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Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) |
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A54774
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The religion of the hypocritical presbyterians, in meeter
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Phillips, John, 1631-1706.
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1661
(1661)
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Wing P2097; ESTC R36676
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13,680
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25
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you may see Was trimm'd and guilt in the year Fifty three T was a zealous work done by two Church-wardens Who for mis-reckoning hope to have their pardons There Will writes short-hand with a pen of brass Oh how he 's wonder'd at by many an asse That see him shake so fast his warty fist As if he 'd write the Sermon 'fore the Priest Has spoke it Then O that I could saies one Do but as this man does I 'de give a crown Up goes another hand up goe his eyes And he Gifts Industry and talents cries Thus are they plac'd at length a tedious work And now a bellowing noise went round the Kirk From the low Font up to the Golden Creed O happy they who now no eares do need While these cought up their morning flegm and those Do trumpet forth the snivel of their nose Straight then the Clerk began with potsheard voice To grope a tune singing with wofull noise Like a crackt Sans-bell jarring in the Steeple Tom Sternholds wretched Prick song to the people Who soon as he hath plac'd the first line through Up steps Chuck-farthing then and he reads too This is the womans boy that sits i' th' Porch Till th' Sexton comes and brings her stool to Church Then out the people yaule an hundred parts Some roar some whine some creak like wheels of Carts Such Notes that Gamut never yet did know Nor numerous keys of Harpsicalls in a row Their Heights and Depths could ever comprehend Now below double Arâ— some descend 'Bove Ela squealing now ten notes some flie Straight then as if they knew they were to high With head-long haste down staires again they tumble Discords and Concords O how thick they jumble Like untam'd horses tearing with their throats One wretched stave into an hundred notes Some lazie-throated fellowes thus did baule They a i hin a moy a meat uh ga have a ha me uh a ha gall a. And some out-run their words and thus they say Too cruel for to think a hum a haw Now what a whetstone was it to devotion To see the pace the looks and every motion O' th Sunday Levite when up stairs he march't And first beheld his little band stiff starcht Two caps he had and turns up that within You 'd think he wore a black pot tipt with tin His cuffs asham'd peept only out at 's wrist For they saw whiter gloves upon his fist Out comes his kerchief then which he unfolds As gravely as his Text and fast he holds In 's wrath-denouncing hand then mark when he pray'd How he rear'd his reverend whites and softly said A long most Murcifull or O Al Then out he whines the rest like a sad ditty In a most dolefull recitative style His buttocks keeping Crotchet time the while And as he slubbers ore his tedious story Makes it his chiefest aim his chiefest glory T' excell the City Dames in speaking fine O for the drippings of an old Sir loyn Instead of Aron's oyntment for his face When he cries out for greace instead of grace Up stept another then how fowre his face is How grim he lookt for he was one o th' Classis And here he cries Blood blood blood destroy O Lord The Covenant-breaker with a two edg'd sword Now comes another of another strain And he of Law and Bondage doth complain Then shewing his broad teeth and grinning wide Aloud Free grace free grace free grace he cry'd Up went a Chaplain then fixing his eye Devoutly on his Patron 's gallery Who as duty binds him cause he eats their pyes God blesse my good Lord and my Lady cryes And 's hopefull Issue Then with count'nance sad Up steps a man stark revelation mad And he Cause us thy Saints for thy dear sake That we a bustle in the world may make Thy enemies now rage and by and by He tears his throat for the fift Monarchy Another mounts his chin East West North South Gaping to catch a blessing in his mouth And saying Lord we dare not ope our eyes Before thee winks for fear of telling lies Mean while the vulgar frie sit still admiring Their pious sentences as all inspiring At every period they sigh and grone Though he speak sometimes sense and sometimes none Their zeal doth never let them mind that matter It is enough to hear the Magpy chatter They croud they thrust are crouded and are thrusted Their pews seem pasties wherein they incrusted Together bake and fry O patience great Yet they endure though almost drown'd in sweat Whose steaming vapours prove most singular To stew hard doctrines in and to prepare Them lest they should breed some ugly disease Being tak'n raw in queasie consciences But further mark their great humility Their tender love and mutual charity The short man's shoulder bore the tall man's elbow Nor he so much as call'd him Scurvy fellow Wrath was forgot all anger was forborn Although his neighbour trod upon his corn And in a word all men were meek and humble Nor dar'd the Sexton though unfeed to grumble He honest man went with his neck a skew Gingling his bunch of keys from pew to pew Good man to 's market-Market-day he bore no spleen But wish'd the seven dayes had Sabbaths been How he worships sattin with what a Gospel-fear He admires the man that doth a bever wear Room room bear leave he cries then not unwilling With a Pater noster face receives the shilling But what was more religious then to see The women in their strains of piety Who like the Seraphins in various hews Adorn'd the Chancell and the highest pews But now good middle-Ile-folks all give room See where the Mothers and the Daughters come Behind the Servants looking all like Martyrs With Bibles in plush jerkins and blew garters The silver inkhorn and the writing book In which I wish no friend of mine to look Now must we not forget the Children too Who with their fore-tops gay stand up i th pew Alas-a-day for there is great contention To tie this lock who hath the best invention Well be good children for the time shall come When on the Pulpit-stairs ye shall have room There to be asked many a Question deep By th' Parson with his dinner half a sleep But now aloft the preacher 'gan to thunder When the poor women they sit trembling under And if he name Gehenna or the Dragon Their faith alas was little then to brag on Or if he did relate how little wit The foolish Virgins had then do they fit Weeping with watry-eyes and making vows One to have Preachers alwaies in her house To dine them well and breakfast um with gelly's And caudles hot to warm their wambling belly 's And if the cash where she could not unlock it Were close secur'd to pick her Husbands pocket Another something a more thrifty sinner To invite the Parson twice a week to dinner The other vowes a purple Pulpit-cloth With an embroyder'd