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A14290
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The Church militant historically continued from the yeare of our Saviours Incarnation 33. untill this present, 1640. By William Vaughan, Knight.
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Vaughan, William, 1577-1641.
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1640
(1640)
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STC 24606; ESTC S119035
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97,393
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390
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THE CHVRCH MILITANT HISTORICALLY Continued from the Yeare of Our SAVIOVRS Incarnation 33. untill this present 1640. BY WILLIAM VAUGHAN Knight LONDON Printed by Tho. Paine for Humfrey Blunden at the Castle in Corn-hill 1640. TO THE RIGHT HONOVRABLE RICHARD EARLE OF CARBERY The Argument The Authour here my Noble Lord acquaints What Paths they tread who lead the lives of Saints What Comforts he shall finde what good successe While he walks in the New-mans Diocesse I Sound not forth Old Souldours turn'd to Swine By Harlots Charmes by fulsome Cheere or Wine But the New-borne a Theame to Worldlings strange â— sing the Minds more then the Bodies Change I sing the Churches Change Eclipse Decrease Her East and West with her Full Moones Encrease Such Newes I blaze which no good Protestant Shall justly taxe for Sparkes exorbitant Like to those Brats expos'd to Brambles Flame By Midwives Doome to hide the Parents shame Or those for which of late our Pauls Church-yard And Smith-field in the Spoiles with Vulcan shar'd Truth smites the Chast while Wantons long to heare False Tales at which they Nod or fondly Ieere Fooling away the Time their pretious Time Lent them for better use in Prose or Rime To win some Strayes by meanes of Vertuous Books Not Soules to tempt with Fornications Hookes There with much Gall Gulls one another flout Hoere for Mistakes the Lie or Toyes they pout Forgetting Satans Ambush for Good Wits Tongues trip Pens blur None free from Passions Fits And yet for Words and Names Externall things They persecute their Christian Mates with stings â—ill tir'd at last with Conscience-griping Cares Both Parties howle within the Divels Snares Others by Lines and Cubes aspire to know The Higher Orbes or in the Globe below They levell Spires the Climates or the Lawes â—nto whose Depth they pry no more then Dawes And yet to gaine applause or Golden Fees They hope for Swans to chop their gaggling Geese Some Court Faire Dames with Fancies Madrigalls Chaulking the way to Paphian Lupercalls Which they frequent with uncontrouled Lust Till Honour Wealth and Health lye in the Dust. Sometimes Pelagian-wise they ruminate On Mans Free-will and the Predestinate Till they from Grace quite excommunicate Doe pitch on Hell and on the Reprobate Now of long-handed Kings the mounted state Anon their slips or Fall they personate With Satyres sting untill themselves are stung Or else they sooth Great men with glozing Tongue Untill they feele worse Racks with Conscience sear'd Then Poets faign'd for stroaking of Joves Beard Some other whiles they dare more Curious peepe Into the Concaves of th' Infernall Deepe Of Limboes Vault or Purgatories Paine Redeem'd for Gold the long-white Robe to staine With such Bald Stuffe most Writers doe oppresse In hope to purchase Fame the Printers Presse Which shewes that Soules like Seas tost with unrest Wave till they set into Gods Port of Rest Or else that they like Swine fall to worse Seas Then Gaderens for their prodigious Pleas Remonstrances and Problems which they pend Of Rampant Zeale the Churches Peace to rend SO busie is Mans Braine It alwayes workes And seekes to know what from the Sences lurkes Abstruse and hid like Planets moving still But in default of Objects good or ill Because it findes no businesse from without Turnes Monke within an Ideot or a Lout Or on it selfe with Atomes and Chymeres Playes Whirligig untill it ends in Feares Distractions Lies and Schismes just Penalties Due for the Search of Knotty Novelties For want of Grace and of Celestiall Armes Sighes Teares Vowes thus by the Serpents charmes Are Men seduc'd Old Adams Tree to tast And with vaine Fruit to break their needlesse Fast. Because Gods Word whereby they might be sav'd They slighted 't is no marvell though they rav'd But our New man wean'd from the Carnall Teat By Truths calme Breath the Flaming Paraclete With Drier Braine holds a Cleere Intellect So solid that he others can direct A safer Course of knowledge to affect Then what the Wind-mill grinds of Satans Sect. Though Natures sting in our Originall Hath made us prone into the Snare to fall Yet we New-borne fight with the Spirits Sword And triumph by the Second Adams Word Over the Dragons false enchanting Arts With constant Faith repelling all his Darts Those sober Cates contenting our repast Which lawfull are for tender Soules to tast We would seeme Inward more then Outward wise Yet Both addresse with Saints to sympathize For carnall Samians transubstantiate Change The Old Mans Quirk the New man we exchange Instead of Lethes Lake or Phlegeton â—e Tophets Paine sing due to Babylon For Limbus Patrum or th' Elizian Camp Gods Paradise for Saints renewes our Lamp A Dolphin bore Arion from the Seas â—mphions Harp they say did Thebes appease But Jesus Christ the Third day to have rose From Josephs Tombe we really disclose Or by a Whale we Jonas bring to Land Who Niniveh converted out of hand For Cerberus we blaze proud Satans Losse For Hercules his Club our Saviours Crosse. For Triviall Tales and sence-alluring Toyes We read on Bookes Soule-ravishing to joyes For Thalmuds we the Scriptures native sence And for Nice Schoole-mens Glosse in our Defence We can produce by Truths Prerogative The Chiefest Starres of the Church Primitive Or those who in the Last and Present Age With Volumes rare repair'd our New mans Stage To banish Humane Lies and Brain-sick Dreames What Tree more full what Field yeelds riper Theames Then Christ his Life and the New Testament Or in her Swathes the Churches fragrant scent This Lady here my New man warbles forth Though fully not according to her worth Yet so My Lord that you may cleerely see Though she was long obscur'd she now raignes free Cloath'd with the Sunne Crown'd with a dozen Starres And no Eclipse you from her Influence barres But out alasse how many boast of Faith Who never markt what Christian Scripture saith For what is Faith without Good works or Fruit But a dead Stock not worth a Moores pursuit Unlesse he dreames of Mechaes fond Delights Or Millenairs to snare Voluptuous Wights Or of vaine works of Supererogation Soules to bewitch with Babels Fornication Our Saint is not with such Conceits defil'd Nor turnes with such Extravagances wild For he well knowes that as good Trees will bud And beare good Fruit so Saints doe alwayes Good And never scorne to greet the Simplest Man To call home Strayes they labour what they câ—â— Such is our Saint the Naked he actires And helps to warme their Soules with zealous Fires According to his Power great or small He saves distressed Saints from Tyrants Thrâ—â— He sues for Peaoe and grieves to see debate And daily prayes Lawes Rigour to abate If he be forc't to Law in his defence He doth it without splâ—â—n or Saints offence And if his Clapper hap to clatter wild Before Sun-set he growes more Calme and mild Or if that Filmy Piece in others blabbs His shame he counts