THE RELIGION OF THE HYPOCRITICAL PRESBYTERIANS in Meeter. Juvenal. Sat. 1. Si natura negat, facit indignatio versum. Juvenal. Sat. 14. — Velocius & citius nos— Corrumpunt vitiorum exempla domestica, magnis Cum subeant animos autoribus. London Printed in the Year 1661. The Religion of the Hypocritical Presbyterians. TEdious have been our Fasts, and long our Prayers; To keep the Sabbath such have been our cares, That Cicely durst not milk the gentle Mulls, To the great damage of my Lord Mayor's Fools, Which made the greasy Catch poles swear and curse The Holiday for want o'th'second course; And men have lost their body's new adorning Because their clothes could not come home that morning. The sins of Parliament have long been bawled at, The vices of the City have been yawled at, Yet no amendment; Certainly, thought I, This is a Paradox beyond all cry. Why if you ask the people, very proudly They answer strait, That they are very godly. Nor could we lawfully suspect the Priest, Alas, for he cried out, I bring you Christ: And trul ' he spoke with so much confidence, That at that time it seemed a good pretence: Then where's the fault? thought I: Well, I must know, So putting on clean cuffs, to Church I go. Now began the Bells to jangle in the Steeple, And in a row to Church went all the People. First came poor Matrons stuck with Lice like Cloves, Devoutly come to worship their white loaves; And may be smelled above a Germane mile, Well, let them go to fume the Middle-Ile. But here's the sight that doth men good to see't, Grave Burghers, with their Posies, sweet, sweet, sweet, With their fat Wives. Then comes old Robin too, Who although write or read he neither do, Yet hath his Testament chained to his waist, And his blind zeal feels out the proofs as fast, And makes as greasy Dogs-ears as the best. A new-shaved Cobbler follows him, as it happed, With his young Cakebread in his cloak close wrapped; Then panting comes his Wife from t'other end O'th' Town, to hear Our Father and see a friend; Then came the shops young foreman, 'tis presumed, With hair rose-watered, and his gloves perfumed, With his blue shoestrings too, and besides that, A ribbon with a sentence in his hat: The Virgins too, the fair one, and the Gipsy, Spectatum veniunt, venient spectentur ut ipsae. And now the silk'n Dames throng in, good store, And casting up their noses, to th' pew door They come, crowd in, for though the pew be full They must and will have room, I, that they will; Straight that she sits not uppermost distaste One takes; 'Tis fine that I must be displaced By you, she cries then, Good Mistress Gill Flurt; Gill Flurt, enraged cries t'other, Why ye dirt- tie piece of Impudence, ye illbred Thief, I scorn your terms, good Mistress Thimble-mans' wife. Marry come up, cries t'other, pray forbear, Surely your Husband's but a Scavenger, Cries t'other then, and what are you I pray? No Alderman's wife for all you are so gay. Is it not you that to all Christen frisk it? And to save bread, most shamefully steal the biscuit, At which the other mad beyond all law, Unsheaths her talons, and prepares to claw. And sure some gorgets had been torn that day, But that the Readers voice did part the fray. Now what a wardrobe could I put to view, The cloak-bag-breeches, and the sleek-stone shoe, The Gallimafry cloak that looks like nonsense, Now wide, now narrow, like his Master's conscience: The grogram-gown of such antiquity, That Speed could never find its pedigree; Fit to be doted on by Antiquary's, Who hence may descant in their old Glossary's, What kind of farthingale fair Helen wore, How wings in fashion came, because wings bore The Swan-transformed Leda to Jove's lap, Our Matrons hoping thence the same good hap; The penthouse beaver, and calves-chaudron ruff, But of this frantic fashion now enough, For now there shall no more of them be said, Lest this my warehouse spoil the French-men's trade, And now as if I were that woollen-spinster, That doth so gravely show you Sarum Minster, I'll lead you round the Church from pew to pew, And show you what doth most deserve your view, There stood the Font, in times of Christianity, But now 'tis taken down, Ingredients that compound a Congregation. men call it Vanity; There the Churchwardens sit, hard by the door, But know ye why they sit among the Poor? Because they love 'em well for love o'th' box, Their money buys good beef, good wine, good smocks. There sits the Clerk, and there the reverend Reader, And there's the Pulpit for the good flockfeeder, Who in three lamentable doleful dity's Unto their marriage-fees sing Nunc dimittis. Here sits a learned Justice, truly so Some people say, and some again say no, And yet methinks in this he seemeth wise To make Stypone yield him an excise, And though on Sundays Alehouses must down, Yet wisely all the week lets them alone, For well his Worship knows that Alehouse sins Maintain himself in gloves, his wife in pins. There sits the Mayor as fat as any Bacon With eating Custard, Beef, and rumps of Capon; And there his corpulent Brethren sit by, With faces representing gravity, Who having money, though they have no wit, They wear gold-chains, and here in green pews sit. There sit True-blew the honest Parish-masters. With Satin Caps, and Ruffs, and Demicasters, And faith that's all; for they have no rich fancies, No Poets are, nor Authors of Romances. There sits a Lady fine, painted by Art, And there sits curious Mistress Fiddle-cum-fart: There sits a Chambermaid upon a Hassock, Whom th' Chaplain oft instructs without his Cassock: One more accustomed unto Curtain-sins, Than to her thimble, or to handle pins. O what a gloss her forehead smooth adorns! Excelling Phoebe with her silver horns. It tempts a man at first, yet strange to utter, When one comes near, faugh gudds, it stinks of butter. Another tripping comes to her Mistress' Pew, Where being arrived, she tries if she can view Her young man's face, and strait heaves up her coats, That her sweetheart may see her true-love knots. But having sat up late the night before To let the young man in at the backdoor, She feeleth drowsiness upon her creeping, Turns down one proof, and then she falls a sleeping. Then fell her head one way, her book another, And surely she did dream by what we gather; Maids beware of sleeping at Church. For long she had not slept, when a rude flea Upon her groin sharply began to prey; Strait she ('twixt sleep and waking) in great ire, As if she'd sitting been by th' Kitchen fire, Pulls up her coats with both hands, smock and all, And with both hands to scratch and scrub doth fall. Truly the Priest, though some did, saw her not, For he was praying, and his eyes were shut. Alas had he seen as much as a by-stander, Much more from's Text it would have made him wander. That's called the Gallery, which (as you may see) Was trimmed and gilded in the year Fifty three. 'twas a zealous work, & done by two Churchwardens, Who for mis-reckoning hope to have their pardons, There Will writes shorthand with a pen of brass, Oh how he's wondered at by many an ass Hang it. That see him shake so fast his warty fist, As if he'd write the Sermon 'fore the Priest Has spoke it; Then, O that I could (says one) Do but as this man does, I'd give a crown▪ Up goes another hand, up go his eyes, And he, Gifts, Industry, and talents cries. Thus are they placed at length: a tedious work, And now a bellowing noise went round the Kirk, From the low Font, up to the Golden Creed. (O happy they who now no ears do need▪) While these caught up their morning phlegm, and those Do trumpet forth the snivel of their nose; Strait than the Clerk began with potsherd voice To grope a tune, singing with woeful noise, Like a cracked Sans-bell jarring in the Steeple, Tom Sternholds wretched Prick song to the people: Who soon as he hath placed the first line through, Up steps Chuck-farthing then, and he reads too: This is the woman's boy that sits i'th' Porch Till th' Sexton comes, and brings her stool to Church, Then out the people yaule an hundred parts, Some roar, some whine, some creak like wheels of Carts, Such Notes that Gamut never yet did know, Nor numerous keys of Harpsicalls in a row Their Heights and Depths could ever comprehend, Now below double Ar● some descend, 'Bove Ela squealing now ten notes some fly; Strait then as if they knew they were to high, With headlong haste down stairs again they tumble; Discords and Concord's O how thick they jumble! Like untamed horses tearing with their throats One wretched stave into an hundred notes. Some lazie-throated fellows thus did bawl Robert Wisdom's delight. They a i hin a moy a meat uh ga have a ha me uh a ha gall a. And some outrun their words and thus they say, Too cruel for to think a hum a haw, Now what a whetstone was it to devotion To see the pace, the looks, and every motion O'th' Sunday Levite when up stairs he marched, And first beheld his little band stiff starched, Two caps he had, and turns up that within, You'd think he wore a black pot tipped with tin, His cuffs ashamed peeped only out at's wrist, For they saw whiter gloves upon his fist, Out comes his kerchief then, which he unfolds As gravely as his Text, and fast he holds In's wrath-denouncing hand; then mark when he prayed How he reared his reverend whites, and softly said A long most Murcifull, or O All— Then out he whines the rest like a sad ditty, In a most doleful recitative style, His buttocks keeping Crotchet time the while; And as he slubbers o'er his tedious story Makes it his chiefest aim his chiefest glory, T' excel the City Dames in speaking fine, O for the drippings of an old Sir loin, Instead of Aron's ointment for his face, When he cries out for grease instead of grace▪ Up stepped another then, how four his face is! How grim he looked, for he was one o'th' Classis, And here he cries, Blood, blood, blood, destroy, O Lord! The Covenant-breaker, with a two edged sword. Now comes another, of another strain, And he of Law and Bondage doth complain: Then showing his broad teeth, and grinning wide, Aloud, Free grace, free grace, free grace, he cried. Up went a Chaplain then, fixing his eye Devoutly on his Patron's gallery, Who as duty binds him, cause he eats their pies, God bless my good Lord and my Lady, cries, And's hopeful Issue. Then with countenance sad, Up steps a man stark revelation mad, And he, Cause us thy Saints, for thy dear sake, That we a bustle in the world may make, Thy enemies now rage, and by and by He tears his throat for the fifth Monarchy. Another mounts his chin, East, West, North, South, Gaping to catch a blessing in his mouth, And saying, Lord! we dare not open our eyes Before thee, winks for fear of telling lies. Mean while the vulgar fry sit still, Practise of Piety. admiring Their pious sentences, as all inspiring; At every period they sigh and groan, Though he speak sometimes sense, and sometimes none: Their zeal doth never let them mind that matter, It is enough to hear the Magpie chatter; They crowd, they thrust, are crowded, and are thrusted, Their pews seem pasties, wherein they incrusted, Together bake and fry; O patience great! Yet they endure, though almost drowned in sweat, Whose steaming vapours prove most singular To stew hard doctrines in, and to prepare Them, lest they should breed some ugly disease Being taken raw in queasy consciences. But further mark their great humility, Their tender love and mutual charity, The short man's shoulder bore the tall man's elbow, Nor he so much as called him Scurvy fellow, Wrath was forgot, all anger was forborn, Although his neighbour trod upon his corn; And in a word, all men were meek and humble, Nor dared the Sexton, though unfeed, to grumble▪ He honest man went with his neck a skew, Gingling his bunch of keys from pew to pew; Good man to's Market-day he bore no spleen, But wished the seven days had Sabbaths been; How he worship's satin, with what a Gospel-fear He admires the man that doth a beaver wear, Room, room, bear leave, he cries, than not unwilling With a Pater noster face receives the shilling. But what was more religious then to see The women in their strains of piety, Who like the Seraphins in various hews Adorned the Chancel and the highest pews. But now good middle-Ile-folks all give room, Heyday! See where the Mothers and the Daughters come! Behind the Servants looking all like Martyrs, With Bibles in plush jerkins and blue garters, The silver inkhorn and the writing book, In which I wish no friend of mine to look. Now must we not forget the Children too, Who with their foretops gay stand up i'th' pew, Alas-a-day! for there is great contention, To tie this lock who hath the best invention. Well, be good children, for the time shall come, When on the Pulpit-stairs ye shall have room, There to be asked many a Question deep, By th' Parson, with his dinner, half a sleep. But now aloft the preacher began to thunder, When the poor women they sit trembling under, And if he name Gehenna or the Dragon, jackadandy. Their faith, alas! was little then to brag on; Or if he did relate, how little wit The foolish Virgins had, then do they fit Weeping with watry-eyes, and making vows One to have Preachers always in her house, To dine them well, and breakfast 'em with gelly's And caudles hot to warm their wambling belly's, And if the cash where she could not unlock it Were close secured, to pick her Husband's pocket: Another something a more thrifty sinner To invite the Parson twice a week to dinner; The other vows a purple Pulpit-cloth With an embroidered Cushion, being loath When the fierce Priest his Doctrine hard unbuckles, That in the passion he should hurt his knuckles: Nay, in the Churchyard too was no small throng, And on the window-barres in swarms they hung: Nay, I could see that many Shorthand wrote, Where listening well, I could not hear a jote; Friend, this is strange, quoth I, but he replied, Alas! your ears are yet unsanctifyed. But Sermon's done, and evening now approaches, The people walk, for none dare go in coaches; And as they go, To be heard of men. God, Grace, and Ordinances, Is all their chat, seem in heavenly trances; Thus they trim up their souls with holy words, Shaving off sin as men shave off their beards, To grow the faster; sins, they cry, are fancies, The Godly live above all Ordinances. Now they're at home, and have their suppers eat, When Thomas, cries the Master, come repeat; And if the windows gaze upon the street, To sing a Psalm they hold it very meet. But would you know what a preposterous zeal They sing their Hymns withal? then listen well, The Boy begins, To the Tune of S. Margaret's Chimes. Hum, hum, hum, hum, hum, hum, hum, hum, Hum, hum, hum, hum, Thomas hum, hum, Did you enter down the ten yards of water'd-tabby to the Lady in Covent-garden? Hum, hum, Yes Sir, hum, hum, hum, hum, hum, hum, hum, hum, hum.— Pray remember to receive the hundred pound in Gracious-street to morrow.— Hum hum hum. Hum hum hum hum Marry, hum hum hum hum,— Anon forsooth. Pray remember to rise betimes to morrow morning, you know you have a great many clothes to soap, hum, hum hum, hum, etc. Behold the zeal of the people. But Sunday now good night, and now good morrow, To thee oh Covenant Wednesday full of sorrow, Alas! my Lady Anne wont now be merry, She's up betimes and gone to Alderman-bury, Truly 'twas a sad day, for every sinner Did feast a supper then, and not a dinner; Nor men nor women wash their face to day, Put on their clothes, and piss, and so away; They throng to Church just as they sell their ware, In greasy hats, and old gowns worn thread bare, Where, though th'whole body suffered tedious pain, No member yet had more cause to complain Than the poor nose, when little to its ease, A Chandler's cloak perfumed with candle-grease, Commixing scents with a Soap-boilers breeches, Did raise a stink beyond the skill of Witches. Now steams of Garlic through the nostril's passage Made thorough-fairs, hell take their bold embassage, With these mundungus and a breath that smells Like standing-pools in subterraneal cells. Composed Pomanders to out-stink the Devil, Yet strange to tell, they suffered all this evil, Nor to make water all the while would rise, The women sure had sponges 'twixt their thighs: To stir at this good time they thought was sin, So strictly their devotion kept them in. Now the Priest's elbows do the cushion knead▪ While to the people he his Text doth read, Beloved, I shall here crave leave to speak A word, he cries and winks, unto the weak, The words are these, Make haste and do not tarry, But unto Babylon thy dinner carry, There doth young Daniel want in the Den, Thrown among Lions by hard-hearted men. Here my Beloved, and then he reaches down His hand, as if he'd catch the Clerk by th' crown. Not to explain this precious Text amiss, Daniel's the subject, Hunger th' object is, Which proves that Daniel was subject to hunger, But that I mayn't detain you any longer, My Brethren all prick up your ears, and put on Your senses all while I the words unbutton. Make haste, The Exposition. I say, make haste and do not tarry,] Why? my Beloved, these words great force do carry. Au! 'tis a waundrous emphatical speech, Some men Beloved, as if th' had lead i' their breech, Do walk, and some (as snails) do creep as fast: Truly, my Brethren, these men do not make haste. But be ye quick, 1 Use. dear Sisters, be ye quick, And lest ye fall, Not like an anchor. take hope, hope's like a stick. To Babylon] Ah Babylon! that word's a weighty one, Truly 'twas a great City, and a mighty one. Which as the learned Rider well records, Babel battered. Semiramis did build with brick and boards. Wicked Semiramis, Oh how I stretch! My spirit is mightily provoked against that wretch. Lustful Semiramis, for will I wist Thou wert the mother of proud Antichrist. Nay, like to Levi and Simeon from antiquity, The Pope and thee were Sisters in iniquity. Strumpet Semiramis, like her was non, For she built Babylon, Ah! she built Babylon. But, 2 Use. Brethren, be ye good as she was evil, Must ye needs go because she's gone to the Devil? Thy dinner carry.] Here may we look upon A child of God in great affliction: Why what does he ail? Alas! he wanteth meat, Now what (Beloved) was sent him for to eat? Truly a small matter; one a dish of pottage, But pray what pottage? Such as a small cottage Afforded only to the Country swains, From whence, though not a man the place explains, 'Tis guessed that neither Christmas pottage 'twas, Nor white-broth, nor capon-broth, good for sick maws, Nor milk-porrage, or thick pease-porrage either, Nor was it mutton-broth, nor veal-broth neither, But sure some homely stuff crumed with brown-bread, And thus was Daniel, good Daniel fed. Truly, this was but homely fare you'll say, Yet Daniel, good Daniel was content that day. Would he have been so content? And though there could be thought on nothing cheaper, Yet fed as well on't as he had been a reaper. 3 Use. Better eat any thing than not at all, Fasting, Beloved, why? 'tis prejudicial To the weak Saints, Beloved 'tis a sin, Several Reasons. And thus to prove the same I will begin: Hunger, Beloved, why? this hunger mauls, Au! 'tis a great mauler, it breaks stonewalls, Now my Beloved, to break stonewalls you know, Why 'tis flat felony, and there's great woe Follows that sin, besides 'tis a great schism, 'Tis ceremonious, 'tis Pagan Judism, Judism? why Beloved, have you ere been Where the black Dog of Newgate you have seen? Description of Antichrist. Haired like a Turk, with eyes like Antichrist, He doth and hath ye Brethren long enticed. Claws like a Star-chamber Bishop, black as hell, And doubtless he was one of those that fell. Judism I say is uglier than this dog: Truly & caetera's not so foul a hog. Thrown among Lions by hard-hearted men,] Hear Daniel is the Church, the World's the Den. By Lions are meant Monarches, Kings of Nations, Those worse than heathenish abominations: Truly dear friends, these Kings and Governors, These Bishops too, nay all superior powers, Why they are Lions, Locusts, Whales, I Whales, beloved, Off goes our ears if once their wrath be moved; But woe unto you Kings! woe to you Princes! 'Tis fifty and four, now Antichrist, so says My book must reign three days, and three half days, Why that is three years and a half beloved. Or else as many precious men have proved One thousand two hundred and threescore days, Why now the time's almost expired, time stays For no man; friends then Antichrist shall fall, Then down with Rome, with Babel, down with all, Down with the Devil, the Pope, the Emperor, With Cardinals, And hay then up go we, and the King of Spain's great power; They'll muster up, but I can tell you where, At Armageddon, there, Beloved, there, Fall on, fall on, kill, kill, allow, allow, Kill Amaleck, and Turk, kill Gog and Magog too. But who dear friends fed Daniel thus forsaken, Truly (but there's one sleeps, ☞ a would do well to awak'n.) As 'tis in th' English his name ends in Ock, And so his name is called Habacuck. But in th' original it ends in Ock The Doctrine of Generation. For that dear sisters calls him have-a-Cock. And truly I suppose I need not fear But that there are many have-a-Cocks here: The Laud increase the number of have-a-Cocks, Truly false Prophets will arise in flocks; But as a farthing candle shut up quite In a dark Lantern never giveth light; Even such are they. For Ministers may be Cuckolds. Ay but my brethren dear I'm no such Lantern, for my horns are clear. But I shall now conclude this glorious truth With an exhortation to old men and youth: Be sure to feed young Daniel, Use of Exhortation. that's to say, Feed all your Ministers that preach and pray. First, Motives 1. of all cause 'tis good, I speak that know so, Fourthly, 4. cause 'tis no evil for to do so. 3. Thirdly, because 'tis very good, and twelfthly, 12. Cause there's nought better, unless I myself lie. But now he smells the pies begin to reek, Hunger a great enemy to Gospel duty. His teeth water, and he can no longer speak: And now it will not be amiss to tell ye How he was troubled with a woman's belly; A Cropsick sister. For she was full of caudle and devotion, Which in her stomach raised a commotion, For the hot vapours much did damnify, The woman went to walk in Finsbury. So though a while she was sustained with ginger, Yet at the length a cruel pain did twinge her; And like as marble sweats before a shower, So did she sweat, and sweeting forth did pour Her morning's draught of Sugar sops and Saffron, Into her sighing neighbours cambric apron. At which a Lard she cried full sad to see The foul mishap, yet suffered patiently: How do you then she cried? I'm glad 'tis up: Ah sick, sick, sick; cries one, oh for a cup Of my mint water that's at home. As patt as might be, than the Parson cried, 'Tis good; one holds her head, let't come let't come. Still crying; just i'th' nick, the Priest replied, Yea like a stream ye ought to let it flow, And then she reached, and once more let it go. Straight an old woman with a brace of chins, A bunch of keys, and cushion for her pins, Seeing in earnest the good woman lack it, A very great Creature-comfort. Draws a strong-water bottle from her placket; Well heated with her flesh, she takes a sup, Then gives the sick, and bids her drink it up. A great cry, and a little. wool. But all in vain, her eyes begin to roll, She sighs, and all cry out, alas poor soul! One than doth pinch her cheek, one pulls her nose, Some blest the opportunity that were her foes, And they revenged themselves upon her face, S. Dunstan's Devil was ne'er in such a case. Now Priest say what thou wilt, for here's a chat Begun of this great Empiric, and that Renowned Doctor, what cures they have done: I like not Mayern, he speaks French says one. Oh says another, though the man be big, For my part, I know none like Dr. Trig. Nay, hold you there says t'other, on my life There's none like Chamberlain the man midwife. Then in a heap, their own receipts they muster To make this jelly, how to make that plaster, Which when she hears, but that now fainting lay, Up starteth she, and talks as fast as they. But they that did not mind this doleful passio Followed their business on another fashion, For all did write, the Elder and the Novice, Me thought the Church looked like the six Clerks office. But Sermon's done, and all the folks as fast As they can trudge, to Supper now make haste: Down comes the Priest, when a grave Brother meets him, And putting off his narrow-brimed hat, thus greets him: Dear Sir, my Wife and I do you invite O'th' Creature with us to partake this night: A great sign of grace. And now suppose what I prepare to tell ye, The City-dame, whose faith is in the belly Of her cramm' Priest, had all her cates in order, That Gracious-street, or Cheapside can afford her. Lo first a Pudding! truly 't had more Reasons Bill of fare. Than forty Sermons show at forty seasons. Then a Sirloin came in, as hot as fire, Yet not so hot as was the Priests desire. Next came a shoulder of Mutton roasted raw, To be as utterly abolished as the Law. The next in order was a Capon plump, With an Use of Consolation in his rump. Then came a Turkey cold, which in its life Had a fine tail, just like the Citizen's wife. But now by'r leave and worship too, for hark ye, Here comes the Venison put in Paste by Starky: Which once set down, there at the little hole Immediately in whips the Parsons soul. He saw his Stomaches anchor, and believed That now his belly should not be deceived. How he leans o'er the cheer toward his first mover! While his hot zeal doth make his mouth run over. This Pastry had Brethren too, like to the Mayors, Three Christmas, or Minced pies, all very fair. Methought they had this Motto, Though they flirt us, And preach us down, Sub pondere crescit virtus. Apple-tarts, Fools, and strong cheese to keep down The steaming vapours from the Parson's crown. Canary too, and Claret eke also, Which made the tips of their ears and noses glow. Up now they rise, and walk to their several chairs, When lo, the Priest uncovers both his ears. Grace before meat Most gracious Shepherd of the Brethren all, Thou saidst that we should eat, before the Fall; Then was the world but simple, for they knew Not either how to bake, or how to brew. But happily we fell, and then the Vine Did Noah plant, and all the Priests drank wine; Truly we cannot but rejoice to see Thy gifts dispensed with such equality. To us thoust given wide throats, and teeth to eat; To the women, knowledge how to dress our meat. Make us devoutly constant in thy cup, And grant us strength when we shall cease to sup, To bear away thy creatures on our feet, And not be seen to tumble in the street. We are thy sheep, O let us feed, feed on, Till we become as fat as any Brawn. Then let's fall to, and eat up all the cheer, Strait So be it he cries, and calls for beer. Much good may do you Sir. Now then, like Scanderbag he falls to work, And hews the Pudding as he hewed the Turk. How he ploughed up the Beef like Forrest-land, And fumed because the bones his wrath withstand. Upon the Mutton he fell not like a Lamb, But rather like a Wolf he tore the same. At first a Sister helped him, but this Elf sir, Wearying her out, she cries, Pray help yourself sir. Upon the Pastry though he fell anon, As if't had been the walls of Babylon. Like a Cathedral down he throws that stuff, Why, Sisters, saith he, I am pepper-proof. Then down he pours the Claret, and down again, And would the French King were a Puritan, He cries: swills up the Sack, and I'll be sworn Quoth he, Christian forgiveness. Spain's King is not the Pope's tenth horn. By this his tearing hunger doth abate, And on the second course they began to prate. No Grace after meat. Then quoth Priscilla, Oh my Brother dear: Truly y'are welcome to this homely cheer, And therefore eat, good brother, eat your fill, Alas for Daniel, my heart acheth still. Then quoth the Priest, Sister be of good heart; But she replied good Brother eat some Tart. Rebecca then a member of the 'lection Began to talk of Brotherly affection; For this, said she, as I have heard the wise Discourse, consisteth much in exercise; Yet I was foolish, and would oft resist, But you had more grace, Brother, then to desist. Straight he replied, there is a time for all things, There is a time for great things and for small things. There's a time to eat, and drink, and reformation, A time to empty, and for procreation; Therefore dear Sister let us take our time, There's reason for't, I never cared for Rhyme: Then truly answered she, 'tis a good motion, And I embrace it with a warm devotion. Nothing beyond ingratitude. Why you know Brother you did never prove That I was ere ingrateful for your love; But sometimes Angels did attend your Purse, At other times you know I did you nurse, With many a secret dish of lusty meat, And presently we went and did the feat. Truly quoth Dorcas then, I saw a Vision, That we should have our foes in great derision. Quoth Martha strait, (and then she shook the crumbs From off her apron white, and picked her gums) So I do hope, for so our Brother said; O what a heavenly piece of work he made! But I am ignorant, and my memory short, I shall forget, were I to be hanged for't. Then quoth the Priest, The cheer that here we see, Is but an Emblem of Mortality. The Ox is strong, and glories in his strength, Yet him the Butcher knocks down, and at length We eat him up. A Turkie's very gay, Like worldly people clad in fine array; Yet on the Spit it looks most piteous, And we devour it, as the worms eat us. Then full of sauce and zeal up steps Elnathan, [This was his name now, once he had another, Until the Duckingpond made him a Brother] A Deacon and a Buffeter of Satan. A man may love his brother, Truly, quoth he, I know a Brother dear, Would gladly pick the bones of what's left here. Nay he would gladly pick your pockets too Of a small two pence, or a groat, or so, The sorry remnants of a broken shilling; Therefore I pray you friends be not unwilling. But as for me, 'tis more than I do need, To be charitable both in word and deed; For as to us, the holy Scriptures say, but The Deacons must receive, the Laymen pay. Why Heathen folks that do in Taverns stray, Will never let their friends the reckoning pay. And therefore pour your charity into the basin, Brethren and Sisters eke, your coats have lace on. Why Brethren in the Lord, what need you care For six pence? we'll one hour enhance our ware. Your six pence comes again, nay there comes more; Thus Charity's th' increaser of your store. Truly well spoke, then cried the Master-feaster, Since you say so, here, you shall have my tester: But for the women, they gave more liberally, For they were sure to whom they gave, and why: Then did Elnathan blink, Not better than himself. for he knew well What he might give, and what he might conceal. But now the Parson could no longer stay, 'Tis time to kiss, he cries, and so away. At which the sisters, once th' alarm taken, Made such a din as would have served to wak'n A snoring brother, when he sleeps at Church; With bag and baggage than they 'gan to march; And ticled with the thoughts of their delight, One sister to the other bids Good night. Good night quoth Dorcas to Priscilla, she, Good night dear sister Dorcas unto thee. In these goodly good nights much time was spent, And was it not a holy compliment? At length in steps the Parson, Christian Liberty. on his breast Laying his hand, A happy night of rest Reward thy labours sister: yet ere we part, Feel in my lips the passion of my heart. To another strait he turned his face, and kissed her, And then he cries, All peace be with thee Sister. To another in a godly tune he whines, Dear Sister from thy lip I'll take my tines. Near a profane kiss among all these. With that he kissed, and whispers in her ear, The time when it should be, and the place where. Thus they all part, the Parson follows close, For well the Parson knoweth where he goes. This seemed a golden time, the fall of sin, You'd think the thousand years did now begin, When Satan chained below should cease to roar, Nor durst the wicked as they want before Come to the Church for pastime, nor durst laugh To hear the nonplussed Doctor feign a cough. The Devil himself, alas! now durst not stand Within the switching of the Sexton's wand, For so a while the Priests did him pursue, That he was fain to keep the Sabbath too, Lest being taken in the Elders lure, He should have paid his crown unto the poor; And lest he should like a deceiver come 'Twixt the two Sundays inter stitium, They stuffed up Lecturers with texts and straw, On working-days to keep the Devil in awe. But strange to think, for all this solemn meekness, At length the Devil appeared in his likeness, While these deceits did but supply the wants Of broken unthrifts, and of threadbare Saints. Oh what will men not dare, if thus they dare Be impudent to Heaven, and play with Prayer! Play with that fear, with that religious awe Which keeps men free, and yet is man's great law: What can they but the worst of Atheists be, Who while they word it against impiety, Affront the throne of God with their false deeds, Alas, this wonder in the Atheist breeds. Are these the men that would the Age reform, That Down with Superstition cry, and swarm This painted Glass, that Sculpture to deface, But worship pride, and avarice in their place. Religion they bawl out; yet know not what Religion is, unless it be to prate. Meekness they preach, but study to control; Money they'd have, when they cry out the soul. And angry, will not have Our Father said, 'Cause it prays not enough for daily bread. They meet in private, and cry Persecution, When Faction is their end, and State-confusion: These are the men that plague and overrun Like Goths and Vandals all Religion: Every Mechanic either wanting stock Or wit to keep his trade must have a flock: The Spirit, cries he, moveth me unto it, And what the Spirit bids, must I not do it? But having profited more than his flock by teaching, And stepped into authority by preaching For a lay Office, leaves the Spirits motion And straight retreateth from his first devotion. But this he does in want, give him preferment, Off goes his gown, God's call is no determent. Vain foolish people, how are ye deceived? How many several sorts have ye received Of things called truths, upon your backs laid on Like saddles for themselves to ride upon? They rid amain, and hell and Satan drove, While every Priest for his own profit strove. Can they the age thus torture with their lies, Lowed bellowing to the world Impieties, Black as their coats, and such a silent fear Lock up the lips of men, and charm the ear? Had that same holy Israelite been dumb, That fatal day of old had never come To Baal's Tribe, and thrice unhappy age While zeal and piety like masked in rage And vulgar ignorance. How we do wonder Once hearing, that the heavens were fired to thunder Against assailing Giants, surely men, Men thought could not presume such violence then: But 'twas no Fable, or if than it were, Behold a sort of bolder mortals here, Those undermining shifts of knavish folly, Using alike to God and men most holy; Infidels who now seem to have found out A sutler way to bring their ends about Against the Deity then openly to fight By smooth insinuation and by slight: They close with God, seem to obey his Laws, They cry aloud for him and for his cause. But while they do their strict injunctious preach, Deny in actions what their words do teach. O what will men not dare, if thus they dare Be impudent with Heaven, and play with Prayer! Yet if they can no better teach than thus, Would they would only teach themselves, not us: So while they still on empty outsides dwell, They may perhaps be choked with husk and shell; While those, who can their follies well refute, By a true knowledge do obtain the fruit. FINIS.