ones may gratis drinke their fill Alas Christs troubled Truth disgraced grace What Goods what gifts giues Man God to abase Hebrews and Greeks no word for Merit haue Both Couenants God in Greeke and Hebrew gaue The Faithfull liue not by their Righteousnesse Life and soules health the Iust by Faith possesse Saints haue receiu'd but Crownes did ne're bestow And none to lend their Righteousnesse I know Who in himselfe perfection seekes i th' Graâ—e Seekes Life which he may seeke but ne're shall haue He makes vp Merit that he so may see Christs Passion spoild and God no God to be Say Peter when as Christ beheld thee weeping What Merits helpt thee who had them in keeping Gods grace is no grace if not gratis giuen Dost thou deserue it Grace is from thee driuen By sinne first Adam Hell to vs did Merit By second Adam we may Heau'n inherit But whose foule Seed can giue a faire conception If no mans can can I wretch all infection My faith 's most firme that me poore wretch to saue Himselfe God valent and Christ volent gaue Each operist-Papist scraps of workes doth add And of 's owne purenesse is halfe-Botcher badd In 's life time oft times he workes aid doth trust But dying he all 's Workes away will thrust O helpelesse Hope on Merits to relie Who trust such faithlesse faith soone fall thereby Such haplesse Hope by hoping spoiles poore wretches Whose care to keepe by too much care bewitches Sole Faith is Sole Cause of Soules health assur'd Christ sayes to th' sicke beleeue and thou art cur'd When Christ our Lord with soules betrothings hath His Nuptials busie Bride-Maide is sole faith The debtour than the Creditour's more base If workes make God our debtour where 's his grace Can Workes worke-out my punishments remission To worke my Blisse adde Merits least addition Can I by Merits my soules sore-eyes cure Are These the Sopâ— sweet Wash-Bals blots to pure Must heau'ns blest Haruest workes base huskes require Must one-howers worke enioy Ioy infinite Must I with Merit-Oyle enlight my feet Lest I with lightlesse lampe the Bridegroome meet Whom Christs Words Wounds laue saue and sanctifie Can worthlesse Workes those better beautifie Can Merits driue-backe Deaths darts deadly rage Is merit my soules wholesome soueraigne Sage Can Trash pay Treasure Drugs and Drosse pay gold Can mites with mounts minutes with myriads hold Can my deserts Christs death deserts deserue Such proud opinions from true wisdome swerue Since by Christs Bloud 't is plaine I gaine saluation Heau'ns wrath base merit brings to consternation I liue noâ— of my selfe if so I die God is my life the life of God wish I. Whats'ere is try de i th' Furnace of Gods frowne Is quickly quite with furious flames burnt downe What if mans Workes to th' world seeme ne're so faire If God be Iudge all men most guiltie are Who Guiltie does Gods will vnlesse he doe it By God first Facient He poore patient to it All 's else a Shaddow Christ the Substance pure Christ is alone my Life Saluation sure Christs Price and Ransome my Redemption payd What then can man all payd to pay be made Moyses all liuers liues ith Bloud did place So in Christs Bloud shed is my life my grace Vertue is Vice if Grace by Christ be none And if we ought doe well 't is Gods alone Nor sure did God confect but Gall infect Those Eyes which on Christs Price haue ill aspect O let Christs precious Bloud my blest Bath be And not one drop of least desert in me O be 't my care my selfe a Wretch to view And no desert but death to be my due O me me most vnworthy heau'n to see So conscious am I of desert in me My eyes confirme my inward-parts confesse Of Merit my sad soules great emptinesse I feele defects my life ore-laide with woe And I poore wretch these gone doe nought else know Gold Iasper Stones are foule with Christs bloud plac't Must not deserts dregs then be more abac't When I am wrencht and drencht in Christs deere blood O let my Merits be hells burning Wood. Say I had liu'd well yet my hope might faile me But hauing liu'd ill death will sure assaile me Oh from deaths danger who shall me wretch raise Herein sweet Sauiour Thine be all the praise The hand-writing of Sinne Christ quite defac't Which tane from Satan on his Crosse he plac't If Christ Gods onely Sonne Lifes orient Sun For Me a Seruant dire death would not shun Can I a Slaue Christs death as my due claime And challenge Life because Christ death did tame Bloud should flow from my deepe torne worne heart And all my Marrow should sad teares impart I merit nought my selfe by no meanes saue Christ my Redeemers death this to me gaue O may I die e're Christs Grace through me die For in me of me for me nought haue I. O wash me well i th' Well of thy good will Lest guiltie me my guiltie deeds doe kill O may my filâ—hs of flesh my life lewd base Deare Christ be folded in thy kinde embrace Satans dire Darts assault me Victor great Giue me sharpe shafts that I may Satan beat I am i th' world soyld spoyld O Iesu good Laue saue my soule i th' Brooke of thy blest blood I burne with selfe-loue O great Lord of Loue To burne with thy Loue grant grace from aboue As Lord the Spirit as Tyrant flesh I serue Oh tame the Tyrant flesh my soule preserue Lest Earth me take lest Hell me terrifie O hold me heat me with heau'ns Feruencie Let Earths fraile Ioyes to Heau'â—s firme Ioyes giue place And sacred loue of good Earths Mud quite chase I hate all mine and that I be not mine I seeke thee Christ and sue to be all thiâ—e O let thy large thy Seamlesse coate most faire Paliate my natiue filth and leaue none bare O Lambe of God slaine from the worlds creation Thy proper-Worke be my Propitiation With thy deare Saints O Sauiour Christ I craue Me thy most Suppliant submisse seruant saue The euill of guilt and pâ—nishment I know This this indeed 's the Merit I can show But th' euill of guilt and paine and hells fierce flame Yea hells great Lord I know heau'ns Lord did tame This is my constant faiths confession hence I le not be forc'd by fraud or violence He which O Christ trusts not thy sole sweet Merit Shewes he 's not thine and shall not thine inherit Since all thy gracious gifts me farre surpasse Can my naught nothing merit ought alas Who 's ' ere O Christ an hundreth Pence Thee owes Vnto ten thousand Talents My debt growes Within Mee Sinne a Massie Mountaine hath Sins Mountaine to remoue Lord strength my Faith Least I O God by Deaths sting wounded be Behold my Sauiours Wounds wide-ope for mee O Thou which Bottlest vp Thy Saints Teares All Let not these of thy Seruant fruitlesse fall The Bane of Sinne my Blood
shames not O Mad Religion strange Diuinity Clergies faire Helon Popes fond Fantasie Bread makes a God as Mice may Caâ—â—ls make Not so The Popes opinion wee mistake But Sure although the Tridâ—â—â—-Councell wise The same to Christs Guests more than once denies The same meanes which in Baptisme Christ containes The same i th' Supper also Christ retaines This feeds That breeds by Christs Concorporation I 'm Bred and Fed by the same Obligation Symbolikâ— Signes we all in Baptisme see Therefore the Signes i th' Supper vnchang'd bee In Christ I liue as I of Christ am made What Grace conuerts concernes mee as is said Vnion giues Life Communion It sustaines That was the Spirits This still the Spirits remaines But truely truely for this truth 's most true And Faith to be Truths Daughter ought most due What 's made of Bread o th' Virgin is not made Nor was Christs Being from a Bread-corne blade Nor was the Promis'd Seed of Graines weake power Nor Mary blest a Mother of fiue Flower Nor did the Roote of lesâ— beare â—ares of Corne Nor was Iâ—d's Liâ—â— of Land-Acres borne Nor Floods on Câ—râ—s Biâ—th the Dragon shed Nor could a Wheat-Eare breake the Serpeâ—tâ— Headpunc Besides I feele this bruis'd assum'd consum'd Where was Christâ— Body then may 't be presum'd Absurdly â—bsurd Fooles absurd things reach And to th' Absurd absurd opinions preach Out Field is fil'd with troopes of Reasons good Which Popish Paradâ—xeâ— make to skud When Christ Himselfe the Bread of Life did name Before and after that Christ was tho Sâ—me Christ is a Vine the Ways the Life who euer In Him grâ—â—bes gâ—es liâ—â—s fâ—des wanders dieâ— neuer Thus Christ saies of himselfe yet I suppose Of Way â—me Life no Transiâ—â—â—â—tioâ— roâ—e Why then i th' Supper should a change be made 'Cause Christ of Bread This is my Body said What if huge Heapes of Loaues were consecrated Must all to Flesh be forth-with Transmutated What if a Groomes Horse-Bread bâ— conseâ—red Will it straight into Flesh be altered What if the holy-Hoste be eate in Lent Will it be turn'd to Flesh incontinent At that time I thinke rather t is Fish made For Flesh to eate in Lens Popes haue gaine said How well Romes Pythagorean Foole doth act Does things forbidden forbids his owne Fact T is Witty Folly Fathers foolish Wit To Stab his â—tatutes his Births heart to split This Popish Metamorphosis most viâ—d Hath Natures Lawes puld downe Gods Lawes defil'd Faiths Nerues and ioynts it reaues and cleaues in sunder And brings in Doctrinesâ—ew â—ew with hideous wonder These working-Words This iâ— my Body They No Type or mysticke meaning haue doe say Yet heer 's a Trope for heer 's a Transmutation Thus they deny euen their owne affirmation Truth 's Force and Strength is great most certainely And makes Hiâ— Foes hir praise to testifie Thus oft-times Thieues fatally faults confesse Traitors owne mouthes their trecheries expresse For Sacraments the Papist placeth Toyes And for a Trope Tropicall Trickes employes Deiects what Hee erects grants what 's gain-said Puls downe the House which his owne Hands haue made Peruerse Conuersion doth peruert Sense sound An impious Glosse doth Truths pure Glâ—sse confound For forced by the words true force and scope The Test'ment cald a Cup they say's a Trope And why i st not a Trope when Bread is nam'd Christs body is here other speech forme from'd He 's non-plusd now his fond opinion frights him And Heresies owne hand herear euen smites him Incredulous quite faithlesse may I be Y'ere I dull Papist fixe my Faith to thee Many such false fain'd Iliads yet haue I All which to whip one day cannot supply Not all of Christ but whole Christ each where stayes This ancient Fathers faith affirmes and sayes If then Christs flesh be not in eu'ry place Sure 't is not flesh i th' Masse in any case If Bread it be and must his Body be Then of his Body 't is no Signe to me The Body 's not the Type the Type It shades If things themselues be Types the Type then fades All other holy things their Signes ne're change That Signes change onely here Is it not strange Surely these pendent Seales assure alone That Promise which Gods Word had me fore-showne And sacred Seales their Patents ne're oppose Therefore both Signe and Substance Christ enclose But by the Word our Mouthes must not Christ chew This Supper then Words Seale makes not this true This Reason's Eagle-ey'd in truth quicke-sighted And what It sees is quickly erudited This Reason seemes with radient Sun-beames written With so pure Light the sight is thereby smitten But now here 's one and one in stead of All Which thunder-throttles Romes faith mysticall If vnder shew of Bread Christs flesh be made Are snares of death in this flesh closely laide Henrie the seuenth Emp'rour of Germanie By Poyson in a Masse foule fact did die But sure Christs flesh with Poyson ne're was mixt True Life not Death is to Christs flesh affixt T is strange Christs flesh i th' Poyson did not die When venome in that Murthering-Masse did lie I wonder when the Frier i th' Fier did throw The Host whether Christs Flesh he did it know Fond foole thy learned lectures thee confound And thine owne cords haue thee in snares fast bound What need I striue t' oppose Thee with my Shield When thine owne Sword wounds Thee wins Me the field If consecrated-Bread so alteraâ—e That Masse-Priests may God to Christs flesh create As many Loâ—â—es so many Bodies be As many Bitâ— so many Godâ— we see And when Christ first his Body made our meate He did himselfe in forme and substance eate For what he to his twelue-Disciples gaue Himselfe I thinke did eate This all Feasts craue And sure that Vine whose Wine Christ then did drinke Gaue plentie of our Sauiours Bloud I thinke And euen so oft as Biâ—s Christs Body bee So oft his Soule from 's Body torne hath he For I beleeue his Soule they cannot bake Their foule-mouth'd-Masse thereof no power can take If Thou 'lt on points as Vowels Vassall stand And not permit true iudgement thee command As Bread Christs Body is witnesse Gods Writ So is the Cup his Bloud Truth prouing it Any Cup forg'd by any any Art To th' Testament in Christs bloud doth conuert Nor was O Christ blest Marie more thy Mother Than Goddesse-Masse would be to thee another Nor were thy Bones O Christ broke on the Crosse But Popelings Teeth bruise breake them short as Mosse Nor could one Body all Christs Guests suffice To take least part thereof their Soules chiefe price And whilst heau'n earth at once this flesh containe His flesh continuous Christ cannot retaine And mouldie Bread we all know Wormes will breed Which from Christs Flesh 't is plaine cannot proceed And Wine kept long in Cups will sure waxe tart But thy sweet Bloud O Christ still cheeres my heart And in thy hand crucifi'd flesh didst keepe
Confounder killing thy Lambes good To Thee O Christ doth sacrifice thy Blood A painted Lamb 's ador'd deuour'd aliue Thus thus doth Romes Religion rarely thriue Him I will not Religious Holy stile But Common Whore or Couchant Wolfe most vile Gods Church with floods of blood orewhelmed all We may the Pope Saints bloody Butcher call This Field of blood Acheldamae thus showne Makes thee proud Priest a Dog-Wolfe Bitch-Wolfe knowne How many Tesles doe detest with Scath Romes sacrilegious ebbing flowing Faith Which Hee 'le now firme anon infringe and bee A Synon sly not Simon-Peter free For to a Counsell One once call'd secur'd The Guest was slaine the Hoste his Faith abiur'd And whereas Priests Gods Flocks bright Star should be The raging Dog-starre this Vice-Christ we see Christs feeble Flocke the Popes Salue hurts not heales Hee with tart Tortures not milde Med'cines deales I surely thinke that Turkes of All Popes times Ne're wrought 'gainst Christ so many bloody Crimes O what a Man of Blood art Thou to th' Bride By whom Hir offspring Dye in Fire are fryde Popes furious frownes make many vndergoe Deaths Dart Warres Smart Waues finall fatall Woe The Pope and Pluto witnes euery Lowne Thus differ hee hath Hornes Popes triple Crowne All els concurre So well perform'd thou seest All Satans Workes by this Plutonick Priest A time will come when Hee Christs sacred Traine And liuing Members dearely would re-gaine And yet Saints slaughter will not Him suffice But ore Dead Corps dig'd vp Hee 'l tyrannize Nor rests his Fury with Dead bodies fed But this fierce Fiend their Ghosts hath tortured Rachel Thy Church sweete Sauiour craues thy aide Lamenting sore that Shee 's so childlesse made Hir Saints wide Wounds from Rome receiu'd she showes And how with Flames she shines with Bloâ—d ore-flowes Shee now doth Roses with much ruth bring out Who in sweete peace once made white Lillies sprout In midst of Flames than Flames themselues more bright Thy Martyrs were all clad with fiery Light Nor did her soile want raine to spring and bud Too fertile 't was ore flowne with showres of Blood Popes Founders and Repayrers Diuels were With props of Blood His Throne to build and reare O Christ whilest Thy Saints after Death feard Death They feared not in Life to lose their breath In England heere a Queene being Papists pride By fire how many holy Martyrs dyd'e Nor did Queene Marie of meere Vulgars builde Those Godlesse Flames but burn'd fiue Bishops milde Nay more a Child from Mothers Wombe which brast VVas into th' Fire by Romish Fiends re-cast Lo thus with slaughtered Saints Romes shambles shines No better brau'rie Romes renowne refines Seruant of Seruantâ— Fellow seruants slayes And so himselfe a Seruant base betrayes This Latian Dragon with Gods Saints makes warre In Blood his foule Face laues than Warres worse farre In one of these fierce Monsters shortest raigne Records report an hundred thousand slaine Nocent the third I take in from the Nocent So many thousands in one Slaughter spent O thou in truth Saints ruth All red oft read VVith Blood of many Martyrs Martyred Slaine corps doe con-corrupt my life alas That Hee Saints Homicide so long doth passe And when O Christ thy Seruants slaine I see Ore-flowing Flouds mine eyes I wish to bee In that Parisian Shambles knowne too well How many guiltlesse Lambes in one weeke fell VVhilst Paris then more blood did drinke than Wine That Towne that time a Tempest was Sanguine Forewarn'd learne wisedome doe not Christ despise VVhom soone Romes Shambles brings to Butcheries Alas Hee 's not Sheeps Peeder but Confounder Black-cankered Conscience Ouicide Sheepe-wounder Hee which growes great by sacred Saints perdition Hastens to Hell with guilty Expedition Thine plagues O Christ by Sufferance subiugate For what they cannot shun they tolerate To these Lifes want is Life their Death no Death Conquest their Crosse to liue to lose their breath Goodnes their Gold the World their Pot Griefe Flame Their Flesh the Reed their Hammer God to frame Blood founded first Christs Church by blood it grew Blood showres It cheeres by Blood t is of red hiew With Blood Vice-Christ Christs Foldes doth filthifie See Men of God See Popish Piety Of Romes false doctrines many Scraps remaine Which my close Hedge is too close to containe Index Expurgatorius Bookes great Bane A Worke well knowne dishonest crafty vaine Robs or rubs out much antique learned Treasure Pils or pals out much at the Popes dis-Pleasure His Censure suffocates Mens Births their Bookes Takes out plaine Truths puts in vile spurious Crookes O horrid hatefull Slaught'r-House foule nefarious To Godly Bookes a plague a torture various The Fathers Strayes not Sonnes then Papists Name Though Fathers theirs All theirs still theirs they claime Their Postils Packets are of Trumperies Hee which in them can find no Wit is wise 'T is plaine All Papists are Traditionists Who terme and trouble vs for Scripturists Which be or what or how many Traditions Or where they are scapes yet Romes Inquisitions Yet These must be obseru'd religiously And be embrac'd with Scriptures dignity What-e're hath part of neither Word nor Writ With Word and Writ in equall State must sit Thus Clementines and Asinines poore packs Wherewith the Pope his Library well thwacks And God knowes what trim toyes and Decretals Must be Gods sacred Scriptures Corriuals Thus that blest Booke must haue no blessed vse More Wealth more worke from others Popes produce Reliques more than Religion they respect And more than Churches Chimnies they affect His Dei's made of Waxe moâ—â— pure Hee makes the Worlds great Wens and Sores to cure And hee which will not blest Saluation misse Must straitway striue the Popes blest Foote to kisse Water with Wine after Romes custome mixt Assures poore Soules to be with Christ fast fixt The Thorney Crowne O Christ which wrought thy woe A Golden Crowne on a bald-pate doth show A Cocke on Pinnacles of Temples plac't Warnes All with Peter to Repentance haste Waxe-Tapers burnt to grace the Noone-daies light The Gentiles promis'd-Light declare most right But sure those Lights doe plainely intimate The Popes Soules-darknesse and his friends retraite It also shewes that Papists hate Day-light And most like Owles see best in darkest Night Much Faith boiles in his braine his Heart holds none And whilst he brags of Good his Work 's not showne A Pater Noster said puts sinnes away If thou it say resay thrice oft a day These taste to me as Gall to Christ did taste What-ere I read taste trust proue All proues waste What vertue by Christ crucified growes The Mimick-Masse Popes Cleopatra showes Faire Phillis Philomel Calliope Venus Melissa and Melpomene This Romes Religion her Palladium hath This the Idea of the Romish Faith Heere Babels Bawde ruffles in silke and gold In shining Syndon sheltring thefts most bold And with cleane clothes hir damned Dens doth hide That Shee of none a rauening Wolfe be spide Her Face to
of Teares descries And me my sweet Redeemers thirst euen fries Free me from Death and from lifes guilt me cleare And for my Spots O let Christs Stripes appeare If Christ for 's Seruant vndue debts did pay Let not the Seruant pay what 's payd I pray O Iesus which of heart reines Searcher art To thee I here sacrifice reines and heart I thee beseech euen by thy bloody Sweat Thy Teareâ— Feares Flouts whom Iewes vniustly beat Let all my hope to thy sure Seale be fixt With none of my selfe-Meriâ— to be mixt This is my serious pious protestation Confirm'd from false dogmaticke alteration Christ hath ingulâ—t me in his Sea of Loue. Bare poore impure I 'm here a milke-white Doue Here is my Hope firme Faith Pledge of saluation This this faire founâ— flowes to my restauration If th' Ocean of Christs Bloud me all keepe in 'T will purely purge my Blots and Spots of sinne Let this thâ— this blest Lambe with 's holy hide Cloath me and let me thine O Christ abide Sweet Sauiour of the world Iesus most kinde Let me thy Mercies in thy Merits finde Gold Incense Myrrh of Praise I humbly bring As Lord take Incense Man Myrrh Gold as King What-ere is Thine and thou to th' World mad'st free All those Thy Loue makes proper vnto mee With godlesse Goates adiudge mee not to stand But with thy Sheepe set me at Thy Right Hand Whom Thou held'st deare and deare for me didst pay Now count not Vile as willing my decay For without Thee O Christ I say and shall I either Death deserue or Nought at all But since for vanquisht Me thou' rt Victor-wise My paine is Thine Thy Palme is made my prize My due Deaths-draft O Christ Thou first drank'st vp When Thou for mee didst say Let passe this Cup. O let my Death by thee be Deaths decay And in thy Loue to leaue Life no delay Let Grace be my lifes louely Morning-light Then Glory will beeth ' Euening-Starre most bright By thy deare Death and Life let mee Deaths due Obtaine sure hold on Lifes Hire most vndue And let thy glorious Beames of Goodnesse shine Vpon this sparkling Faith faint heart of mine Yea where all plenteous pleasures from thy Torrent And Loue-Floâ—ds flow from thy still-streaming Current Let mee drink deepe from that deepe Spring most cleere And with Thy Blood My thirsty Heart re-cheere Let Thy Death be my Hoste Thy Paines my Pay Thy Crosse my Crowne Thy Sores my Salues alway Whilest Life doth last O Christ I 'le deadly hate Thy Romish Riuall I 'le repudiate Thus then Mans Lies Blasphemies arrogate Merit by 's Workes from Christs Deeds derogate Thus to Mans Merits Christ must now giue place And to Romes Ruler render Throne and Grace And thus Christs godly goodly Vicar hath Gods Power disdain'd prophan'd the Name of Faith His Merits Meritoriously doe Merit That he should Hell but neuer Heau'n inherit For Merits Heau'n Hee 'l sell the Church defile And Christ to Belial Hee dates reconcile O Rome is this thy Zeale thy Church so faire Did Christ charge Peter thus for 's Flocke to care With such Tartarean termes Church-Scourger braue Dar'st Thou Gods Iustice free grace whip depraue If any sense in thy blunt Brest doth stay Antichrists noted Notes these be thou 'lt say But I am hopelesse by my Verse to frame On th' Anuill of thy Heart Sense of thy Shame See then Romes Faith Romes holy Church now see How like to Peters Hee and his Faith bee OF THAT LOVDE LYE AND FOND FICTION OF TRANSVBSTANTIATION THE SIXTH SATYRE The ARGVMENT When I receiue O Christ Thy Body blest The Signes in Substance still the same doe rest ROmes Ten bâ—rn'd Beast straÌ„ge Errors belcheth vp And Heretikes Schismatikes feeds breeds vp More Heresies from Peters proud Chaire spring Than all Church Chappell Pewes could euer bring Much I passe-o're since els my Muse would be Too too prolixe kinde Reader vnto Thee But yet ther 's One sprung from the seuen-fold Whore Prodigious horrid fond ne're found before Amphibious Gorgon whereby Substance slips This this my Tisiphonike Satyre whips Heere hath my Pen large Lists aboundant stuffe Heere to tryumph my Rhyme hath roome enough Heere Waues waues ouerflow Depths inuocate Depths Heer 's a Meane to bee immoderate This nointed big Brood Accherâ—ntine Crue In 's Masse createth a creator new Surely t is more Christ than a World to make Nor ere did God to make God vndertake But Popish Chymicks make a thousand Gods Priests then are greater gods than God by odds i th' Masse-Priests mouth what so great vertues are That Hee with 's Mouth his God can make and marre Surely hee hath some rare resistlesse power Whereby hee makes and vnmakes God each houre Christs Flesh i th' Masse This Flesh-feeder eats vp And this blood-bibbing Bishop Blood doth sup With Murther stain'd is this Christ-killing Hoste Whilst hee Gods Flesh with 's Fangs to teare doth boaste Indeed besides this Popish Caniball Of Men not God-deuourers read wee shall Grant This grosse Errour and grant thousands moâ— Which from this horrid Hydra thick would grow Mee thinkes I see Serpents on Gorgons pate When this Gorgonish Act I meditate This Christ-eater with 's Cyclaps throat wide ope With griping Clawes with grinding Iames the Pope â— Lycaons filthie Feasts doth celebrate And Laestrigons curs'd Cates doth deuourate For Hee to 's holy Cheere inuites most kind Sharpe Teeth good Stomackâ— but no godly Minde Proud Iayes are they not Eagles which thus dare Forecast to come to eate Christs dainty fare Not Abra'am Patriarchs not blest Prophets all Who yet enioy'd this Manâ—â— Mysticall Could thus eate Christ could thus haue sauing grace For God Mans-Flesh was then found in no place And since by Christ Grace Life 's alike to me Christ to receiue to me like rule let be With mouth and teeth I take not sure Soules meate This with my mind heart Faith I take and eate My Hearing eates my Knowledge Christ doth chew And liuely Faith digests Him in me to I taste Christ with Hearts Pallate there confinde That Feast 's a Fact not of the Mouth but Minde Christs Presence is Faiths Charge Christs reall being Is sure i th' Supper to each firme Faiths Seeing Yea Christ to those that thus belieue is slaine Whose blesâ— Oblation still doth Faith sustaine Againe each vnbaptized infant small Once borne and washt in the Fount Mysticall Hee should with Christ haue no Community If Corps must Corps Flesh Flesh touch needfully Herod did once but some young Infants smite The Popes opinion damnes All Infants quite Besides Hee which belieues not Christ may eate And thus to Dogs Hogs Mice Christ may bee Meate Yea Iudas thus with Peter hath full share Christs Body is to Both like daintie fare Can hee which is not Christs vpon Christ feede Are God and Satan Partners well agreed Or can Christs Members in Christs Body rot Which bold-fac't Rome to broach abroad
takes Good Manners not great Mannours God best prizeth His Steward Mannours Loues manners despiseth For This Priests Polipheme and Atlas stout By these Tricks trimes props Gods House throughout Most craftily strange Grins and Gins hee laies His hollow-heart hath thousand wilie-waies Of which Gold-Bringer brauest of them all His Loue his Life his Wife Hee well doth call His zeale is Amphisbaena serues two Lords The World good seruice God hee none affords The Gifts of Good-gift-Giuers make them Popes Who want at home at home may sit like Mopes Vice-Christ Lawes firmes and them repeales by Bribes But hee Gods Lawe prostitutes and proscribes Iohn Baptist Herod did forbid to wed His Brothers wife This Popes haue suffered Paul became All to All a Soule to get All Vice-Christs care is on his owne gaine set Oh Christ Thy Guests Thou 'lt first inuite then vrge Thy Vicar will them threaten force and scourge Thy Head O Christ a Crowne of thornes did teare Vice-Christ a Triple Crowne of Gold doth weare Thus strangely better is this Head Papall Than Peter Paul Iohn Baptist CHRIST and all This Fee-Fowler Wealth-watching Argus fly Spreadeth Gold-catching Snares most cunningly Sinners by Summes being tax'd Is Coine so vicious Gold sure is Heresie T' haue Wealth pernicious Thus guilty-Gold in Bird-lime Lawes is caught And Nothing deadly but a man t' haue Nought If Gold-death Antidots yer dead thou haue From deadly-Sin thy Soule He 'le surely saue For Romes Bullipotent indulgent Pope All euill of paine and guilt remooues I hope Touching least Trifles hee doth Lawes ordaine All which are quickly voide by precious Gaine The truncke is little whence a Fly sups blood And to the Pope least Lawes bring greatest good At Toyes Hee 'l rage winkes at most wicked things If happy Gaine fly forth with golden wings Sins shackles shaken off thou 'lt quickly see And pure Soules fly to Heau'n if Gold them free Giue to the Pope and dare each damned deed Actours foule Acts no punishment can breed All 's pardonable to Gift-giuers All Their Sin 's as Vendible as Veniall Thus theirs at Rome the Purses dire decay But no soules health no forcing sinne away Giue Giue Giue oft this Romish Horse-Leach cries And by her food fierce hunger still doth rise All vnction all compunction is from gold And he wants Nought that hath most yellow mold Romes Mother-Church her Teats ties-vp from none By whose good Gifts she fat and faire is growne But here obserue for this distinction stout With oft ingâ—mination they giue-out chaire's great aboue all Lawes his Might And to the Pope Gods power is due by right A Symâ—nist he 's not Gratis giues he Giue and he 'le Giue take thou he 'le sharer be He giues to thee thou to him what 's more cleare Thus Loue reciprocall must loue endeere Why mention I the traps toyles money-Meanders Of Romes world-thirsting couetous commanders Romes vnfill'd intricate Charybdis broyles And though too wealthie swallowes wealthy spoyles The Church of Rome hath power Omni-potent And liuely liuer-veines Omni-pâ—tent Deformed Râ—les enormed Rites Romes Court Doth at her wicked will inuent support Her Courts with wranglings ring Goodnesse is whipt Her tatling Troopes with Gold their tongues haue tipt Gold-griping Eloquence pleades free from scath Such power Romes Rhetorician Riches hath Besides at Rome whens'ere no causes be Cause-pleaders straight cause-coyners turn'd you 'l see Here Lawyers may fell Lawes most lawfully Because by Bribes a Lawyers Bench they buy In plodding Plebeans many matters they Despise dispatch deuise and watch delay If Wealth come Rome will welcome thy dispute If thou bring nought then stay at home be mute Wealth-wanting Louers Lais loue in vaine And Rome loues none that bring not gold and gaine Rome streines at Gnats and swallowes Camels downe The Guiltie shâ—'le forgiue on Guiltlesse frowne She 'le vexe poore Lambes and let proud Lions goe For Wolues and Foxes faults her Sheepe feele woe Thus is Romes Papall Iustice to be sold And Goddesse Themis to be hirde for gold The Popes foule faults are facts Apostolicke His flockes fraile facts are faults Apostaticke Wonders I write but what has not Romes throne And all ore-ruling power of Bishops done Great Grand-Sire Guide of Guides Romes demi-God Thus are thy flockes rulde with a Golden-Rod O how besides Romes Abaddon th' art right Nummipolizing Pope Law-breaking wight OF THE MOST FORMIDABLE AND ABOMINABLE POWDER-PLOT BY PAPISTS WITH THEIR horrible authorized libertie to perpetrate any Villany THE NINTH SATYRE The ARGVMENT At Rome by Rapine there 's a Golden-Age By Crueltie there 's still an Iron Age. WIth Gods Law to dispense makes deadly wounds Yet Rome does This and All things else confounds Right Faith and Troth Oathes Promises Vowes giuen These wrong'd thou 'lt say are keyes of hel not heauen She wrongs vnbinds breaks kicks at thus past doubt No Obstacle her free Decree bolts-out Why should not she free all with others pelfe Who all else soone dispenseth of her selfe Popes will 's a Gen'rall-Rule dost doe his minde None then thee Guiltie of the Fact can finde Any 'gainst Any Any thing commits Whilst God as Priest the godlesse as Iudge sits Parricides once against this Realme arose And did a desp'rate damned Plot compose A machinated Treason strange and true Whose like no past no future Times can shew I quake to speake my trembling Tongue sticks-fast My hands doe shake my Muse is mute agast Twelue Ring-leaders did meet deepe Hels blacke-Band A new strange bloudy Birth to take in hand At Rome 't was shap't Romes Whore ' its Damme became Monstrous Maegaera Midwife to the same The King his Queene the Prince Peeres Bishops graue Superiour and Inferiour Nobles braue The Scarlet Iudges and wise Iustices The chiefest Knights and choysest Burgesses All pious Patriots met in Parliament On State affaires as custome was All bent All these by those base Traitors markt to die Had not Heau'ns fore-sight made discouerie Smother'd in Smoake into the Aire blowne vp Had drunke full draughts of deaths most direfull Cup. O woefull fearefull Stygean damned Act Likest it selfe paralelld by no fact O mischiefe murther massacre most strange New Snare base Ware brought forth from hells Exchange Nought vnder heauen was once new but our time Brought forth a new nefarious monstrous crime First was a Golden-Age as Gods deare daughter As the Popes Neece a powder-Age came after What sacred sugred loue at Rome there dwells This fathers loue all Fathers loue excells For that we might not dead to heauen goe Aliue by Powder he 'd vs thither blow These are the Briefes of Romes Religion braue To make one-day all-Brittaine bring to graue Romes Monsters mouth and throate is large and hollow And at one draught can many thousands swallow O Popish cruell crue inhumane quite Monsters in Gods Monsters in all Mens sight As Peace perturbers as Bloud-suckers all That see you flie you finde you from you fall O woefull wracke such