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ID Title Author Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) STC Words Pages
A30506 The apostate prince, or, A satyr against the present King of Poland by Richard Burridge. Burridge, Richard, b. 1670. 1700 (1700) Wing B5976; ESTC R32011 6,807 17

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THE Apostate Prince OR A SATYR Against the King of Poland By Richard Burridge LONDON Printed and are to be Sold by most Booksellers 1700. THE Apostate Prince OR A Satyr Against the KING of POLAND NOW like a Porcupine I dart my Pen Against the least of Kings and worst of Men What Sat'rist can forbear the lashing you Who neither will to Man nor Heav'n be true Who ran from Saxony to cruel Rome Only the Throne of Poland to assume That ticklish Seat of Empire which allows None there to Rule but what will pay their Vows To such like Saints which commonly depart The World upon a Ladder or a Cart. Fie fie a Christian Prince his God betray Change his Religion the Apostate play For such a Diadem which must not be Entail'd upon your Line successively The Jews the Turks who falsly do believe Do Laugh to see your Faith pinn'd on your Sle●ve And I do fear you will as Pride does Swell Turn Atheist next to be a King in Hell Scandal to Princes scorn of Kings and shame To Christendom infernal is thy Fame A Prince affront his God with Deeds so foul That they stain Heaven and deform the Soul O horror and amaze what hast thou done My Blood congeals and scarce has pow'r to run To think thou art to Pride that base born Slave Of Hell so much a Friend that you can leave A Church so well Reform'd so True Sincere Pure Orthodox and Holy to adhere To that Communion which does Canonize Men for nefurious Impieties To make their Peace with God invoke the Dead Stanislaus of Polish Saints the head But good St. † There are many Saints whose Aid and Assistance they Implore in particular Diseases and Distemper of Body as St. Venisa for the Green-sickness St. Liberius for the Fistula St. Flacrius for the French-Pox c. See Stopford's Pagano-Papismus Chap. 4. Flacrius I do suppose You call on most that he may guard your Nose From those Disasters which attend the sport Of Venus in a lustful Prince's Court. Into what Errors are the Papists led To think their Jugglers do release the Dead From Purgatory it 's a feigned Flame Which doth such simple Fools as you are Tame As under ev'ry Poplar Elm and Oak The Ethnicks did their senseless Stocks Invoke So they to Images and † At Fouchial in Madera I have seen the Picture of our Saviour carrying his Cross painted on the out-side of one of their Churches to which the Portuguieze paid so much Veneration that they kneeled in the open Street and sang before it for near a quarter of an Hour O superstition exceeding the Heathen Pictures bow As if they Sense had got their Zeal to know Your Priests drink Wine give Laymen only Meat O Romish Faith it's but a holy Cheat. Pray what avails ‖ Stopford again tells us in these words cap. 17. In some Churches the Candles are put out with a Wax hand which signifies the hand of Judas which was as it were of Wax that is flexible to evil by which Christ our King and true Light was Betrayed and as much as in him lay Extinguished Wax-hands Indulgences Censers Odd-numbers damned Fopperies To'ards Heaven Or what Grace doth Flagelling Crossing with Holy-water to you bring None Nor does Agnus Dei's Sir preserve You from Enchantments from the Truth you swerve Your Beads will serve you as a Scale to tell How many Miles it 's from Warsaw to Hell Apostles Christen'd Men as Scripture tells But Rome as well as Men do Christen Bells If Pilgrimaging merits Heaven take A Trip to England for the Blessing sake Here may you see fair Winifria's strange Well And old St. German's where he once did dwell At Canterbury base St. Becket's Shrine For the deserved end of which Divine A King was Flaug'd here may you likewise see Tyburn that triple consecrated Tree From whence St. Coleman Whitebread Pickering And Langhorn went to Heaven in a String Since for a better we our King did change A Chappel has been you will think it strange ' Cause not Loretto's brought from Heunsloe-heath Eleven Miles it 's true upon my Faith But if strange Reliques you 've a mind to see You must tramp France proud Spain and Italy And other foreign Parts though once we'd here A Nail which fix'd Christ to the Cross a Spear With which Longinus pierc'd our Saviour's Side When he between Two Malefactors Dy'd The Lustful Flames of Whoring Carmelites Proud Cardinals Rich Abbots Lazarites May make you dread those endless pains of Fire They represent by leacherous Desire To prompt their Fury of debauched Heat They need not † He tells us from another Author cap. 18. Many leacherous Men and Women resort to Compostella to eat Scallops for the kindling of Lust and encrease of Nature under the name of a Pilgrimage to St. James his Shrine Compostella Scallops eat Their Heat without 'em Swells their burning Veins And where their Host is consecrated Reigns The Nunneries where Parents Daughters thrust And Maiden-heads are sacrific'd to Lust They 're to your Clergy dedicated Stews There handsome Paramours they pick and choose What need Maids to be Whores range Christendom When they may be as well Debauch'd at home For nothing without acting that damn'd Crime Of sending ‖ H. T. in his Abridgement of Christian Doctrines being one of your own Writers that unbaptized Children dying go to the nethermost part of Hell where they endure the sense of Loss though not of Pain and are ever excluded from the Face of God Babes to Hell Rome's nat'ral Clime Was Blood upon each murd'ring Nun to fly As Judgments to detect Barbarity They could not then about their Gardens tread But Vengeance would spurt from the private Dead In reaking Wrath of stifled Infants Blood To drown their Parents in a crimson Flood Perhaps the Pope's Infallibility Makes you to be in love with Papistry But knew you all that Hist'ries of 'em tell You would not run so fast with them to Hell The Lives of John the Thirteenth Hildebrand And others put the Devils to a stand For fear their Pride and grand Impiety Should claim o'er Spirits a Supremacy Such as will take from Emperors their Right For that Prerogative in Hell will Fight But hark you me Another Trick they do They Make their God and then they Eat him too If Rats or Mice should chew this holy Meat The Creature then does the Creator Eat This Metamorphosis is very odd Lo Bread's made Flesh a Priest can make his God That Wine they can so soon to Blood convert Surely it must be done by Magick Art What Prodigies of Sin These Poys'ners shun And to the healing Balm of Luther run Leave Poland and then let the Dyet choose One purposely bred up his Soul to lose Although by Bell by Book and Candle they Will curse you if you 'll not their Church obey Laugh at their slight Anathema's and hate The Pope whom God does Excommunicate Like