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B04827
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A parallel betwixt popery and phanaticism, in a letter to T.S.
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1681
(1681)
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Wing P338; Interim Tract Supplement Guide Lutt.III[126]; Interim Tract Supplement Guide C.20.f.2[304]; ESTC R1355
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2,844
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1
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A PARALLEL BETWIXT POPERY and PHANATICISM IN A LETTER to T. S. SIR I 'M inform'd your Royal Jurat In ' lection was to be your Curate I 'm likewise told y' are disappointed By Mandate from the Lord 's Anointed Your Congregation sure is Righteous That 's worth the care of Charles and Titus Titus and Charles had had more fitness For Charles is second with a Witness But since he fail'd let fancy help it And we 'll suppose him in your Pulpit Which would have look'd when he was got in 't Like an Dat-Meal Tub with a PLOT in 't To say who made the Plot would rub But sure some Cooper made the Tub There might you hear him talk at once Sir Geneva London Rome and Munster For all Religions in the Town Are cloak'd in his Camelion Gown For as the Ancients us'd to scan Nine Taylors to one single Man And others learnedly have writ That thrice three Spinsters make one Wit So he though h' lest them all in lurches Is Product of as many Churches Tho some affirm when there 's but Nine That neither 's due to this Divine However he 's esteem'd by some The mighty Bulwark against Rome Yet others say with cause enough His Girdle only's Cannon-Proof Yet that 's Defence enough for us For he 's all over Blunderbus But Sir since Arbitrary Power Hath useless made your Glass of hour And laid Embargo upon O By luck we have retriev'd his Notes Which since he was deny'd to preach Took pet and dwindled to a Speech Behold the double Saviour of your Nation Who daily preach and swear for your Salvation Behold the wicked Priest and Jesuit-taker Behold the King 's most excellent Oath-maker Who now comes down out of his endless Bounty To raise new Vicegerents for your County I have try'd all Religions once some twice Div'd like an Indian for the Pearl of Price Walk'd like a Glow-worm by my Light within Have learnt to eat my God and stab my King Only I never lov'd the Quakers bauling For fear indeed they should have spoil'd my Calling I with my stay at Omers had been shorter For they e'ne us'd me like a very Porter To drink and carry Letters yet their steering Mended my hand a little in my swearing At length in England's Church I cast my Anchor And there discover'd all the Jesuit Rancor Ript up the Plot prevented the King's fall Sav'd the ingrateful Lawn-sleeves Rascals all Sprung up some dozen of Ignatius Race Sent Stafford to his own uncertain place And when as one man they departed hence With all the Oaths and Vows of Innocence I shew'd the World their Mental Reservations The Juggles of their Oaths and Protestations In short I pent men's Faith to that degree They hardly would believe or them or me That Church hath bin so train'd with sense and reason They hate implicite Faith as bad as Treason Not that they doubt the Plot for all their jeering But 't is for better Reasons than my swearing This mads my Soul and I shall find a time To make them fall unless they help me climb With Oxford too I 'm at no less defiance Who dirtily refus'd me her Alliance 'Till I could prove that Swearing was a Science Whereas the very posture of the Actor Shews 'tis no Science but a Manufacture There 's ne're a Gown-man but my self I tell ye Without a Legion of Popes in 's Belly Nay in your godly Country're some Betrayers For there l'd like t' have been trapan'd to Prayers As if I 'd nought to do but sing or say 'T was but upon last Commination day The silly Rat had baited Hooks with Hooks Thinking to decoy me into Pray'rs with Books Besides amongst all People but the Blades Swearing and Cursing are two several Trades But such an Infect in Divinity Cannot deserve an angry Thought from me Who dare to grapple the whole Hierarchy Mind they their Trade and canvas Paul and Luke I am above their Censure and Rebuke Nor do I fear their friend your Loyal Duke One single godly Speech of mine defi'd Your Princes Favourite and your Country's Pride When I came ratling with a Coach and six King Coel's supream Burgesses to fix I stum'd the Mobile and chang'd their Choices And stalking with their Ears obtain'd their Voices By which he sees if Heav'n do not forbid That I can undo all his Father did But after all my most industrious searches Sir Francis Draking as it were the Churches I find my subtle Masters told me true They have no toppers of a Plot like you At that enrag'd up starts a Loyal Youth Quoth he Sans swearing thou hast once spoke truth Th' Religion if thou hast it is profound And thou art turn'd from Rome exactly round Rome and Geneva are a sort of Twins Sworn Sisters and sworn Enemies to Kings And for all you look so Protestantly big You 're still a Papist Masquerade in Whig Phanaticism is Popery improv'd Their bold Ignatius strikes to your Buchanan Their Irish to your English Forty and One Their Plots are bubbles to your late Intrigue Your Cov'nant hath out-kill'd their holy League A strange harmonious Discord there appears Betwixt your darling Shibboleth and theirs Touch but their Strings and all your Octaves shake And tho some ceremonious Jars you make The Tybur disembogues into your Lake So two false Gamesters quarrel when they meet A true to blind and reinforce the Cheat. Ye both agree your Monarch to betray Depose and Murder tho a different way Both level your Church-Censures at the Crown Ye both pursue the King but this I 'le own They pitch your Game you fairly hunt it down So have I seen a Royal Stag e'rewhile Fall by your Hounds that hath escap'd their toyl Nor must your Subjects fairer Quarter hope Or from your single or the cluster'd Pope They must be Slaves to which soe're prevails And either roast or stink to death in Gaols No Age nor Sex but must his Censures share They dart Anathema's yet more severe From their accumulative Porphry Chair He modest Man but censures for your Faults They damn for Cloths and Gestures yea even Thoughts And all the Choice ye have unless ye turn Must be a Halter to avoid an Urn As if 't were better to hang than burn Not only th' Ague but all other Ills Are cur'd by th' Jesuit's Powder and your Pills By which ye purg'd the Church and scour'd the Nation In order to a thorough Reformation Ye both assert with Apostolic Buff Convince with Back-sword and with Pistol-proof And ominous Sulphur make your Reasons tough Their Faith in Absolution makes them sin Yours in Election hath as fruitsul been For where 's the difference bating the Priests Fee That God forgives or that he will not see Not that your Friends will Damn for six Pence less Ye spend in Capons what ye save in Cash Your Basons Tankards Caudle-Cups and Spoons Turn to as good account as Duckatoons The service of their Church and of your Cause Blanches the breach of all the sacred Laws Ye deal with Oaths as Potters with their Clay Ye take them by the lump and then essay To mould them for your turn if that wo'nt do Ye break'm strait and fall to work with new The only two that ever seem'd to sham ye Were theirs of Secrecy and your Solemn Dam-me Ye abhor Repentance both even when ye dye And your last Breath is spent in Perjury For who with more Astonishment can look On their St. Coleman than on your St. Cook The Saints are much alike for all their din For theirs forswear the Fact and yours the Sin Ye 're like a bad half Crown with one fair side Whose loyal Stamp doth the base Metal hide Th' other will own the Brass and justisie't But by your edges ye may both be try'd Hence Tories say whether you rule the Isle Or th' Jesuits is only Cross and Pile But CHARLES they say hath bin too wisely bred To venture them with 's Cross or you with 's Head Printed for E. Poole