A YOKE For the Roman-Bulls. BEING A POEM written on the Royal Proclamation for Exiling Popish-Priests and Jesuits, etc.  
To which is added, A TELESCOPE For the New Astrologers: OR, A Looking-glass for the Staring Stargazers. WHEREIN IS A Reply to the Libellious and Seditious Censurers of the late Fire in the City of London.  
By T. S.  

Licenced according to Authority, the 7th. of Decemb. 1666.   
Printed for S. Speed, at the Sign of the Rainbow in Fleetstreet. 1666.   

A YOKE For the Roman-Bulls.  
A POEM Written on the Royal Proclamation for exiling Popish-Priests, etc. before December the 10th. 1666.  — Procul hinc procul ite nocentes. Statius. 

POpe open thine Arms, and Rome make larger room  
For thine own Darlings now are coming home:  
So Fau'kners do receive their Birds of Prey,  
When at their Game they can no longer stay.  
Here is no room in England for your Breed,  
We'll send for 'em again when we have need.  
The awful voice is sent forth, and they'd best  
Be from their Machinations repressed.  
So Foxes when bold Trespassers they be  
Are ready at the Landlords voice to flee.  
Our holy Faith's Defenders pious care  
Denies them here to fix their treacherous Snare:  
So do the generous Lions nobly chase  
Rapacious Vultures lurking in their Place.  
And think ye not our Royal Lions will  
From Wolves protect our Flock & Shepherds still?  
'Tis not the roaring of a Roman-BVLL  
Can scare those Royal Beasts, or disannul  
Their sovereign Right; No, no, go tell your Pope  
We are not to be bulled by him; nor hope  
To build your Roman Church by horrid Plots,  
Perfidious as the Presbyterian-Scots:  
Your holy Water, holy as it is,  
Will never purify your souls in this,  
Think ye that Heaven can in justice see  
And suffer with success such Villainy?  
No, for to sacred Truth 'tis as contrary,  
As to make Prayers unto the Virgin Mary.  
And 'tis as fruitless Labour I protest,  
As to adore St. Francis and the rest.  
I doubt not but your Cardinals will find  
They had as good their CAPS throw 'gainst the wind,  
Though to assist such impious intents,  
Ye had as many Popes as Sacraments.  
Prepare to march then, with your Romish-cheer,  
Ye must not think to keep your Christmas here.  
Y'are no fit Christmas-Guests for England, so  
When our blessed Advent comes, than you must go:  
Make haste, and you'll come time enough (I hope)  
For New-years-gifts presented to the Pope.  
But if ye do exceed th' appointed time,  
'Tis no Pope's pardon can absolve your crime.  
Take with ye all your Relics, let no more  
Your Romish-trumpery rest on our shore.  
(Nothing of Rome we need within our Land,  
Unless when Ladies writ in Roman-hand.)  
Let Jesuitick 'Gins no more be seen  
To gull the simple; root up all your green  
Transplanted Innovations, don't ye know  
From the beginning (that) it was not so?  
Don't think to you so soon we will submit,  
For all your boasts of Learning and of Wit:  
Why mayn't a Person of mean document  
Pray be as prudent as Pope INNOCENT?  
I think upon Record it may be seen  
That half your Popes too Innocents' have been.  
Then don't proud Emp●ricks through the Universe  
No more your Epidemic drugs disperse.  
Go heal your Pope; ye can't deny I'm sure  
But that his Holiness doth need a cure.  
And (as for him) 'tis also thought I see  
That change of air is requisite for ye.  
Why then be gone, and think not to delay  
The Royal Mittimus to disobey,  
For 'tis as vain for Residence to plead  
As to make intercession for the dead.  
No Papal dispensation can obtain  
Connivance for ye longer to remain.  
Your UNIVERSAL VICAR's wrested stile  
Will find but little Vigour in our Isle:  
For though he Lord it over OTHER KINGS,  
OURS are SACRED, and our sacred things,  
As also Persons are (as is most fit)  
Above his Usurpation, though he sit  
As PETER'S (proud) SUCCESSOR by pretence,  
Our Divine 
* His Majesty's Royal Grandfather, and our first English Monarch.  JAMES his real one's immense  
And Royal Title to his Monarchy,  
The PAPAL INT'RST can and doth deny.  
O that our holy Vine were once but free  
From the dead Ivy of each Enemy.  
Those greedy Foxes seeking to devour  
With equal malice her divinest Power:  
Leaving with horror to succeeding Time,  
Novembers Plots and Januaries Crime:  
While both do madly lose by each extreme  
The purest Church of England's golden Mean.  
Be silent ye Impostors, then, by whom,  
Between the Church of England and of Rome  
Is judged so little odds; ye that would fain  
Over that Gulf an easy Bridge maintain.  
Fie, don't demonstrate with so little sense  
Your ignorance as well as impudence.  
How many of her Sons (pray) for her sake  
Have gone to Heaven from the Flaming-stake?  
Don't so betray your malice then; 'tis true,  
They are as much Her friends, I think, as you:  
Though ye are more Vnnat'ral than the other,  
So Viperlike to tear your own dear Mother.  
Your bold Comparison is as uneven,  
As 'twixt such Saints as you, and those in Heaven.    

A LOOKING-GLASS For the Staring Stargazers.  
Hoc faciunt siulti quos gloria vexat inanis  

SEctarian Sirs, who to the world declare  
How great your own Religiousnesses are,  
And are with Pharisean lips so free 
— Limis oculu in res alienas inquirens. Hor.   
To cry Stand off, we're holier than ye;  
And, God be thanked, we are not so much  
Involved in sin as Publicans and such.  
Who like so many Popes do oft confess  
Such large dimensions of your Holiness;  
Who now can cry, These are your sinful crimes  
That cause such judgements on these wicked times.  
And even would force the Planets too to be  
Predictive of a second Destiny.  
Who have your Faith and Doctrine from so high,  
Not from the holy Mountain, but the Sky.  
Whence had ye (pray) your learning, that so soon  
Your Study is as lofty as the Moon?  
Your Conventicles I did never hear  
At Gresham-Colledge ever did appear;  
Who made ye (pray) such mighty Censurers  
As if your 
* They dropped about libels, therein pretending the Planets did divine that Westminster & Southwark would be burnt in Octob. etc.  Libels were all falling-Stars?  
From whom (I wonder) do ye boast your Rise?  
From Mother Shipton? or was she too Wise  
To be your Head? she doubtless too is staler;  
Perhaps ye only rise from Saint James Nayler.  
Why then beware his destiny, while you  
Wish other men what to yourselves is due,  
Lest like Perillus ye tormented are 
— Nec enim lex justior ulla, Quam necis artifices arte perite sua. Ovid.   
By that which ye for others did prepare;  
Or Thrasius-like become the Victim when  
Ye did design the Lot 'mongst other men.  
I fear 'tis not your Judgement, but desire  
We may behold a second dismal Fire.  
Or, is your wickedness so horrid, that  
What ye foretell, ye'd also perpetrate?  
Then don't (deluding Ones) pretend ye are  
Inspired by a Planet or a Star:  
While ye abuse (by your Hypocrisy)  
The noble Science of Astrology.  
Do not, great Pseudo-Prophets, pray ye, fain  
Yourselves to be of Sage 
* who (as Homer in his Odysseys reporteth) was as famous among the Grecians for Prediction, as Aesculapius for Physic.  Melampus strain,  
While your inept inventions plainly plods,  
To make ye Psappho-like but airy Gods:  
Let not such whimsies mount ye up so fast,  
Owels that attempt to soar, will fall at last.  
Gaze in the Skies no more, nor madly prate;  
Look to the blazing-Comets in your pate,  
Keep off your saucy hands from Heaven's Rod,  
As if ye would usurp the Throne of God. 
Quae Deus occulta esse voluit non scrutanda sunt.   
(Such is your pride, your pride (I say) is such,  
Ye have been to usurping used so much.)  
Let not conceits so giddy and so vain  
Possess your factious, peace-disturbing brain.  
These your transcendent errors do declare  
Your minds as wandering as the Planets are?  
But what yourselves cannot believe, you will  
(Seducers-like) affirm to others still.  
Thus have we seen the Jugglers often use  
To do, that they the People may amuse.  
You'll likewise Deify yourselves, 
Nisi quod faciunt nihil rectè judicant.  and then  
You'd fain make Devils of all other men,  
As if to you that privilege were given,  
Hugh Peters-like to see both Hell and Heaven.  
Pope's have (ye say) no power to make a Saint,  
Nor ye to make a Devil, I'll maintained;  
But only thus far (sailing on such Shelves  
Of Error) to make Devils of yourselves.  
Then bened so forward to condemn all those  
That are so honest as to be your foes. 
Judicet ille de alterius errore qui non halet in seipso quod condemnet.   
But while ye censure others, do but view  
What reprehensions to yourselves are due.  
Look in your own hearts, and consider then  
Your self-exaltings 'bove your brothers.  
Mistake me not, I go not to deny  
The Nations sins brings this Calamity:  
No, I avouch it, but I'd have unfurled  
Your own deluding Colours to the world.  
All Whoredom, Drunkenness and Swearing, I  
Abhor as much as you to justify.  
Yes, but I'd have ye too, as well as these,  
Consider how your own may God displease.  
Was Corah, Dathan, and abiram's Crew, then?  
Not such a kind of Cattle (pray) as you?  
Was not their crime Rebellion? 'gainst whom  
Was Moses not, and Aaron (pray) the men?  
Don't ye the same in disobedience do  
Against your Lord the King and Bishops too?  
Are not your murmur pray even such,  
The Bishops take upon them too too much?  
And (like that cursed Crew too) done't ye cry  
The Clergy they are lifted up too high?  
And did not on those Rebels this provoke  
From angry Heaven a most hideous stroke?  
Come, 
— Sub dulci melle venena latent. Virg. In nomine Domini incipit omne malum.— Rabido gestans sub pectore Vulpem. Pers. Sat. 3.  come, this wilful disobedience  
Masqued under Conscience is an high offence.  
Religion and Conscience often be  
Pretended in the worst of Villainy.  
To wave all others, and to quote the highest,  
Did not the Jews in crucifying Christ  
Pretend the same as zealously as you  
Did in (next unto that) the highest too,  
When ye did act that execrable sin  
On Martyred Charles, who's now as Cherubin?  
Come, 
Qui curios simulant, & bacchanalia vivunt. Juv.  there's no sinner like the Hypocrite,  
The Proverb says, No Devil like the white.  
I make no doubt ye all yourselves suppose  
Shadraches, and Meshaches, and Abednegoes;  
But pray did none of ye that were possessed  
Of Habitations, burn among the rest?  
I know your great pretence, forsooth, ye can  
Obey the Will of God 'bove that of man;  
But what obeying God is greater than  
Th' obeying of just Authorized Men?  
Then while blind Zeal just duties thus controls,  
Let not fond errors so seduce your souls.  
No Golden Gods are by a Heathen King  
Commanded now to worship, No, the thing  
Required now, is to obey (I'm sure)  
The living God in worship that is pure.  
Then what pretence is left? O Conscience! now  
These things ye can't by any means allow.  
Have ye forgot, when ye did scruple less  
Rebellion, Murder, and all wickedness?  
And does this Conscience still lack liberty?  
Pray what to do? To swallow up the Sea?  
Contend not then so foolishly, who is  
Guilty'st of this sad Metamorphosis;  
But let us all reform; I'd need but say,  
Then let us but the King and Church obey:  
Their Laws command I'm sure, of me and you,  
Both What to Caesar and to God is due.  
(Hear what the holy Church's STARS divine,  
Fear not to what the others do incline;  
The Superstition's in observing those,  
When we imagine they so much impose.)  
As for the Consistory-courts, I'm sure  
Their Laws are wholesome, their due practice pure:  
But what's the reason ye will those despise?  
Because they punish your iniquities?  
I ne'er was questioned by 'em, but I must  
Confess, I think, theyare merciful and just:  
But ye're resolved only to oppose  
Things legally ordained, and only those.  
Come, come, obey, obey (I say) the King,  
And wave each frivolous and foolish thing.  
Ye cry down Bears; indeed 'tis too too true,  
The Land's too full of such like Bears as you;  
Ye blame the enmity between the Beasts,  
But greater enmity lurks in your breasts.  
Ye like no Plays, but chief those that be  
Like unto Mass ' annelloes Tragedy.  
No, those unmasque Rebellious wickedness,  
And show ye how your conscious souls transgress.  
To Theatres of blood ye can submit,  
But not unto a Theatre of Wit;  
And with an Hewson-eyed Zeal you will report  
The sins not of the Country but the Court.  
Perhaps ye ne'er have been there, since Whitehall  
Was made an Acheron by stinking Noll,  
When Pluto there a hellish Court did keep,  
And cursed Hugh did preach his Imp asleep.  
And so ye think it still the same: but know,  
Now the just Steward's in't 'tis nothing so.  
Persons make places quite anew become,  
As Pompey's Residence made afric Rome. 
Mrs. K. P.   
Pray if ye are such Courtiers that ye know  
In what the Courtier's sin, and what they do;  
Come once again to Court, and see a thing,  
Look on your gracious and indulgent King:  
See, see how much of Clemency and Grace  
Sits in his Royal and Majestic Face.  
See whom ye do offend, it would convince  
A Scythian to behold so good a Prince;  
Perhaps your disobedient hearts will melt,  
Having the power of such an object felt.  
Remember his Amnestia, don't ye know  
To him your lives and liberties ye own?  
Then bened deluded (once again, I say,  
If ye would Heaven please, the King obey.)  
Your Tub-invading Rabshakehs ne'er lack  
Tricks to seduce additions to the Pack;  
But though they Gowns refuse, yet be it spoke,  
'Tis not the longest Presbyterian Cloak  
Will hid their knav'ry; that will be displayed,  
Though they're as fly as He that whipped his Maid.   
FINIS.