ROME in an Uproar; OR, The Pope's BULLS brought to the Baiting-Stake by Old Father Petres.  
To the Tune of, Packington's Pound.  
 
 

WHen England half Ruined, had cause to be sad,  
The Pope's bloody Bulls they began to run mad,  
Because we had given them Pasture a while,  
They ran about ranging all over the Isle;  
These meressess Beasts, their rage for to feast,  
They gored and had like to have Murdered our Test:  
But just in the interim there came in a Friend,  
Who did the poor Test, from their Fury defend.   

These Bulls they were kept by that Bear in the Tower,  
And chiefly were Nourished by Dispensing Power:  
But sometimes to feast their devouring jaws,  
Their Keeper would give them some scraps of the Laws;  
These Bulls have been found in other men's Ground,  
But now we have put them in Packington's Pound;  
O never was Bulls so βaited about,  
For certain, as these will be, ere they come out.   

Thus in our Nation a great many Fools,  
Endeavoured to Fatten his Holiness Bulls;  
The judges almost out of every Cause,  
Allowed them a Pension of Penal Laws;  
These Bulls had such power, they'd like to devour  
Our Church and our Laws, but they now are brought lower  
Was ever such Impudent Bulls ever known,  
To toss Sacred Majesty out of the Throne.   

Their Keeper who was no less Man than a Lord,  
Were by these Mad Bulls most notoriously Gored:  
They had on they Heads such a Sampson-like power,  
The cast him at one clever Toss in the Tower;  
And some they are jealous that he and his Fellows,  
Will be tossed from the Tower, to a Scaffold or Gallows;  
O what a sad sight would it be for to see  
So many blessed Martyrs to swing on a Tree.   

We've done with the Keeper, and now for the Driver,  
Who valued Religion no more than a Stiver:  
These Bulls being Wanton, and at no Command,  
They tossed their poor Driver quite out of the Land;  
This is a sad matter to lose Ob— r,  
Who has a strange Name, but is stranger by Nature:  
'Twould be a sad thing, should he dance the long jig,  
For making Division 'twixt Tory and Whigg.   

These Bulls were so Wanton and Masterless grown,  
They broke into Pastures that lay nigh the Throne;  
They Fatted themselves, and they ranged about,  
And undid the Owner before they come out:  
He was forced out of hand, to leave all his Land,  
Such damned Popish Bulls deserve all to be Hanged;  
More Mischief they did which must not be expressed,  
I'll leave you alone to imagine the rest.   

But now these sad Beasts for the Mischief they'd done,  
Will be to the Slaughter brought every one;  
And if that they were but well ordered and dressed,  
'Twould make Pope and Devil a delicate Feast;  
Their Bull nor their Bears, shall breed no more fears,  
Nor set us together again by the Ears,  
We'll out of our Land quickly drive out such Beasts,  
As popular Rogues, and disquieted Priests.   

You that are minded to purchase a Hide,  
Pray lay by your Coin while the Bulls they are tried,  
For then at the Gallows you'll see such a heap,  
And excellent Pennyworths sold very Cheap:  
Stay but while Sessions, you'll hear such Confessions,  
As Subtle as e'er was the Old Declarations;  
But we shall have now a much Honester State,  
And be no more Bulled at so simple a rate.    

Printed in the Year 1689.