THE GRAND IMPOSTURE: OR THE MYSTERY OF INIQUITY:  
A satire.  
Tristius haud illis Monstrum, nec saevior ulla Pestis—  Virg. Aeneid. lib. 3. 
London, Printed Anno 1679.   

THE Grand Imposture OR THE MYSTERY OF INIQUITY.  

ASCEND Allecto from thy Den, and come  
Just as thou look'st in that Infernal Home;  
Fell Fury fire my Fancy, for I have  
More cause than Poet e'er had yet to rave;  
Thou art my Muse, thy Snakes my Laurels are,  
By me thine own, and Rome's Intrigues declare:  
Do it for once, then back to Hell retire,  
And pay the Jesuits their Arrears of Fire.  
A Jesuit great Satan's Envoy is  
Sent to succeed the Snake of Paradise:  
For when that fatal stroke of Adam's loss  
Was healed by the great Theanthropos,  
When that deep Stratagem of the dark Throne  
Mysterious Messiah had undone;  
And that first Argument of hellish Power  
Was quite confuted by a Saviour,  
Then baffled Lucifer, no Answer had,  
Till He a Jesuit his rejoinder made;  
By whom he hopes completely to renew  
The Battle, and once more mankind undo;  
Plotting his old Dominion to make good  
By false implicit Faith, or fire and blood;  
That catches Fools, and these destroy the Wise,  
Thus all mankind, are equally his Prize.  
" Shut your Eyes close, believe me, and you'll see  
" (Th' Ignatian cries) the way t' Eternity;  
" Deny all Reason, misbelieve your Sense,  
" Church cannot Err, be that your Confidence:  

" Pin on our Sleeve your Faith, and though you're blind  
" Take but fast hold, and follow us behind,  
" Our open Eyes the way for both will find.   
" This Wine and Wafer now are common food,  
" But a few words shall make 'em Flesh and Blood,  

" And though they after all the same appear,  
" And out of Modesty th' old Livery wear,  
" Yet is Christ's very Blood and Body here.   
Such plain Impostures, such bold Cheats as these  
Can surely none, but fools, or mad men please.  
The Snake of Paradise played fairer far  
With Adam's Wife, and more upon the Square,  
He called an Apple, Apple, said 'twas good,  
Pleasant to th' sight, and delicate for food;  
The Jesuits Tricks would ne'er have ta'en with Eve,  
She saw what's what, before she did believe,  
Besides he pleaded that 'twould make her wise,  
But these, the grossest ignorance advise.  
And thus we lose ourselves, b' a greater Cheat  
Than what the Serpent used in Eve's defeat;  
Thus we our sense and reason lay aside  
To take an old ambitious Fool for Guide,  
Thus we turn Stocks and Idiots, and then  
Become good Cath'licks, ceasing to be men;  
As if the only way to save our Souls,  
Were, to be easy Slaves or senseless fools.  
To all this fond credulity we're hurled  
By slavish fears about the burning world,  
So to be sure to feel no torment there,  
First strip ourselves of all our senses here.  
Now, my Allecto, let's advance and view  
The Frauds that lurk under Religious show,  
For though to Heaven their fair pretences swell,  
The Root lies deep and dark as is thy Cell.  
No Heathen Lawgiver, no Pagan Priest;  
Did e'er with such mysterious Wiles infest  
The superstitious Multitude, for that  
Is still most apt to fear they know not what.  
No Cabalist of State could  Trapan  
With such firm subtlety as Rome's Divan.  
And first, least holy Church should chance to float  
(Without a last appeal) in endless doubt,  

You must with dumb obedience still repair.  
Unto Rome's holy Apostolic Chair,  
That, that's infallible and cannot err.   
This bold Assumption keeps more in Awe  
Then Numa with his feigned Egeria.  
And though it seems at points of Faith to aim,  
'Tis to be uncontrollably Supreme;  
Get universal deference, and create  
A close dependence on the Roman Seat.  

Branding on all damnable Heresy,  
That dare oppose the Apostolic See,  
Or Rome's Political Divinity.   
Thus it usurps boundless dominion,  
Makes Kings their subjects, slaves, and both it's own.  
Rome's doctrine is a secular device,  
Mere trick of state in reverend disguise,  
Th' ambitious spawn of latter Centuries:  
And though it proudly boast an ancient Line,  
From Peter, 'tis of basest Origine;  
'Tis the Priest's spurious Issue, gotten on  
Ignorance, Fear and Superstition:  
These three completely make the triple Crown,  
And still support old Rome's imperial Throne.  
How slily do the Priests by help of these  
Make men believe, and then do what they please?  
How solemnly they dazzle Vulgar eyes  
With fine mysterious holy Vanities?  
Whose ceremonious pomp strikes awful dread  
In fools, that by their eyes and ears are lead.  
But should I here endeavour to declare,  
The numerous Gimcracks of the Romish Fair,  
Their Mystic Idols, consecrated Baubles,  
Feigned Miracles, and monstrous holy Fables;  
How dead Saints relics cure the Gout or Ptisick,  
And are, like Egypt's Mummy, kept for Physic;  
How they can scare the Devil with a stench,  
(Not that Tobias used to get the Wench:  
In telling this I might as teedious be  
As the return of their next Jubilee.  
But these are Petty trifles, tiney toys,  
Tricks to catch Women, gaping Fools and Boys;  
They have devices of a larger size,  
Traps to ensnare the Wary and the Wise:  

And if you chance to boggle at the bait,  
They curse, and cry, damnation be your fate,  
And then you swallow it at any rate.   
Oh! what a melancholy dismal story  
They roar in dying Ears of Purgatory;  
That rather than th' affrighted wretch will burn  
So long, he'll all his Gold to Masses turn:  
Thus Ecclesiastic Chemists (you'd admire)  
Make real Gold by a fictitious Fire.  
Next extreme unction comes, from whence the Priest  
Gets the most good, by greasing in the Fist.  
But of all cheats that necessary are  
Unto salvation, Auricular  
Confession bears the bell, and seems to me  
Next to infallible Supremacy;  
It wears a holy Ueile, but underneath  
Is shame and slavery far worse than death.  
The Priest may tyrannize without control,  
That knows the guilty secret of the soul.  

So when the gentle sex confession makes,  
That they have often sinned upon their backs,  
How easily the Priest comes in for snacks?   
And shireves the pretty Penitent A la mode,  
No trick like a jure divino Fraud:  

Thus are their chiefest Doctrines, plain device,  
Pimp to their Pride, their Lust and Avarice  
In holy Apostolical disguise.   
In short, the whole mysterious Cheat doth lie  
In superstition and Idolatry,  
Two spurious Graffts—  
Set in the tree of life, Religion,  
With whose Luxurious branches 'tis o'er grown  
To such a monstrous disproportion,  
That the first planters would it quite disown.  

Religion, like a modest rural maid,  
No artificial dress no fucus had  
But was in native Innocency clad,   
Till in Rome's Court she ceased to be such,  
Thence, sprang her Infamy and first debauch;  
There, laying plain simplicity aside,  
She grew to idle wantonness and Pride:  
Yet still some modesty confined her Home,  
Nor rambled she beyond the Walls of Rome;  
Till Proud of her successful charms, she grew  
Ambitious mighty Monarches to subdue;  
So by deceitful arts she enlarged her power,  
And made them slaves, that sh' had served before.  
At length her lawless Pride gave some mistrust,  
And that increased by her insatiate Lust.  
She grew imperious, asked more and more,  
And would be Tyrant too, as well as Whore.  
Then wisely some the Vassalage forsook,  
Others repined as weary of the Yoke:  
She, Jealous lest her Universal sway  
Should lessen, or her former fame decay,  
'Mongst others, did the Schoolmens Pen employ  
To Vindicate her truth and honesty,  
(Schoolmen, who ransack sciences and Arts  
To prove with pains, that they are Fools of parts;  
A knack to Coin unmeaning words 've got,  
False words that won't endure the test of thought:  
Distinction's their last refuge and appeal,  
The better, if unintelligible)  
So these her honour justified in words,  
As Bully Jesuits Plot to do with swords.  
But both in vain, for 'tis concluded on  
Their Mistress is the Whore of Babylon.   

Shift, shift the Scenes, Allecto, fury Fiend  
Wake all thy Snakes, and make this Tragic end;  
By Hellish Art raise up in dark Cabal,  
The Pope, a Jesuit and Cardinal.  
Thyself place in the middle, raving Wood,  
With Poisons, Pistols, Daggers, Fire and Blood.  
Now let this Scene start into sudden sight  
By gloomy Flashes of Sulphureous light;  
Then let his Holiness' face appear  
Full of deep Counsel, thought and weighty Care.  
Whilst each of you in awful silence hears  
The sacred Oracle with hungry Ears.  
" Was it for this my boundless power was given?  
" For this have I the Keys of Hell and Heaven?  
" In vain I boast of a Supremacy,  
" And call my Chair the Universal See.  
" A little Nest of Heretics cut off  
" From Europe's Earth, at all my Power doth laugh.  

Turning to the Jesuit.  
" Who (though they kindly could decline to be  
" A Bar to Balance  Monarchy,  
" Yet) still oppose my holy Tyranny.   

" False Agents, heartless, traitorous, have you  
" So often sworn by Sacramental Vow  
" Or to Convert this Island or undo?   
" Was your Commission scant, did I deny  
" Plenipotentiary Villainy?  
Have not I nulled Divine and Humane Laws,  
That without let you might promote the Cause?  
" Heavens Laws, though fixed by an Eternal Seal,  
" Stoop, and are liable to my repeal.  
" Moses once broke these Tables, often I  
" Not to prevent, but fix Idolatry.  
" Thus had your large Commission no restraint,  
" Nor did you Apostolic Blessing want.  
" Nay more, the blackest Crimes in you were merit,  
" For which all other endless flames inherit:  
" So Treasons, Murders, Perjuries became  
" Sure Monuments of your Eternal Fame;  
" So nature changed her course, yet nothing's done,  
" T'advance the Catholic Religion.  
" Be gone Slave, fly; Delude with crafty words,  
" If they prove vain, use poison, Fire and Swords:  
" Make better work on't, or I swear by th' Mass  
" And the Divinity of Holy Cross—   

These chance unlucky words broke all the Spell,  
They vanished, and Allecto sunk to Hell.   
FINIS.