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heaven_n angel_n jacob_n ladder_n 1,847 5 11.6598 5 false
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ID Title Author Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) STC Words Pages
A57568 The conspiracy of guts and brains: or An answer to the twinn-shams T. R. (Thomas Rogers), 1660-1694. 1694 (1694) Wing R1842B; ESTC R218063 5,639 15

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THE CONSPIRACY OF GUTS and BRAINS OR AN ANSWER TO THE Twinn-Shams EACH Grave Oracular Wight about the Town Has learnt to rail and bark against the Gown And Light-within-men with a full Mouth'd cry Run down the Heights of Church and Monarchy These are the Rods and Axes Whips and Arms The fancied Causes of Old England's harms Away with such poor Bards to some fit School Send e'm to th' Wise and less fantastick Owl He ne'er do'es challenge the sweet Nightingale With his coarse Notes and downright Evening-Tale Nature is his Director and when He Holds forth by Night either in Barn or Tree Ne'er dreams of Inward Light or turns vain Fool Ne'er did he yet pretend to be a gifted Owl And surely He 's much wiser of the Two That do's at Nature's Call sing Hoo hoo hoo Than he that ' gainst all Natural Light do's bawl And play the Fool i th language of Saint Paul Those boding Ills which Men of Thought do feare Worse than the dark Events of gen'rous War Come from the Chair Infallible and Tub From Subtle Jesuite and unthinking Mob Whate'er Mens hearts do's with dire horrour shake The Wolf in peaceful garb the gilded Snake Thunder and Storms and rank infernal Spite Are summ'd up in one Word a Jesuite A Jesuite Legion thou mak'st me start i th' Name of Holy Mother Church What art Giant or Monster or some Goblin dress't In Angels Colours fair above the rest Of the Black Order's like th' Old Serpent wise Or Romish Imp in Protestant Disguise For sure thy Name 's a Charm shou'd conjure up Old Gregory the Great and all the Troop Of his Admirers force 'em to disown Th' inglorious Name of Reformation Of all the Ills that e're came Imp't from Hell There 's none more dangerous than Phanatick Zeal The Great Physitian of our Soul cou'd nee'er Vanquish this kind of Raging Calenture Whores Debauchees and Devils he restrain'd But Scribes and Pharisees his Pow'r disdain'd Like Great Alphonso who so proudly taught Omniscience doted when the World was wrought They did convincing Miracles out-face And sought to bring the Godhead to disgrace Such wild Religious Frenzy then did rage And such lew'd Zeal infects the present Age Bawds Common Rogues and Villains still relent Through fear of Hell or Gibbet can repent But Jesuits Eternally drive on And count the Axe and Halter their Renown As if Zacheus-like they climb'd the Tree Th' Al'mighty Saviour of the World to see They are God's Holy Jacobs and can ' spy Angels descending to 'em from an High When they the Ladder mount when call'd to dye Kind Heav'n that wou'd restrain 'em is drawn in To be a Friend and Party in the Sin Conscience it self turns bawd to such Abuses Each Lust is set apart for Pious Uses Such are the Men that in Religious Fashion wou'd at once Ruine and Reform our Nation That Thunder at us with Insulting Breath Vengeance and Woes a Pulpitful of Death Damnation sweeps us all They 're not so civil To us as Origen was to the Devil While to themselves most happy and secure No Thought no Word or Action is Impure They 're meek while they do Damn kind when they kill And Holy while they Act the grossest Ill Most Rare Defenders of the Publick Good Ev'n while they Revel in a Kingdom 's Blood Such Saintship is meer Juggle and Romance Such Peace of Soul is Lethargy and Trance Their Worship's Mummery their Creed's a Spell Their Faith is Witchcraft and a Type of Hell And should they Dying such vile Thoughts retain Though they were plac't in Heav'n they 'd fall again They'd soon Commence Incendiaries there And raise a new Commotion 'bove the Sphear 2. Bless me what Ills have my Fore-Fathers done Or what have I transacted 'bove the Sun i th' pre-Existent State of Humane Souls When Spirits first transgrest their Maker's Rules That I should live Sentenc't and Doom'd to see Such Solemn Stanch Religious Knavery To see a Dire Impostor act the Fool And Tumbler-like shew Tricks upon a Stool Sweat three long hours and then sit down and cool To hear a Roman Cut-Throat in Disguise With Holy Wheedle and Embroyder'd Lies The poor Deluded Mobile Surprize How are good People ravisht at the sight Legerdemain o th' Sanctimonious Wight When he with pow'rful Sin-confounding Face A Gracious Wink soft Leer and Whining Grace Has done his Righteous Cant Ah verily 'T is a good Man cryes each Professing She An Upright Broken-Hearted Gifted Man My over-shadow'd Hear 's Soul-dead'ning pain Is start aside at Words that came along Like Fatness Oyl and Marrow from his Tongue The precious Oyntment of Soul-searching Grace Ran down his Soul as sweat ran down his Face O nothing's sure so sweet and powerful As this Divine Anointing of the Soul Then speaks a Brother Sanctifi'd and Wise A Spiritual Light within me do's arise Such as self seeking Hirelings can't infuse That sinfull Forms and vain Aprocypha use What Wisdom can such graceless ones inherit That Preach without th● Licence of the Spirit This Zealous Light-Infusing Man of Grace Has ta'ne my Carnal Eyes quite from my Face Taught my Regenerate Eye-sight to behold No things that favour rankly of this World But that above where Righteous Brother Del Pym Hobson Hacket Field and Debman dwell He taught us to Instruct our Souls by Night With Prayer of Faith and Word of Inward Light And then proud Babylon's downfall we shall see For why the Chosen of the Lord are we Thousands have sigh'd Ten Thousands in the Land Have wish'● the days of Sion were at hand Lately Mob met and Pin man from a Stall Cry'd Sufferings Sufferings Lord Tyrannical Ah Brethren Carnal Pow'rs must have a fall Then many a Tear did drop and many a Sigh Enough to raise a Fogg i th' room did fly Mean time i th' midst o th' Prick-Ear'd Crowd did stand Mob's Secretary call'd the Short-hand-Man A Scribe in Querpo with a short-cut Cloak And Sage Prophetick Beard which made him look Like Fam'd Philosopher's Phiz in Fortune Book His trusty head was cover'd with blurr'd Skin One side bespake him Midas t'other Pryn With side-long Nod it sometimes seem'd to rowl Like an o're-leaded or ill-bias't Bowl A Julian's Leer and Ominous Grimace This Minor Prophet had you soon wou'd trace The Lines of Reformation in his Face Meagre and Thin like Benedict in Cell When Devil in a Pet had broke his Bell. He had to note his Eminence and Fame Some hardish Sinner-shaking Christian Name Far beyond Habakkuk or Obadiah The Doughty Armour-bearer to Goliah Look't not so fell A Superstitious Wight Had cross'd himself at the portentous sight His Left Hand Book his Right a Pen did bear Two Pens in Ambuscade within Crop't Hair Above the Hilts were stuck behind notch't Ear. At ev'ry pon'drous Sentence and each proof He wrote yet knew to stop at ev'ry Cough So well instructed Steed will stand or go At Driver's Signal giv'n by Jee or Ho.