A Satyr.

Tristius haud illis monstrum, nec saevior ulla
Pestis & ira Dei Stygiis sese extulit undis.
Virgil. Aenead. Lib. 3.

LONDON, Printed for William Leach, at the Crown in Cornhil, MDCLXXXI.

AScend, Alecto, from thy Den,
One of the Furies of hell. Ovid.
and come
Just as thou look'st in that Infernal Home,
Fell Fury fire my Fancy, for I have
More Cause than Poet e're had yet, to Rave:
Thou art my Muse, thy Snakes my Lawrels are,
Inspir'd by thee, I'll Rome's Intrigues declare:
Then to thy intermitted Task retire,
And pay the Jesuits their Arrears of Fire,
A Jesuit old Satan's Envoy is,
Sent to succeed the Snake of Paradise;
For when the fatal stroke of Adam's Loss,
Was healed by the Great Theanthropos,
God and Man.
And that first Argument of hellish Power,
Was quite Confuted by a Saviour;
Then baffled Lucifer no answer had,
Till he a Jesuit his Rejoynder made,
By whom he hopes compleatly to renew
The Battle, and once more Mankind undo;
Plotting his old Dominion to make good
By false Implicit Faith, or Fire and Blood:
That catches Fools, and these destroy the Wise,
Thus all Mankind are equally his Prize.
'Shut your Eyes close, believe me, and you'l see,
'Th' Ignatian cries the way t' Eternity:
'Deny all Reason, misbelieve your Sense,
'Church cannot erre, be that your Confidence:
'Pin on your Sleeve your Faith, and tho' you'r blind,
'Take but fast hold, and follow us behind;
'Our open Eyes the way for both will find.
This Wine and Wafer now are common Food,
But a few words shall make 'em Flesh and Blood;
And though they still the self same things appear,
Yet is Christs very Blood and Body here:
Such plain Impostures, such bold Cheats as these,
Can surely none but Fools or Madmen please,
[Page 4]The Snake of Paradice play'd fairer far
With Adam's Wife, and more upon the square;
He call'd an Apple, Apple, bid her see
How fair the Fruit, desirable the Tree:
The Jesuit's tricks would ne're have ta'ne with Eve,
She saw and felt before she did believe:
Besides he told her that 'twould make her wise,
But these the grossest Ignorance advise.
And thus we lose our selvesb' a greater cheat,
Than what the Devil us'd in Eve's Defeat:
Thus we our Sense and Reason lay aside,
To take an old Ambitious Pope for Guide.
Thus we turn Stocks and Ideots, and then
Become good Cath'licks, ceasing to be men;
As if the only way to save our Souls,
Were to be easie Slaves, or senseless Fools.
To all this fond Credulity we're hurld,
By slavish Fears about a burning World;
So (to be sure) to feel no torment there,
First strip our selves of all our Senses here.
Now my Alecto, let's advance and view
The frauds that lurk under Religious shew;
For though to Heav'n their fair pretences swell,
The root lies deep and dark, as is thy Cell:
No Heathen Lawgiver, no Pagan Priest,
Could er'e with such mysterious Wiles infest
The superstitious Multitude, for they
Are still most apt to fear they know not why;
No Cabalist of State could er'e trapan
With such firm subtlety as Rome's Divan.
And First, lest Holy Church should chance to float
Without a last Appeal in endless doubt;
You must with dumb Obedience still repair
Unto Rome's holy Apostolick Chair,
That, that's Infallible and cannot erre,
This bold Assumption keeps more in awe,
An Emperor of Rome, and a pre­tended Goddess. Lucius Flor.
Than Numa with his feign'd Egeria;
[Page]For though it seems at points of Faith to aim;
`Tis to be uncontroulably Supreme,
Get universal Def'rence, and Create
A close dependance on the Roman Seat:
Branding on all damnable Heresie,
That dare oppose the Apostolick See,
Or Rome's Political Divinity.
Rome's Doctrine is a secular Device,
Mere trick of State in rev'rend Disguise,
Th' ambitious Spawn of latter Centuries.
And tho' it proudly boast an ancient Line
From Peter, 'tis of basest Origine;
A Priestly Brat, by them Ingendred on
Ignorance, Fear, and Superstition;
These three completely make the Triple Crown,
And still support old Rome's Imperial Throne.
How silly do the Priests by help of these
Make men believe, and then do what they please;
How solemnly they dazle vulgar Eyes
With fine mysterious holy Vanities:
Whose Ceremonious Pomp strikes awful dread
In fools that by their Eyes and Ears are led:
But should I here endeavour to declare
The num'rous Gimcracks of the Romish Fair,
Their mystick Idols, consecrated Bawbles,
Feign'd Miracles, and monstrous holy Fables;
How dead Saints Relicks cure the Gout and Ptisick,
And are like Aegypts Mummy, us'd for Physick,
How they can scare the Devil with a stench,
As young Tobias did to get the Wench.
Tobit 8. 3.
In telling this I might as tedious be,
As the return of their next Jubilee;
But these are petty Trifles, pretty Toys,
Tricks to catch Women, gaping Fools, and Boys;
They have devices of a larger Size,
Traps to ensnare the Wary and the Wise.
[Page]And if you chance to boggle at the Bait,
They curse, and cry Damnation be your Fate,
And then you swallow it at any rate,
Oh! what a melancholy dismal Story
They roar in dying Ears of Purgatory;
That rather than the affrighted Wretch will burn
So long, he'l all his Gold to Masses turn.
Thus Ecclesiastick Chymists (you'd admire)
Make real Gold by a fictitious Fire.
Next extreme Unction comes from whence the Priest
Gets the most good by greasing in the Fist;
But of all Cheats that necessary are
Unto Salvation, Auricular
Confession bears the Bell, and seems to me
Next to Infallible Supremacy.
It wears a holy Vail, but underneath
Is Shame and Slavery far worse than Death:
The Priest may tyrannize without Controul,
That knows the guilty secret of the Soul.
So when the Gentle Sex Confession makes
That they have often sinn'd upon their Backs,
How easily the Priest comes in for snacks,
And shrievs the pretty Pen'tent Alamode,
No trick like a Jure Divino Fraud.
Thus are their chiefest Doctrines plain Device,
Pimp to their Pride, their Lust and Avarice;
In Holy Apostolical Disguise
In short, the whole mysterious Cheat doth lye,
In Superstition and Idolatry,
Two Spurious Graffs
Set in the Tree of Life, Religion,
By whose luxurious Branches 'tis o'regrown
To such a monstrous Disproportion;
That the first Planters would it quite disown,
Religion like a modest Rural Maid,
No artificial Dress, no Fucus had,
But was in Native Innocency clad.
[Page]Till in Rome's Court she ceased to be such,
Thence sprang her Infamy and first Debauch;
There laying plain simplicity aside,
She grew to lazie Wantonness and Pride:
Yet still some modesty confin'd her home,
Nor rambled she beyond the Walls of Rome:
Till proud of her successful Charms, she grew
Ambitious greatest Monarchs to subdue:
So by deceitful Arts sh'enlarg'd her Power,
And made them Slaves that she had serv'd before:
Then wisely some the Vassalage forsook,
Others repin'd, as weary of the Yoke;
She jealous lest her Universal Sway
Should lessen, and her former Fame decay;
'Mongst others, did the Schoolmens Pen employ
To vindicate her Truth and Honesty,
(Schoolmen who ransack Sciences and Arts,
To prove with pains that they are Fools of parts)
So these her Honour justify'd in Words,
As bully Jesuits plot to do with Swords;
But both in vain, for 'tis concluded on;
Their Mistress is the Whore of Babylon.
Shift, shift the Scene, Alecto, Fury, Fiend,
Wake all thy Snakes and make this Tragick End;
By Hellish Art raise up in dark Cabal,
The Pope, a Jesuit, and Cardinal;
Thy self place in the middle raving wood,
With Poysons, Pistols, Daggers, Fire and Blood.
Now let this Scene start into sudden sight,
By gloomy Flashes of sulphureous Light;
There let his Holiness's Face appear,
Full of deep Counsel, weighty thought, and care,
Whilst each of you in awful[?] silence hears
The sacred Oracle with humble Ears.
Was it for this my ample Power was giv'n,
For this have I the Keys of Hell and Heaven?
[Page]In vain I boast of a Supremacy,
And call my Chair the Universal See:
A little Nest of Hereticks cut off
From Europe's Earth, at all my power doth laugh:
Who though they kindly could decline to be
A Bar to ballance Gallick Tyranny,
Yet still oppose my Holy Monarchy.
False Agents,
Turning to the Iesuit.
heartless Traiterous, have you
So often sworn by Sacramental Vow,
Or to Convert this Island, or undo?
Was your Commission scant, did I deny
Plenipotentiary Villany?
Have not I null'd Divine and Humane Laws,
That without Let, you might promote the Cause?
Heav'ns Laws, though fix'd by an Eternal Seal,
Stoop and are liable to my Repeal.
Moses once broke these Tables, often I,
Not to prevent, but fix Idolatry.
Thus had your large Commission no restraint,
Nor did you Apostolick Blessing want;
Nay more the blackest Crimes in you were Merit,
For which all others endless Flames inherit:
So Treasons, Murders, Perjuries, became
Sure Monuments of your Eternal Fame;
So Nature's Course was chang'd, yet nothing's done
T'Advance the Catholick Religion.
Be gone, Slave, fly, Delude with crafty Words,
If they prove vain, use Poyson, Fire, and Swords;
Make better work on't, or I swear by th'Mass,
And the Divinity of holy Cross—
These chance unlucky Words broke all the Spell,
They vanisht, and Alecto sunk to Hell.

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