PLUS ULTRA OR THE SECOND PART Of the Character of a QUAKER WITH Reflections on a Pitiful Sheet, Pretended to be an Answer to the Former.  
— DA justum Sanctumque videri  
Noctem Peccatis & Fraudibus objice nubem;  
If that my Deeds of Darkness may  
Be wrapped in Clouds as black as they?  
If being ugly I may paint  
Oh! then I am a true new Saint;  
LONDON, Printed, and are to be sold by the Booksellers of London, or else where. 1672.   

PLUS ULTRA OR The Second part of the Character of a QUAKER.  
A QUAKER is an Everlasting Argument; For like Africa he is daily Teeming with some new Monster: He that can describe him fully may boast he hath squared the Circle. To term him Gomorrah-Apple, Painted Tomb, or varnished Rottenness doth not reach him; He is rather an Apothecahries' guilt Box, inscribed with the glorious Title of some Elixir, but filled with Arsenic or worse Venom; A dull lump wherein Lucifer hath played Prometheus' part; For of him the Apostle is a Prophet, His tongue is set on fire of Hell; The Materia Prima of this Religious Crocodile is a certain Natural Melancholy or sullen discontent; And his animating form, Pride and singularity blended: His looks and habit cry; Pray observe me, and his whole deportment is starched and affected, you may take his Face, for a new fashioned Sun-Dyal where the forced wrinkles represent Hower-Lines, and his Tuneable Nose the Gnomon: He is ofttimes as lean as Famine, yet not out of abstinence but Envy, and his paleness is rather the Paint of his Hypocrisy, than any effect of Mortification: He is commonly in his Youth a professed Practitioner in all kind of Luxury: And as soon as shame or the smarting products of his debaucheries awaken him, to think of amendment; the Devil hurries him into the contrary extreme, teaching him to scruple the most innocent things, that he may with the better Gloss perpetrate those that are abominable. Henceforwards he shuts the Devil out at the Gate, and lets him in at the back door, becomes at once Bigot and Impious, and weaves with the thread of his life a mixed stuff of Superstition and Atheism. To ask, what it is a Clock he counts the Language of Ashdod, and you were as good speak Arabic as say Here's to you Sir, his Religion is nothing but Phrases, being a superstitious observer of new Minted Modes of speaking, whereby he commits an absurdity, yet tells a Truth when he calls the most wicked and flagitious friends, when he lies with his Neighbour's wife, 'tis not out of Lust, but only to raise up a faithful seed. And if he wants Money, he need only say to one of his Gang, The Lord hath sent me to borrow of thee forty Shillings: He sometimes studies the Law that he may violate it with the fairer pretences: And reads the Bible only to furnish himself with Scripture-names to call those he intends to quarrel with, Reprobate Child of Perdition, Son of Belial etc. If he have any smattering in learning; Fiddlers, Perriwigmakers or Tirewomen love him, not worse than his quondam Schoolmaster; who indeed with reason calls him ungrateful: Since he Scorns to own whence he sucked that little stock of Pedantry. For he impudently brags Heaven sent it him, to rights for a token; He therefore damns Humane learning in general, and cries it puffeth up; yet devoutly admires those humble ones of his own cast; who lately to ostentate the Prodigiosity of their Parts, obliged the World with a Battle-Door in two and twenty languages on no more serious occasion than to teach us to Thou people learnedly: He reverenceth the Memory of Fox and Nailor, but mentions Peter and Paul as familiarly as if they were his fellows, he cannot allow them the Title of Saints, yet boasts himself enthroned in a state of perfection: If he ever fasts 'tis on some Festival, and Resents no Idolatry so Heinous as not opening Shop on Christmas day; He defies its superstitious Plumbroth, and will rather surfeit on Mince Pies any other time then touch one then; when he has a mind to be cross, he cries he is not free, and with a solemn verily puts off: unsuspected the veriest Lies imaginable: There is certainly some want of Symmetry in his Head which makes him hate all Harmony: Yet at their Conventicles you may fancy a kind of Music: For the Men and Women sighing and groaning in consort make an odd noise like the great and small Pipes of an Organ; he cannot perform a Religious Exercise without a fit of Railing as well as Quaking: He is most Sagacious at Damning Folks, and delights in cursing as much as good men do in blessing, his very Preaching is a Satire, and the most zealous of his talk a malicious Invective against all that are not as mad as himself. Yet still you must believe him meek and lowly; For when he hath outdone Billingsgate for Scurrility and opprobrious Terms, he tells you it is only his earnest contending for the truth; His Doctrine is a Gospel of about thirty Years standing, and he is a Christian without Baptism or Ordinance, Creed or Catechism in Germany he is called a Paracelsian, and some wantoness of the Family of love first dropped the Brat in our Streets; Indeed he is a Religious Proteus so slippery no Definition can hold him, for by keeping the main body of his Opinions in Hugger Mugger, and displaying or concealing them, as he spies advantages he reserves always a Hole for retreat: So that if you insist on any Blasphemous Tenet, or extravagant Prank, he stops your Mouth with Alas! Friends never owned it; Thus whereas the Ancient Apostles did preach up Faith, Hope, Love, Righteousness, Peace and Joy in the Holy Ghost: These new Seers ramble about to establish certain little Fopperies, as if the Salvation of the World depended on the preaching down Points, Cuffs, Tithe pigs and Pulpit-Hower-Glasses: He is a kind of Spiritual Gipsy that describes Grace and Piety by the Lines of the Physiognomy, and confines Christianity to such a Complexion or Habit, being confident, that cannot be a Wedding Garment that hath any trimming: Thus Ambition makes him affect a ridiculous Humility. And he is proud by Antiperistasis—  
— So Beggars boast their rags, and may deride  
The Pomp of Kings, but with a greater Pride  
Meekness consists not in the  but Heart  
Nature may be vain glorious, well as Art:  
We may as lowly, before GOD appear  
Dressed with an Orient Pearl, as with a tear  
In his high presence, where the Stars and Sun  
Do but Eclipse, there's no Ambition:  
Glory can never render GOD the less,  
Neither can Beauty defile holiness:  
What's more magnificent than Heaven, yet where  
Is there more love and Piety than there?  
But stay— We must proceed with Caution though a Quaker defies the Battoon and temporal Sword, he is a perilous Gamester at the Goose-quill: 'tis no small attempt to encounter a Party whose impious Pen hath presumed to Duel the Sacred Trinity; Behold! the old muddy Style is laid by, and an Answer comes reaking with Fumes of Babylonish Rhetoric: The Libeler Characterised; Monstrum Horrendum! would it not prove a Second poison to Overbury, and startle cleaveland's Ghost to see Yea and Nay, writ Characters? It seems our perifogging Friend T. R. stands always pressed to rail in the behalf of his Faction, and ready for a Fee to Stigmatize all that would expose them: A most fit Advocate for such a Cause, who cannot conceal himself if he would, for at First view his Ears shoot out of his Skin, and present him perfect Ass, his Pamphlet is fronted with a Bull-rampant, and he posts himself for a Libeler in the Title-page, whilst he calls it, the Libeler Characterised by his own hand. Trust me, I cannot but pity the Fool's Disease, he hath got a Flux of Gall, or a certain Splenetic Looseness, which turns his Excrements the wrong way and his Mouth Stools: Do but observe I pray! How the Galled Fade winces, I find there is no giving him a Drench for the Staggers without Barnacles, you may know by the Beasts tearing and foaming, our Arrows stick in his Sides, our former Draught hath touched him to the quick, and now like a Woman grown old and ugly, he throws Stones at the Glass that shows him his own Deformity, he would make us believe; that 'tis Christian to cheat one's Neighbour, provided it be done in Scripture Language, and confess his own Sobriety is but an Appearance, whilst he Cloaks with a Modest Dress Impieties that a virtuous Pagan would blush at: He makes Conscience the Stalking-Nag over which he hopes securely to give Fire at any Game, and being a worthless terrae-filius himself, envies others those civil honours due to their Quality and merits. His talk of the Resurrection and Souls immortality is to be construed according to some mental Reservation, or else he speaks contrary to his Principles, and his good word for the Innocent Protestants is only a Copy of his countenance.  
When he mentions Christ he does it Allegorically, and with an Equivocation, and to Preach the Light (in his sense) must needs be insignificant Babble, since he affirms all men have Light sufficient already within them: He counts his impudent Huffing Court of Judicature to be only a demand of civil Liberty, and saucily calls Acts of Parliament the decrees and SicVolo's of a private Cabal, he wipes his Mouth to create an Opinion of his chastity, yet (like a Young Wench when she hears a wanton Jest) lets us know by his Simpering that he understands Tokens of Lechery, But what need he keep Concubines at Home, when every Conventicle serves for a Seraglio: He counts all them Haters of God's worship that condemn his Disobedient Froliques at Devonshire House, and having made it his business to divide and distract, wonders any should turn Incendiaries, he prefers a corner conveniently, or the base Multiplicamini of a Midnight meeting before the Churches grave manner of Solemnising Marriage, and thinks the Priests Fee may be better bestowed on a provocative Posset for carrying on the work of Generation: The patience, meekness and self-denial of the Quaking Spirit is sufficiently apparent in this Hare-brained Scribbler, whose work is indeed a true Character of his Party, whilst mad with rage he Belches out, he cares not what, against he knows not whom; But we shall take no further notice of this Puisne Libeler then to laugh at his folly, and will leave our shivering Hypocrite to his End; which (if he scape turning open Ranter) is without repentance to go to IIell in a Saint's Livery, and Steal his own Damnation.  
FINIS.   

A Postscript to the Reader.  
AS Gamesters that once luckily have thrown  
Proceed and fond think Fortune their own,  
Till the perfidious Dice their hopes betray  
And force them to go Moneyless away:  
So the Author having swept the Stakes of late  
Is tempted once again to set to's Fate,  
The First Part did your kind Acceptance meet  
'Tis hoped you so too will this Second greet;  
But if you prove more sullen now than then,  
May you ne'er be in good humour again,  
But turn Quakers, and so at Bedlam have  
An Ass' Burial, an unpitied Grave.