THE QUAKERS ANSWER, To the Quakers Wedding, November, 8. 1671.  

O Times! O Manners! Both indeed are Strange:  
But whither did the Ry'mers' Manners range?  
We, I confess, took one another's Word,  
But when will be such Public Rites afford?  
In this, I doubt, he deemed our Deeds amiss,  
'Cause, with the Public he still private is.  
'Twas a good Meeting, I presume, for him,  
To make his Brains in Sack and Claret swim:  
Well, I perceive since it did so Advance thee,  
The Quakers Wine can raise the Poet's Fancy.  
We had good store of offals for the Poor·  
And what are Poets? People think no more.  
Know we have Linen too; And sure a Shirt,  
If thou a Poet be? would do no hurt.   

If we could see Thee to the Justice packed,  
we'd judge there were great Justice in the act.  
Thou talk'st of Banes, and Whipping-Posts severe;  
We should not Cry, if we could find Thee there:  
But Laugh to hear thee for thyself there Plead,  
And see the Whipper too, Hand over Head.  
Thou talk'st of Couples such as ne'er were known;  
Westminster-Weddings! Didst thou mean thine own?  
Fond Libertine, in thine own wrong and room!  
Where thou were't neither Parson, nor yet Groom.  
Thou Babblest like a Brute, what thou hast said,  
As one acquainted with a Brothel-Bed.  
Thou mayst indeed abate thy worldly Cares:  
Who having many Children, needest no Heirs.  
For, if thou canst not leave 'em an Estate  
They're almost bad as Illegitimate.  
We should have had e'en guests enough, if we  
Nor Jew nor Gentile had, but only Thee.  
And out of doubt, thou didst thyself Invite,  
For who of Thee would hope of Proselyte!  
And for Thy sake, for aught that I can tell,  
That Thunder, Lightning, and that Tempest fell.  
Too Greedy too of what they might have had,  
'Twas such as Thee that the Confusion made.  
It was thy Self, if there were any Cheat?  
For We got Nothing, but Thou got'st our Meat.  
Thou seest I am no Quaker of that Sort,  
That for their Lust, their Loves in Corners Court.  
And to their Faith no longer will be Debtor,  
Than till they see another they like Better.  
I take her to my Wife till my Decease  
And call the World to be my Witnesses.    

LONDON, Printed for Dorman Newman at the Kings-Armes in the Poultry, 1671.