why Satisfaction did this thing,  
Was, that thereby he might to credit bring  
His only son, the sacrifice o'th' Mass,  
As proud a Knave as e'er his father was:  
For if to him come any one or other,  
Desiring help for some deceased brother:  
Upon condition of a golden fee,  
he'll contradict the mighty God's decree,  
And disannul his judgements passed also,  
And bring to weal whom God hath placed in woe,  
For if you'll trust him, this man doth excel,  
he'll hunt the place where all the Furies dwell,  
And search the Lymboes': nay, he'll not be sorry  
To search throughout the furious Purgatory,  
And every nook and secret corner there,  
Be't in the Fire, Water, Earth or Aire,  
(For though that he hath fetched thousands thence,  
And did withal their deadly sins dispense,  
Has quite forgot, his wits are so decayed,  
Whereof, wherein, and when that place was made,)  
But having found him, than he will surpass,  
And bring the man from where he never was,  
Unto a place of mirth and melody:  
Where, if he were not, he can never be.  
The Priests anointing his successor was,  
And Superstition thereon came to pass.  
This Superstition was a royal thing,  
For he begot Hypocrisy the King.  
Hypocrisy got Gain by offering,  
And of that Gain did Purgatory spring,  
Then Purgatory passing reasons bounder,  
Was certainly, Anniverssaries founder:  
He by a stranger without Matrimony,  
Did then beget the Church's Patrimony,  
Then Mammon, of Iniquity his son,  
Begot a Child, as his Father had done:  
A worthy spark, Abundance was his name,  
And of Abundance, Ease, (a gallant) came.  
Ease begot Cruelty, and he Dominion;  
Dominion, Pomp; and Pomp, Ambition:  
And of this man old Simony did grow,  
A bribing Knave, how clear soever he show,  
This man of issue was not without hope,  
For why? he lived to see his son the Pope;  
Who in this world doth bear a great renown,  
And on his head doth wear a triple Crown,  
Whose charity if it were to his power,  
He could cleanse Purgatory in an hour;  
And send the souls that in that place do dwell,  
Strait up to Heaven from that smoky Cell.  
He thinks perhaps his power hereon is grounded  
The former place his predecessors founded:  
And for the latter none can him withstand,  
He bears the Keys of heaven in his hand.  
But here's a grief that to a mischief grew,  
Because his Holiness let in so few,  
Or else just none, which is a grievous thing,  
His Keys have lost their use of opening.  
And as the Keys o'th' Pharisees his brothers  
Shut heaven's gate against themselves and others.  
So he by his doth now nought else but shut  
That gate 'gainst all that in him credit put;  
And yet he vaunts himself to be Christ's Vicar,  
I wonder much his wit should be no quicker,  
For Vicars have not (that were too too bad)  
A greater power than e'er their Parsons had:  
Now Christ his Parson, openly did show  
His Kingdom was not of this world below.  
But Pope his Vicar commands all estates,  
Kings, Emperors, and greatest Potentates,  
And turns his power to furious tyranny,  
Against that Christ and all his company:  
And by his rage they now abide affliction,  
He's Antichrist without all contradiction.   

Thus TRVETH (A GEM) hath here discovered 〈◊〉  
Which many a man hath long time wondered at▪  
If thou aright these Roman letters frame:  
Inquire no more, thou hast the Author's name.    

Printed at London for SAMUEL RANDE, dwelling at Holborn Bridge. 16●4.