St. Crispin's Triumph OVERDO Pope Innocent: OR THE Monks and Friars Routed. A Tragicomedy, As it was lately Acted with great Noise at Dantzick in Poland by the Reforming Shoemakers, and other Retainers to St. Hugh.  
Wherein it is Infallibly demonstrated, that they who won, had the best on't; and that since People will not be so wise to pluck out their Eyes, and turn Papists, the most effectual and speedy way to convert Soul and Body together, is by Strangling, Murder, Fire and Gunpowder.  
Licenced November 2d 1678.  
Printed at Primrose-Hill for the special Edification of those New Miracle-Mongers, who would persuade us, that after a man has been Strangled and Murdered, he can yet walk a Mile, and run himself through with his own Sword. Octob. 17. 1678.   

St. CRISPIN'S TRIUMPH OVERDO POPE INNOCENT; OR THE Monks and Friars Routed, etc.  

1.  
HEre's pretty Sport for Heretics, I swear,  
Rome's golden Calves at Dantzick turned to Grafs  
Their Holy Trinkets they in pieces tear,  
And Goodman Pax's translated to an Ass.  
Another wonder's added to their Church,  
The Friars left their Puppet Saints i'th' Lurch.   

2.  
Rude Huguenots, how durst you be so bold  
To lay your hands upon such holy things,  
You'll certainly be cursed by Young and Old.  
Hark how the clapper of their Bull-bell rings,  
To break the Necks of Saints, are mortal sins,  
Not to be pardoned had you broke their shins.   

3.  
This brisk Attempt hath turned their Evensong,  
And Ave Maries into doleful Dirges,  
Who without doubt will hang themselves e'er long,  
At least do Penance on their backs with Scourges,  
For suffering their gods, those silly Elves,  
To be destroyed, that could not save themselves.   

4.  
The Suckling-bottle of the Virgin's Milk,  
So long preserved for those Babes of Grace,  
Thick crumbed with breaden god, is broke and spilt,  
And waxed Thumbs the Crucifix deface;  
Their Angels also which then went to Pot,  
Hath quite undone their Miracles god wots.   

5.  
But you the Offspring of St. Crispin's Race,  
How fell ye out, since both Sole-menders are,  
For Gentle Craft the Relics to deface;  
Suppose St. Hugh had with his Boots been there,  
Would you engage him so in stormy weather,  
To tear the Sole from off the upper Leather.   

6.  
You rather ought have brought your Awls and Ends,  
And stitched together what you found awry,  
Or par'd'um gently on your Last like Friends  
And Loyal Cobblers to their Monastery;  
And so perhaps you would, had they been aught,  
You were forced to Vamp them, cause their Souls were naught.   

7.  
Troth like enough, good cause to think 'em so,  
Rome's Emissaries round the world do Roam,  
To every Court in Christendom they go,  
Make mischiefs there, then send advices home;  
Corrupting Counsels, and dividing States,  
And Fly-blow Maggots in the people's Pates.   

8.  
This they effect by divers ways and Forms,  
To day a Courtier, to morrow clad in Leather,  
His Lordship's Chaplain, or a Man in Arms;  
A Merchant next, a Tradesman, all or either,  
A Zealot now, and then a Hector, he's  
The Devil and all, there's nothing comes amiss.   

9  
Swear and Forswear, take any Obligation,  
Rail at their Church, and ban his Holiness name,  
Betray their Fathers; they have Dispensation  
For Murder, Stabbing, Fry ye in a Flame,  
Any way Conquer for their Churches good,  
'Cause best it thrives when deepest set in blood.   

10.  
These are the Tenants of those Saints of Rome,  
Or Monsters rather, Firebrands of Hell,  
The very Pests and Plagues of Christendom,  
As sad Experience to the world doth tell,  
By whose Accursed hands more Christians died,  
Then have by Turks or Infidels beside.   

11.  
And shall this Viperous brood delude us still,  
Under pretence of Zeal and Piety,  
Whose Hellish aim is Christian blood to spill,  
And force the way for their Idolatry;  
Their Avarice doth squeeze the people's Veins  
As dry as Kexes where their Power Reigns.   

12.  
They have Indulgence for the worst of sins,  
Or more or less, past, present, or to come,  
They'll Pardons sell, as Pedlars do their Pins;  
Barter for Heaven, if you'll but pay the sum;  
For ready Money they can do the Trick,  
But have no more to do there than Old Nick.   

13.  
This may Amaze, that men of common sense  
〈…〉 besotted to their Fooleries,  
〈…〉, Bulls, their Legends, Peter pence  
〈…〉 Cheat, and Errand Rogueries;  
〈…〉 but Lies and Blasphemies they are,  
〈◊〉 serve as Pimps and Bawds to Peter's Chair.   

14.  
This they of Dantzick wisely did foreknow,  
And with a Resolution stout and bold  
Engaged the Lubbers 'midst their Foppish Show,  
As they of Swe●dland served them of old;  
Whos cutting Laws are such Afflicting ones,  
●hey send Rome's Stallions home without their Stones.   

15.  
Then hast ye Jugglers, Popish Priests be gone,  
For if again you should the People Vex,  
Your Puppet-plays will cause them (ten to one)  
Instead of broken Pates, to break your Necks;  
And unto Hell or Purgatory send ye,  
From whence the Poles nor Planets can defend ye.   

Conclusion.  
When this they heard, they durst no longer stay,  
Picked up their broken Tools and ran away,  
But left their Prayers behind them at Allhallows,  
And cause 'tis worth your Reading, here it follows.    

The Humble Supplication of the Monks and Friars to St. Dominick their Patron, upon their Routing by the Shoemakers at Dantzick,  

HOly Patron Dominick,  
We invoke thee Damn Dantzick,  
Plague them sorely, we do woe thee,  
Let not Belzebub outdo thee;  
Taw the Soles of Leathern Sinners,  
That did spoil our Sport and Dinners;  
They confounding all our Trumpery,  
Made us Dine with old D. Humphrey;  
Starving so our Hungry Paunches,  
Thy Cheek's thicker than our Haunches;  
Pinched harder by our Foes,  
Than Dunstan did the Devil's Nose;  
They so with blows our Sides environ,  
Our Ribs appear like a Gridiron;  
Falling first upon our Bones,  
And next we fear 'twill be our St—  
Which if lost, the Chastest Nun,  
Is for ever quite undone,  
And we fear will do the Trick  
With our Foe the Heretic;  
For the Holy Maid of Kent,  
And Pope Joan too have been shent;  
Venial Sins with good intent,  
That's well done, that is well meant;  
Thus unerring Church is true,  
Nature's course must have its due.   

But what's this unto our purpose,  
Or the loss of Hood and Surplice;  
If Saint Dominick can't do't,  
Let's entreat the Devil to't,  
And his Holiness to boot.  
For we hate this damned dodging,  
We'll to Rome unto their Lodging,  
Where we certain find 'em can,  
In the Stews or Vatican;  
And our Augury to us shows,  
Being told by Francis Crows,  
Drinking Martyr's Blood for Wine  
They together were to Dine,  
Tended on by Bellarmine.  
Coming thither, there they found 'em  
With the Cardinals around 'em;  
Where they were to stay a Seven-night,  
Shearing Hogs for good St. Bennet:  
Some o'th' Saints heard the grunting,  
Said the Devil Rid a Hunting;  
Others Swore 'twas not such meeting,  
But the Pope and Devil greeting;  
Met in kindness to each other,  
To take care of Holy Mother;  
And resolving on a Dance,  
Sent away a Post for France,  
To invite their dearest Son,  
Who much of their Work had done;  
Unto which they both agreed,  
Vowed it was as true as Creed,  
He had been their trusty Steed.  
Monsieur mounted, on he joggs  
Through the Scotch and Irish bogs,  
Cursing of the English Clogs;  
For he neither thought or meant,  
To tug with King and Parliament,  
Who had spoiled His Blessed Intent.  
Being met, no Tongue can utter,  
How they quaffed and fed at Supper  
On a Tub of Dutchman's Butter.  
Now let us our Plaint renew,  
And unto their Lordship's show,  
How we sped in our Adventure,  
They may Ram 'em to the Centre;  
For the Saints we long have Prayed to  
Are asleep, or hardly laid to.  
Then began an old Rascallion,  
Either Spaniard or Italian,  
And so like a Ragamuffin,  
You'd have Sworn 'twas a Capuchin.  
Father Pope, and Father Devil,  
And you the most Unchristian Evil;  
Wrong the Right, we have sustained,  
Wherein we were justly maimed;  
They in spite of Sobietski,  
Marred the tools your Worships get by,  
Made on purpose to pick Pockets,  
Theius are Saints disguised in Rockets;  
Therefore, if you do not help us,  
Ye are Puppies, and be whelp us;  
But old Cressy had the Knack,  
To outdo the rest o'th' Pack  
In Relating of a Mystery,  
Hellish Lies in Church's History;  
And by adding somewhat more  
Unto what was said before,  
Made the Devil stamp and stare,  
Pope fall backward in his Chair,  
But upon the point to go,  
Monsieur caught him by the Toe,  
And did promise with his Allies,  
All the Forces up to Rally;  
Would engage their Church to further  
By unheard of Rapes and Murder;  
Only Prayed the Pope's direction,  
And his Devilships Protection.  
This when said, did please 'em well,  
So they took a turn to Hell,  
To debate it at their leisure,  
Whence the Monsieur takes his measure,  
And i'th' interim is providing  
For to do the Trick by Bribing.  
Now perhaps some Critics saying,  
This is not the Form of Praying,  
And like Fools against it chatter,  
Not acquainted with our Matter;  
For when Folks engage byth' ears,  
Cursing goes instead of Prayers;  
Or to Rail and Swear at Fortune,  
Is as good as Praying certain;  
But whatever may befall it,  
True it is, what e'er you call it;  
And from what the Rogues intent us,  
Oh Almighty God defend us.   
FINIS.