Asse upon Asse▪
BEING A COLLECTION OF Several Pamphlets written for, and against the Author of the Asses Complaint against Balaam, or the cry of the Country against Ignorant and Scandalous Ministers.
Together with some choice Observations Upon them all.
By Leonard Blunt Esq
LONDON, Printed for the Author, MDCLXI.
THE Asses complaint against Balaam; Or the Cry of the COUNTREY AGAINST Ignorant and Scandalous Ministers.
To the Reverend Bishops.
YE mitred Members
of the House
of Peers,
The Kings Churchwardens,
and Gods Overseers,
Fathers in Christ, we your poor
children cry▪
Oh give us
Bread of life, or else we
die.
For we are burd'ned with our old
Sir Johns,
Who when we ask for
Bread do give us
stones;
And only cant a
Homily or two,
Which
Dawes and
Parrots may be taught to do;
Drunkards Canonical, Ʋnhallowed Bears,
That name
God oftner in their
oaths then
prayers.
Into what darkness will our Church be hurl'd,
If such as these be call'd
The light o'th' World?
These that have nought to prove themselves devout,
Save only this, That Cromwell turn'd them out.
[Page 2] Mistake us not we do not mean those loyal
And learned soules, who in the fiery tryal
Suffer'd for
King and
Conscience sake, let such▪
Have double Honour, we shall ne're think much;
But this our tender conscience disapproves,
That
Ravens should return as well as
Doves;
And
croak in
pulpits, once again to bring
A second Judgement on our
Church and
King.
Though
England doth not fear another losse,
'Cause God hath burn'd his Rods at
Charing Crosse;
Yet
Clergy sins may call him to the Door
Ev'n him who
whip'd and
scourg'd them out before.
Oh therefore ye that read the sacred Laws
Eject their
Persons, and disown their cause:
God & the
King have both condemn'd this crew,
Then let them not be
patroniz'd by
you.
'Tis not their
Cassocks, nor their
Surplices,
We quarrel at, there is no hurt in these;
We own their
Decency, yet every
Fool
Cannot be call'd a
Monk that weares a
Cowle;
Were
grace &
learning wanting, (by your leaves,)
We would not pin our faith on your
Lawn Sleeves;
'
Tis Aarons breastplate,
and those sacred words
Become a
Churchman best, THAT THAT my Lords,
Which pious
Baxter makes his livery,
Would all our Curates were but such as he!
Pardon my Lords, we do not make this stir,
To vindicate the
factious Presbyter;
[Page 3] We hate his wayes, and equally disown
The zealous Rebell
as the Idle Drone;
And beg as oft to be deliver'd from
The Kirk
of Scotland,
as the Sea
of Rome;
We pray for Bishops too, Oh may ye stand
To heal the sad distractions of the Land;
Then give us
Priests, Loyal and painfull too,
To give to
Caesar, and to us our due.
God save King
Charles our Christian faiths Defender,
And bring Religion to its wonted Splendour.
ADVERTISEMENT.
LOyal and Orthodox Reader, Judge charitably, I am neither presbyterian nor Phanatick, but as true a Son of the Church of England as thy self; for thy further satisfaction. I shall (God willing) present thee with another paper, to clear my honest intention in this.
Lewis Griffin.
OBSERVATION.
THis Gentleman begging our Charity, in this place we shall say little of him, nor charge him with being that which he desires to be excused from; but whoever seriously considers this copy of verses as they are in themselves, (let him pretend to be never so true a Son to the Church of England, thereby to take off the Aspersion of a Phanatick) shall find him to verifie the old English Proverb, that he is neither flesh, nor fish, nor good red herring: any thing, or nothing.
A SUPPLEMENT TO THE ASSES Complaint against BALAAM, Or the Cry of the COUNTREY AGAINST Ignorant and Scandalous Ministers.
AVaunt ye
smooth-tongu'd flatterers of the age;
Praesto ye
meal-mouth'd Prophets, clear the Stage;
Enter the
Asse again, who (though he Kneel
Unto the
Higher Powers) lifts up his Heel
Against all those who make Gods house a Den
Of
Clergy Thieves; Have at them once agen.
—But hark; I hear a
Countrey parish cry,
Were ever
Christians in such
slavery?
Must we be taught by an
Illit'rate Bear?
He preach? He'l only teach our boyes to
swear.
—Is then your
priest a
swearer? Hah—must he
That taunts a Bishop, taste a
pillory?
[Page 6] And 'tis but Just and Right; Yet who controules
Him who blasphemes the
Bishop of our
Soules?
What? Is
an oath
lesse paenal
than a word?
Or is the
servant greater then his
Lord?
No; He that sweares commits the fouler sin,
And more deserves to loose his eares then—
—'Tis true,
seditious spirits, that Deny
Obedience to the
sacred Hierarchy,
Merit severe Correction, let them ha't;
They are
Disrtubers both of
Church and
State;
Yet
Prelats Zeal would be much better shown
In striking Gods
offenders then their own.
—Nay,
Gods are
theirs; for he that wears
lawn sleeves▪
Like
Christ is murder'd 'twixt a brace of Theeves,
Both shew their
enmity, but divers wayes,
The Presbyter Denyes,
but This betrayes;
Now tell me
(gentle Reader) which were Greater,
The
sin of
Judas, or the
crime of
Peter?
—Then let the
Bishops cast them out, for thus
They do but
Justice to themselves and us;
Like the wise
Mariners, who, to appease
The fury of the Raging winds and Seas,
Threw
Jonas over-board; such was his sin,
There was no
Cannon Law to keep him in.
Nor is it Reason
all should be maintain'd
I'th
Church, who took
Degrees, and were
Ordain'd;
[Page 7] For he that after proves a
Drunken beast,
Degrades himself from
Man, much more from
priest.
And such they were who caus'd our Bloudy War,
When
Levy's Tribe were kick'd by
Issacar;
For though
Men speak with a
not so my Sons,
Yet God reprov'd them with the voice of
Guns.
Phanaticks, those
Philistims, wan the field,
Whilst our
poor Israel was forc'd to yield;
For
Eli's
boyes had lost the
Ark of God,
Each
Phin
[...]has begat an
Ichabod.
Then
Oh ye Bishops, heal these sad disasters,
We do not call for
Rectors but for
Pastors.
A Priest should lead his parish
as a guide,
Not leap upon
their galled backs
and ride,
For 'tis our Mother Churches grand disgrace,
That these black patches stick upon her face.
OBSERVATION.
AFter his promise of this paper, to shew his honest intentions in the former; he would have you to believe (if there be any man so credulous) that he hath been a constant lover of Episcopacy: and no great wonder; for indeed he is a subtle Asse, and for a maintenance would easily be brought, not only to kisse a Common-prayer book, (or cant a homily, as he calls it) but willingly to embrace the Turkish Alcoran; and for a new suit or cloak, shall unsay all his former belief in his old Father Cromwell; such is his establishment in his principles. In summe, whoever reads over both his papers, shall see him not only like Balaam's Asse complaining against Balaam; but like the Asse in the Lyons skin, supposing himself the Lyon, braying forth nothing but scandal and sedition, thinking thereby to affright those that hold not the same opinion with him: and all under a pretence of zeal to holinesse of life, which he himself does seldome practice.
Balaam's ASSE Cudgell'd. Or the Cry of TOWN and COUNTREY AGAINST Scandalous and Seditious Scriblers.
WHat ailes the
Asse? How comes the
Beast to whine?
Ha's a been bred among King
Pharaohs Kine?
Has the wet spring spoil'd all the Corn and Grasse?
That all the Countrey cannot keep an
Asse?
He cries for
bread, as if Duke
Humphreys Ghost
This twenty yeares and more had been his
host;
Will no man tye him up, but let him range,
Thus to disturb the
City and the
Change?
But this is a
Religious Asse, and cryes
O give him Bread of Life, or else he dyes.
A subtle Asse, for well 'tis understood
He even thinks as much of Heavenly food
As the poor Taylor, when he wants a
Roul
To fill his belly, thinks upon his
Soul.
You Asse in boots,
if Cromwel
or the Rump
Had giv'n thee but a
Living, had been plump,
Thou would'st have blest 'em, and have been the man
For maintenance to kisse the
Alcoran.
[Page 10] I know not where a
Homily is read
But, friend, a Homily is dainty bread.
The Brewers grains out of a nasty
Tub,
Is fitter food for such a swine or Cub.
Lawn sleeves and
Cassocks cannot please the Gizard
Of this seditious scandalizing
Wizard;
Yet he pretends Canonical to be,
But
Bell and
Dragon is as much as he▪
'Tis not the
soul of
this seditious sinner,
That makes him bite, his belly wants a dinner;
And there's a reason for it I can tell ye,
Sometimes
ill manners makes an
empty belly▪
To throw
Seditious scribles to the view
Of such a sick
and giddy-headed crew
As we have now amongst us, who by flirts
Change their Religions oftner than their shirts,
Does argue one that doth employ his pate
To bring
confusion on the
Church and
State.
The naked
Indians would have scorn'd to be
So rudely barbarous to their
Bramini.
The Asse that State malevolence doth brew,
Deserves a bridle, and a Halter too.
Are these the men of God? Doth this behaviour
Adorn the
Gospel of our
God and
Saviour?
Religious Renegadoes!
Who to patch
Their broken desperate fortunes daily watch
Another opportunity, to bring
A second ruine
on the Church
and King.
You closely jerk at learned
Laud, but see
All
Laud is given to God, all shame to thee:
[Page 11] Had he but seen thy
Crocodilian teares,
The
Hang-mans Cat had eat thy
Asses eares.
God save King CHARLES, and keep him from the sleight
Of such Reformers as in
Forty Eight.
OBSERVATION.
REader, Perhaps you may as well as I wonder that men of almost all sorts, as here you find them, should have such small employment, as to busie their brains in cudgelling a poor silly Asse from one to another: and in my opinion render themselves all such; and more especially the Author of this, (Sexton or parish-Clark, call him which you please▪) Sure his Parish is very small, he is so needy, that he will Papist like, sell you prayers for sixpence a dozen; or his Burials and Christnings not many in the year, that he must Poet-like, write a Pamphlet, for money to by food for the Asse, and cloak it over with zeal.
Cur Percussisti? OR BALAAM REPROVED For Cudgelling the Asse.
ALas! the Asse is Cudgel'd in good sadnesse▪
Why so I Pray? To shew the Prophets madnesse.
Patron of scandal and of ignorance;
From which we prayed a deliverance.
This was the sum of the Petition,
Which guilty
Balaam termes sedition
Who, but a soul empty of grace, and reason
Would think this cry preparative to treason?
At vices orthodox the poor Asse greives:
Not at the Cassocks or the rev'rend sleeves,
These, are by Canon
decent, yet I shall
Think constant preaching more Canonicall.
Are
Miters, Cassocks, of so neer a kin
To sloth and drunkennesse that beastly sin,
That who the Clergy warnes these sins to flee,
Doth mean, Bishops and Priests there, must not be?
[Page 13] The Crown and Mitre are so haply twisted,
The last infring'd, the first is then resisted.
But both with equal zeal disown they do
Factious Preachers, and bibbing Readers too.
Where's the sedition then? 'tis in a dish
Cook't up, yes the water turns Pork to Fish.
[...]ll manners 'tis sure, soft, the man's well bred,
His belly is not empty, but his head.
Foul Patriot, scandal and vices support,
Kickt by an Asse, thou put'st him into Court.
A Priest wel drench't, the Constable did seize on,
'Twas cry'd, hold factious Officer, 'tis treason.
At length the Pris'ner sweares, 'twas said, swear on,
This Parish is full of sedition.
'Tis an Essay to Church and States confusion,
To shew the
Laicks grief or
Priests collusion,
There needs no
Cham, these secrets to betray,
Darknesse can't hide what's done in the mid-day.
Is this the man of God? or is he sent
To drink and swear, for th' Gospels ornament?
Reviv'd
impieties, Black mouth'd
debaucherie,
Ne're can be whit'ned with thy Poetry,
Unhappy
solecisme, when was it true
That
Sins ruine would make the
State to rue,
Or
Church? whose noble growth and lasting age,
Decay of
vice increase of
grace presage.
Arm then (ye
Mitred Lords) be cloth'd with power,
Full charge your
Canons and then let them Roar
'
Gainst Scandall, Ignorance,
and Lazinesse,
'
Gainst sancy pride,
and factious peevishnesse.
Should startle those that succeed in their room▪
The Sacrifice was then abhorr'd, they'r slaine,
Eli falls too, 'cause he did not restrain.
Long live King
Charles, prosper in grace & glory,
Let's Name be written in Eternal Story.
OBSERVATION.
THis Author writing a paper of verses which he is asham'd to own; sets two letters of a name (we know not whether his own or no) that we should not know where to find him; but yet we may well guesse at him, if we observe the character formerly given of their faction, that he is of the tribe of Adoniram; -A zealous R—, who to save his Bacon shall make twenty recantations; and for preferment, change his Religion oft'ner than his shirt; and is almost as near a kinsman to a K— as a Cavenanter to a Scotchman.
The Asse beaten for Bawling; OR, A REPLY FROM THE CITY TO The Crie of the Country.
To Smectimnuus, the Club of Divines, or Divines of the Club.
TO you, because you are one manifold,
A twisted Halter, and because w'are told
You understand the nonsence of the Cryers,
As they doe your's, send we that are Replyers.
Take up your Colts, you know them by their mark,
Bid them give audience, that is stand and hark.
Fleabitten Gray with your out-lying eares,
The KINGS Disturbers,
and Gods Pillagers,
Baule not, but hear the Crys of millions dead,
Our bloud has been your drink, our flesh your bread.
And are your maws too tender for the stones
Of the now Priest? that could eate Churches once
Complain ye now of Canting ye Jack Daws
That set Religion to a tune
The Cause;
Ye wolves Synodicall, self-Hallowing Cast,
If ye could pray ye should, so ye would fast.
[Page 16] Our Church is like to fall into the Myre
If she must follow such a fatuus fire,
Dark Lanthorn lights, such whose well-shadow'd sin
Begun the Dance that Cushind
Cromwell in.
Mistake us not, we doe not meane those zealous
And tender soules, that fearing still, were jealous:
Who set the Kingdome all o'fire, and made
No conscience what
CHARLES suffred, how betray'd.
Let such have double honour, Capitol Geese,
'Cause they' be gagling, Pulpits two a peice,
But this we like not that ye stand and bark
To keep the wearied Dove out of the Ark:
And that your tender conscience brooks not giving
The Priest his Church, now you have had his living,
For he poor Man shall not injoy't he fears
So many months, as ye have had it years.
I but the Ravens come too, and they'l croke
So that a second judgment they'l provoke.
'Twas the first turn'd them out, what follows then?
The next must be your comming in agen.
Where are your wits? get you again to Schoole
Ther's a scourge for you, and a pretty toole
With a Chris-cross in't, There when you have been
Well whip'd and scourg'd for this your modern sin
Of simple rayling at the Men of God,
I'll take a care for burning of the Rod
[Page 17] Till then be not so mad I pray thee
Smec.
To let such Coxcombs break the Church's neck;
God and the King's a book that doth concern,
The Preacher, that would others teach, to learn;
'Tis not their splaymouth nor their hoboy nose
Their hums and haus, and such like forms as those
We quarrel at, nor black Caps set in print
On the notch'd Poll, there may be nothing in't
These fooleries we allow but yet a Saint
Is not cut out of every one doth cant;
Were Arrogance and Faction wanting, how
Should Ignorance take blockheads from the Plow
And arme them back and breast against their King?
These graces are thy Saints
Smec. That's the thing
Which blooming Peartree makes his Livery
Mouth indefatigable, were all such as He!
Now pardon us good
Smec. we do not this
To make the
Presbyter seem as he is
A zealous R— nor do we disown
Or hate his ways that levell at a Throne
But as we would,
Rome should not tyrannize,
And be our selves a
Rome put in disguise:
And ev'ry Man a Pope in his precinct,
Nor shall the
Scotch Kirk think to be distinct
But truckle under us; duly we and truly.
For
Bishops pray, that they would be unruly.
And to our holy work put their own hand,
Promoting the distractions of the Land.
For to speak truth, we cannot weare a bridle,
[Page 18] And suffer others preach and we stand idle:
Nor is it possible we should agree
Unless we can have
Bishops, such as we
That would Priests rayling make & factious too,
With whom good
Cesar knows not what to do.
Men free from charity, and love of peace
Smec. if thou leav'st us any, leave us these
That robbing
Peter, and not paying
Paul
We may get, what? why ee'n the Divel and all
But now, this very hour the world must end,
Take no more care for Sunday Pudding friend.
Nor as was done in dayes of the Protector
Ninteen probationers preach for one Lecture
The deep Soraction snow must now turn black
Dark be yee dazling Lamps,
Phaebus go back
And fetch thy mourning Cloak, the Moon bow die
Fire cannot burn, nor Round-heads cannot lye.
Earth shift thy Poles and thaw the
Muscovites,
In the
Armenian planes. And now the Lights
Are out, let all things to confusion tumble,
And rudely like the family conjumble.
They may beget an Asse,
Styx will so arme,
And freeze, that he shall feel
L
[...]wd but lukewarme.
Of whom the Brethren that conformed not
All in his time, cry'd out he was too Hot.
God save K.
CHARLES and keep him from the clutches
Of him that at the KING'S Religion grutches.
POSTSCRIPT.
NOw, to this railing Asse more shall be spoke,
When he has got a Living or a Cloak,
Only this Country's mouse feeds in our Cubboards,
And brings his Cry no further then the Suburbe.
Advertisements and Supplements w'ave read,
He looks to's Eares, we must look to our Head.
Now no more Mumming sirrah, d'off your Vizzard,
Know we have eyes can pierce into your Gizzard.
By stroaking of our Beards you are not like,
To make us be secure and let you strike
He that calumniates the meaner sort,
Looks ill on all, and ought to suffer for't.
OBSERVATION.
THE Doctor thinking himselfe an honester man than the rest, must be seen in Print too; but we suppose the main end of his publishing this, was, having liv'd long in obscurity, and not having much practise, to let the World understand that there is such a Physician, (like a Quacksalver that sets up his Bils on Posts) writes The Asse beaten for bauling, by Edmond Cooper of Limestreet Dr. of Physick; that thereby he may gain Patients, and become famous, and so when his names up, he may lye in Bed till noon.
WORK FOR COOPER, Or a Bone for the Doctor to pick.
Being an Answer to a Scurrilous Pamphlet, Entituled The Asse beaten for Bawling.
To Dr. Edm. Cooper.
TO you Sir, 'cause you're of those
shallow brains,
That prize a
Gem below two
barly grains,
That like the
Dunghill cock, rather confine
Your Spirits to a
Jakes, then seek a
Mine,
Who breath nought else but an opinion Nurst
By
Ecchoes then your selves far more accurst.
Degenerate Race! do's
vice find
pleaders then,
England breed those will
vindicate a sin?
Swearing and
Drunkennesse come in their stead?
And can there
Advocates for them too be?
Sad world! but pray Sir who gave you your fee?
We know you use to take it, and perhaps,
Promise the
Cure, but breed an
After-lapse;
'T has been the
Empericks Trade: but how you vail
Your
plot? how cunningly you seem to rail
Against
Smectimnuus, that you might Excuse
Two horrid Sins,
God and your
self abuse.
An Easie Judgement might have led you Sir,
To have understood the
Asse without this stir;
But now I find he has more wit than you,
Indeed I've known
Asses been
Doctors too.
Had not your
Violent love too ill restrain'd
Your
Sence: You might have found that he declaim'd
Not against
Things but
Vices: Church and
State
I know he honours, 'twas his
zealous hate
To wickednesse, that gain'd him your ill will,
Oh may he gain it, and increase it still.
But Sir to clear that
Judgement is so weak,
It understands not what an
Asse does speak.
Pray let me tell you, and 'tis what I know
The
Church of
England doth to such men owe,
Such men as writ that
Asse: whose
pious soules
Although they can't digest your full
brim'd bouls
Nor
Thunder out your
Ranting Oaths, yet be
As
Faithful to the
Church, the
Liturgy,
Honours the
Bishops, and the
Hierarchy,
Pray they in truth, may th'
Churches Fathers be▪
And tell me Sir if you would count him rather,
Of a
lov'd child, the more
Indulgent Father,
[Page 23] Who gives his ill-inclining Son a free
Swinge in
Vice, till he kisse the
Gallow-tree:
Or he gives due
Correction, who though lesse
Loving he seems, yet leads to
Happinesse.
But Mr. Doctor, since y'ave show'd your
wit,
And cause y'are come in print think y'ave hit
On a fine cunning pretty nibling strain.
Pray give me leave to tell you some things plain:
First,
y'are an Asse; but that I think you know,
And therefore let the
World know so much too,
Else thus much
Ignorance you had ne're
betray'd,
Nor publickly your
Folly had
displai'd.
Ther's something
worse behind which I should
tell,
But may
conceal it since 'tis seen so well,
Yet it shall out, for I'le ne're be a slave
To my own thoughts,
I think too y'are a Knave:
Or else you do bely your self, for he
That pleads for
Vice smells rank of
Knavery.
But Sir, in some part we may you excuse,
For whilst men
bestially themselves abuse
By
Gorging, till they
belch it up again,
Th'advance your
trade, and thus you plead for
gain.
In sum, Sir, know, the time will one day come,
The
Asse may freely speak when
Balaam's dumb.
Such
Balaams as your self, by
wealth made bold,
Who strangely hording up your
heaps of
gold,
Grow proud, imperious, scurrilous,
and then
Count
poverty a
crime in
vertuous men.
God save King
Charles, & keep him from their
Claws,
Who pray
for him, yet plead against his Laws.
OBSERVATION.
THis Dauncey would have us to believe that he is a brother as holy, and as pious as any of the rest: but, Reader, before you passe your verdict, I would intreat you to take this short character which I heare of him along with you, and then censure what he writes accordingly. First, he is a man of so giddy hairbrain'd a nature, and so shallow of apprehension, that without fear or wit, he runs headlong, and takes hold of the Asses Author's sleeve, and there he will pin his faith; so much does he understand what Religion is. His learning, wit, and manners agree very well in consort, they are all so small. He is a ballad Poet, having for his pay ten groats a ballad, and a pot of Ale: a fellow of no reckoning. To conclude, he is the Common Spunge to the Society of Stationers, who seed him with a bit and a knock; yet is he better fed then taught, for he would make you believe that his impudence is pure piety and holinesse.
A DOSE FOR CHAM BERLAIN, AND A PILL FOR THE DOCTOR, Being an Answer to two Scurrilous Pamphlets, written against the Author of The Asses Complaint, &c.
WHat ailes this
bawling puppy thus to prate?
I think the Genius of
Billings-gate
Hath lately crept into his
soul; Alas!
That
City Dogs should bait the
Countrey Asse?
For
Baal and
Balaam, with the busie
Doctor
Jerk his dull sides; and not so much as
Kick
The Sexton,
nor the Piss-pot Emperick?
'Tis strange he
speaks not, Is his back so
strong
To bear
abuses, that he holds his
tongue?
Come, I'le bee's
Oratour, for in some
cases
The
Lawyers use to plead for none but
Asses.
Now what says
Chamberlain, that
pamphlet-monger,
What do'st thou tell the
silly Asse of
Hunger?
Should he
(like thee turn
parish Clerk, and cozen
Poor souls, and
sell his
prayr's six pence a dozen,
Dine upon
Midwifes fees, and
grease his
chaps
With
Gossips charity and
Female scraps,
Then would his
panch like thine, be quickly fraught,
And men would say, he's better fed then taught.)
Thou Priest in
Gingerbread, should he but
plead
For
Drunken sots that cannot
preach but
read,
Such as thy self, O then the
foul-mouth'd whelp
Would fawn upon the
Asse, and cease to
yelp.
Then peace thou
Journyman o'th
Reading pew,
Tell us not of a giddy-headed crew
Of sick-brain'd
Sectaris, for all men know
'Twas such as
Chamberlain that made them so;
Dumb dogs drive out their
parishes, to Roam;
He needs must
beg that hath no
bread at
home,
But stay, I know what Sir
John doth intend;
He'd have the
Bishops take him for their friend;
Devils pretences, alwayes were divine;
A Knave may have an Angel for his sign;
When such men kisse, they'l soon
beray their
Lord;
But stay, what means the
Doctor? has he left
His
Legal murther and his
Venial theft,
His plotting with his
Druggest and the
Nurse,
Not for to
purge the
body, but the
purse.
And turn'd a
Satyrist? I'de thought the man
Had been confin'd unto a
Close-stool pan,
But 'tis a mad world when
Hell breaks loose, and he
That is a
Quack, talks of
Divinity;
Than leave your scribling
sirrah, send your
verses
Into your patients to wipe their A—
The
Asses Author scorns to
stroak your
beard,
Hee'l
foul his
hands that meddles with a T—
Heaven keep this City from
Quacksalving knaves
That send
sound men to their
untimely graves.
Here did I think to make an end, but hark,
[...] have one
word more to the
Parish Clark;
Let
preachers say
God save King Charles, and then,
▪Twill be your Cue Sir
Clark to say, Amen.
OBSERVATION.
ACcording to this Gentleman's own confession, we must believe him to b [...] a Lawyer, (alias Lawyers Clark) who having of late too frequently used that most renowned part of the Gity, call'd Ram Ally ▪ and there consum'd the greatest part of the [...]ees he gain'd last Term; betakes himself this long Vacation to write Pamplets▪ thinking thereby to recruit the vacancy o [...] money which his pockets have long endur'd by reason of his extravagancy. And being now in a mad mood, he resolves with migh [...] and main, and with as much impudence a [...] ever his Namesake at Westminster-Hall had, to scandalize honester men then himsel▪ and with open mouth vilifies those men, wh [...] do scorn that such polluted lips should hav [...] the honour to kisse their posteriors.
Doctor Cooper at WORK UPON DAƲNCEYS BONES, AND Cook licking his FINGERS AFTER HIS DOSE AND PILL.
O For the Doctor's lines,
or Cleveland's, Dauncey
To truss thee in, how bravely would I haunse thee,
Then like a Jack o'
Lent the first of
March,
In
Cuerpo thou should'st hang under some
Arch,
There to be play'd on by the wind, and noise
Of Fish-wives, Orange-wenches,
and the Boyes.
Was't not enough the brethren felt his whip
So smart and keen, but he must make thee skip
Thou Jackanapes? think'st thou, thou piteous elf,
To draw his auger on thy single self,
[Page 30] And rescue so a number? foul-mouth no,
You are beneath him, hee's more worth than so.
Lord, what a holy thing is want of clothes,
How it keeps
Balladers from drink and oaths!
When there's no more to pawn, an oath were vain,
Your words will go as far in
Chart'r'ouse lane.
Thou seem'st boy to have taken his advice
And gone to school agen, and thou art wise
In doing so, thou may'st be of his stables,
Th'art at the Dunghill now in
Aesop's Fables.
Your mine's Hell deep, we give a guesse what's in't,
Poets w'are sure send nothing to the mint.
W'are pleas'd to see you wince, y'ave a gauld hide,
Your own breath stinks when 'tis to you apply'd.
If your own words resounded be accurst,
Your meaning was not wholsome at the first.
Mark how this saucy
Rascal 'gins his prate,
As though the Doctour were an advocate
Of foul debauchery: when in no mans hearing
He ever spoke of drunkennesse or swearing;
Nor thinks there can be such a
[...]in in fashion
I'th Clergy, 'ts hatch'd in your Imagination:
There 'tis ye slanderous villains that ye frame
An odious abuse, and then declame.
So
I have seen a Coward draw his sword
Against a Post, and every blow a word;
Now if thou wer't a man, I'de have thee there,
And then again he cryes I'de have thee there.
Or on my word this Knight o'th post are you.
I a've a
Physician that without perhaps
Shall cure your mouth secure of
after claps.
Down o' your knees, thank God, and thank me too,
'Tis well, 'tis well, now
Gallows claim thy due;
And when the Surgeons chest has brought you sir
Back from that tree, into their Theatre,
The Doctor for a Lecture shall not stick,
To send your bones unto the Devil to pick.
You might have seen, had you been so inclin'd,
(But as the saying is,
hasty Currs are blind)
The
Doctor knew your
Asse's meaning sir,
And needs not you for an Interpreter.
We like no coxeing friend, nor ever will,
Joa
[...] and
Judas both did kisse and kill.
Had
Griffin bray'd against a man or two,
Or on a County where such things they do,
His Libel might have gone untax'd: but now
To write at randome thus, and to allow
A roving Kite with full spread wings to fly
Over the Nation, carrying infamy
Thus undetermin'd;
Dauncey 'tis too much,
Ill minds conclude the
Clergy all are such.
This mischief he has done, and as we mention,
We had but's own word for his good intention.
This has your pious soul done, that can't drink
You say, but shall
I tell you what
I think?
What
I have heard?
Dauncey I will take leave,
For all your
affidavit, t'undeceive
[Page 32] My silly Countrymen, who live in doubt
Some Minister of worth set this Cry out;
Whose spirit bleeds within him for the sin
That yet the people, and the Clergy's in.
But come chear up my hearts, 'tis no such matter
This fellow in Divinity does but smatter,
Hangs on the
Presse, and as his learning's small,
His pay's ten groats a ballad, and some Ale:
Which not one Stationer alone does pay for
But all the Crowd, which he goes first to stay for;
The Common spunge, a fellow of no reck'ning,
Shall follow you to an Alehouse but for beck'ning.
And be brought out agen perhaps. But How!
What do I see,
Dauncey, the grizly brow
Of Goblin
Truth, Fathers in
Truth, the thing
Undid the Church, and cut the throat o'th King?
Choak us no more you R—with your minc'd meat,
Fathers, feed's at discretion, we will eat,
I and give thanks too for your institution,
And call you fathers without diminution,
Conservers of Gods Oracles, bring these fellows
Truth to confesse, where they should do't to th' Gallows.
And mark it
Dauncey, see how thou art catch'd,
As if thine own lye to betray th'adst watch'd;
When with comparison thou would'st up-cry
The faith of
Griffin, As hath no reply.
But Mr.
Dauncey, now y'ave shew'd your lack
Of wit and art, let me again go back,
[Page 33] And view the subject of your declamation
Not against things, but vices
O this Nation.
Are vices nothing? and's all this ado
Made about nothing, by you Puppies two.
Now you begin to belch up your disgrace,
And spit foul Language in the
Doctor's face;
VVhat are you proud of, that you thus be-
Asse us,
And knave us bluntly, is't Land in
Parnassus?
Who would not swear you'r drunk? it is no ruth
To conscience for a man to swear the Truth.
Would'st thou know what thou art? thou canst not miss't,
In the first Chapter of the
Alchymist,
Where
Subtle, Doll, and
Face do seem to me
Rayling, to conjure for a name for thee.
There read thy self, th'are thine all, and if't be
Thy chance to scape a sadder destiny,
When with the
Stationers thou hast suck'd so long
Scot-free of Ale, as t'other has, whose tongue
Thou now defendest, mayst thou by good prayers
Rise by degrees, from Link-boy, to the Players;
To be their book-keeper, and then grown bold,
Upon thy parts, when thou art blind and old,
Presume to write a play in thy last age,
And have it basely hiss'd off o' the stage,
For which thy heart must break, if it break not
This minute, for thus having play'd the Sot.
We are ingenuous, and do not deride.
Your poverty, you Knaves, no, but your pride;
And cannot choose but laugh, to see the Saints
Have drunken Atheists to defend their plaints.
Lick-spit o'th Law: speak sirrah to the Jury,
There you may find a dozen of the name
You give the Doctor, (Caterpillar of fame:)
Beat me this Buckram Rogue,
Falstaffe, to seven,
Nay if thou wilt, beat him into eleven,
And if they have no better manners then,
Send them to me, I'le beat them all agen.
Knaves that do nought but quirk upon his Calling,
And quit their cause; 'tis time the Asse left bawling.
Martial.
Ep. I
‘Dic tandem aliquid de tribus Capellis’
POSTSCRIPT.
I Thought I'ad finish'd
William now, but hark
I'ave commendations to thee from the Clark▪
Fogg in Rye dough, thou image of a Lawyer,
Fitter to make a Carman, or a Sawyer,
Much more then ord'nary appears in you,
Plead you for Asses, and are Asses too?
Must Readers preach; has the Church no degree;
Nor order?
Scribes go take the Lawyers fees.
Hell's where confusion is, and rotten speech,
The Lawyer took's own pill, and spoke at's breech.
The journey-pew supplyes his need, as 'tis,
Pray get your Asse a pulpit to serve his.
[Page 35] He will not be the first Asse that e're spoke
Out of one, and got by't a suit and cloak.
I wish thy libel might have pleas'd where't came,
And that thou'dst had a more auspicious name,
At
Westminster Hall Gate, hee'l see that looks,
What's to be thought of disaffected
Cooks.
God blesse King
Charles, so that he ne'er agen
Be troubled with such
Rogues, speak Clark, Amen
Now stroake the
Doctor's beard, ye Libel flingers
And if ye foule your hands,
Cooke lick your fingers.
OBSERVATION.
THE Doctor fearing that his Name would not be far enough spread by his former paper; and being altogether unwilling to lay down the bucklers, and acquiesce under the calumnies cast upon him by [Page 36] Dauncey and Cook, enters again, though not himself, yet by proxy; and endeavours to clear himself by characterizing them; and although he seem to do it never so well, yet let him know, that he was not possest of over much wisdome when he beat the Asse for bawling; for if he had had but patience, in short time he might have seen the Asses Author recant, and Cudgell himself for his Foolery.
FINIS.