THE Catholic BALLAD: OR, AN INVITATION TO POPERY, Upon Considerable Grounds and Reasons.  
To the Tune of, Eighty eight.  

SInce popery of late is so much in debate,  
And great strive have been to restore it,  
I cannot forbear openly to declare,  
That the Ballad-makers are for it.   

We'll dispute no more then, these Heretical Men,  
Have exposed out Books unto laughter,  
So that many do say, 'twill be the best way,  
To sing for the Cause hereafter.   

O the Catholic Cause! now assist me my Muse,  
How earnestly do I desire thee!  
Neither will I pray to St. Bridget to Day,  
But only to thee to inspire me.   

Whence should Purity come, but from Catholic Rome?  
I wonder much at your folly?  
For St. Peter was there, and left an old Chair,  
Enough to make all the World holy.   

For this facted old wood, is so excellent good,  
If our Doctors may be believ●d,  
That whoever fits there, needs never more fear,  
The danger of being deceived.   

If the Devil himself should (God bless us) get up,  
Though his Nature we know to be Evil,  
Yet whilst he sat there, as divers will swear,  
He would be an infallible Devil.   

Now who sits in the Seat, but our Father the Pope?  
Which is a plain Demonstration  
As clear as Neon-day, we are in a right way,  
And all others are doomed to Damnation.   

If this will not suffice, yet to open your Eyes,  
Which are blinded with bad Education;  
We have Arguments plenty, and Miracles twenty,  
Enough to convince a whole Nation.   

If you give but good heed, you shall see the Host bleed.  
And if any thing can persuade ye,  
An Image shall speak, or at least it shall squeak  
In the honour of our Lady.   

You shall see without doubt, the Devil cast out,  
As of old by Erra Pater;  
He shall skip about and tear like a dancing Bear,  
When he feels the Holy Water.   

If yet doubtful you are, we have Relics most rare,  
We can show you the sacred Manger;  
Several loads of the Cross, is good as e'er was,  
To preserve your Souls from danger.   

Should I tell you of all it would move a Stone-wall,  
But I spare you a ●●●t●e for pity,  
That each one may prepare, and 〈◊〉 up his 〈◊〉  
For the Second P●r●● of my Ditty.   

The Second Part.  
To the same Tune.  

NOw listen again to those things that remain,  
They are matters of weight, I assure you;  
And the first thing I say, throw your Bibles away,  
'Tis impossible else for to cure you.   

O that pestilent Book! never on it more look,  
I wish I could sing it out louder:  
It has done Men more harm, I dare boldly ●ff●rm  
Than th' Invention of Guns and Powder.   

As for matters of faith, believe what the Church saith,  
But for Scripture, leave that to the learned;  
For these are Edgetools, & you Laymen are Fools,  
If you touch them y'are sure to be harmed.   

But pray what is it for, that you make all this stir?  
You must read, you must hear and be learned:  
If you'll be on our part, we will teach you an Art,  
That you need not be so much concerned.   

Be the Churches good Son, and your work is half done,  
After that you may do your own pleasure:  
If your Beads you can tell, and say Ave Mary well,  
Never doubt of the heavenly treasure.   

For the Pope keeps the Keys, and can do what he please,  
And without all peradventure,  
If you cannot at the Fore, yet at the backdoor  
Of Indulgence you may enter.   

But first by the way, you must make a short stay  
At a place railed Purgatory,  
Which the Learned us tell, in the builing of Hell,  
Is about the middlemost Story.   

'Tis a monstrous hot place and a Mark of disgrace,  
In the Torment on't long to endure:  
None are kept there but fools, and poor pitiful souls  
Who can no ready Money procure.   

And a handsum round Sum you may quickly begun,  
To the Church has wisely ordained,  
And they who build Crosses and pay well for Masses,  
Would not there be too long detained.   

And that 'tis a plain c●se, as the Nose on ones Face,  
They are in the surest condition,  
Since none but poor Fools, & some niggardly Owls,  
And can call into utter perdit on.   

And they faileth you then O ye great and rich Men,  
For that you will not hearken to reason,  
And as long as I have pence, y'need scruple no of sense  
For Murder, A●n●te●y, Treason.   

And ye sweet natared Women, who hold all things common,  
My addresses to you are most hearty,  
And to give you your due, you are to us most true,  
And we hope we shall gain the whole party.   

If you happen to fall, your Penance is small,  
And although you cannot forg● it,  
We have for you a cure, if of this you be sure,  
To con●ess before you go to it.   

There is one reason yet, which I cannot omit,  
To those who affect the French Nation,  
Hereby we advance the Religion of France,  
The Religion that's only in fashion.   

If these reasons prevail, (as how can they fail?)  
To have Popery entertained,  
You cannot conceive, and will hardly believe,  
What benefits hence may be gained.   

For the Pope shall us bless (that's no small happiness)  
And again we shall see restored  
The Italian Trade, which formerly made  
This Land to be so much adored.   

O the Pictures and Rings, the Beads and fine things,  
The good Words as sweet as Honey,  
All this and much more, shall be brought to our Door  
For a little dull English Money.   

Then shall justice and Love, and whatever can move,  
He restored again to our Britain:  
And Learning so common, that every old Woman  
Shall say her Prayecs in Latin.   

Then the Church shall bear sway, and the State shall obey,  
Which is now looked upon as a wonder,  
And the proudest of Kings, with all Temporal things,  
Shall submit and trickle under.   

And the Parliament too, who have taken us to do,  
And have handled us with so much Terror;  
May chance on that score ('tis no time to say more)  
They may chance to acknowledge their Error.   

If any Man yet, shall have so little Wit,  
As still to lie Refratory;  
I swear by the Mass, he is a mere Ass,  
And so there's an end of the Story.    
FINIS.