A PICKTOOTH FOR THE POPE: OR THE PACKMANS' PATER NOSTER.  
Set down in a Dialogue, betwixt a Pack-man, and a Priest.  
Translated out of Dutch by S. I. S. and newly augmented and enlarged by his son R. S.  
This pious Poëme buy and read,  
For of the Pope it knocks the head,  
GLASGOW, By ROBERT SANDERS, Printer to the Town, and are to be sold in his Shop. M. DC. LXIX.   

TO THE READER.  

THis Present (for the present) I present,  
To you, good Reader, with my small addition:  
The which, to imitate is my intent:  
To match, or over-match, were great-ambition:  
I but enlarge it, not surpass; for neither  
I may, can, will, dare parallel my Father.   

I may not, for I cannot reach unto it:  
And though I could, I will not enterprise it:  
And though I would, could might, I dare not do it:  
To dare, were with disdain for to despise it.  
My Parent's Poëme only to express,  
I press, of new, to put into the Press.    

A CONFERENCE BETWEEN A PEDLAR AND A PRIEST. OR,  

The Packmans' Pater noster,  
Which he learned in a Closter:  
Whereof he sore repent,  
And prays it may be printed.  
Not sitting for the Schools,  
Yet Schoolmaster of fools.   
A Poland's Pedlar went upon a day,  
Unto his Parish Priest to learn to pray:  
The Priest said, Packman, thou must haunt the Closter,  
To learn the Ave, and the Pater noster.  Pack-man. 
Now good Sir Priest, said he, What talk is that?  
I hear you speak, but God in Heaven knows what.  Priest. 
It is, said he, that holy Latine-letter,  
That pleaseth God well, and our Lady better  Pack-man. 
Alace, Sir John, I'll never understand them,  
So must I leave your prayers as I found them.  Priest. 
Tush, tush, says he, if thou list for to learn  
The Latin prayers rightly to discern,  
And sojourn but a little with me here,  
Within a month I shall make thee parqueer.  Pack-man. 
Parqueer, said he, that will be but in saying:  
In words, not sense, a prattling, not a praying.  
Shall I, Sir john, a man of perfect age,  
Pray like an idle Parrot in a cage?  Priest. 
A Parrot can but prattle for her part,  
But towards God hath neither hand nor heart.  Pack-man. 
And seeing I have head and heart to pray,  
Should not my heart know what my tongue doth say?  
For when my tongue talks, if mine heart miscarry,  
How quickly may I mar your Ave Mary?  
And I, Sir, having many things to seek,  
How shall I speed, not knowing what I speak?  Priest. 
Because that God all tongues doth understand.  
Yea knows thy very thoughts before the hand.  Pack-man. 
Then if I think one thing▪ and speak another,  
I will both crab Christ, and our Lady his mother:  
For when I pray for making up my pack, man,  
Your Ave Mary is not worth a plack, man.  Priest. 
Thy Latin prayers are but general heads,  
Containing every special that thou needs:  
The Latin serves us for a Liturgy,  
As Med'ciners direct the Chirurgie:  
And in this language Mass is said and sung:  
For private things pray in thy mother tongue.  Pack-man. 
Then must I have a tongue, Sir John, for either,  
One for the Mother, another for the Father.  Priest. 
Thinks thou the Mother doth not know such small things?  
Christ is her Son man, and he tells her all things.  Pack-man. 
But good Sir John, where learnt our Lady her Latines  
For in her days were neither Mass nor Matines',  
Nor yet one Priest that Latin than did speak,  
For holy words were then all Hebrew and Greek.  
She never was at Rome, nor kissed Pope's toe;  
How came she by the Mass, then would I know?  Priest. 
Pack-man, if thou believe the Legendary:  
The Mass is elder far than Christ or Mary:  
For all the Patriarches, both more and less,  
And great Melchisedeck himself said Mass.  Pack-man. 
But good Sir John, spoke all these Father's Latin?  
And said they Mass in Surplices and Satin?  
Could they speak Latin long ere Latin grew?  
And without Latin no Mass can be true.  
And as for Heretics that now translate it.  
False miscreants, they shame the Mass▪ and state it.  Priest. 
Well, Pack-man, faith thou art too curious,  
Thy spur blind zeal, fervent, but furious:  
I'd rather teach a whole Coven of Monks,  
Then such a Pack-man with his Puritan spunks.  
This thou must know, that cannot be denied,  
Rome reigned over all when Christ was crucified:  
Rome Ethnic then, but afterwards converted.  
And grew so honest, and so holy hearted,  
That now her Emperor is turned in our Pope,  
His Holiness; as you have heard, I hope.  
He made a Law, that all the world should pray  
In Latin Language to the Lord each day:  
And this in our Traditions you may try;  
Which if you list to read, and shall espy  
The Pope to be Christ's Vicar, sole and sure,  
And to the world's end will so endure.  Pack man. 
Surely this purpose puts me far aback,  
And hath more points, than pins in all my pack;  
What ever power you give to your Pope,  
He may not make a man an Ape, I hope.  R. S. 
But good Sir John, before we further go,  
Resolve me this, since you assail me so:  
How, when▪ and where this Vicarage befell  
Unto your Pope? I pray you briefly tell.  Priest. 
Know you not? Peter when he went to Rome,  
He there was execute▪ which was his doom:  
And in his latter will and Legacy,  
At Rome he left his full Supremacy  
Unto the Pope; which Legacy was given  
By Christ to Peter, when he went to heaven.  
And so the Pope (though mediately, indeed  
By Peter) Christ's sole Vicar doth succeed▪  
And every Pope sensyne from race to race,  
Succeeds each other in the Papal place.  Pack-man. 
By your assertion surely I perceive,  
You press to prove that Peter then did leave  
Such Legacy to those who did him murder:  
Think ye such fond conceits your cause can further?  
That's but a very falsely forged fiction,  
And proves most for your Romish whoors conviction.  
For Rome did falsely fall from Peter's faith,  
And Burreo-like bereft him of his breath.  
And so your Pope doth merit no preferment.  
But, as an Hangman, Peter's upper garment.  
And still, Sir John, ye strive to play the knave▪  
Affirming falsely Peter did receive  
His Primacy from Christ, when thus he spoke,  
That he would build his Church upon that Rock;  
As if on Peter Christ had only founded  
His holy Church for ever to be grounded:  
To wrest the Scripture is your whole pretence,  
Either into an ill or double sense▪  
Christ built his Church on Peter's pure profession.  
And on the solid Rock of his confession;  
That he was Christ, which is a firm foundation  
Against all Romish-Popish inundation.  
I sorry am to see you so unwise:  
For Peter after that denied Christ thrice:  
Christ built his Church on faith, which bids a trial,  
And not upon poor Peter's thrice denial.  
On this 
Alexan. Sempil.  a friend of mine did make a Sonnet,  
A pretty one, if I could light upon it:  
Lo here it is, and in it ye may read,  
How your proud Pope to Peter doth succeed.  
Why should profane proud Papists thus presume  
To say their Pope to Peter doth succeed?  
Read we that Peter (if he was at Rome)  
Road robbed with triple crowns upon his head?  
Prayed ever Peter for the souls of dead?  
Or granted pardon for the greatest sin?  
How many Nunces, note we, he did need  
Through all the Nations that his name was in?  
How many Friars had Peter, can we find,  
In sundry sorts so shaved with a shame?  
Was ever Peter so blasphemous blind,  
As to take Holiness unto his Name?  
The Pope succeeds to Peter in no case,  
But in denial, and in no divine place.  R. S. 
Poor Peter, only thrice, did Christ deny:  
Once was too much: but soon he did espy  
How that he rashly had forsworn his Master:  
For which Christ shortly did apply a plaster  
To his sick Soul, and placed his grace therein,  
Which is the only antidote for sin.  
Christ turned and looked on him, and was content  
To pardon Peter, since he did repent.  
But I can prove your Pope, Sir John to be  
Into a great deal worse estate than he:  
For Popes do daily both in word and deed  
Deny our Lord, as after ye may read:  
Who derogates from Christ the full perfection  
Of mediation▪ for our Soul's election;  
And say, his sufferings cannot satisfy  
For all our sins, and cure our misery:  
But mix their humane merit (vile ambition!)  
The foolish brainsick birth of man's tradition:  
And als the works of Supererogation,  
With Christ's true merit, our sole consolation.  
Denies that Christ can be his only Saviour:  
Can ye call this a Christianlike behaviour?  
No, that ye cannot▪ for we may espy all  
Such dealing is of Christ a flat denial.  
But this your Pope doth mishently maintain,  
That humane merit mercy must obtain:  
What humane merit means, I have no skill,  
Go ye to Heaven by any means ye will:  
I hope in God that heaven I shall inherit  
Through Christ his only mercy-worthy merit.  
Your Pope denies his Lord without repentance,  
For daily profit: and draws near the sentence  
Of Judas case; For when the Lord had told him  
He should betray him, than he shortly sold him  
Unto the Jews, and thirty pence did take,  
Too small a sum his Saviour to forsake.  
Yet after that he fain would have repent,  
But not so soon his sin he had resented:  
He forthwith ran in haste, and hanged himself,  
Who sold his Saviour for vile worldly pelf.  
For Judas one, each Pope may count five hunger  
For every day, and do not at it wonder,  
Nor think him damnified by such transgression,  
For 'tis the richest point of his profession,  
And is the finest feather in his wing,  
Which makes him loath to quite such trafficking.  
And so your Pope not only doth deny Christ,  
But Judas-like, he sells, and Papists buy Christ.  
Yet suffer me, Sir John, for to relate  
Some Orders of your Popish Roman state.  
First is your Pope, whom so your Clergy calls,  
Next him ye have your pompous Cardinals.  
Your Prelates, Priests, your Priors and your Patrons,  
Your Monks at Mass, & Matines with your Matrons:  
Your Abbots Convents, and your chaste Abesses;  
Your Nunneries Nuns, your painted Prioresses:  
Your Jebusitish Jesuits, your Friars,  
So razed with razors, and so shaved with shears:  
Some of the Order of Dominican,  
Some of the Order of proud Franciscan.  
And think ye not the Romish Church doth err,  
When before Christ, Saint Francis they prefer?  
They make Christ (only) but as an Orator,  
But make Saint Francis only Exorator.  
Christ but to pray, Saint Francis to prevail,  
And to obtain, when Christ his prayers fail.  
Some of another Order are content,  
Called Capuchins, themselves for to torment,  
With many more I may not now rehearse,  
Which would be tedious to put in verse.  
Search all the Scriptures through, see what it says▪  
If such styles were in Christ's or Peter's days.  
No, good Sir John, I surely do suppone,  
Like those you shall find either few or none.  
And yet, Sir John, I'll show you what a story,  
Your ancient Fathers tell of Purgatory.  
They do affirm that Antichristian Cell,  
To be a place next adjacent to Hell;  
Alike in pain, but not alike in case,  
Of the continuance of time and space:  
Wherein are Souls for venial sins committed:  
(For satisfying mortal sins remitted:  
Some Souls are likewise for a time tormented)  
Until by prayer God's anger be relented.  
And the confession hereof is, as saith  
Your Bellarmine, a point of Catholic faith:  
And so must be undoubtedly believed;  
Whereout, who pays most, soon is relieved:  
Not by good faith, but only by good deeds,  
And prattling Pater nosters on their beads:  
By daily sacrifices of the living,  
And weekly rents, and offerings largely giving:  
And by their public, and proclaimed alms,  
A silver shower that fiery furnace calms.  
And as for me, Sir John, I say no more.  
But this into mine heart I heap in store;  
By faith in Christ God's grace is to me given,  
That my Soul shortly shall ascend to Heaven.  
When this life ends, my ghost shall go to glory.  
Pocks on your presupposed Purgatory,  
Infantum limbus, and your Limbus Patrum,  
Whereout none comes, but by the preces Fratrum,  
(Ye say) and Masses said for souls departed.  
Whereby poor peevish people's pelf is parted  
Amongst your Clergy, making them believe  
Their silly souls then quickly shall relieve  
Out of that pain: and as for them that pay most,  
Creeds, Avees, Pater's, Mass, they pray, and say most.  
To make their sayings sure they cite the Scripture;  
But falsely form with a ragged rupture:  
Of which, if ye would surely have a sent,  
Read Cartwright against Rheims New Testament.  
The which to prove how little they prevail,  
Read Doctor morton's Protestant appeal;  
Where ye shall find this purpose well disputed,  
And by them both right learnedly refuted.  
It passeth Papists pour for to prove it,  
The more I hear, the more I loathe to love it.  
So since, Sir John, ye have no Scripture for it,  
But mere alleadgences. I must abhor it:  
To trust such tales I shall be very sorry,  
I'll go to Heaven, go ye to Purgatory.  
In Rome likewise to hinder fornication,  
Your Pope admits a great abomination;  
They suffer borthels without reprehension.  
For augmentation of their yearly pension,  
Wherein for Clergymen are Stews allowed,  
For weekly payment, constantly avowed.  
They spare not only to exact a rent,  
From persons willing to live continent:  
Allowing them their whoors (thus they insist)  
In Stews: where they may have them, if they list:  
●or Clergymen they suffer not to marry,  
Consenting to a course that's quite contrary  
To God's Law, charging his Church withal,  
There should not be a whore in Israel.  
●ut your Pope Adrian, for yearly fewes,  
●id build in Rome (O Rome!) a stately Stews:  
behold his godless, graceless▪ goodless carriage:  
●o build a Borthel, disannulling marriage.  
●ow, were I Lay, or Churchman, by my life,  
I should renounce your Stews, and take a wife.  
And last, your Pope, like all devouring dogs,  
In Rome allows the Jews their Synagogues;  
Wherein our Lord and Saviour Christ they curse,  
For yearly payment to enlarge their purse.  
And yet before a Jew become a Papist,  
he'll rather quite his God, and turn an Atheist.  
Now what profession will they not permit,  
For profit in their Sodom for to sit?  
Except true Protestants, most Apostolic,  
And pure professors, Christians Catholic:  
Such they will never suffer in their city,  
They persecute them all, and have no pity:  
But still pursue them both with sword and fire,  
Like madmen in their fury and their ire;  
And like bloodthirsty raging Lions roaring  
After their preys: like hungry Wolves devouring  
The blood of Saints, when they can apprehended them  
I hope in God, he daily shall defend them;  
Against their Devilish desperate intentions,  
And their invective Jesuits inventions:  
And all their wicked wiles, and subtle shots,  
Their most abominable powder plots.  
See from their fountains what sweet water spring  
To send out tongues to kill their native Kings:  
Both Prince and people, to destroy they care not,  
Man, wife, and child to put to death they spare no  
Mark what a vile report Queen Katherine caries  
For that mad Massacre she made at Paris:  
Should any soul such sake-less slaughter smother,  
So mishently committed by her Mother?  
Who sent out bloody Boutchers to cut down,  
The whole Protestants present in the town;  
Both under trust, and under cloud of night:  
But I repose in jacob's God of might,  
He will undoubtedly ere it be long,  
Both judge their cause, and eke revenge their wrong.  
Albeit their bones be buried in the dust,  
In God Omnipotent I put my trust:  
(As in the sacred Fathers we do read)  
The blood of Saints shall be the Church's seed.  
Though ye think your Profession true and pure,  
Had ye a spunk of grace (Man) I am sure,  
(Hearing me make so many true relations,  
How Rome maintains so gross abominations)  
Her devilish doctrine soon ye would despite,  
And questionless, her courses quickly quite.  
For Rome, we see, retains into her Treasure,  
Popes, perjury, profanity, and pleasure:  
Priests, Papists, Pardons, Prelates, Prior's punks,  
Mass, matines, matrons mumbling with their Monks:  
Contentious Jesuits, counterfeit contrition:  
That hellish hole of Spanish Inquisition:  
Earth Epicures, equivocating elves.  
Puffed up with pampering pride of paltred pelves.  
Terrestrial temporizers, truthless traitors;  
False, feigned, faithless, filthy fornicators:  
Unhappy hypocrites, unwholesome whoors,  
In beastly borthels, Babylonish bowers.  
With shameless strumpets in their stinking Stews.  
Invyous Jesuits, invective Jews.  
Equivocation, mental reservation,  
The devil devised such doctrine for damnation:  
They eat their God, they kill their King, they cousin  
Their neighbour: is not this a great abusing?  
With many monstrous things I cannot name,  
On which to think it makes me sweat for shame:  
As are these Rites maintained in Rome's theatre,  
And first the casting of their holy water:  
Their exorcism, their images, their altars:  
Of crosses, cups, and pals, Popes are exalters,  
Of candles, and of Church's consecration,  
With vestments in the Church for decoration:  
Their hypocritical hid Hermetages,  
Their penance and polluted pilgrimages:  
freewill, and humane merit for offences,  
With juggling Jubilees and indulgences;  
And of the Saints their idle invocation,  
And by the Pope their cursed Canonization.  
Auricular Confession, vile pollution,  
And for their sins a paid for absolution:  
Their private Masses, and their murmuration,  
Their elevation, transubstantiation.  
Sir John, if ye would hear me but record,  
Some verses on the Supper of our Lord:  
It was a friend of mine to me did send them.  
he's not a Christian will not commend them.  
Priests make Christ's both body and soul, we need not doubt,  
They eat, drink, box him up, they bear about▪  
One is too little; bread and wine  
Holds not him several▪ so we dine;  
Thou with thy Christ, I with mine.  
Is thy mouth the Virgin womb? Is bread her seed?  
Are thy words the holy Ghost? Is this our Creed?  
O presumptuous undertaker!  
Never Cake could make a Baker,  
Yet the Priest can make his Maker.  
What's become of all these Christ's the Priests have made?  
Do these hosts of ostes abide? or do they fade?  
One Christ abides, the rest do fly:  
One Christ he lives, the rest do die:  
One Christ is true, the rest a lie.  R. S. 
Into the Gospel, Take ye, Eat ye, Christ saith,  
For which, Receive ye, Swallow ye, your Priest saith.  
See how by Pope's the Sacraments are driven,  
Where Christ makes two, they add five, so make seven.  
For Baptism and the Supper of the Lord,  
These only two did Christ to us afford.  
With Christ his institution not content,  
To these two true, five bastards they augment.  
A bastard's name doth duly them befit;  
For they were never reabled as yet;  
Nor ever shall, but still will be abhorred,  
Because they have no warrant from the Lord,  
As Confirmation, Penance, Extreme Unction,  
With Priestly Orders to adorn their function;  
And Matrimony they maintain as one.  
But here's a wondrous thing to think upon.  
How Popes do call themselves, Sorvi servorum,  
Yet in procession keep a strange Docorum.  
They tread on necks of Kings upon the street,  
And forcing Emperors to kiss their feet.  
Doth God the Father in his Law allow  
These vile inventions your Church doth avow?  
Doth Christ his Son into his Gospel give  
Such ways to walk in, such faith to believe?  
Or doth the holy Ghost in us inspire▪  
More then the Law and Gospel doth require?  
The Father hath prescriv'd to us a Law,  
To keep us in obedience and awe:  
And Christ his Son our Saviour, did provide us  
His glorious Gospel always for to guide us:  
The holy Ghost doth from them both proceed,  
To guard us from our sins in time of need.  
If we transgress the Law of God the Father.  
Then neither grace nor comfort can we gather.  
If we believe not in his only Son,  
Then our belief is doubtlessly undone;  
And if we breathe not of the holy Ghost,  
Then is our labour all our life-time lost.  
But God's Commandments your Kirk renverses,  
Some she conjoins, and others she disperses:  
She trusts in Saints and Angels many one,  
And should trust in the Trinity alone:  
Wherefore Gods holy Spirit can never attend her,  
Nor in distress or danger e'er defend her.  
And though she reign a while in pomp and pride,  
I hope in God my good and gracious guide,  
To her the true Religion he'll advance  
Ere long, and bring her out of ignorance,  
Wherein she hath these many hundreth years  
lain wilfully, which manifest appears▪  
By her unwillingness from thence to part,  
She is so obdurate, and hard of heart;  
So that except God by his mighty hand,  
Her power, her pride, and cruelty withstand,  
And force her from her filthiness to fly,  
Of errors great, and gross idolatry:  
So if she follow not Christ's true instruction,  
I fear her final dangerous destruction:  
Which God forbid: I hope in his own time.  
he'll both forgive, and purge her of all crime.  
Herd ever ye, Sir John, a purpose quicker,  
To prove the Pope to be Christ's only Vicar?  S. I. S. 
And though he were full Vicar to our Lord,  
Should not his words and Christ's keep one accord?  Priest. 
Doubtless they do, and never are contrary,  
In Pater noster, Creed, nor Ave Mary.  Pack-man. 
But Christ's Disciples when they made their motion  
To Christ their Master, how to make devotion?  
As I have done to you, Sir John, to day,  
I pray you, in what tongue bade he them pray?  
Christ did not one word Latin to them speak:  
Their talk was all in Syriack, Hebrew, Greek.  
He bade all Nations pray after one manner:  
But bade not all take Latin for their Banner.  
Your Latin is but one of the Translations:  
Why should it then exclude all other Nations?  
And on my soul▪ Sir John, if I but say,  
In mine own Mother tongue, when I do pray:  
Lord, help me, Lord, forgive me all my sins:  
Yea, why not, Lord, increase my pack and pins.  
And every thing whereof I stand in need:  
For this depends upon our daily bread:  
I hope in God, to reap more comfort herein,  
Then Latin ye would make me so parquier in.  
And since some tongues have more antiquity  
Than Latin, were it not iniquity  
To force all people to pray like the Pope?  
No, good Sir John, you'll not say that I hope.  Priest. 
But Pack-man, one point would I fain make plain,  
Let us come back to our Lady again:  
And if thou had as much capacity,  
As raving wit, with great audacity,  
The case is clear, that Virgin Mary meek,  
She could all languages perfectly speak.  
Hast thou not heard, man▪ how the holy Ghost  
Came down like cloven tongues at the Pentecost,  
And filled the house where all the twelve were ready,  
And one tongue truly lighted on our Lady?  
And lest thou think I talk of idle themes,  
Consult the reverend Jesuits of Rheims:  
I pray thee, Pack-man, earnestly this note.  Pack-man. 
In faith, Sir John, it is not worth a groat.  
Will I believe't, think ye, because they say it?  Priest. 
No: but they prove't, as no man can deny it.  
Saith not the Text, that when the Lord ascended,  
Unto the twelve he earnestly recommended,  
That from Jerusalem they should not go,  
Until the Comforter should come: and so  
Into an upper room they went together,  
Where Marie still was one, ye must consider.  
With many more in number full six score,  
That with the twelve did daily God adore:  
And then he saith, when Pentecost was come,  
They were together in one place, all, and some,  
And (all) were filled with the holy Ghost.  Pack-man. 
O good Sir John, ye count without your host.  
Now I see well your jesuitical tongues  
Have cloven the Text even to the very lungs:  
That (all) which first was spoken of six score,  
Is here meant of the only twelve, no more.  
Nor Mary is not named now, as than:  
What need I then believe it, holy Man?  
On with your spectacles, Sir John, and read,  
And credit this as a point of your Creed:  
The holy Ghost could fall upon no more  
Than he was promised unto before.  
Doubtless he took not a blindfolded flight,  
Like filed Larks, not knowing where to light.  
Now he was promised only to the twelve,  
Look on the text, Sir John, and judge your self.  
Speak man, and be not silent: I am sorry,  
To see you ignorant of such a story.  
And as the stories in themselves are divers,  
Flowing and falling into sundry rivers;  
In divers chapters so they stand divided,  
So that the case may clearly be decided.  
For when these six score was at first convened,  
There was another mystery than meaned;  
To wit, Mathias free election,  
And so Saint Peter gave direction,  
That (all) the six score there should bear record  
Of their proceedings then before the Lord:  
The choosing of a Pastor was in hand,  
Which if the Church allow not, cannot stand:  
And so Mathias, through the power of Heaven,  
By lot was held as one of the eleven.  
Then says the text, all these were still together:  
What all these were, let any man consider.  
The twelve, say I, in the last verse before;  
And not make Leap-year of eleven verse more,  
To draw all back to these hundred and twenty:  
Indeed this way we should have tongues in plenty:  
And as they differ by twelve verse or lines,  
So are they ten days different in times:  
The first upon the day when Christ ascended,  
The other when the holy Ghost descended:  
Such glazen arguments will bide no hammer,  
For they are but ill Logic, and worse Grammar.  
So only twelve received the holy Ghost,  
And so our Lady all her tongues hath lost.  
Now for the holy Ghost it's truly tried,  
His coming down is unto no law tied,  
Sometimes invisible, and sometimes seen,  
As diversely at divers times hath been.  
His coming needs but to be seen offew,  
His works may serve for witnesses anew;  
And so Saint Paul himself I understand,  
But privately by Ananias hand.  
And so, Sir John, to show you all my pack,  
And let you see my breast as well as back;  
I wonder ye consider not the end,  
Why God the holy Ghost in tongues did send:  
Know ye not, Tongues were only given for teaching?  
Know ye not, women are forbidden preaching?  
Yea scarce at home have liberty of speech,  
But ask their husbands, and they for to teach.  
Since women then in God's word may not walk,  
What should they do with tongues that may not talk?  
And then, Sir John, what worship do ye win,  
Unto our Lady, when ye bring her in  
jack-fellow-like with other whole six score,  
Who got the holy Ghost, and she no more?  
And where the Pope hath made her queen of heaven  
Ye make her but like one of the eleven:  
Surely, Sir John, this is an ill favoured fitching;  
Ye thrust her from the Hall down to the kitchen  
And this is also one of the rare Themes,  
Held by your reverend jesuits of Rheims;  
That Latin came not with the holy Ghost,  
When the cloven tongues came at the Pentecost.  
Now, if it came not by the holy Ghost,  
Whence is this holiness whereof ye boast,  
That in it only, and none other tongue,  
Both Mass and Matines must be said and sung▪  
Your last refuge will be unto the Pope:  
So knit up altogether in one rope.  
Then, good Sir John, consider but a little,  
How ye gave unto Marie many a tittle.  
Whereof ye have no warrant in the Word;  
And yet pursue us both with fire and sword,  
As Heretics, for not doing as ye do:  
Yet what the Word bids, and no more, that we do.  
Think ye that any man can be so mad.  
As to hold Christ his Saviour; and so bad,  
As to hold Marie for his Saviors Mother,  
And not to love her still above all other?  
We love her then, though we believe not in her.  
Nor by will-worship think we for to win her.  
We hold her blessed, for Christ's flesh conceiving.  
But far more blessed, for Christ's faith receiving:  
She is his Mother, and the Church his Wife▪  
Which was to him more dearer than his life.  
So, if the one could fall out with the other,  
He would respect his Wife, more than his Mother:  
For this is every Spouses carriage,  
But most in this spiritual Marriage.  
And as she's Mother of his humane life.  
She's but a Daughter of his heavenly Wife▪  
And by his Mother, member of Christ's body:  
Who thinks not so, is but a very Noddy.  
All this, Sir John, I do but briefly say.  
To let you see, that ye play us foul play.  Priest. 
Well, Pack-man, though thou bear about that trunk.  
〈◊〉 fear thou be but some foreloppin Monk.  
Of Luther's lore, or crooked calvin's crew.  
And sent abroad, such business to brew:  
Transformed in the person of some Pedlar.  Pack-man. 
Now, good Sir John, in faith I am no meddler,  
Nor have I mind, nor means so high to mount▪  
〈◊〉 can but read a little, and lay a count,  
And seek my meat through many an unknown Maison.  
〈◊〉 know not what ye call your Kyrie-Laison:  
●o help me God, Sir John, I know no better,  
Nor in your Latin can I read one letter.  
I but believe in God, and sometimes say,  
Christ help me, when I wander out the way.  Priest. R. S. 
I pray thee, Pack-man, this much for to tell me,  
Since thou presumes so far for to excel me.  
Were't not a very reasonable thing:  
If one were going to an earthly King,  
To get forgiveness for some great transgression,  
That he should shortly suit the intercession  
Of some great Favourite, and he for to pass  
To purchase pardon for his high trespass;  
And not the guilty person to proceed  
Presumptuously before the King to plead;  
But use his moyen by his Highness' Minion.  Pack-man. 
Sir John, that motion is not worth an Onion.  
What if the King shall hear the poor man's suit,  
Should he stand silent, as if he were mute?  
No: he should prostrate, lay his fault before him,  
And he himself for pity should implore him:  
For intercessors ofttimes lurks and lingers,  
Except the pleaders largely fill their fingers.  
There is a Proverb in the Scottish laws,  
A man, a Lion is, in his own cause.  
Though great abuses be in earthly things,  
We must not so abuse the King of Kings.  
Such idle tales my mind doth much molest.  Priest. 
I pray thee, Pack-man, hear me out the rest:  
And so this present purpose to conclude,  
Would ye think any man should be that rude,  
To pray to God, without Saint's mediation?  
It would be thought a great abomination:  
The heavens such heinous pride hath ay abhorred,  
So proudly to compear before the Lord.  
Such great presumption God will surely punish;  
That's not the way his fault for to diminish;  
He must implore our blessed Lady's aid,  
Then she should show her Son what he hath said,  
And so command him go unto his Father,  
That for his suit some comfort he may gather:  
Or else he must employ some Saint or Angel.  Pack-man. 
Such words I find not in the Evangel.  
Surely, Sir John, such sayings are but idle:  
Such blasphemy is not in all the Bible:  
To trust your words, or Paul's, now tell me whether?  Priest. 
Reject them, if they jump not just together.  Pack-man. 
And so I shall: for I can let you see  
In Paul's Epistle unto Timothy.  
He plainly says, There is one God, and than,  
One Mediator between God and man.  
This same is He, which is the man Christ Jesus,  
And he from death to life can only raise us:  
Since he redeemed us, as our elder brother.  
Pray as ye please, I'll never seek another.  R. I. S. 
And so what e'er I have, what e'er I want,  
I neither pray to He, nor to she Saint.  
And as for tongues, I have but one, no more;  
And wit ye well, albeit I had ten score,  
I would use all conform to Paul's commanding,  
Pray with my tongue, pray with my understanding.  
Think ye these twelve, when they received these tongues,  
Did talk like Parrots, or like barrel bungs,  
Yielding a sound, not knowing what they said;  
Idle in preaching, idler when they prayed?  
No: each of them knew well what he did say▪  
And why not we, Sir John, as well as they?  
For since all men have one tongue at command.  
Should we seek tongues we do not understand?  
Alace, Sir John, had I been trained at school,  
As I am but a simple ignorant fool,  
An hundred questions more I might have moved;  
But here I cease, fearing to be reproved:  
For these few doubts I learned in divers places,  
Thinking the Clergymen would clear all cases.  Priest. 
Now, Pack-man, I confess thou puts me to it,  
But one thing I will tell thee, if thou'lt do it;  
Thou shalt come to our holy Prior, Pack-man,  
And he, perhaps, will buy all on thy back, man;  
And teach thee better how to pray then any,  
For such an holy man there are not many.  
Be here to morrow, just between six and seven,  
And thou wilt find thyself half way to heaven.  Pack-man. 
Content, quoth I, but there is something more,  
I must have your opinion in before.  
In case the holy Prior have no leisure,  
To speak of every purpose at our pleasure:  
There was but one tongue at the birth of Abel,  
And many at the building up of Babel:  
A wicked work which God would have confounded,  
But when Christ came all tongues again resounded,  
To build his Church by his Apostles teaching,  
Why not in praying, as well as in preaching?  
Since prayer is the true and full perfection  
Of holy service: saving your correction:  
So if our Lord to mine own tongue be ready,  
What need I then with Latin trouble our Lady?  
Or if both these my prayers must be in,  
I pray thee, tell me at whom to begin?  
And to pray jointly to them both as one,  
Your Latin prayers than are quickly gone:  
For Pater noster never will accord  
With her, nor Ave Mary with our Lord.  
If I get him, what need I seek another?  
Or dare he do nothing without his Mother?  
And this, Sir John, was once in question,  
Disputed long with deep digestion,  
Whether the Pater noster should be said  
To God, or to our Lady, when they prayed?  
When Master Mare of learned Diversity,  
Was Rector of our University:  
They sat so long, they cooled all their kail,  
Until the Master Cook heard of the tale,  
Who like a madman ran amongst the Clergy,  
Crying with many a Domine me asperge:  
To give the Pater noster to the Father,  
And to our Lady give the Avees rather;  
And like a Welshman swore a great Saint Davies,  
She might content Her well with Creeds & Avees:  
And so the Clergy fearing more confusion,  
Were all contented with the Cook's conclusion.  Priest. 
Pack-man, this Tale is coined of the new.  Pack-man. 
Sir John, I'll quite the pack, if't be not true.  
Again, Sir John, ye learned Monks may read.  
How Christ himself taught us of his own head,  
That every soul that was with sin oppressed,  
Should come to him, and he would give them rest.  
Come all to me, saith he, not to another.  
Come all to me, saith he, not to my Mother▪  
And if I do all as Christ did command it,  
I hope her Ladyship will not withstand it.  
And so, Sir John, if I should speak in Latin  
Unto the Lord, at Evensong and at Matine,  
And never understand what I were saying,  
Think ye the Lord would take this for true praying?  
No: that ye cannot; for ye may consider,  
My tongue and heart should pray to God together.  
And hereupon ye shall hear what befell  
To certain Clerks, that Latin well could spell:  
With whom, by chance, I lodged at an Inn,  
Where an old wife upon a rock did spin:  
And towards evening she fell to and prayed,  
But neither they, nor I, knew what she said.  
One said, the Carling counterfeits the Canting.  
Another said, it's but the Matrons manting.  
Some called it Gibbers, others called it Clavers,  
But still the Carling speaks, and spins, and slavers.  
Now good Sir John, what think ye of this Hussie?  
Where was her heart, when her hands were so busy?  
In end, one said, Dame, wot ye what ye say?  
No, not, saith she, but well I wot I pray.  
Ye pray, said he, and wots not what? I grant.  
Alace, how can ye be so ignorant?  
The Matron musing little at the motion,  
Said, Ignorance is mother of devotion.  
Then Dame, said he, if Ignorance be the mother,  
Darkness must be the daughter, and none other.  
Prayed ye, said he, when all the time ye span?  
What reck of that? said she, God's a good man,  
And understands all that I say in Latin,  
And this I do at Evensong and at Matine.  
Alace, Sir John, was not this wife abused,  
Whose soul and senses all were so confused?  
Ye know these unknown tongues can profit no man▪  
And one tongue is enough for any woman.  
But when one prays in true sincerity.  
As God commands, in Spirit and Verity;  
The heart sends up the tongue as messenger  
Unto the Lord a pleasant passenger.  Priest. 
But pack-man, here's a pretty little book,  
Wherein if thou wilt listen for to look,  
Set out by a true Catholic Divine,  
And out of doubt will settle thine engine.  
Faith, read it, Pack-man, for it is but little.  
The gadge of the new Gospel is its tittle.  
He clearly proves by Zacharies example,  
When he did sacrifice within the Temple,  
And all the people stood and prayed without,  
They knew not then what tongue he spoke, no doubt:  
Ergo the Mass may both be said and sung  
In other language than the mother tongue.  Pack-man. 
Sir John, I see your holy Catholic,  
Upon the truth, hath put a pretty trick.  
Have ye not heard this proverb oftimes sounded,  
Homo qui malè audit malè rounded?  
So if the people heard not what he said,  
How could they know in what language he prayed?  
Since understanding cometh by the ear,  
He cannot understand that doth not hear.  
Or how proves this that Zacharie the Priest  
Spoke Latin, than the language of the Beast?  
Were Liturgies under the Law, but so  
In such a tongue that all the Jews did know?  
What e'er he spoke, himself sure understood it:  
And so your Catholic did ill conclude it:  
Because a learned Priest may pray in Latin,  
And mumble o'er his Evensong, Mass and Matine.  
Ergo a Pack-man to the Lord may pray,  
And never know a syllable he doth say:  
For when you put me to my Pater noster,  
I seek an egg, and ye give me an oster.  
And so, Sir John, I have given you a wadge,  
That's good enough for your new Gospel gadge.  
Last, since we say that God is good to speak to.  
Who will both hear our text, and hear our eke to:  
What if he answer me in the Latin tongue  
Wherein I pray, and wherein Mass is sung?  
I must say, Lord, I wot not what thou sayest.  
And he'll say, Fool, thou wots not what thou prayest.  
Even, Lord, say I, as good Sir John did teach me.  
Sir John, saith he, a Priest unmeet to preach me.  
Or in your mishent mouths once for to name me:  
With different tongues and hearts, such Jock, such Jamie.  
For though I know more tongues than ye can tell,  
False knaves, should ye not understand your cell?  
Gave I not you a tongue as well as heart,  
That both to me should play an a-fold part?  
But like two double devils ye have dissembled.  
At this Sir John, he quaked, and he trembled,  
And said, good Pack-man, thou art so quick witted,  
Unto the Prior all must be remitted.  
And so the Pack-man passed unto his lodging.  
Having within his heart great grief and grudging:  
Sometimes he doubted if the Monks were men,  
Or Monsters, for his life he could not ken:  
He said, Sir John was a fair fat fed Ox.  
Sometimes he said, he looked like John Knox.  
But Knox was better versed into the Bible,  
A study that Sir John held very idle:  
They dyve not deep into Divinity.  
And trouble them little with the Trinity.  
And are more learned in the Legendary,  
In lives of Saints, and of the Lady Marie:  
The only Idol they embrace and kiss A,  
Is to prove servants unto Mistress Missa.  
With such conceits the Pack-man past the night▪  
With little sleep, until it was day light.  
And by the peep of day he early rose,  
And trimmed him finely in his holidays hose:  
And to Sir john's own chamber strait he went,  
Who was attending: So with one assent,  
They hied them to the Prior both in haste,  
To whom Sir John began to give a taste  
Of all the questions that had passed amongst them.  
He called them Heretics both, and vowed to hang them.  
With that the Pack-man hurled through the Closter,  
And there he met with an ill favoured Foster;  
Who quickly twinned him, and all on his back:  
And then he learned to pray, Shame fall the Pack:  
For if they have not ●red me of my sin,  
They sent me lighter out than I came in.  
And still he cried, Shame fall both Monks and Friars:  
For I have lost my Pack, and learned no Prayers.  
So farewell Ave, Creed, and Pater noster:  
I'll pray'n my mother tongue, and quite the Closter.  
FINIS.