A SOVEREIGN REMEDY FOR THE presbyterians Malady, Inflicted on them by those Lordly Bishops, Puritan Pride, and Zealous Self-will.  
In Answer to Wild.  
The second Edition, enlarged.  

DEar Friend and Brother in the flesh, this Page  
I send thee lying in the Cripple's Cage:  
Not that I Envy, but Rejoice that we  
Are Fellow-feelers of one Misery.  
Old Bishop Gout, by's Officer Old Ale,  
Hath sent thee limping to the Black-pot Goal:   

But (fie, that Saints each other should abuse  
So much i'th' thing they all so often use?)  
As I was Preaching on the secret point  
Of Venery, I did but slip a joint  
Too far, when strait old Bishop Pox, cried cease,  
You do encroach upon my Diocese,  
Since which I have so rattled in the Nose,  
That all the disaffected do suppose  
It as a scandal to the brethren, and say  
The Presbyterian Tone first came that way:  
Some call me Popish Prelate, and protest.  
My No-nose is the only mark o'th' Beast.   

Dear Brother, thus our punishments agree;  
There is more difference 'twixt Calamy  
And you: some Doctors hold ours be the same,  
And that the Pox as well as Gout you claim.  
But I am silent; though you roar your Gout;  
saints should be wiser than to bring all out.   

Yet why should we rail at the Bishops? Can  
You blame the ingenuous Husbandman,  
For weeding his Corn, for driving to Pound  
The Cattle which do trespass on his ground?  
Had we not meddled with forbidden things,  
Nor broke the just Commandment of Kings,  
But stickled for the Church's settlement,  
As much as we did for the Covenant,  
We made to break it; then our State, our Name  
Of Saint had been no Irony in fame,  
Baxter should then have been the shining light,  
Foremen to see to pray by, not to fight.   

Could we disgarison the Scotish Devil,  
Be Nonconformists only unto Evil;  
Repent of false Oaths, and take true as fast  
As we invented, took and broke the last;  
Then Calamy should ne'er be th' fixed Star  
In Newgate hell, but in the Hemisphere;  
Nor Wild a poor Erratic, finding no place  
For's Family, nor yet it seems for Grace.   

Thou gouty Goal-bird, could thy red-faced Muse  
No other stuff into thy Pate infuse,  
Than Libelling? Can Nonconformists be  
So conformable to iniquity?  
Well hast thou said, These Presbyterian Kn-sl-aves   

ill ne'er leave backbiting, though in their Graves:  
Their Preaching is no better, and their Prayers  
Do nought but set's together by the ears:  
Pull down, set up, set up, pull down's the cry,  
Which flows still from ne'er still Presbytery.  
But that the Tempting Devil would Preach on,  
Although our Saviour bid him to ha' done:  
I should have thought that tempting Calamy  
Would have been silenced by Authority.  
Were th' Commons once Omnipotent, and now  
Can't King, Lords and Commons make a straw bow?  
Oh that he had a House, would but invent  
To place the King below the Parliament.  
Cease tinkling Cymbal, now thy sounding brass  
Will not at once for Gold and Silver pass   

Let Egypt's plagues be mentioned no more,  
One Preshyter's more mischief than a score;  
If Puritan in stead of Frogs had fell,  
Pharaoh at first had let go Israel:  
Like Satan's It is written, they can bring  
A Text of Scripture for the greatest Sin.  
But prithee what Wild fancy made thee rhyme,  
That lurching of a Sermon is the Crime  
Canonical? Alas, didst never know;  
The Gospel-fighting Ministers do so?  
Had not the learned Bishops changed the Tongue  
Oth' Bible, and of other books, the throng  
Of Newfound Preachers I would not read, and then  
Would the Spirit thus supply the Brethren?  
They hug'd the Directory, Common Prayer they hate,  
Because not forged in a Presbyterian pate:  
So have I seen Bears lick their Whelps, and roar  
At purer Beasts; thus Babylon's old Whore,  
Swaddling her Bastard-childrens, doth deny  
An Entertainment to chaste honesty.  
Is Preaching down, and silenced because  
The Presbyters mayn't bawl against the Laws?  
Not rail at Church and State, nor bait the King  
With Pulpit-bulls, like Dogs a Bear-baiting.  
So Wranglers, Cheats, and Cozeners may say,  
'Cause they shut out, fair Gamesters do not play:  
So Quacksalvers and Mountebanks proclaim,  
No Physic's like to theirs, though of the same.  
Once come to hear and they shall understand,  
There ne'er was better Preaching in the Land,  
Nor Prayers so well composed with words & matter,  
(Not like unto the Puritanick chatter)  
Where Hum, ha, and oh bear all the sway,  
And true Devotion is a Castaway.   

But cease my Muse, the Presbyterian See  
Will fall with weight of its own Villainy.   
FINIS.