WORK for COOPER, OR A Bone for the Doctour to pick; Being an ANSVVER 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
Eccho's then your selves far more accurst.
Degenerate Race! do's
Vice find
Pleaders then,
England breed those will
Vindicate a Sin?
Is
Piety? Is all
Religion fled,
Swearing and
Drunkennesse come in their stead?
And can their
Advocates for them too bee?
Sad World! But pray Sir who gave you your
Fee?
We know you use to take it, and perhaps
Promise the
Ctre, but breed an
After-lapse;
'Thas been the
Empericks Trade: but how you vaile
Your
Plot? how cunningly you seem to
Raile
Against
Smectymnuus, 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 then
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 be gain it and increase it still.
But Sir to clear that
Judgement is so weak,
It
Ʋnderstands 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
disgest your
full brim'd boules,
Nor
Thunder out your
Ranting Oaths, yet be
As
Faithfull 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,
Who gives his
ill inclining Son a
Free
Swinge in
Vice, till he
kiss
[...] the
Gallow-tree:
Or he gives
due Correction, who though
lesse
Loving he seems, yet leads to
Happynesse.
But
Mr. Doctor since y'ave show'd your
witt,
And cause y'are come in
Print think y'ave
hitt
On a
fine Cunning pretty Nibling straine,
Pray give me leave to tell you somethings
plaine:
First,
y'are an Ass; but that I think you know,
And therefore let the
World know so much too,
Else thus much
Ignorance you had nee're
betray'd,
Nor
publiquely your
Folly had
display'd.
There's something
worse behind which I should
tell,
But may
conceal it, since 'tis
seen so well,
Yet it shall out, for Ile ne're be a
Slave
To my own thoughts,
I think too you're a knave:
Or else you do
bely your self, for he
That
pleads for
Ʋice, 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 summe, Sir, know the
time will one day come,
The
Ass may freely
speak when
Balaam's dumb.
Such
Balaam's 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, and keep him from their
Claws,
Who
pray for him,
His Ma
[...]
[...] Declarations against Vic
[...], d
[...]bed and p
[...]phane persons, against which the Author of Balaams Asse only declaims, though more particularly against those vices in the Ministry, as in them more Odious.
yet plead against his Laws.