The Church of ENGLAND's Glory: OR THE Vindication of Episcopacy.  
With Allowance,  
July 3. 1688.  

NOW call to mind, Edom, remember well  
Your cursed Cries against God's Israel.  
Now who's Disloyal, where's the obstinate  
And busy Fops, that tall of Things of State?  
A Plot, a Plot! Who is't that now looks blue?  
Now where's Sedition? Where's the Factious Crew?  
Now mock no more, go consecrate the Room  
Where Essex died, and think on Russel's Doom.  
Now who are they that cried, Ram us and Damn us?  
Who is't that now comes off with Ignoramus?  
Now who's surmising Fears and Jealousies?  
Now who's malicious, fomenting of Lies?  
Now whose nice Conscience pleads Religion,  
Nay, rather they that once swore they had none.  
Now let's Huzza, Huzza, Huzza, examine  
Now for the Loyalty expressed by Damning,  
Roaring and Whoring,— that— Rotting and Sinking:  
Hey-Boys! New Healths with Bumpers bravely Drinking.  
But say these are the Worst, whose Words are Wind;  
But mark our Doctrines, and the more refined.  
Now where's the Doctrine made the Pulpits ring,  
'Twas all Divine to Love and Laud the King?  
Where's Loyal Sermons now? Where are they gone?  
Hark, hark a while, and you shall hear anon.  
Where's Nonresistance now? Now where's Compliance?  
Why here, in this, to bid the King Defiance.  
In what, an Edict? No, His Declaration.  
For Conscience Liberty, to free the Nation  
From those accursed Penal Laws and Test,  
That Tender Conscience ever might have Rest.  
But now 'tis Popery, Popery, that's the Song;  
'Tis coming like a Flood: But pray how long  
Has Fear of Popery been this dreadful Tone?  
Just since you let the Protestants alone.  
'Tis Fear of Papists,— Good lack!— Sad's the Case  
Since 've excelled Episcopals in Grace.  
No sooner Clemency doth Peace propose,  
But Envy cries, Take heed of Popish Foes.  
Was't not for fear of Popery once ago,  
You writ and printed, preached and raged so?  
Down with Dissenters, thus with Storm and Thunder;  
Magistrates, mind your Duty, seize and plunder.  
Fine and imprison, ruin, followed hot:  
This was for fear of Popery, was it not?  
Thus Persecution echoed from the Pulpit;  
But now look simply, say you cannot help it.  
Law was not then so much, as it is since,  
But the King's Pleasure, as you made Pretence:  
Yet though 've lost the Spur, you'd hold the Bridle,  
With a straight Rein too: O! but that's as idle  
As those that blame this Liberty of Conscience,  
And have the Impudence to say 'tis Nonsense.  
Were they (which God forbidden) but half so long  
To feel the Right, that did Dissenters wrong,  
They'd wiser be, kinder, and humbler too,  
Who'd now so proud, they know not what they do.  
Now who are they that cannot be content  
With Regal Right, but Acts of Parliament  
Of their own choosing? Yet this will not do;  
But must have also Convocation too.  
Now who like Toads spit Venom, swell, and pant?  
Now who are they that have the way to Cant?  
Now who's most busic to degrade the King?  
And who knows what? With secret Whispering,  
And holding Consults, who makes Parties now?  
For to rebel the Malcontent knows how.  
Fat Benefits, and Tithes, and Bishoprics  
Do not content you; O, these little Tricks!  
For Mordecai stoops not: Here's the Dispute;  
You want the Power still to Persecute.  
Whence comes this Rule, to Lord it o'er the rest?  
From Tory-Gospel, Penal-Laws, and Test:  
Touch 'em in that, and they'll begin to wince,  
And galled Loyalty spurns at their Prince.  
But poor Dissenters, now, as heretofore,  
Thankful for Peace, rejoice, and seek no more.  
But now, 'tis well, your cursed Power's subdued;  
Here's Peace, which others like: But let's conclude:  
Here's your own Language, and the Work of late  
You gloried in, and still would vindicate.  
Look in this Glass, and learn to blush for shame;  
Be Christians once, and slain no more that Name.    

LONDON, Printed for R. W. 1688.