THE hue AND CRY AFTER Sir JOHN PRESBYTER.  

WIth Hair in Characters, and Lugs in text:  
With a splay mouth, & a nose circumflexed:  
With a set Ruff of Musket bore, that wears  
Like Cartrages or linen bandeliers,  
Exhausted of their sulphurous Contents  
In Pulpit fireworks, which that Bomball vents:  
The Negative and Covenanting Oath,  
Like two moustaches, issuing from his mouth:  
The Bush upon his chin, (like a carved story,  
In a Box knot) cut by the Directory:  
Madam's Confession hanging at his ear,  
Wiredrawn through all the questions, How & Where,  
Each circumstance, so in the hearing Felt,  
That when his ears are cropped he'll count them gelt:  
The sweeping Cassock scared into a Jump;  
A sign the Presbyter's worn to the stump;  
The Presbyter, though charmed against mischance  
With the Divine right of an Ordinance.   

If you meet any that do thus attire'em,  
Stop them they are the Tribe of Adoniram.  
What zealous frenzy did the Senate seize,  
That tore the Rochet to such Rags as these?  
Episcopacy minced, Reforming Tweed  
Hath sent us Runts even of Her Churches breed;  
Lay-interlining clergy, a Device  
That's nickname to the stuff called Lops and Lice.  
The Beast at wrong end branded you may trace  
The devil's footsteps in his cloven Face.  
A Face of several Parishes and sorts,  
Like to the Sergeant shaved at Inns of Court.   

What mean the Elders else, those Kirk Dragoons,  
Made up of Ears and Ruffs, like Duckatoons?  
That hierarchy of Handicrafts begun?  
That new Exchange-men of religion?  
Sure they're the Antickheads, which placed without  
The Church, do gape and disembogue a spout:  
Like them above the Commons House, have been  
So long without, now both are gotten in;   

Then, what Imperious in the Bishop sounds,  
The same the Scotch Executor rebounds.  
This stating Prelacy; the classic Rout,  
That spoke it often, ere they spoke it out.  
So by an abbeys skeleton of late,  
I heard an echo supererogate  
Through imperfection, and the voice restore  
As if he had the hiccup o'er and o'er.   

Since they our mixed Diocesans combine  
Thus to ride double in their Discipline;  
That Pewles shall to the Consistory call  
A Dean and Chapter out of Weavers-Hall;  
Each at the Ordinance to assist,  
With the five thumbs wof his groat-changing Fist.   

down Dagon Synod with thy motley ware  
Whilst we do swagger for the commonprayer.  
That dovelike embassy, that wings our sense  
To heaven's gate in shape of Innocence:  
Pray for the mitered Authors, and defy  
These Demicasters of divinity.   

For where Sr. John with Jack of all Trades joins  
His Finger's thicker than the prelate's Loyn's.   
FINIS.