THE CATHOLIC GAMESTERS or A DOUBLE MATCH of BOWLEING depiction of King Charles II, enthroned and surrounded by his lords and peers Kent Huntingdon Bedford Clare Stamford Dorset. 〈◊〉 Middlesex. Exeter Bridgwater. Devonshire Manchester. Winchelsea Chesterfield. Rochester Burlington. Hallifax Radnor. Lincoln Viscount Say & Seal Viscount Faulconbridge Lords. Eure. Wharton Pagett. Chandes North-Grey of Rolle-ston Grey of Wark Mountagve of Boughton Howard of Eserick Herbert of Cherbury Lovelace. Hatton Lucas. Rockingham Holles. Dellamere Townesend. Crew Some of the Protestant Peers P. Rupert D. Buckingham Bis. Hereford Bis. Lincoln D. Monmouth M. Winchester E. Shaftesbury. L. P. C. ● E. Essex. L. Comm er Tre ᵃ The Loyal Protestants of the house of Commons. depiction of Protestants in the House of Commons The King's Evidence depiction of a group of men Dr. Oates. Dr. Tonga. Capt. Bedlam. Mr. Kirby Mr. Everard. Mr. Dugdale. Mr. Prance. Mr. Baldron. Mr. Mowbray. Mr. Dangerfield. Mr. Genison Mr. Smith. London Burnt by Popish priests and jesuits sep: 2d 1666 depiction of the 1666 fire of London and the Popish priests and Jesuits who burnt it Prov. Simons Prov. Strange Prov. Whitebread Keimish Blundel Harcourt depiction of a bowling match The Upper Games, for Lives A piece ye Traitors depiction of the pope and the devill egging the bowlers on Dear Pope Here's your Bowlers ye herriticks Kind Devil they are holy Gamesters if they Carry in the Corner depiction of the bowlers Bowl on you sons of Rome but know We'll hold ye Rubbers ere you go Don Bellois Don Staffois Don Monis Don Arundis Don Petrois Don Powwowis Damn ye both whether will ye thrust uss that's the Bowl that does it depiction of a man D●bysis the Logorn Purser here's your Ground Sir 3 Popish Mises depiction of three women observing the bowling match Do you see him Madam he's Dead a Blessed Beginning depiction of the death of Godfrey by the bowlers i'th' Fatal Gap see Godfrey Dies He was the Nation's Sacrifice. depiction of a group of Godfrey's murderers Green Bury Hill Gerrard Kelly with others Godfrey's murderers 12: 78 depiction of nine pins arranged for bowling the nine pins veilds uss Troting and serves to hid our Plotting depiction of a scaffold from which several victims are hung and upon which a victim is about to be beheaded Your dateing Gamesters, all at Stake to Venture ●●t look o'th' Scaffold (Traitors) where ye Centre Strike home▪ their Works done. With an Account of a sharp Conference held on the Eve of St. Jago, between his HOLINESS and the Mahometan DONS in St. Katherine's Bastile: wherein their Ninepins are wholly condemned, and their Worships severely checked, for playing at that small Game now in the heat of his Harvest. To the Tune of, The Plot in the Meal-Tub; or, Tan-Ta-Ra-Ra-Ra, make shift. [Published by a By-stander, to prevent false Reports.] WHo likes to read, may judge what's coming on us, And pray (in earnest) Lord have mercy upon us. Read he that likes, whilst he that likes it not, Is fairly judged he likes their damned Plot. Enter Pope disguised. At Nine pins now! a pretty hopeful Game: Was it for this your Worships hither came? A cursed Mistake! I find our Choicest Tools, And greatest Knaves, are now the greatest Fools. By Hell I'm angry, that ye should so miss The game above, where but one murdered is; Ye pawned your Souls t'have ruined All ere this, But strangely failed in't! Now you turn your hand And bowl for Farthings, whilst they firmly stand Like Rocks together. Tell me, Sirs, what you I'th' Devil's Name with me intent to do? What a damned Journey have you made me take, Allong of you, and Mother-Churches sake, Been tossed at Sea, and rolled about the North; I'll Heretic turn before I'll go it more. Then where's your Worships if I leave my Beads? A Parl-comes next, and off go all your Heads. That must be done before th' incredulous Rout Will ere believe that I am come about. They know already we dispense with those That go to Church, take Sacrament, and Oaths: Therefore not trust us what we say or swear, Till tother's done, that we in earnest are. Which way to take, my Thoughts are undirected, Until I find how Mounsieur stands affected; But should I turn in truth, it's good enough For such insipped common Nine-pin Stuff. Myself may get by't, save a Thing more rare Than this same Triple Bauble now I wear, Which otherwise is hazarded I swear. Howe'er I'll venture't, prove it good or ill, And have a Push for't ere I lose it will. [And so you may, Sir Pope; but one thing know, I miss my mark if ere you get it so. But that's by th' way, perhaps I do but jest; I pray go on (Sir) let us hear the rest.] Ye shall (quoth he) I must my stomach ease, And speak the Truth, though some it may displease. When I Commissions to your Worships sent To be my Chieftains in the [Blest Intent.] (You know my meaning) than 'twas better things, To murder Subjects, stob or poison Kings, And lay those Northern Heretics in Blood, Who have our See for many Years withstood, This was the Game ye first did undertake; But that ye did no better progress make. Amused the Consults, and astonished All, To see you baffled by a Godfrey fall. By th' Mass (Sir Dons) I wonder at your Sloth, That damned neglect (in Time) may ruin both. Had you pursued it then, 'tis ten to one You might with ease the Royal Game have won. I fear my Lady spoke the naked Truth To that same Dangerous (but Apostate) Youth, That all our Men of Courage now were gone, (Or in fair way to be so ere't be long.) What shame is it (ye Gamesters) for to see Your Ghostly Fathers mount the Triple Tree, For their bold Actions, Holy Traitors dear, While you, like Drones, do trifle out the Year. There's one thing more I ought not to omit, Nor you great Dons, in gratitude forget, Though they did Penance, Ye have scaped the hand Of Commons-Foes who'd gathered in the Land. But to disperse them was a Mystery, Too great to think what cost my Friends and I. Those mortal Foes know so much of our Plot, That had they chanced much longer to have Sat, By Peter's Chair, you all had gone to Pot. And can you be so idle as to think, We run such hazards, parted with our Chink, For Game at Ninepins? No, it gained you time, That ye might spring a second Countermine. Then down with Pins, and throw aside the Bowl, Let each Man fall to Plotting in his Soul (If he have any) make it now appear They are devoid of either Grace or Fear. Cabal together, Guinnies will, I'm sure, Keep Argos Hands, and hundred Eyes secure; And ere't be long some Stratagem contrive, Which may your Freedoms and my cause retrieve. Let Hell direct you; but if Hell be dry, I'll send some Priests shall keep ye company, And that's as well: A Jesuit or two Not long ago the Devil could outdo. To make all sure, this my Counsel is, Which being followed, doubtless cannot miss; Pursue the Game i'th' Meal Tub was begun, And he that dares that bold Adventure run, Shall be my Darling, Satan's eldest Son. Fellow that close, get Presbyterian down, The day's our own, ye cannot miss the Crown. Farewell old Friends, I must make haste away, For fear they burn me if I longer stay. Here Reader, we the Second Part begin: Mark how the Dons rail at the Man of Sin. We have an old true Saying of our own, When Knaves fall out, the Truth is often known. Dons. Pox on his Picture, and his Cause so pure, Between 'em both they have ruined us we're sure. Must we, like Spaniels, to the Work be banged Of Mother-Church, and merit to be hanged? Ruin our Fortunes, hazard thus our Lives, Nay, been so mad as wheedle in our Wives; But they must go (they say) the Devil drives: And after all, like common things, rejected, Because our Projects have not been effected. Can we the ill Luck of our Ruffians help, When here confined Prisoners, ye Whelp? Had they but acted what we did contrive, There had not been an Heretic alive. So full of Lies and Perjuries they were, Not You yourself could mend them, were you here. But if they're spoiled in Executing, We Have done our parts, as all the World may see. Pope. Hold, mighty Dons! methinks too fast ye go. What have ye done, that ye upbraid me so? All I have gotten by your great Projects, Are a few Saints, with Ropes about their Necks, So hasht and butchered, all my labour's vain; Not Lucifer can set them right again. Hell keep the rest from Justice (we call Fury) And send them Wakemen, or a Gascoin Jury, Picked, bribed, instructed how to murder Truth, From Grand St. Martin's Bull, and Cits Wide Mouth. Dons. What have we done? Fool's may that Question make. What have we not done for your cursed sake? Here's some among us for this fifty Years Have Traitors been; engaged by the Ears The best of Subjects with their lawful King, Of which blessed Work the Universe did ring; Got into Arms, then after him we run, And never left him till he was undone. What Signior Con could not by Poison do, Our Party did: His End we brought him to. Three hundred thousand murdered at least In England, Scotland, and the Irish Feast. And since the Nation did his Son restore, We have been full as active as before; Have hunted Counter in his Parliaments. Got Pensioners, who Voted by Contents. Got Bills to pass against the Common Good, And ever yet its Happiness withstood. By Us their Church and State is so divided, They quarrel yet: Nor can it be decided, (Impatient we!) until Nolls Dunkirk's sold: 'Twas got by Rebels. But the Tangier Mould, When finished, will all the Shipping hold. Used all our Skill to break the Triple League, Made James confess to Beddingfield and Teage. In that (by Hell) we showed our highest Art, And stabbed the Protestant Interest to the heart. Employed our Priests, who did the City burn, And Heretic Churches into Ashes turn. Beat Butter-Boxes when we could come at 'em, Which led the way unto the Ships at Chattam, Then all we did, was, bid the Devil rot 'em. Conjoined our Butchers with our Friend of France; And to our Councils, Petticoats advance. By whom he knows, as well as Heart can wish, What ere we do, as Beggar knows his Dish. Begun a War, then up a Peace did smother, To break their Allies; then begin another. To Turks and Frenchmen did the Shipping sell, As Heretic Marvel late the World did tell. All this we did, and ten times so much more, To serve our Ends, and Mother-Church [that Whore] Before we to the present Trick did fall; And had that took, w● had done the Devil and all. And what that is, your Holiness can guests, For we'll be damned ere any on't confess. Nor does it matter whether we do or not, Since Heretick-Commons have so much on't got, By him whose Name, and Oaten-Pipe, doth fret Our very Guts, as on the Tenters set, We curse our Stars he is not ruined yet. But there's some hopes, by what we hear of late, Whose Lives he saved, requite him with their hate. A good reward! But had he half on't done For Mother-Church, he had the Popedom won. And now, dear Friends, you Jesuits, be Judge If 'tis not hard his Holiness should grudge A little Pleasure, which affords us trotting, After whole days [and nights] we have been Plotting; Witness our Pacquets twice a week that da ce To Rome, to Spain, to Portugal, and France, From whence ere long we hope to have such Friend; Shall set us free, accomplish all our Ends. Tell us 'twas He kept Common-Foes from sitting! 'Tis known he lies: for, did we think it fitting, We other Reasons for the same could show, Than He (perhaps Infallible) doth know. But let that pass: 'tis done, we think our Stars, Those Fiery Jades that draw in Titan's Cars. Now after all, should we be left i'th' lurch, Our Prayer shall be, The Devil take the Church. In troth, that's honest. To conclude, I shall Give my Amen, The Devil take ye all, For Plotting Villains, worse than Cannibal. England will ne'er be safe, nor Christendom, Till all your Necks under the Hatchet come. Then the Tune is, Finis, Funis. LONDON: Printed for William Martial, at the Bible in Newgate-street. 1680.