THE SCOTCH Covenant NEWLY REVIVED. IN A Conference between Mr. Crofton and a Converted Scotch Parson.  
Discovering all the whole Mystery of Iniquity carried on by harebrained Faction under pretence of Reformation.  
LONDON: Printed in the Year, 1661.   

THE PREAMBLE.  
Mr Crofton being spiritually advertised to invite Mr. Withers to dinner, and especially to give him thanks (on the behalf on his Church-Commoners) for remaining so constant to his Principles of sedition, and expressing himself so freely in Print for the Covenant, whereby by Mr. Crofton thought his own spurious pamphlets the more strengthened and secured, and his Lungs the better clarified, and preserved, by that powder of Brimstone, to hold out belching against all those who would not fall down and worship the Calf-Covenant with the white face. It happened that an honest Scottish Parson (Rara avis etc.) having read some of Croftons' Pulpit Pasquil's, and poisonous Papers against the Primitive power, and Basis of Church-Governernment, Episcopacy; and conceiving himself able enough to enter the List against so Ignorant and Weak a Disputant, enquired for Croftons' house, to which he was directed by a Boy where like an unwelcome or un-sent-for person, he waited till after Dinner; and then Mr. Crofton, setting his Beard, (as much as there was of it) in Print, ordering his Band, drawing his Month together, (as you have seen a Milk Wench pictured in a Landscape) and putting his Countenance into the precise Model of a vizard, accosts the Scotch man in these words; What is your will with me? The Parson somewhat amazed at his State and Formality, answered; Geod faith Mon, I ken no hot ta speak toll thee, give tow tekst sike Stat upon thee, Crofton discovering him by his Tongue to be a Scottish-man, thought he was sent to him upon some Design from the Kirk; cried him Mercy, took him by the hand, and requested him to walk with him up stairs, where they had dined; Mr. Crofton desiring Mr. Withers (his Brother in iniquity) to salute the Parson, as a reverend Member, and Pillar of their Church: which to do, Mr. Withers likewise sets his face on the screws, and then inquires what news in Scotland: I ken noot sir, quoth the Parson, and laughed hearty: Mr. Withers (reprehending his error) said, I mean, in, from, or out of Scotland; they are all one by a Trope; but pray. Sir, what News out of Scotland, if you will have it so?  Scottish. 
I Hear ne mare than ye awe her, give ye ha' eny lugs.  Crofton. 
But how does the Parliament proceed there?  Scottishman. 
Marry, much we'll, they ha' brunt the Coov'nant, sir, bethhond o the Common Hung mon.  Crofton. 
Oh horrid!  Withers. 
Oh horrid! Monstra morendum.  Crofton. 
I'll justify it was an act of sacrilege, a work of the Devil.  Withers. 
And his dam, a sin 'gainst God and man.  Crofton. 
Nay, a plain sin against the Holy Ghost; for as I sinned it, and can prove it, it is a sin against knowledge, Ergo, a sin against the Holy Ghost, as I said before.  Withers. 
A sin unpardonable, and therefore damnable.  Scottishman. 
Haud, haud, sirs, haud, ne mere Blesfemy, wha m the Coounant?  Crofton. 
The select people of God.  Withers. 
The Righteous of three Nations; like as a threefold cord is the strongest, so the Covenant was strengthened, and made up with the most undefiled hands of three Nations.  Scottishman. 
Haud, haud, sirs, haud, ye gang ta fest: A me saw, the thrads o that Coord was woped in Hell, an you're Coounant med up o the Devil himself; I ken it reit we'll sirs, give ye ha' eny gress curse an ban it fro you're hose an you're saws sirs, an faw to the troth service o Goad sirs; mind ye me; let noot Pride an siller dam ye sirs, ye ha' a gretious King sirs, an a geod Kirk Government noow sirs, I uphold ye sirs, the lick i ne plece i the Wardd sirs.  Crofton. 
Yes at Rome sir.  Scottishman. 
Fi, fi, geod faith youare much oout sirs.  Crofton. 
Where the Whore of Babylon commits daily fornication with the Kings of the earth.  Withers. 
And hides all her iniquities in Lawn Sleeves, the Mark of the Beast is upon her.  Crofton 
she drinks the blood of the Faithful, and devours the live of the Godly; she is more Insatiate than the Sea or the Grave.  Withers 
Or Hell fire, and chokes worse than brimstone.  Scottishman 
youare much wise sirs, ye ha' robed a feole latly sirs, mind ye me an hark ye toll me be advised sirs I speak fur awe year geods. youare Coounant has med ye awe would sirs, be avised sirs.  Crofton. 
The Covenant was a sacred thing, framed to maintain the Church in its Primitive whiteness and purity.  Withers. 
Against the pride of the Prelates and the Innovations of Antichrist.  Scottishman. 
Oout oout faugh shame, the faw devil has gi'en ye a lift, fro Goad Sirs an noow ye lick Lymmer loons spit at his servants give ye had ane, fer O the Lord ye would noot de as ye de Sirs.  Crofton. 
Why, What do we do Sir?  Withers. 
I, What do we do Sir?  Crofton. 
Did not the Covenant receive its Birth in your Country? and were not your Countrymen the lawful and rightful Fathers of it? and were not we advertised by Henderson, that man of God;  Scotchman. 
O the deal mon  Crofton. 
And many other precious Saints by Letters; I say advertised by Letters, with holy and powerful sanctifying Reasons that Bishops were not Jure Divino, that their Calling & Power in the Church was but mere Usurpation, promoted by the Pope to introduce his Power, and make the Sea of Rome more glorious; and to that end to second their Brotherly Engagements with us (who were tender Consciences) made an Inroad into England with the Bible in one hand, and Sword in the other the very Sword of the Spirit which carried all before it and punished all from Dan to Barsheba; do you not know this?  Scottishman. 
Ne be Goad noow ye mack me swear, for awe the tim, the Coovenant er wern up i Erms, they wern beaten most bestly i ery plece, an the geod King ded prosper tol Crumwall (the faw devil splits Crag for't) come widow his Independent riff raff ragged rogs thaut fooght for the Kirk, but plundered the Choir oout o hoilly roth the deal a bit ded you're that Coovenant threve Sirs, tall than Sirs.  Crofton. 
You are mistaken sir, Out intentions were geod, Our Cause was geod, and our success in every place geod.  Scotchman. 
Deed ye fit forth Goad oor the Devil sirs, oor forth siller sirs, forth Mammon sirs, the Deels none Cousin sios, ans dams Munion sirs  Crofton. 
We fought for the Covenant sir.  Scottishman. 
Wha the Devil shod ye fit forth that ye had befer sirs?  Crofton. 
We fought for the keeping and maintaining it.  Withers. 
And for the Church in general, and against Bishops and Prelates as we said before.  Scottishman. 
Ne Ne geod faith, I ken we'll enoow what ye foot for sirs; Ye foot een'e anent the Kirke an forth the Beshops' Lands sirs, an foorne year none pert Master Copton Wrethers ye durst ne'er leoke a tiny Kitlin i'th' fece, yat lick saint Thief in the Legend; Ye ha' threv'e brawly; widow a murrain toll ye a● Noll grazed a fett Soow i the breach, when he ga' you the Statute Office, whilk ye sauld i the Deeles nam to Master that's o the Duck, Drake Drack, Master Drake Drack for a power o poonds geod an much sterlin siller be the Mass, an ded ye noot after ye had plundered the Bishops oh that hoorses and siller by that Londs an sa roobd the Kirke i the faw Deels nem an noow de ye complain o you're paverte i prent; widow a hoorse pox toll ye awe me saw ye pratend lyolty, an hoow muckle ye ha' looved the King and Kirke, when ye ha' wrote an speak anent 'em lick a ralling rattling rag as towart an enderst among ye toll ris a new war sirs anent the piece o'th' King an Country.  Withers. 
The Man's mad sure, have you a mind to be beaten Priest?  Scottishman. 
Wha shall dot, noot sike a limmer Loone, a rabbell rabbell o rim an noon sense as tou art.  Crofton. 
I profess you are very uncivil sir.  Scottishman. 
Ne Ne noot sa, unsele as tow art toll pip, i the Lasses breeches an see awe forth noaught, their very noock an awe, geod faith ye Presbyters are pintell proud Jacks, ye loove to be pepin in hools an vant your Lechery at you're finger's ends sirs.  Crofton. 
You base unworthy man, do you abuse me in my own house?  Scottishman. 
Ne Ne ye ha' abased you're nan sell sir, in you're non hose an a broad ta sir, by bringing you're tiny Lass tool the stol o Repentance, give ya stand se muckle and main on you're Covenant, an your Santete, hot med ye shame et se bestli, but you're loost lick a false Loon gis ye are.  Crofton. 
Get you out of my doors, I profess my fingers tingle at him.  Scottishman. 
Ne, Ne, tes at another Lass Mon, gang you're ways forth a couple of Dunces, ye cannoot hauled despute worth a Crack.  
And so the Scottish parson left them, fuming and fretting that their knaveries should be so discovered to the world, and gave order to the person aforesaid to publish this passage, that his Credit might receive no prejudice by their Quarrelling.  
FINIS.