A discovery of the Iesuits Trumpery, newly packed out of England.
IF any man shall question what this sacke
Containes, Ile tell him; tis a Popish pack,
A Trusse of Trinkets, holy Crosses, beades,
Religious Reliques, Ave-Maries, Creedes;
Our Ladies Image, Images of Saints,
That waxen Lamb, that the shav'd Priest depaints
By th'name of
Agnus Dei, Indulgences,
Pardons, for veniall, and for foule offences:
Y'ave here Tradition from a suttle pate,
And Copies, teaching to equivocate:
Her's supererogation, so much merit
Stockt up by one, that many may inherit,
By his good deedes, those everlasting joyes,
That few
Friers come to, and a thousand Toys.
For him has Coine to buy 'em, here be
Coules,
And the sheepes-cloathing, they that weary souls
Doe sometimes walke in, for the man that strips
Himselfe, himselfe to punish; Here be whips,
And right ones, I can tell you: And to quell,
The pamper'd body into lust would swell,
(Instead of Hemp or flaxen shirts to weare)
(To scrub the
[...]r itches) here be shirts of haire.
Her's holy water, Ashes, holy-oyle,
Palme, Holy-Tapers, Spittle, and a coyle
With Holy-Salt, and Holy bels, I hope,
Holy-Hemp twisted; so much for the Pope,
With his blind guides: And last (to stuffe it full)
Heere's a Nuns Barstard▪ and a Roring Bul.
So much for the Pack, now to the Pedler.
BE trudging with your Crosses, in the losse
Of your pretences; if you love the Crosse,
Ther's Crosse enough, I thinke, to make you fret
Your Crosses now, have with crosse-carding met.
Your Beades, and numbred Ave-Maries take,
And trudge to
Rome, ther's Room enough, to make
Some use and practice of them; here you see,
We have no roome for such vaine things to bee.
And as for Images, your selves now goe
Like Images made up of Mess-line Dowe;
(For Dow's your C
[...]ke in
England, England knows,
The substance from the shadow: such poor shows
Please Fooles and mad-men: then 'tis fit we part,
You pray by'th Eye, we by the Soule and Heart.
Packe, with your
Agnus Dei, (goodly Knacks)
Balme, Holy-Water, and pure Virgins wax.
They say 'tis made of: pretty things indeed)
Prick your fine Lamb, see if your Lamb wil bleed
Ours bled for us: That blood, our souls purgation
Without the purge of your imagination:
You know my mind, & whence th'invention cāe,
Good Wolvs be packing with your waxen
Lamb
Indulgences, from your indulgent Father,
Doe not extol so much, be thankfull rather:
To
Englands pitty, who (but that his will
Is more to pardon, then to punish (still)
Might quickly send you (wisely thinke upon it)
To Doctor
Stories old three corner'd Bonnet.
I marry Sir,
Equivocation! fie,
What Fooles are they to thinke we cannot lye,
Without their wit to helpe us? But to sweare,
And breake that Oath, yet have the conscience cleer.
I, there's the Trick: for so Equivocation
Leades men to hell in a more stately fashion.
This, sayes a man, goodnesse enough may doe,
To save's owne soule, and halfe his neighbours too,
'Tis wondrous strange, yet let no man deride it,
For we have Fryers have bin at Heaven and tride it,
But striving thus to set these Bawbles forth,
I lose more time then all the Bundle's worth.
O're-view the Pack at leisure. I forgot
Dags, Daggers, Pistol, poison, powder-plot:
I know not well where these are in or no,
I hope they are, and ready packt to goe
Back to that spotted bosome did invent them,
And 'gainst a paire of spot lesse bosomes sent them,
Stuff'd full with their worst mischiefe; for that whore
That Kings and Princes humbly must adore:
(That rides upon that many headed Beast,
At Kings and Kingdomes levels, at the least.
Her worke-men too, sheel blesse, maintaine and nurse 'em,
And they that dare not (being sworn to't) curse 'em,
A holy Mother still. Beside these Lurches,
(To shew her spite) she'l make 'em fire our Churches,
Then is't not time they packe? packe up, away,
Backe Divels to your Saints: for some men say,
In many places you have many, One
That helpes sore eyes; Another for the Bone
Touch'd with the Morbe of
Naples: one for youth
Troubled with Scabs; one for an akeing tooth:
Nay you have Saints for horses, and for Swine,
For Dogs, for Oxen, for your Goate, and Kine;
For Lambs and Geese; so get you gone, your back,
Prepare, good Pedler, for your Popish pack.
Our land, they know it flowes with milke and honey,
Therefore I doe suspect there are too many.
Trusting to shifts, by corners and disguizes,
Dare venter still to play their Popish Prizes:
They soone shall know that we have hounds to sent 'em,
Finde out their sculking, strip 'm and present 'em,
To'th eye of Justice; then they know what followes,
Up
Newgate first, then after to the Gallows.
FINIS.
London Printed for Henry Gosson; dwelling on London-Bridge.