WORK for COOPER, OR A Bone for the Doctor to pick; Being an ANSWER to a Scurrilous Pamphlet, Entitled, The ASS beaten for Bawling.  
To Dr. Edm. Cooper.  

TO you Sir, cause you're of those Shallow-brains,  
That prise a Gem, below two Barley grains,  
That like the Dunghill Cock, rather confine  
Your Spirits to a Jakes, then seek a Mine,  
Who breathe nought else but an opinion Nursed  
By Echoes than yourselves far more accursed.   

Degenerate Race! does Vice find Pleaders then,  
England breed those will Vindicate a Sin?  
Is Piety? Is all Religion fled,  
Swearing and Drunkenness come in their stead?  
And can their Advocates for them too be?  
Sad World! But pray Sir who gave you your Fee?  
We know you use to take it, and perhaps  
Promise the Ctre, but breed an After-lapse;  
'Thas been the Empirics Trade: but how you veil  
Your Plot? how cunningly you seem to Rail  
Against Smectymnuus, that you might Excuse  
Two horrid Sins, God and your Self abuse.  
An Easy Judgement might have led you Sir,  
To have understood the Ass without this stir;  
But now I find he has more Wit than You,  
Indeed I've known Asses been Doctors too.  
Had not your Violent love too ill restrained  
Your Sense: You might have found that he declaimed  
Not against Things but Vices: Church and State  
I know he Honours, 'twas his Zealous hate  
To Wickedness, that gained him your ill will,  
Oh may be gain it and increase it still.   

But Sir to clear that Judgement is so weak,  
It Understands not what an Ass does speak.  
Pray let me tell you, and 'tis what I know,  
The Church of England doth to such men own,  
Such men as writ that Ass: whose Pious souls,  
Although they can't digest your full brimmed bowls,  
Nor Thunder out your Ranting Oaths, yet be  
As Faithful to the Church, the Liturgy,  
Honours the Bishops and the Hierarchy,  
Pray-they in truth may th' Churches Fathers be.  
And tell me Sir if you would count him rather,  
Of a loved Child, the more Indulgent Father,  
Who gives his ill inclining Son a Free  
Swinge in Vice, till he kiss● the Gallow-tree:  
Or he gives due Correction, who though less  
Loving he seems, yet leads to Happiness.   

But Mr. Doctor since  showed your wit,  
And cause y'are come in Print think  hit  
On a fine Cunning pretty nibbling strain,  
Pray give me leave to tell you somethings plain:  
First, y'are an Ass; but that I think you know,  
And therefore let the World know so much too,  
Else thus much Ignorance you had ne'er betrayed,   

Nor publicly your Folly had displayed.  
There's something worse behind which I should tell,  
But may conceal it, since 'tis seen so well,  
Yet it shall out, for I'll ne'er be a Slave  
To my own thoughts, I think too you're a knave:  
Or else you do belly yourself, for he  
That pleads for Vice, smells rank of Knavery.  
But Sir, in some part we may you excuse,  
For whilst men bestially themselves abuse  
By Gorging, till they Belch it up again,  
The advance your trade, and thus you plead for gain.   

In sum, Sir, know the time will one day come,  
The Ass may freely speak when Balaam's dumb.  
Such Balaam's as yourself, by wealth made bold,  
Who strangely hording up your heaps of gold,  
Grow proud, imperious, scurrilous, and then  
Count poverty a crime in virtuous men.   

God save King Charles, and keep him from their Claws,  
Who pray for him, 
* His Majesty's 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Declarations against Vic●●●, d●●●●●bed and profane persons, against which the Author of Balaams' Ass only declaims, though more particularly against those vices in the Ministry, as in them more Odious.  yet plead against his Laws.   john Dauncey.