A SATYRE AGAINST SEPERATISTS, OR, THE CONVICTION OF Chamber-Preachers, and other Chismatickes contrary to the Discipline of this our Protestant Profession.
By A. C. GENEROSUS.
LONDON, Printed for A. C. 1642.
A SATYRE Against Seperatists.
I Have beene where so many Round-heads dwell,
[...]hat there are only more of them in Hell.
Where silenc'd Ministers enow were met
To make a Synod; And may make one yet.
Their blessed liberty they've found at last
And talk'd for all those yeares of silence past.
Like some halfe-pin'd, and hunger starved man,
Who when he next gets victells, surfets than.
Each Country of the World sen [...] us back some
Like severall winds which from all quarters come,
To make a storme. As't haps its Sunday too,
And the chiefe Rabbies preach. To Church i'le goe
Where ( [...]hat we men more patiently may heare
Nonsence) to Heaven at first hee speakes it, there
He hummes, then whispers strait, and next does roare,
Now drawes his long words, and now leaps them o're,
So various tones, that I admir'd, and said
Sure all the Congregation in him praid,
'Twas the most teadious Soule the dullest he
That ever came to Doctrines twenty three,
And nineteene uses. How he drawes his Humme
And quarters Haw, talkes Poppy and Opium!
No feaver a mans eyes could open keepe,
All Argus body hee'd have preach'd a sleepe
In halfe an houre. The Wauld O Lawd he cries
[Page 3] Lukewarmenesse: And this melts the Womens eyes.
They sob aloud, and straite aloud I snore
Till a kind Psalme tells me the dangers[?] o're.
Fles'd here with this escape, bouldly toth'hall
I venture, where I meete the brethren all.
First there to the grave Clergie I am led,
By whatsoever stile distinguished,
Whether most reverend batchelors they be
Of Art, or reverend Sophes of no degree.
Next stand the walleyed Sisters in a row
Nay their scaldheaded children they come too.
And mingled 'mongst these stood a gaping there
Those few laymen that not 'oth Clergy were,
Now they discourse, some stories here relate
Of bloudy Popish plots against the State:
Which by the spirit, and providence, no doubt,
The man that made hath found most strangely out.
Some blame the King, others more modest say
Hee's a good Man himselfe, but led away:
The woemen rip old wounds, and with their teares
Recount the losse of the three worthies Eares.
Away you fooles 'twas for the good o'th men
They nere were perfect Round-heads untill then.
But against Bishops they all raile, But I
Said bouldly I'de defend the Hierarchy,
Toth' Hierarchy they meant no harme at all,
But roote, and branch, 'bout Bishops too't wee fall,
I like a foole with reason, and those men
With wrested Scripture, a flie Deacon then
Thrust in his Eares, so speakes th'Apostle too:
How speakes he friend? not i'the nose like you.
Straite a Shee-zealot raging to me came
And said, o'th what d'you call it part I am,
Bishops are limbes of Antichrist she cries.
Repent quoth I good woman, and be wise,
The Devill will have you ells, that I can tell
Beleiv't, and poach those eges o'your eyes in hell.
An hidious storme was ready to begin,
[Page 4]When by most blessed fate the meate came in,
But then so long, so long a grace is sed,
That a good Christian when he goes to bed
Would be contented with a shorter Prayer.
Oh how the Saints enjoy'd the creatures there!
Three Pasties in the minute of an houre,
Large, and well wrought, they roote and branch devour,
As glibly as they'd swallow'd down Church land,
In vai [...]e the lesser Pies hope to withstand.
On Geese, and Capons with what zeale they feed?
And wondering crie▪ A goodly bird indeed!
Their spirits thus warn [...]d all the jests from them came
Upon the names of Land, Duck, Wren and Lambe,
Cannons and Bishops Seas, And one most wise
I like this innocent mirth at dinner cries,
Which now by one is done; and grace by two.
The Bells ring, and againe to Church we goe,
And now the Christian Bajaset begins;
The suffering Pulpit groanes for Israels sinnes.
Sinnes which in number many though they be
And crying ones, are yet lesse loud then he:
His stretchd-out voyce sedition spreds a farre,
Nor does he only teach but act a warre:
A sweats against the state▪ Church learning, sence,
Resolving to gaine hell with Violence.
Down, down as low as earth must all things goe
There was some hope the Pulpit would downe too.
Worke on, worke on good zeale, but still I say
Law forbids thrashing on the Sabbath Day.
An houre lasts the two handed Prayer, and yet
Not a kinde sillable can heaven get
Till to the Parliament he comes at last;
Just at that blessed word his furie's past:
And here he thankes God in a loving tone
But Laurd; and then he mounts, All is not done:
No would it were thinke I, for much I feare
That all will not be done this two houres here:
For now he comes too't, As you shall finde it writ
[Page 5]Repeats his text, and takes his leave of it,
And strait to's Sermon in such furious wise
He'as made it what 'tis calld, an exercise.
The Pulpit's his hot bath: the brethren's cheere
Rost-beife Mince-py, and Capon reeke out heere.
Oh how he whips about six yeares agoe
When superstitious decency did growe
So much in fashion? Now he whets his fist
Against the name of Altar, and of Priest,
The very name in his outragious heat
Poore innocent Vox ad placitum he beate,
Next he cuffs out set Prayer, even the Lords,
And binds the spirit he sayes as 'twere with cords,
Yea with whipcords; Next must authority goe,
Authoritie's a kind of binder too.
First then he intends to breath himselfe upon
Church Government: have at the King anon.
The thing's don straight, in poore six minutes space
Titus, and Timothy have lost their place;
Nay with th'Apostles too it eene went hard,
All their authority two thumps more had mard,
Paul and St. Peter might expect their doome
Knew but this frantick foole they'd bin at Rome
Now to the State he comes, talkes an alarm,
And ath' malignant party flings his arme,
Defies the King, and thinkes his Pulpit full
As safe a place for't, as the Knight at Hull.
What though no Magazeen laid in here be
Scarce all the Guns can make more noice then he.
Plots, plots he cries ther's jelousies, and feares,
The politick Saints shake their misterious eares,
Till time (long time which doth consume and wast
All things) t'an end his Sermon brought at last.
What would you have good soule, a reformation?
Oh by all meanes; but how? o'th newest fashion;
A prety slight religion, cheape, and free,
I know not how, but you may furnisht be
At Ipswich, Amsterdames a Kingdome neere
[Page 6]Though to say truth you paid for that too deare,
No matter what it costs wee'l reforme though
The Prentizes themselves will have it so.
They'le roote out popery here whats' ever come.
It is decreed nor shall thy fate O Rome
Resist their Vow. They'le do't to a haire, for they
Who if upon Shrove-tuesday or May-day
Beat an old Baud, or fright poore whores they cou'd,
Thought themselves greater then their founder Lud,
Have now vast thoughts, and scorne to set upon
Any whore lesse then her of Babilon.
Thei'r mounted high, contemne the humble play
Of trap, or footeball on an holyday
In Finesbury Fields. No 'tis their brave intent
Wisely t'advise the King, and Parliament,
The worke in hand they'le disaprove or back
And cry i'th reformation, What d'you lack?
Can they whole Shopbooks write, and yet not know
If Bishops have a right devine or no?
Or can they sweepe their doore, and shops so well,
And for to cleans a State as yet not tell?
No, study and experience makes them wise,
Why should they else watch late, or early rise:
Their wit so flowes, that when they thinke to take
But Sermon notes, they oft new Sermons make,
In Cheapside Crosse they Baal and Dagon see,
Yet know 'tis[?] gilt all ore as well as we.
Besides since men did that gay Idoll reare
God has not blest the herbwives trading there.
Go on brave Heroes, and performe the rest,
Increase your fame each day ayard at least,
'Till your high names are growne as glorious full
As the foure London Prentises at R [...]dbull:
So may your goodly eares still prickant grow,
And no bould hare increase to mar the show,
So may your Morefields pastimes never faile,
And all the roomes about keep mighty Ale,
Ale your own spirits to raise, and cakes t'appease
[Page 7]The hungry coinesse of your mistresses,
So may rare Pajents grace the Lord-Maiors show
And none find out that those are Idolls too.
So may you come to sleep in Fur at last,
And some Smectimnian when your dayes are past
Your funerall Sermon of six houres rehearse,
And Haywood sing your praise in lofty verse.
But stay who have we next? mark and give roome
The woemen with a long petition come,
Mans understanding is not halfe so great,
Th'Aple of knowledge 'twas they first did eate.
First then pluralities must be laid away
Men may learne thence to keep two wives they say,
Next schollership and learning must goe down
Oh fie! your sex so cruell to the gown?
You don't the kindnesse of some Schollers know,
The Cambridge women will not have it so,
Learning's the Lamp o'th Land that shines so bright
Y'are not s'immodest to put out the light
This is a Conventicle trick. What's next
Oh with the Churches solemne forme thei'r vext,
The signe o'th Crosse the forehead must not beare
'Twas only they were borne to plant signes there.
No Font to wash native concupiscence in
You like that itch still of orignall sin.
No solemne rights of Buriall must be shown,
Pox take you, hang your selves, & then youle none.
No organ Idoll with pure eares agree,
Nor Anthemes, why? nay aske nor them nor me,
Ther's new Church Musique found insteed of those,
The womens sighs tun'd to the teachers nose.
No Surplesses, no? why? why none d'you crave?
Thei'r rags of Rome. I thinke what you would have,
You'd preach I troe, Why do so, ther's no doubt
A fitter preaching age you'le nere find out:
You've got the spirit, you've fiery tongues it's true,
And by your talke they should be double too.
[Page 8]OH times, oh manners! when the Church is made
A prey, nay worse a scorne to ev'ry trade.
When ev'ry Tyler in his popular rage
(The Ages greatest Curse) enformes the Age,
When reason is for Popery suppress'd
And learning counted Jesuitisme at least,
When without bookes Divines must studious be,
And without meat keep hospitality,
When men 'gainst ancient Father's rev'rend sayes
The many headed beast Smectimnius raise
That Hidra which would grow still, and encrease,
But that at first he met an Hercules,
When the base rout the Kingdomes dirt, and sinke,
To cleanse the Church and purge the Fountaines thinke,
Such as whilst they might living waters take
Drinke Belgian ditches, and the Lemnian lake,
VVhen'th Liturgy, which now so long hath stood
Seal'd by five reverend Bishops sacred blood
Doth passe for nonsence, and but potage thought,
Pottage from Heav'n like that to Daniel brought,
Their broaths, have such weede mix't, and made so hot,
The Prophets sonnes cry out, death's in the pot.
Oh Times, oh manners! But methinks I stay
Too long with them; Take thus much for this day:
Hereafter more, far since we now begin
You'le find wee've Muses too as well as Prinn.
FINIS.