AN ANSWER TO THE GENEVA BALLAD.
OF all the
Drolsters in the Town,
Of
Popish, or of
Hobbian Race,
None draggs
Religion up and down,
Or doth the Gospel such
disgrace
As
Spruce with Coat
Canonical
Whose
Conscience eccho's
have at all,
Would a
fat Benefice but fall.
He whom the Ruder
VVitts adore,
And count his vile
Lampoons Divine;
Who
Pimps in Rhime for the
Old VV
[...]ore.
And fain would patch up
Dagon's shrine,
A sacred
Proteus one that can,
Blend
Gospel with the
Alchoran,
And takes
Texts from
Leviathan.
Yet if he list, this
Motley Clark,
Himself as loud as
smec can bray,
The Church he
slaunders in the
dark,
But
Hectors for her in the
day:
Of Late he scoft at
Miter'd Peers,
Pul'd the old
Gray-beards by the ears,
And call'd them
Heavens Overseers.
Yet now he
f
[...]"wns on them again,
And grins in rage his
foaming chaps,
wishes poor
Presbyter in
Spain,
And tears his
Edifying capps,
So
Cowards kill where
Hero's spare,
And
Renogades always are
More
fierce then native
Turks by far.
Thus with each
Heifer he can plow
A
Papist or an
Independant,
What point the Gales of profit blow,
He always
steers, and there's an end on't,
Was ever
syke a Priest among
All
Gloster Coblers fulsome Throng,
To pawn his Conscience for a
Song?
Whilst
Presbyter with active fist,
Makes it his work to
preach and
pray ▪
This modefi'd
Episcopist,
Shews 'tis to Heaven a
Iollier way:
With
[...]gans and with
Violin,
And
Ballad new on merry pin,
He means to
VVheedle souls from sin.
Geneva in a huff he kicks,
And sweats by's reverend
Cassac-Coat.
The
Leaman-Lakes a second
styx,
Where none but
damned souls do float,
Though wise men think its waters be,
From all such secret venome free,
Nor half so blackish as
Romes See.
Perhaps the man has cause to
stickle,
Since
Interest leads him to complain,
F
[...]aring some
Neighbouring Conventicle,
His
Incomes to Low
Ebb should Drain;
But be not,
friend! at that dismaid,
Should
preaching prove a
sorry Trade,
Ballading is not quite
decay'd.
He varnishes his
envious hate
With a pretended
loyal zeal,
But would in truth
subvert the state;
And all
embroil the common-weel;
His business is but to
divide,
wound
Protestants through
Calvins side
That
Popelings once more might us ride.
See how he
slyly acts his part,
Commends Queen
Maries bloody days:
And doubtless should we
sound his heart,
Such
Bonefires here afresh would raise.
But Heav'n defend those sad
extreams,
We hope to keep
unfilled Thames,
Free both from
Tweds &
Tiburs streams
Cease then impertinently to Rant,
VVe understand the
Stale Intrigue:
Remember the
Scotch Covenant,
VVas copied from your
gall:
Against blew bonnet swagger not,
VVe know who hatcht the
powder-plot,
Not yet is
Irelands blood forgot.
Our Soveraigns pleasure we'l obey,
But scorn to
Truckle unto thine;
Since
Charles does liberty display,
How dare such
Phamleteers repine?
Peace,
Becket Iunior, know your place,
Let no oblivion reach your case,
VVho
Cyphers make of
acts of Grace.
The constant
Rules of Heaven we know.
VVhose Starrs in
Various Orbs do move,
VVhich we may
Copy here below,
VVhilst
several parties live in
Love.
VVithout
Yoak of Conformity,
VVe can keep Christian
Unity,
As different
Notes make
Harmony.
Yet well may each
good shepherd cry,
Unto his
flocks beware of
Rome,
VVhen forraign wolves so oft we spy,
Making Domestick
broils at home;
And in each corner of the Land,
Perceive those slye
sheep-steelers stand,
To give them the
Red-Letters brand.
VVith Holy Beads they teach to chaunt,
Their
Ave's and their unknown prayers,
And all the while to Heav'n they mount,
Take special care to tell the stairs:
The
Kitchin-wench comes into Matin,
And loyns her soul with shreds of
Latine,
Like greazy
Fustion fac'd with
Sattin.
Their
whole Religion is so Odd,
It seems a Dark
Mysterious Trade,
To
Disturb Kings, and Worship
God,
Only in shew and Masquerade:
A
Chaos of Deformity,
Made up of
blood, hypocrisie,
fraud, treason, and
idolatry.
Yet you as
soon to Mass would Gad,
Alas! it is
all one to thee;
He that
Religion never had,
May easily a
Papist be,
Where
purchas'd pardons set him free
Beyond a
Raners Libertee,
To wallow in
Debaucheree.
Though he contrive to
hide his Plot,
We yet can apprehend the
snare,
Through the
sheeps-cloathing he has got,
His
foxes Ears do plain appear:
Protestant Drones, look to your lives,
He'd fain be
burning of your hives,
And counts the
Scriptures dangerous
Knives.
VVe'l not
Recriminate the case,
Nor make
boast of our Loyalty,
But still with
thankful hearts embrace,
Our Gracious
princes clemency:
Yet hope to prove our
innocence,
And actions void of just offence,
Against this
slsanderous Pretence.
VVhen
surplice was an
useless thing,
And
Miter a poor
Relique lay,
The
preaching Cloak brought back the King,
And turn'd our Dismal
Night to
Day:
Mun Calamy, and a few more,
Did then
more on their
Soveraigns score
Then
troops of
Railerists before.
FINIS.
Printed in the Year. 1674.