To Robert Wilde, D. D. In the words of his own POEM, CONCERNING Mr. Edmond Calamy.  

THis Page I send you Sir, your Gouty Fate  
Not to condole, but to congratulate;  
I envy not Silenced Brethren, from Places  
Now Degraded; no, nor their call'd-in Faces.  
I can behold them take into their Gills,  
Hundreds of Capons, more than Men take Pills.  
I can behold the Coaches too, and Wine  
That waits at Press-yard door, yet not repine:  
But it would make others grudge (I confess)  
That Rebels should enjoy such happiness.  
for so it is, such Knaves always attain  
In their loved Persecution, most of gain;  
When one Sermon, if there is but Schism in't,  
Gets more by word of Mouth, than all in Print.  
But Sir, for this your Brothers Mittimus,  
You say you fain would know it, then 'tis thus.   

It is Ordained in PARLIAMENT,  
That he should not Preach, unless he were sent;  
For, if he did, 'twas decreed punishment,  
Either by Fine, or by Imprisonment.  
He breaks this confirmed Law, therefore the Mayor  
Sends him to Den of Thiefs, from House of Prayer,  
To Newgate, where, though there is company  
For every Vice, yet there none more vile than he.  
And if you're troubled with the same Disease,  
You both deserve the selfsame Diocese:  
So that the selfsame Law would from that Station  
Suspend the Silly Sister's Visitation;  
Whose Yoke-Fellows would part with many Fee,  
If from that Jurisdiction they were free.   

Then Sir, if you guess suffering would accrue,  
Or any wise in Purse advantage you;  
Doubt not you may be welcome; but beware  
(And say, I counselled you) of coming there.  
For their old wont Factions, Policies,  
Preserve the Fool, but do destroy the Wise.    

Printed Anno Domini. 1662.