satire AGAINST HYPOCRITES. Si natura negat facit indignatio versum. Juvenal. Satyr. 1. LONDON, Printed for N. B. 1655. A satire AGAINST HYPOCRITES. 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 Catchpoles 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, Look with disdain to see the pew so full, Yet 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, Th' Embroidered Girdles, and your Usurer's Cloaks, Of far more various forms than there be Oaks In Sherword, or Religions in this Town, Strong then of Cypress chest appears the Gown: 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 ruft, But of these frantic fashions 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, Ingredients that compound a Congregation. in times of Christianity, But now 'tis taken down, 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 ditty'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, painted fine 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 woman is to wet her thumb, that spins. 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 drawziness upon her creeping, Turns down one proof, and then she falls a sleeping. Then fell her head one way, her book another, And she sleeps, and snores, a little a tone with t'other. That's called the Gallery; which (as you may see) Was trimmed and gilded in the year Fifty three. 'twas a zealous work, and 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 That see him shake so fast his marry fist, Hang it. As if he'd write the Sermon 'fore the Priest Has spoke it; Then, O that I could (says one) Do as but 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 creek 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 Are some descend, 'Bove Ela squealing now ten notes some fly; Strait then as if they knew they were too 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 behold 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 peep't 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 Merciful, or O Almighty, Then out he whines the rest like some 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 a fat Sir-loyn, Instead of Aron's ointment for his face, When he cries out for grease instead of grace. Up stepped another then, how sour 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. It seemed as if those steaming vapours were To stew hard doctrines in, and to prepare Their rugged doubts, that might breed some 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, Wrarh 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 than to see The women in their strains of piety, Who like the Seraphins in various hews Adorned the Chancel and the highest pews. Stand up good middle-Ile-folks and give room, See where the Mothers and the Daughters come! Heyday! 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. Nor must we now forget the Children too, Who with their foretops gay stand up i'th' pew. Brought there to play at Church, and to be chid, And for discourse at meals what children did. 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, Jackadandy. And if he name Gehenna or the Dragon, Their faith, alas! was little then to brag on; Or if he did relate, how little wit The foolish Virgins had, then do they sit Weeping with watry-eyes, and making vows One to have Preachers always in her house, To dine them well, and breakfast 'em with jellies, And caudles hot to warm their wambling bellies; 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-bars in swarms they hung: And 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 unsanctified. Cuds so, I had even almost now forgot To tell you th' chiefest thing of all; what's that? How the good women in a row do come, To bring the Newborn babe to Christendom. The Midwife, Captain of the gang, walks first, Laden with Child, and Naples-biscuit crust; Most reverently she steps, dressed all in print, If she be not a Saint the Devils in't: For so demure she looks, that you would guests She were some holy penitent Votaress, With eyes and mouth set in her Looking-glass, On purpose for to carry Babe of Grace: Nor is't a thing inspired, but got by Art, And Practice, as the Beggar learned to Fart. Then follow th' Guests, each one in her degree, Most punctual in their Parish-Heraldry. Being come to Church, they keep their close order, And go on, and go on, and go farther and farther, Till they arrive where for the Priest's ease, God wot, Stands a pretty, little, stone Syllabub-pot; Water 't had in't, though but a little, God knows, Scarcely to wet the tip of the Child's nose: Men say there was a secret wisdom then, That ruled the strange opinions of these men; For by much washing Child got cold in head, Which was the cause so many Saints snuffled: Oh cried another sect, let's wash the cock, And eke that other thing that lurks in smock; Th●●e were the members whence did first arise The sinful cause of all our miseries. But their wise Wives replied, fuming and fretting, 'Twas dangerous, lest the part● should shrink in wetting; And for that cause they only did be-sprinkle The pretty Birdsney-Pigsney-Periwinkle. Now when the Priest had spoke, and made an end, And that the Child was made the Church's friend, The women straightway they went home again, To talk of things which they conceal from men: Then Midwife carries Child t' ask Mother blessing, Who gives it a kiss in her Flanders-lace dressing, She sat with Curtains drawn, most princum prancum, And called the women every one to thank 'em: Full threescore pound it cost in Plumbs and Dishes, Which women eat as Pikes eat little Fishes; But when the Claret and Hypocriss came in, Then the tittle tattle began to begin; The Midwife takes a Tankard and drinks up all, Of all the Saints, quoth she, God bless St. Paul, He bid the men give the women their due; If they don't, may the women ne'er prove true: Well fare my Son here, he is a yonng man, But let any other do better if he can; Five in six years!— hay ho,— here daughter, Here's to the next bout, and what shall come after. But what ails my Neighbour here to look so grum? A year and a half, and nothing yet come.— Alas, I lost time, quoth she, I married a Fool,— 'Twas six months ere he knew he was to use his tool: But I ha' taught him a new lesson I faith; quo I, fie upon't, Such a fool at these years,— but learn more wit,— if ye don't— Alas, cries one, you are happy to me, Weeping and drinking most heartily, My Husband whores and drinks all the week, Judge you then Neighbours how I am to seek: (Then they all shook their heads, and looked most sad) These are they, quoth the Midwife, spoil our trade; But be of good cheer daughter, come, come, If he want, another must in his room. Alas, quoth she, with a jolly red Nose, There's many an able Christian, God knows, Would leap at that which thy Husband despises: Then begin they to talk of the several sizes, Of the long, and the short, the little and great, 'Twould put a modest Gam stir into a sweat. I thank my God, quoth the Midwife then, I have buried three Husbands, all proper men; I thank my God for't, though I say't that should not, Yet I can't say, like one that understood not, There was no difference between the three, But if any man a good workman be, He may well do enough, if he be intent, To give a reasonable She content. I speak merrily Neighbours,— hah— hah— here's to you all, God send us more of these good jobs to fall: By and by they single out a poor woman, That has had the luck to have as good as no man; But her they use m●st unmercifully, Calling her Husband Do-little, and Cully, Fumbler and Gelding, and then they all exhort her, Rather than be shamed, to hire some strong Porter. Now after this discourse, and th' Wines drank up, They all depart to their own homes to sup; After that to bed, and 'tis a pound to a doit, If their Husband's sleep for their Quail-pipes that night. Others not so concerned, walk in the fields, To give their longing Wives what Cake-house yields; To be heard of men. And as they go, God, Grace, and Ordinances, Is all their chat, they 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. Go too therefore ye wicked men, ‛ Depart from me [Thomas] anon, For the [Yes Sir] commandments will I keep Of God [Pray remember to receive the 100 l. in Gracious-street to morrow] my Lord alone. As thou has promised to perform, [Mary, anon forsooth] That death me not assail, [Pray remember to rise betimes to morrow morning, you know you have a great many clothes to soap] Nor let my hope abuse me so, That through distrust I quail. 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 the 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 whifting through the nose, Smelled worse than Assafoetida, or Luther's hose; 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 Priests 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 hardhearted 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 dear 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, some creep like Snails, they're so slow paced, Truly, my Brethren, these men do not make haste. But be ye quick dear Sisters, 1 Use. 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, accursed Bitch! 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. 2 Use. But, 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; only 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, Or milk-porrage, or thick pease-porrage either, Nor was it mutton-broth, nor veal broth neither, Nor any broth of noble taste or scent, Made by receipt of the Countess of Kent; 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, Would he have been so content. Yet Daniel, good Daniel was content that day. 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 here 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? Haired like a Turk, Description of Antichrist. 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 cur, Though he appeared wrapped up in Bear-skin furr. Thrown among Lions by hardhearted 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 your 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, And hay then up go we. the Pope, the Emperor, With Cardinals, and th' 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, haloo, haloo, Kill Amalek, 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 waken) As 'tis in th' English his name ends in uck, And so his name is called Habacuck. The Doctrine of Generation. But in th' original it ends in Ock, 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 ●arding-candle shut up quite For Ministers may be Cuckolds. In a dark Lantern never giveth light; Even such are they. Ay but my brothers' dear, I'm no such Lantern, for my horns are clear▪ But I shall now conclude this glorious truth Use of Exhortation. With an Exhortation to old men and youth: Be sure to feed young Daniel, that's to say, Feed all your Ministers that preach and pray. Motives First of all, 'cause 'tis good, I speak that know so, 1. And by experience find 'tis good to do so: 4. Fourthly, 'cause 'tis not evil; Nextly and Thirdly, 3. For that 'tis very good, unless the Word lie. 6. Sixthly, for that y'are moved thereto; and Twelfthly, 12. 'Cause there's nought better, unless I myself lie. Hunger a great enemy to Gospel-duty. But now he smells the Pies begin to reek, His teeth water, and he can no longer speak: Only 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 Her that was wont 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, than 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. But all in vain, A great cry, and a little wool. 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 that but now fainting lay, Up starteth she, and talks as fast as they. But they that did not mind this doleful passion, Followed their business on another fashion; For all did write, the Elder and the Novice, Methought 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 broad-brimed hat, thus greets him: A great sign of grace. Dear Sir, my Wife and I do you invite O'th' Creature with us to partake this night: And now suppose what I prepare to tell ye, The City-dame, whose faith is in the belly Of her crammed Priest, had all her cates in order, That Gracious-street, or Cheapside can afford her. Bill of fare. Lo first a Pudding! truly 't had more Reasons 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 Starkey: 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 Mayor, Three Christmas, or Minc'd-pyes, 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. Now then, Much good may do you Sir. 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 like Woolf or Masty, Still hewing out his way unto the Pastry: 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. Then quoth Priscilla, No Grace after meat, 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 once, and did resist, And but that a dear Brother would not desist, Carried forth by a strong believing power That I would yield at length, even to this hour I had lived in darkness still, and had not known What joys the Laud revealeth to his own. Then said the Priest, 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, we may take our time, There's reason for't, I never cared for Rhyme. Do not the wicked Heathen speak and say, Gather your Flowers and Rosebuds while you may? Ay truly, answered she, 'tis such a motion As always I embraced with warm devotion: I mean since it did please the Laud in mercy, To show me things by feeling, not by hear-say; Nothing beyond ingratitude. And truly Brother, there's no man can prove That I was ere ingrateful for his love; But sometimes Angels did attend his Purse, At other times I did him duly nurse With many a secret dish of lusty meat, Which did enable us to do 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 did I too; methought I went a Maying, And the Word of the Laud came to me, saying, Martha put off thy clothes, for time is come, That men may bauble show, and women bum, For that the seed of them that do profess, Shall only need be clothed with Righteousness. 'Tis true dear Sister, there are some that now Are come to this perfection, and I trow We may in time grow up to be as they, Grant us, ah Laud, that we may see that day; Let's i'th' mean time at home and eke abroad, Unclothe and unbrace ourselves before the Laud, On all occasions that time shall yield, That our dear Sister's dream may be fulfilled. Why did not jacob dream, and so it was; And Pharaoh dreamt, and so it came to pass. Then Dorcas cried, reach me the Cheese up hither; Sister, quoth she, give this unto our Brother, 'Tis very good, if well washed down with Sack, His wasted spirits much refreshing lack. Recruited thus, All this good cheer, quoth he, 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 Turkey'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: Truly, A man may love his Brother, 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. As for myself, 'tis more than I do need, To be charitable both in word and deed; For as to us, the holy Scriptures say, The Deacons must receive, but 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 sixpence? we'll next morn enhance our ware: Your sixpence 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, I freely give my tester: But for the women, they gave more liberally, For they were sure to whom they gave, and why. Not better than himself. Then did Elnathan blink, 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 waken A snoring Brother, when he sleeps at Church; With bag and baggage than they began to march; And tickled 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? Christian Liberty. At length in steps the Parson, on his breast Laying his hand, A happy night of rest Refresh 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. Next her that made the Feast he kisses harder, ne'er a profane kiss among all these. And in a Godly tone, cries, God reward her: And having done, he whispers in her ear, The time when it should be, and the place where. Thus they all part, and for that night the Priest Enjoys his own Wife, as good as ever pissed. 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 your 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; oh thrice unhappy age! While zeal and piety lie masked in rage And vulgar ignorance! How we do wonder Once hearing, that the heavens were forced 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 subtler way to bring their ends about Against the Deity, than 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 injunctions preach. Deny in actions what their words do teach. O what will men not dare, if thus they dare Be impudent to 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.