Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n
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A85693
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Rules of life: being good wishes to the clergy and laiety; for whose use the Asse's complaint was written. / By Lewis Griffin.
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Griffin, Lewis.; H. W. Balaams reply to the asse.
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1663
(1663)
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Wing G1983; ESTC R227025
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17,979
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46
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down they fit and Condole T is a poor silly superstitious soul These are the Scoffs and Jeers the cruel hits That wicked heads invent in drunken fits To vex good men and exercise their wits O wicked World O Monstrous Commonweal When men with great applause might kill and steal Sensure was Saintship Sacriledge was Zeal When Churches lay like stables Altars bare Or turn'd to Mangers Priest and Organs were Both silenc'd none might preach unless they 'd sware No Musick in the Church but Widows cries No Sacraments but Oaths no Rites but lies No Christian Burial and no sacrifice But thanks be to our gratious God for why He heard our prayers and harken'd to our Cry And thereupon turn'd our captivity We' are all in peace long may we so remain May the Crown flourish on our Soveraign And Aarons Rod blosom and bloom again May all the Kings and Churches Enemies All their plots projects and conspiracies Be blown away like silly Gnats and Flies And now my Lords since we to you have cry'd And nothing that concerns us from you hide Pitty our sorrows pardon us beside O Father Abraham how canst thou see The bondman scoff at Isaack and not be In love to him offended presently Alass we don't sigh and complain because Our honours lie at stake but the good laws Your reputation and the Churches cause T is time t is time my Lords or to keep in For your own safeties or go armed when The Lyon's couchant in the Asses skin I 'le say but this take 't on a Levits word When once the Asse doth of his own accord Thus kick Sir John Hee 'l quickly fling my Lord. Written by H. W. THE APOLCGY Of the AUTHOR of the Asses Complaint against Balaam Rage on Ye proud Philistins of the Land I scorn your Weakness and like Samson stand Arm'd with an Asses Jaw-bone in my hand Sure he that tells me of John Baptist jests And of the Tyrants and their Solemn Feasts 'T is I that combat with Ephesian Beasts Hark! Hark! how Isgrim howles and Bruin roares Had Dives kept such Ban-dogs at his Doores They 'd Worried Lazarus not lick'd his Sores They tell us of a Pillory What then We hope to see a Resurrection when The Harmlesse beast shall have his Ears agen Nay they may take his Life a worthy prize Yet he that spills his Blood cannot be wise For Asses ne're were us'd in Sacrifice But must he Die pray give him leave to pause Is the poor Asse condemn'd by Lydford Laws Sure if he Die you 'll let him know the Cause What think you then If he that doth declaime ' Gainst Drunkennesse and Swearing merits shame Then he that writ the Cry was much to blame Or if those men of Israel who with tears Complain'd of Eli's Sons were Mutineers Then Balaam's Asse deserves to lose his Ears But if amongst the pious Learned train Dunces are crept who their profession stain Be patient Sirs our Cry was not in vain What shall the Asse forsake his Masters crib And follow those that use to swear and bib No He fears neither Pillory nor Gib Let Fools and Traytors dread such things not I Who in the Dangerous times of Tyranny Own'd that which now they say I do deny I that oppos'd Presbytery when Some Comply'd and Flatter'd Others were struck dumb 'T is known how oft I pray'd Thy Kingdom come His Sacred Majesty I have ador'd And alwayes reverenc'd the Mitred Lord And will defend them both with Pen and Sword I quarrel not with him that bows the Knee Toward the East Although the Altars bee Mere Stumbling-stones to Some th' are none to Mee For well I know the King and Parliament Our Lawfull Lords may by a joynt consent Make Necessary of Indifferent As for the Harmless Tapers let them burn Yet when the Bridegroom wakes her from her urn These will not serve the Sleepy Virgins turn To Gownes and Surplices I am a Friend Let Others Cavill they that will contend About these things have sure some farther end But yet how prudentlie the King prevents The Churches Rape Hee sees their base intents That 'gin to Rifle her of her Ornaments Nor must false Acban long enjoy his wedge Justice prepares a Halter and a Sledge These are the bitter fruits of Sacriledge These deep-dy'd Rebells Hyppocrites in grain That Swallow'd Bishops Lands oh what a pain Was it for them to belch them up again Then welcome Loyal Hearts that scorn'd to take Those dangerous Oathes that did Three Kingdoms shake You that were sequestred for Conscience-sake Shine forth again Yee Pious and Devout Sons of the Church your Sufferings without doubt Did onlie snuff your Light not put it out Yet there are Some whose Age and former smarts Have much impair'd their Learning and their Parts Enough to crack their Brains and break their Hearts And plead wee against these no let my tongue Be Curs'd for ever if I do them wrong They shall not bear the burden of my Song He that hath suffer'd poverty disgrace Sicknesse and banishment from place to place Heav'n blast that Hand that throws dirt in his face Yet Priests there are who neither have been true To God nor Caesar Oh'tis here the Shooe Doth pinch the Devil hath His Martyrs too And now me thinks the Reader pittyes us And cryes What kind of Beast is this Whom thus The Asse calls Ignorant and Scandalous Went he to th' University What then So the French King with twenty thousand men Went up the Hill and so came down agen What did hee there he ate and drank and slept Hee playd at foot-ball and at last he crept Into a Hood Then in t ' Pulpit stept How hap'd it then that he was not refus'd By th' Bishops Friends pray let them be excus'd The Prelates oftentimes have been abus'd As in this Case A Patron of our age Presents one Mopsus to a Viccarage Far fitter for a Bear-ward or a Stage Now for a Handsom trick they cast about This Mopsus was A soul unlearned Lout And knew the Bishop soon would find him out Then learned Corydon in Mopsus name Went and obtain'd the place for which he cames And now Sir Mopsus doth possess the same Thus a Good Prelat may be soon betray'd When the loose Patron Pins a Chamber-maid Upon Sir John her Dowry must be paid Should these things hold What 's Learning or the 'T is Mony rules the Worlds and some inherit Their Parsonages by favour not by merit This this Begat the Courtryes scorn and hate And made their Squeamish Stomachs nauseate That Pow'r which now hath broke the Serpents pate But lo a Reformation oh sing praise To Heav'n for now the Bishops clearer rayes Will chase these fogs and give us better-dayes Ye rigid Presbyters lay down your Pride And Joyn you Know once when a Case was try'd Shee had no interest that said Divide Yea Dippers now baptize your selves in tears And be not Drawn to Error by the ears In spite of Hell Let 's all be Cavaliers Shall our Religion be like Josephs coat Motly and bloudy Then the World will note 'T is a true sign wee cut our Master's throat Yee Consciencious Romists why do wee Wrangle with you Is it not time t' agree Take you our Faith Lend us your Charity Oh! If all these would lay aside their passion How would the Gospel flourish in the Nation Free from old Legends and new Revelation Then Englands Church would out-shine other Spires Like the Bright Moon amongst the Lesser fires And this is all that the poor Asse desires Now as for that ingenious pen that writ Balaam's reply I shall not carp at it His Verses savour both of grace and wit But yet I wonder much how hee mistook The Asses Meaning if again he look Sure he May read without a Const'ring-book Banish but Passion wee shall soon agree I bow unto the Prelates and will bee As true and faithfull to the Church as hee I ever will obey their Just Commands And pray to God to Keep them from their hands That Hate their Persons and yet love their Lands But I should Grieve to see these Men of God That sit in Moses chair and sway his Rod Prove Grandsires to a Fatal Ichabod I would vex my Soul to see Lewd Phinehas race Or any Pulpit suffer that disgrace To lose a Man and have a Beast in 's place Sound powerfull preaching is the thing wee want Yet I abhor their Rhetorick that do rant In vindication of the Covenant And is'c for this the Asse is made a Mock By Pamphleteers And grown a Laughing-stock Base ill-bred hounds that would destroy the Flock Then oh ye Gospel-Shepheards do not keep Such Currs Although to you they fawn and creep That Dog that Bites an Asse will Worry Sheep Lewis Griffin FINIS * It hath been a Den of Lay-Theeves long already * Yet the Patron in this Case had no such corrupt intent
and his Asse And that your Lordships are concern'd I 'm sure Unlesse you can both scorn and losse endure The livings are your own our's but the cure T will be no wonder to your Learned Train That Issacar of Levy should complain The Asses spleen will in his mouth remain Nor wil't I hope seem strange to any one That there 's amongst us such division Proud Jack did evermore abuse poor John In vain it is for Bala'm to reply Unto the Asses charge when all men cry A switch and spurr's the best Philosophy Yet in my heart I think no wife men do Think us false Prophets for they all do know They are but Asses that do count us so But oh we cannot hold should we not speak And sigh aloud our very hearts would break 'T would vex a Moses were he ne're so meek Say can it chuse but grieve our souls to see Simeon and Levy fight both disagree And sorry boys old Fathers villifie Did ever any since the cursed Cam Turn up his Fathers skirt divulge his shame Yes yes mine own dear sons have done the same And as if God were deaf and Conscience dumb Rebellion but a peccadillo some Like Nero have display'd their Mothers Womb. Lord didst thou send the wild and Savage Bear To slay th' untoward boys that scoffing were At the good Prophet for his want of hair How canst thou stay thy hand when men and all Do joyn together and us scoffing call Though not bald Priests by chance yet Priests of Baal And why Sir John what mean those names and words Or hath the Church her Knights as well as Lords Or tell me are her Keys exchang'd for Swords True not long since he lay dead in a sown Of civil Wars the cross and waining Moon Parted her Ensigns and she was undone But that some gallant hearts that scorn'd the losse Of life and goods at best but splendid dross Stay'd for to help their Mother bear her Cross But why Sir John would not St. George have been A better Epethite but chiefly when Griffins and Draggons are so nee ' a kin Or was 't a greater piece of eminence To be a Mother than a Maids defence Is love inferiour to obedience Why the rude Vulgar folk do call us John And adde a Sir I must professe I 'm one As must go seek a revelation True we have been as we do all confess A long time in the howling wilderness Save that we might not preach up righteousness Besides our Commons too were very small Like to the Baptist's yet they differ all John fed on Honey but we fed on Gall. Yet we embrace the title 't is no shame For to be Christn'd with the Baptists name May we be like him all a burning flame But ah this is not all that you do see A thousand harder names as yet there be In the poor Parsons Genealogy Dogs Bears and Wolves Tigers and such as they That range the Ment Woods live on the prey Are Hieroglyphicks fit for us they say And yet God knows our hearts and souls we cou'd Nor fight nor fawn be insolent nor proud Or flush our selves with quaffing humane blood But so the Tyrant Monarchs of the East Us'd in their Triumphs or their solemn Feasts To bait poor Christians in the skins of beasts What 't is we have done truly we do not know To merit ill of them did we wee 'd go With bended knee to supplicate our Fo If we have took away from any one More than our Tenth's on this condition We are ready to make restitution If Altars Tapers be Idolatry Gowns Casfack Tippets rags of Popery Shew us good reason for 't wee 'l lay 'em by But if the reading Prayers be all our blame Cause Daws and Parrots may be taught the same The Ass may then return from whence he came For is there any man doth stand in need Of so much wit as that he won't conceed To this a Pye may sooner speak than read But oh we cannot pray our hearts are scant Strange that we cannot pray and yet can cant The poor man never did expressions want True wa can't hang the head and look demure 1Talk fast and lowd like Monkeys in a Lure And then not question but to sin secure We do not love a long and tedious story Full of Parenthesis pride and vain glory The Pater Noster's the best Directory We do profess that we are none of those That Circumflex their Sermons with their Nose And mingle Hopkins Rimes with Wisdomes Prose Yet would you but vouchsafe to view the Prayers Of your good Mother since these latter years Mixt with the incense of a Prelates Tears Would you but hearken to her groans and cries Her sweet Patheticks and Apostrophies You 'ld say there was not richer Sacrafice The penitent Disciple I durst swear Ne'r wept so much when the pert Presbyter Fastned his Fetters and did him secure Even so the Balm tree lovingly bestows Its Tears on them that do return it blows Tears healing as the blood that from it flows But stay here comes a scrole of Items fright Just like a Taylors Bill a threadbare Knight They say we are sottish loose prophane and light I do not with these Articles may be As false a charge as manifest a lye As those were of a former Century For then the bribed Person that should go To prove the imputation to be so Would be the greater scandal of the two But yet I pray that we may be no less Religious in plenty then distress In Canaan then in the Wilderness But we are Drunkards men will lye and swear Though we with modesty and tears declare True is our Doctrine Temperance our prayer Then us for Thieves and Robbers they do brand Though we professe we would upon no hand Purchase an Acre of the Churches Land But we are wanton lustful fond and fickle And in our Neighbours Corn do thrust our Sickle When we God-wot all hate a Conventickle Lastly we are dark Lights blind Guides by name Though if we were say which deserves most blame A glimering Taper or a wandring flame And yet the faults not ours we had no doubt Remain'd till now bright shining and devout Had not a Sequestration blew us out That Northern Gust that Fatal Hurrican That rush'd through all the quarters of the Land Rooted up Oaks but let the Mushroms stand Good Lord how prejudice and passion blears Our eys how self-ends lug men by the ears Which way the wind doth blow the Saylor steers If we say nothing then they spurn and kick Call us dumb dogs and throw us bones to pick The Ass will vapour when he Lyons sick When we refuse to see at least to mind Their grose abuses then the Priest is blind Weeping perhaps to fee them so unkind But if we justifie our holyness And prove by reason what we do profess The wisdome of the world is foolishness At last when envy cannot find a hole To shrowd her self