THE DISSENTER TRUELY DESCRIBED.
WHat shall a Glorious Nation be o'rthrown,
By Troops of Sneaking Rascals of our own?
Must Civil, and Ecclesiastick
Laws,
Once Truckle more under the good
Old Cause?
Shall these ungrateful
Varlets think to Live,
Only to clip Royal
Prerogative?
Shall all our Blood turn Whey, whilst we do see
Men both Affront, and Stab the Monarchy?
I'm all inflam'd with a
Poetick Rage,
And will Chastise the Follies of the Age.
Thoughts crowd so fast upon me, I must Write
Till I've display'd the Gaudy Hypocrite.
He's one that scarcely can be call'd a Man,
And yet's a Pious, Holy Christian.
He's big with Saving Faith (he says,) yet He
Has not one spark of common Charity.
'Gainst Reason he perpetually Whines.
Because it Contradicts his Black Designs.
He disesteems dull Morals; For a Saint
My well beloved Brethren must not want.
Soul-warming Thoughts; so warm that they did dwell,
First in the Womb, than at the Breasts of Hell.
He Flouts the
Common Prayers, yet the poor Fool,
Himself, not Them, does turn to Ridicule.
He hates a Form, yet loves his dear Non-sense;
Nauseates his God with his
Impertinence.
With Eyes turn'd up, Mouth Screw'd, and Monkey-Face,
He Lowdly Bawls to God for Saving Grace.
With Meen so Base, and Scurvy, as if even
His Apish Postures only would please Heaven.
And then his Sniv'ling Tone, to the most High,
He does conclude is Curious Melody.
If things succeed not as his Humour wou'd,
He strait grows Angry, and he Huffs his God:
And this, (as if God knew not what to do,)
And that wou'd have been for thy Glory too.
Then Muffled in his Cloak,
Roger begins
In's Sermon, to dawb forth,
Soul-killing Sins;
Murder, and
Theft, and
Pride, and
Gluttony, &c.
Which in their
Lives none more
Applauds then He.
Yet if you do
Survey the List with care,
You'l quickly find
Rebellion is hid there.
And when he's prest to
Duties for some Hours;
He ne'r puts in
Obey the Higher Powers.
At
Surplice, and
Lawn-Sleeves, he
takes Offence,
Because they are the
Types of
Innocence;
For that he hates, and with it men of
Sense.
The
Reverend Prelates he still vilifies,
'Cause they detect his
Cursed Villanies.
Hang them, they
Bark, come let us pull them down,
For this same
Mitre does
Support the
Crown.
They'r the Kings
Truest Friends, yet thought it good,
To drown his
Kingdoms in a
Sea of Blood.
They the Kings person would protect, they said,
Yes, yes, forsooth by
Cutting off his Head;
And this they did Inspir'd by
Zeal alone,
To fasten
Christ in his
Triumphant Throne.
As if
Damn'd Lyes, False Oaths, and
Base Deceit,
Propt up his
Throne, and made him
Truely Great.
As if the
Devil himself that acted them,
Did bring the
Lustre to his
Diadem.
Nay they go on yet with the same
Intents,
By molding to their Minds
New Parliaments.
Some of the
Great, they by their Whimseys guide,
To like their
Treason, and to stem their
Pride.
In other things, like methods they pursue,
For even the
Sh'riffs, must be
Fanaticks too.
The
Judges too, they'd to their
Party gain,
Did they want either
Honesty, or
Brain.
And when their
Wheedling Tricks do fail on these,
They poison soon some
Country Justices.
Then had they once the dear
Militia,
They'd mount the
Saddle, and make
Charles obey:
Thus first they'd make Him but a very
Straw,
And then at
List Controll, and give him
Law.
In fine, they are the
Foes of
Royal State,
Order is the great
Object of their
Hate.
Nor
God, nor
Men, these
Furies seek to
Please,
They'd
Bruise the
Crown, and
Tear our
Surplices.
They'd
Ʋndermine the
Churches Harmony,
And Ride a full
Carier to Popery.
They all
Mankind, except Themselves
Despise,
Chiefly the
Great, for being
Good and
Wise.
Some
Subtile have, and some have
Giddy Souls,
Some
Fools, some
Knaves, and some are
Knaves and
Fools.
These
Vermine would even the best things
Command,
And
Suck up all the
Sweetness of the
Land.
LONDON, Printed for N. Thompson, Anno Dom. 1681.