2. Convert Paul's church into the mews, Let him &c. Who hath commiffion to convey There to beget new babes of grace Will rather fcorch than quench defire, An Old S O N G. By way of Dialogue. SA AY, Puritan, if it should come to pass, A. Truly in such a doubtful case, grace, 2. But were here in thy Friday dish A capon, or a piece of fish, Which wou'dft thou eat? A. Capons are for the babes of grace, Cho. Here's a Puritan catechifed right, Who loves his gut, but doth the spirit flight. 2. Say, Puritan, if it fhould be thy hap, A. Yes, I profefs, Babylon's whore It favours of antiquity. 2. But wouldft not be content to wear The cap that hideth fin, not hair, Sirnamed Calott? A. Yes, if it ben't of Spanish leather made, Surely it cannot be gainfaid By any true zealot. Cho. Cho. Here's a Puritan catechifed right, Who loves his fchifm, but doth the spirit flight. 2. Say, Puritan, doft love the choir, And holy bellows that infpire The organ fweet? A. Truly no, they're Satan's inftruments, The faithful think 'em not fo meet. Cho. Here's a Puritan catechifed right, Who loves his humour, but doth the fpirit flight. 2. Say, Puritan, at glorious paint In church window wouldft not faint A. The free or painted glafs, for there To pure eyes as is the light. 2. But if a painted fifter lies Proftrate, wouldst thou caft thy eyes A. Well may the fpirit fo digeft A glance, a kifs, and feel the rest, So it be naked truth. Cho. Here's a Puritan catechifed right, A Who loves a painted whore, all other paint doth flight. The Romish Priest deny'd Hell-Room. Romish priest that dy'd the other day, His foul to hell went prefently away, The devil that then ftood centinel, Askt him, from whence he came and why to hell? Corpora! Corp'ral, quoth the devil, and began to roar, Be gone, thou prieft, for here thou may't not ftay: TE The Reformation. ELL me not of lords and laws, All that's done's not worth two ftraws If men in pow'r do rant it ftill, Or, if they do an act that's juft, Or meerly for a fashion. All our expence of Blood and purfe Men are still as bad, or worse, And will whate'er comes of it; To make our game the furer; And it cannot but be so, Since thofe toys in fashion; Whofe defigns are pow'r and wealth, At which by rapine, fraud, and stealth, Audaciously they vent're ye; They They lay their confciences afide, Crimes are not punish'd 'cause they're crimes, Our cobweb-laws can't hold 'em ; Brothers ftill with brothers brawl, And when he thinks t'obtain his right, See the tradefman, how he thrives How he cheats and how he strives And yet are brought before 'em. And And his way to get all this, Is meer diffimulation; No factious lecture does he mifs, And scapes no fchifm in fashion: Sings Wisdom's hymns, that trot and pace But when death begins his threats, All he gets by's pains, i'th' clofe, That neither care nor know much : Who, wondring at's own fudden rise, Falls to his fports, drink, drabs, and dice, And makes all fly like stubble. And the church, the other twin, Is not purified a pin By all thofe broils in which fh'engag'd us: We |