Religious Relics, Or, the SALE at the SAVOY; upon the JESUITS Breaking up their SCHOOL and CHAPEL.  

[1]  
LAst Sunday, by chance,  
I Encountered with Prance,  
That Man of Upright Conversation,  
Who told me such News,  
That I could not choose  
But Laughed at his sad Declaration.   

[2]  
Says he, if you'll go,  
You shall see such a Show  
Of Relics Exposed to be Sold,  
Which from Sin and Disease  
Will Purge all that please.  
To lay out their Silver and Gold.   

[3]  
Strait with him I went,  
Being Zealously bend,  
Where for Sixpence the Man let me in,  
But the Crowd was so great,  
I was all in a Sweat  
Before the Rare Show did begin.   

[4]  
The Curtain being drawn,  
Which I think was of Lawn,  
The PRIEST Crossed himself thrice, and bowed;  
Then with a sour Face,  
Denoting his Case,  
He addressed himself thus to the Crowd.   

[5]  
You see our sad State,  
'Tis a folly to prate,  
Our Church and our Cause is aground;  
So in short, if you've Gold,  
Here is to be Sold  
For a Guinny the worth of Ten Pound.   

[6]  
Here's St. James' old Bottle,  
It holds just a Pottle,  
With the Pilgrim's Habit he wore;  
The same Scollop shells,  
As our Holy Church tells,  
Who denys its the Son of a Wh—   

[7]  
Here's a piece of the Bag,  
By Age turned to a Rad,  
In which Judas The Money did bear;  
With a part of his Rope,  
Bequeathed to the POPE,  
As an Antidote 'gainst all despair.   

[8]  
Here's a Rid of St. Laurence,  
'Tis also at Florence,  
And it may be in France, or in Spain;  
It Cures Stone and Gravel,  
And Women in Travel  
It delivers without and Pain.   

[9]  
Here's St. Joseph's old Coat,  
Though scarce worth a Groat,  
Its plainness does show he'd no Pride;  
Yet this he had on,  
For besides it he'd none,  
The day that he Married his Bride.   

[10]  
His Breeches are there,  
A plain Leather Pair,  
Come Buy the whole Suit, if you please;  
They'll defend you from th' Itch,  
From Hag and from Witch,  
And preserve you from Bugs and from Fleas.   

[11]  
Here's the Gall of a Saint,  
For such as do faint,  
Or are troubled with Fits of the Mother;  
Nay, if your Breath stink,  
Worse than Close-stool or Sink,  
It will Cure you as soon as the other.   

[12]  
Here's a Prayer of Pope John,  
The like to't is none,  
If you say it but three times a year;  
Three hundred in grace,  
And three hundred 'twill place  
In Heaven, if they ever come there.   

[13]  
Here's our Lady's old shoe,  
Which in Old-time was new,  
It will Cure all your Kibes and your Corns;  
With the Coif of St. Bridget,  
To be worn by each Idiot,  
Whose Head is tormented with Horns.   

[14]  
Here's Bottle of Tears,  
Preserved many years,  
Of Mary's that once was a Sinner;  
Some o'th' Fish and the Bread  
That the Five Thousand fed,  
Which our Saviour Invited to Dinner.   

[15]  
Here's St. Francis own Cord,  
You may take't on my word,  
Who dies in it cannot be Damned  
Do but buy it, and try,  
If I tell you a lie,  
Many Thousands of Heaven are shamm'd.   

[16]  
Here's his Holiness' Bread,  
Of whom you have heard,  
That the Heretics called Pope Joan,  
Yet this I dare Swear  
Was his natural Hair,  
Or else I'll be Sworn he had none.   

[17]  
It's Virtue is such,  
That if it does touch  
Your Head, or your Face, or elsewhere,  
It does straightway Restore  
More than e'er was before,  
Though by Age or by Action worn bare.   

[18]  
Here's St. Christopher's Boot,  
For his Right Leg and Foot,  
Which he wore when he plied at the Ferry,  
When on's Shoulders he bore  
His Blessed Lord o'er,  
For the Poor Man had never a Wherry.   

[19]  
Such as Sail on the Seas,  
I am sure it will please,  
For its parallel never was found;  
Neither Tempest nor Storm  
Can e'er do 'em harm,  
Nor is't possible they should be drowned.   

[20]  
Here's infinite more,  
I have by me in stone,  
All which lie concealed in this Hamper;  
Either buy 'em to day,  
Or I'll throw 'em away,  
For to morrow, by Heaven, I'll scamper.   

[21]  
Our Marker is done,  
We must Shut up at Noon,  
We expect 'em each hour at the Door;  
We are Hanged if we stay,  
And we can't get away,  
For none will, nor dare carry us o'er.   

[22]  
But by th' Faith of a PRIEST,  
This is no time to jest,  
Since we're Balked in our great Expectations;  
Before I will Swing  
Like a Dog in a String,  
I'll Renounce the Transubstantiation.   
FINIS