A SECOND CONSULTATION BETWEEN THE POPE and the TURK, Concerning the Propagation of the Catbolick Faith.  POPE. 
HAil mighty Monarch! by whose aid  
I hope I shall subdue,  
And for the future make afraid  
The whole Heretical Crew;  
You will both wise and grateful prove  
While you with me combine,  
Who always have showed you my love,  
And now your good design.  TURK. 
What mean these ambiguities  
With which to me you come?  
Is th' Oracle of doubtful lies  
From Delphos gone to Rome?  
Your kindness I ne'er vaderstood,  
Whatever you pretend:  
To him to whom you ne'er did good,  
How can you be a friend?  POPE. 
Ungrateful man! do you forget  
 
〈…〉 yet  
Your sceptre doth obey▪  
I did the Greeks to Florence call,  
And kept them there with me:  
And you were Master made of all,  
Before we could agree.  TURK. 
This manifests your wickedness  
And makes your Cause yet worse;  
I see no reason you to Bless,  
Though Greece hath cause to Curse:  
You prove your Treachery indeed,  
But not your love to me,  
You'd ne'er have helped me in my need,  
If they'd submitted t'ee.  POPE. 
I think I stood your Friend (good Sir)  
When James did aspire:  
I both did keep him Prisoner,  
And poisoned him for hire;  
Then against France 'twas I did send  
For your victorious Arms,  
With promise that I would descend  
Your Kingdoms from all harms.  TURK. 
Two hundred thousand Florins, when  
You did my Brother's work,  
You had: The Benefactor than  
Was not the Pope but Turk;  
'Tis true me once you did invite  
Your interest to advance;  
Not cause you loved me, but for spite  
Against the King of France.  POPE. 
Though still Ingratitude you pay  
For kindnesses good store,  
If you'll be ruled, I'll on you lay  
One obligation more:  
I'll raise your Empire yet so high,  
That you shall straightway yield  
That I pull down, and only I  
Do Monarchies rebuild.  TURK. 
For all your talk, I still do fear  
That while you make a pother,  
And with one hand pretend to rear,  
You pull down, with the other:  
But what is't now that I must do,  
 
 
Are really my Friend?  POPE. 
Why first I'll give you all those lands  
That 'gainst me do rebel,  
Go take them straight into your hands,  
I've cursed their Kings to Hell;  
I freely to the King of Spain  
The British Islands gave:  
He wanted strength those Isles to gain,  
Which I am sure you have.  TURK. 
You're generous Sir, and at one word  
Great Territories grant,  
Which if men gain not by the Sword,  
They must for ever want:  
So while you Saintship give to some,  
And frankly Heaven bestow,  
I doubt (wh●●●re's decreed at Rome)  
Their portion is below.  POPE. 
Whether Heaven and Hell, are in my gift  
I do not greatly care,  
(Let learned men those Question sift)  
sure earthly Kingdoms are;  
I can from ancient deeds declare  
What power belongs to me:  
The greatest Kings are what they are  
By my Authority.  TURK. 
I've often heard what Tricks you use  
To help you in your needs,  
Sometimes you do the World abuse  
With forged Books and Deeds:  
Sometimes you Kingdoms give away  
(As now you do to me)  
Hoping that thus obliged, they  
Your Vassals still will be.  POPE. 
If I your Benefactor be,  
I hope ydu won't think much,  
(When I've raised you to high degree)  
To honour me as such:  
If Universal Monarchy  
You do receive from me,  
The Universal Pastor I  
May be allowed to be.  TURK. 
I understand your kindness now,  
 
If unto you I'll cringe and bow,  
And after your Pipe dance;  
Then you'll unto me be so kind,  
That you will crack your brain,  
Some place i'th' Alcoran to find,  
That shall your Pride maintain.  
This honour more you'll on me heap,  
Whenever, I you meet,  
That on my knees I straight must creep,  
To kiss your Worship's feet.  
When ere your Pride I do oppose,  
You'll curse me straight to Hell;  
My Subjects too shall ne'er want those  
Shall stir them to Rebel.  
You still unto me plagues will send  
As you have done to others,  
From Priests I must myself defend,  
Worse than aspiring Brothers:  
Where you fet foot no Prince is free,  
But straight must be your slave,  
Good Sir, pray cease treat with me;  
I other business have.  
FINIS.   

LICENCED, Jan. 16. 1678/ 9   

LONDON: Printed for N. M. in the year, 167●.