THE Wheel of Time turning Round TO THE GOOD OLD VVAY; OR, The Good Old Cause Vindicated.
Friends,
TIs you who did Defend the Good Old Cause,
And Guarded
Englands Fundamental Laws,
That for a time under a Cloud do lye
To make you know the price of Liberty;
Oh droop not then! there is no reason why
You should not suffer Bonds as well as I,
Who have engaged for a Parliament,
And many drop of preci'us blood have spent?
Yet doubt I not (though now in Bonds I be)
But I a day of Liberty shall see.
And though our Sun-shine's darkn'd by a Cloud,
Yet time will move away that Vail or Shroud
That doth Eclipse our Light, then shall appear
The Morning-Star, our Day-Light shall be clear,
And those that now in grief and sorrow be
By
Magna Charta, shall be soon set free;
The glory of the Beast away shall fly
That beat down Law by Will and Tyranny;
Good Judges then shall Truth and Right maintain
When as the Beast and all her Imps are slain;
Though now they Rule, and over us bear Sway,
And worship God
The clean contrary Way,
With Places built of Stone, whose Consecration
They stile,
The ready Way unto Salvation,
And Copes like
Aarons, but no Bells to gingle
Plac'd on the skirts, the Surplis, or Sursingle;
Besides the bawling Singers that do cry,
And roar out Prayers in this Solemnity.
With Boys like Puppets, who with Voyces shril,
Bawl loud, the ears of th' ignorant to fill,
With Common-Prayers like an old Wives Fable,
An Altar made of a Communion Table;
Wax-Candles, Lawn-sleeves, Holy-water, Rocket;
And Wafers sweet, to put into the Pocket;
With other Fancies which they do allow
As Images, for ev'ry soul to bow
And fall down to, nay worship as their own
Creator, though a God to them unknown,
With Organ-pipes their mirth they do advance
Above their God, and lead in ignorance,
The People, who do for their musick pay,
Whilst Master Black-coat carries all away,
And Crams his panch, till that he looks as big
As Bacon-Hog, with eating Tyths of Pig.
But yet in time their Organ-pipes, and all
Their Impliments shall in a Chaos fall.
The time's but short, for he that lives to see
This
Babel fall, shall find in Sixty Three
A Curtain drawn, by which he soon shall know,
It's near the ending of this Poppet-show.
Dagon shall down, each Consecrated place
Of Worship shall both break his head and face,
Nay on the Thresholds of the door shall lie
The pieces which do from this Image flie.
Rome shall destroy'd be, and the Scarlet Whore
Shall never drink the blood of Martyrs more.
Poor Christians then shall not pay Contribution
To Prelates for the Bonds of Persecution;
No new-vampt Justice shall the Truth Controul,
And with a Billet knock down ev'ry soul
That will not bow to
Baal, and bend the knee
And swear to stand for the old Liturgie
'Gainst Conscience, no dam 'um then shall be
Respected, but the godly person free;
Nor shall the honest person be undone
By Cruel Laws of Mer.
Abbington,
A Gentleman, who doth Phanaticks stile um
That fear the Lord, and would like Faggots pile um;
This Plot was first contrived by a
Monk
Or dancing Ape, whose Sack hath made him drunk,
With
Robinson, a May'r once of this Town,
Who reel'd along the streets; 'twas with a
Brown
And fiery Sot, who still the mischef broaches,
Though then so drunk they could not find their CoachÂes.
Though now in grief and sorrow we do lye,
Embroider'd Cloaks shall be as poor as I;
And every man shall then discern his friend,
And live in love and peace, and so I end.