A MENE TEKEL TO FIFTH MONARCHY, WITH The Knavery of the Cloak.  

ENGLAND'S a Ship with adverse weather crossed,  
With wind and waves, schism and sedition tossed.  
The Chiliast, (heavens, (what a riddle's he?)  
Would hew down Kings, to heave up Monarchy.  
He would consider all his Plots as vain,  
Did he remember, but, by whom King's reign;  
Not hope with idle charms the Moon to move:  
Nor, for a King croak with the Frogs to Jove.  
To holy John did Heaven hid truths reveal,  
Yet the same words to thee, those truths conceal,  
Which, should be preach to thee? He took in hand  
A miracle, to make thee understand.  
Think'st thou that Jesus, meant he such a thing,  
Would countenance thy treason to thy King?  
Or need thy help; shall not the son of God  
Dash them in piece, with an iron Rod?  
If he were hungry, would he ask thee bread?  
He cannot want a Crown that made the Head:  
Will he his Kingdom to thy care refer,  
Who is himself the mighty Counsellor?  
Dost thou believe that thou canst court him down  
From a Celestial to an Earthly Crown?  
Or that hell leave, as one in love with scorns,  
A Crown of Glory, for a Crown of Thornes.  
Look in his Word, for he has told thee there  
My Kingdom's not of this World; If it were?  
Then would my Servants fight: Hence therefore ye  
Fight not for Christ, but for yourselves I see  
So have I seen a Cabbage fair curled head,  
In which a loathsome Toad has made her bed.  
What evil fury has the rout possessed  
That like the Spirits, they can take no rest,  
But even the places, a short Peace has dried,  
Must flow again with blood for which Christ died.  
Come, come, your actions give your words the lie,  
Whom you pretend to crown, you crucify.  
Christ's service does consist in no such thing;  
He's never true to God that's false to's King.   

I now should to those numerous Sects proceed  
That do as Vermine crawl about the head,  
And like a shoal of Herrins, do reveal  
A flaming mountain from their flashy zeal  
But (fry) I wave ye, and convert mine eye  
To that Leviathan Presbytery.  
Not but you are though each at other rails,  
Like Sampson's Foxes all tied by the tails,  
As if no Devil but a Covenant,  
Could keep the Church in a state militant.  
Do we not know (as much as in you lay)  
You make the Lords Inheritance a prey:  
And send to all the Nations round about  
If it be possible to root us out?  
To that infernal Bog, (O conscience tender)  
To get the Devil for your Faith's defender.  
That treacherous Lake of Pluto, den of Thiefs,  
That synagogue of Satan that receives  
All sorts of Assassins' that can but bring  
A blasphemy against the name of King.  
That mart of Superstition, that by odds  
More several Worships hath, than Rome had Gods.  
Nor has, than the Religion they abuse,  
Proteus more shapes, or the Chameleon hues,  
That source of schism, where a man may find  
Religion baged up, as a Lapland wind:  
Only they Papists hate, but that is plain,  
'Cause the profession of the King of Spain  
Worship to them goes all to six and seven;  
Gain is their God, and th' Indies are their Heaven.  
They fear not Hell, but rather are content;  
For in the deep th' are in their Element.  
I would the Gibbets now were to be seen,  
That with Erasmus they might hang between.  
Yet Church and State too, you are hurrying towered  
This filthy Minotaur to be devoured.  
Look but into yourselves, and tell me (Sirs)  
Does not this show ye rigid Presbyters?  
This, this too truly tells us faith is fled  
From the long Cloak, and Love is long since dead.  
What do ye, but in a Religious vest  
Turn Usurers, and plot for Interest?  
You want a Parliament now to advance  
Your good Old Cause, with peals of Ordinance.  
But thanks to Heaven, our wise & wary City  
Has ordered some into a close Committee;  
And yet, alas, they do not Newgate fear,  
One of their tribe got a good Living there.  
But that they should design our ruin thus,  
When God is visiting both them and us?  
Is an offence that multiplies their blame,  
And leaves them nothing, but their sin and shame.   Tantum Religio potuit suadere malorum?  

London, Printed in the Year 1665.