VOX CLERO, Lily burlero, OR, The Second Part OF A Merry New Ballad.  
To be sung in the Jerusalem-Chamber, the 24th of this Instant January.  
To the Tune of Youth, Youth, thou hadst, etc.  

(1)  
CAnonical Black-Coats, like Birds of a Feather,  
In Town and from Country are flocking together;  
As if our Religion was never intended,  
But for want of a better, to be still amended.  
Commissioners all  
Ecclesiastical,  
To make a new Creed, meet at Westminster Hall.  
Yet Tories had rather see Protestants burn,  
Than that their old Liturgy should not serve the turn.   

(2)  
There's no Catholic Note that more does belong  
To a Fallible Church than to be in the wrong.  
And if the deceived may also deceive,  
Then in what a Condition are those that Believe.  
In Divinity Schools  
Are forged many Tools,  
Whereby Knaves get their Living by working on Fools.  
Yet Tories had rather—   

(3)  
Whole Troops of Crape-Gowns, with their Captains in Lawn,  
In the Pail of the Church together were drawn.  
A Learned good Doctor did fairly propose,  
To let in our Friends, and shut out our Foes,  
But Rochester stood by,  
And refused to comply,  
For he scorned all Commissions, unless they were high.  
And rather the Tories would see the Inquisition,  
Than part with one tittle of vain Repetition.   

(4)  
This Maggot o' th' Mass, the Prayers, ye call common,  
Conceived by a Boy, brought forth by a Woman,  
Who to cure all the Sores in the Souls of the Nation  
Have published this Noble Receipt for Salvation:  
Cut in parcels it is,  
Lest the Parson should miss,  
Who prays all by Spurt, as his Tith-Pigs do piss;  
Yet Tories had rather—   

(5)  
To show that our Soul not likely to starve is,  
Here's both the first Course, and the second Service;  
'Tis served up to relish your Ale and your Toast well,  
With a Cut of the 'Pistle, and a Slice of the Gospel.  
Then the Curate so pert,  
Brings in the Desert.  
Lord, how Robin Spencer rejoices at heart!  
When Man, with the Lady of Babylon's Rag on,  
St●●ds by the dark Candle, and the empty Flagon.   

(6)  
Stand firm to your Sins, and have a great care  
That you mend not your Lives, lest ye spoil all the Prayer.  
Ye must never press forward, round, round, ye must reel,  
And Sin, and Repent, like a Dog in a Wheel.  
Be still the same Men  
In the Morning at Ten,  
In the Evening, at Three, have at it again.  
But who would have thought that old Cranmer and Ridley  
Should confess all the Sins of Sheppard and Sedley.   

(7)  
The Kit-Wrens of our Creed, those Spiritual Surveyors,  
First found that our Matrimony wanted repairs.  
Grave Tenison thought things obscenely expressed,  
And fain would have left out the Cream of the Jest.  
But 'twould not be decreed  
To leave out the Creed,  
For 'twould dry-bob our Marriage, and mar all the breed.  
So Tories had better see—   

(8)  
When our Sacraments old Hocus pocus is done,  
One would think it is Bread, or else it is none;  
Tho' our Senses say Bread, as to God we must bow,  
Or the Church has ta'en care all our Cake shall be Dough.  
Should they mystery boast,  
And would call it the Host,  
In a cup of Canary 'twould serve for a Toast.  
Yet Tories had rather—   

(9)  
From a Brother o'th' Mug, grown a Peer with a Mitre.  
They promise our Souls than their Lawn should be whiter,  
Till with Passive Obedience the Nation enslaved;  
One had better be damned than so to be saved.  
Old Noll had a Trick  
To keep Souls from old Nick,  
Without either Bishop, or a Bishopric.  
But Presbyter Puppies needs the King would restore,  
And by putting him in, put 'emselves out o'door.   

(10)  
With the Tail of an Horse, when such gambols were played,  
What might we expect from the jolly Nag's Head?  
On their Jure Divino, whip, they mount in the Air,  
And run their Tantivy, the Devil knows whether.  
Then begin they to sing,  
No Bishop, no King,  
Till together, old Nick has 'em all in a string,  
And still ye might beat the Lawn Sleeves in a Mortar,  
Yet not find so much Brain as in Oliver's Porter.