Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A63249
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A Trip to the D----l's summer-house, or, A journey to the Wells with the old preaching Quaker's sermon to the London-mobb.
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1704
(1704)
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Wing T2285A; ESTC N13867
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8,634
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5
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Bespoke 'em the Converts of Calvin's Perswasion They were mighty Devout at the Government railing That here was a Fault in't and there was a Failing Reflecting on Heroes promoted to Honour And lashing Ecclesâ—â— after this manner The Chnrch is a going to swallow down Pop'ry T've Bells at her Altars and such sort of Fop'ry Here's Good-Friday's Birth-Days and such things kept holy At first introduc'd by a Heathenish Folly Here's Oxford and Cambridge are National Sluices Lets into Divinity Popish Abuses In Churches they Pictures and Images raise There was none of thâ—se doings in Olivers Days Then up starts a Plowman as Bold as a Lion And stretches his Throat in Defence of our Sion Says he You're a couple of pittisul Fellows And deserves not so Noble a Death as the Gallows You're Sons of Ingratitude Children of Spleen You â—â—â—â—…ure our Churches you rail at my Queen You banter the Nation Ad Rat ye come out I'll make you to swallow these Words down your Throat Bath you and your Sect are the Governments Lees You'd Ruin the Realm for a Two Penny Piece Discontent has been ever your Fathers Corruption So th' Venom remains in the Sons by Adoption Who still are Subjected to Envious Railing And as for Old Oliver be was a Villain For all he Usurpt such a Petulant Power I say the Old Knave was a Son of W The Rogues in those Days did a Brewer Exalt He fit for a Monarch He fit to Drain Malt A delicate Fellow to bear such Command He fit for a Scepter He fit to be Hang'd A Tyrant and all that Assisted to Raise him Were Traitors and your are no better that Praise him Pray who was it brought the Distress on this Nation Who made the Attempt on that Royal Invasion Who banish'd the Issue and Murder'd the Father 'Twas him and the Pope and the Devil together Then says the Dissenter I wish you'd be easie I'm sorry that what I have said shou'd displease ye But as for my Branding the Church with Delusion I tell you again 'tis a Mass of Confusion Ill show you Verbatim where it is Faulty The dangerous Errors whereof it is Guilty Your Bowing to th' Alter is rank Superstition A Cantinuation of Popish Tradition Your Crosses in Baptism God Father binding Is all insignificant not worth your minding The Organs instead of Devotion advancing Sarves only to set Peoples Humours a Dancing The Surplice Corrupts the poor Maids at their Hearts It makes them to think upon Men in their Shirts And as for the Converts your blest Prayers makes The best of your Church are a parcel of Rakes As I hope to be sav'd they are so Prophane So given to swear by my Soul 'tis a Shame Well this is a Man says the Plowman worth hearing He swears a great Oath we are given to Swearing But now you have ended I hope as 'tis fitting You'll cease till I draw ye a Draught of the Meeting I scorn to reflect or reproach you with Lies I'll only repeat what I saw with my Eyes For being in London that Harbour of Vermin One Sunday I went in quest of a Sermon Designing the Church for my Refuge that Day But dropt in a Puritans Cell by the way Where a canting Concourse of irreverent Sinners Were siting without either Motion or Manners Here one in a Corner was plac'd very close A pulling his Hat o'er his Eyes and his Nose Another lewd Hypocrite seated apart With a Saint in his Looks and a Satan in's Heart By and by came a Man with a Cloak on his Back A Book in his Hand and a Band round his Neck Went creeping along like a poor helpless Creatureâ— Arrested by all the Diseases in Nature He Hops to the Pulpit as fast as he cou'd And scarce had he got to that Hovel of Wood Before Master Clericus clear'd up his Throat And presently set 'em a Psalm to Chant out They all fell a Singing some Treble some Base As if they were Humming of Old Chivy-Chafe Their Concording Voices so Harmonious were 'Twas enough to 've Ravisht a Hedge-Hog I'll swear As soon as the Choristers made a Conclussion The Preacher starts up with a Calvins Commission He wrinkled his Forehead â—e lean'd on his Book And show'd us how much like an Ass he cou'd look Transforming his Aspect with I deots Frenzies As if God Almighty was Pleasur'd with Whimsies As if the Eternal Creator of Man Took Pleasure in seeeing Men alter his Frame He seem'd to make Apish Behaviour a Rule He apear'd in his Prayer so much of a Fool So much of a Mimick to speak without Jearing He'd make a rare Barth'lomew-Fair Pickle-Herridge His Prologue was tedious and yet the I Concluded invoking without Pater-Noster Being past one good Duty he went to the next Having Grumbled a Prayer to Grope out a Text. In the Fourth of Malachi the first of those Verses And there a long Cat'logue of Judgment Rehearses Frâ—m the Words and their Meaning he took an Occasion To Preaâ—h to his Auditors Death and Damnations He began the Inevitable Doom to Denounce And sent a whole Heap to the Devil at once The Hypocrite Men with a fair out side shell He bid 'em go take up their Lodging in Hell The next that he threw into Lucifers Scopes Was a Bundle of Whores and a Mouthful of Popes I laught in my self till it tickl'd my sides To see the Old Women a shaking their Heads To see the Old Sinners Confusedly stand When the Preacher avoucht that the Whores wou'd be Damn'd The Heart of the Prophet was so set in ire His Lips spoke of nothing but Brimstone and Fire I turn'd my self round and began to march out For I never lov'd Doctrine so Sulphcrous hot Well says the Dissenter I take no Regard You may certainly one Day expect your Reward I leave it to him that can Censure you best You've rail'd at the Prophet and People of Christ Upbraiding the Church with the Name of a Cell And speaking those things that became re not well Yet this I will say in Defience of our Church It is not your Steeple it is not your Porch That makes yours a Temple nor looking so comely A Church is a Church tho' 'tis never so homely And then to Attest it and thow his self Learned He fetches Quotations from Austin and Bernard Then on went the Plowman as fierce as Achillis And Buffets him out of Sententia Plurillis Poor Plowman his Brains by the Heat of the Weather Were apt to make Latin and Nonsence together To the Fathers for Proof he would willingly fly But Grammarian Wings could not bear him so high The other Battalion for motion prepares Yet give him sharp words as he went down the Stairs The Plowman could hardly from Fighting desist He would needs make his Arguments good with his Fist By many perswasions the Blows were Diverted The Clamour Concluded the Company Parted Having seen all this Tumult I call'd to the Drawer To give me a faithful Account of my Score He told me and when I had paid him his due I left the House just as I found it a Stew I ventur'd my Carkass once more in the Crowd And was horridly squeez'd with a Reprobate Brood Of Soldiers whose Motto it 'tis not mistaken Is Semper Eadem the Servants of Satan I durst not look up at the Andrews and Block-heads My Eyes was to busily fixt on my Pockets Yet heard 'em Bawl unto the People that Sinning Deluding and Cheating was just a beginning There was Whore to be leâ— Cheap enough in all reason A Man â—ight have hir'd 'em for Six pence a dozen Or have bought for a Noble a Score on a heap The Bitches might well be accounted Dog cheap When I got from the Mob it began to grow dark So I came with all speed to St. James's Park Being Hungry and hasty to get a Remedy I walk't till I o'er took a Beau and his Lady Excuse me and take it to be no Abruption If here I present you his Beauships Discription He look't at a distance a terrible Hero I took hi first Country 〈◊〉 Crow And when I came nigh I protest he was like one His Wig was so monstrous I vow it wou'd fright one It was made like a Swadling Cloth for a Horse Not only to cover his Neck but his Arse It reach'd from his Head very nigh to his Garter 'Twas a good handsome Load for an ord'nary Porter The Powder on his Garment was harbour'd so thick That if it shou'd Rain 'twou'd make Dough on his Back He pluckt up his Pedestals quick as a Rappet And struted along like a Barth'lomew Poppet His Delight was to Dance you might tell by his tread That he carry'd more Wit in his Heels than his Head His Stature was large yet his Sword was so short He resolves when he Fights he'll do no Body hurt I perceiv'd by the Hilt 'twas not prone to Abuse For 'twas Rusty a sign 'twas seldom in use His Legs was as thick if I censure not wtong As a Constables Staff and almost quite as long His Tongue never ceast for his Humours is such He thinks he talks well if he does but talk much Still Chawing of something to Sweeten his Breath And always a Grinning and showing his Teeth With such sort of Freazies which serv'd to explain That the Coxcomb was more of a Monkey than Man A fine Painted Snuff-Box his Idol was made Deprive him of that you'd as good take his Head 'Tis Snuff he supposes his Briskness maintains Some thinks that it causes Defects in the Veins And I'm of Opinion it eat up his Brains FINIS