AN EPITAPH UPON THE Solemn League and Covenant. Condemned to be burnt by the Common Hangman.

SO young? and must thou, like an old Witch, burn?
And none but Gregory celebrate thine Urn?
Thou art, though old enough, scarce yet adult,
And infancy sometimes reprieves a mulct.
But juster Laws, here, no demurres allow,
Nor hadst thou benefit of thy Clergy now.
Alas, gude Covenant! but most forlorn,
For thou art damn'd; some, as yet, but forsworn.
Before, thou wast but tinder for the pipe,
Guarded Pye-bottomes, or some worse thing wipe.
In Bonesires, now, Comrades with pitch and tar,
Yet, didst live, with Nols Nose, a Salamander.
Thou 'rt water proof, if tears could drown'd, thou ne're
Hadst liv'd to see this Clymacterick year.
This fiery Furnace proves thee, if unsmutcht
With flames, thou 'rt Saint; Imposture, if thou 'rt toucht.
Oh for some juice of onions! or some Quack
With Mountebanck receipts to skreen thy wrack!
Ha's ne're a zealous Cheat, now, some (left) shift?
No help at maw? to save at a dead lift?
What? ne're a Scottish mist to dampe thy bl [...]ze?
No Exorcist? for aid thy Sire to ra [...]se?
No Charm in Goggle-eye? no canting tone?
To fence thee from these flames? alas! there's none.
My Bennyson go with thee, and that Scot
That brooding hatcht thee in his Rebel plot.
May Cleavelands Plagues light on thee, till, poor fool,
This sheet do preach thee to thy Pennance stool.
Shall England with a Scot Priest ridden be?
No, trayn your Meggye's to your Cavalry.
Pit [...]y your Cheverran lungs, ride with a Hanck,
Take a sob with your Halties, or your Brancks.
You 've rid us almost out of breath, but now
The Reasty jade does her old burthen throw.
The Scot was Englands sit-fast, but, now, when
Will yow (dismounted thus) get up agen?
If e're you do—but Heavens forbid the evil!
For, Horse a beggar, he'le ride to the Devil.
Your long Grace cannot cater a Dinner now,
We are uncheated, feed on Poddillow,
Your Sowins, and your long-kale, the time's come
That Scots must keep Lent all the year at home.
Chymists, from the grosse flesh, the Spirits call,
But, Scots to get flesh, are spiritual.
Magisher Artis venter, th' Covenant
Was th' issue of your hungry weambs and want:
So, this just Execution will become
To Jockye, Sacriledge and Martyrdome.
Yow coyn'd this League for Cash, this Judas kisse
Was the damn'd Prologue of your avarice;
Thus Curres do bite and fawn at the same season,
The Scotch Hail master spells in English, treason.
And 'larums us, as those that knew Argyle,
Stood on their Guard when he begun to smile.
We now shall hear each snivelling John an [...]Oak
Whining, the cause! thus Toads, when hungry, croak.
Your long-wind sermon tones is ventriloquie,
'Tis famine opes the yawning mou [...]h of Jockye.
I wrong yow not, sure now, yow humbled are,
Before, no Prelate, Proud, like Presbyter.
I do believe yow do Repent and Fast,
Good reason, for the Possets do not last,
And the back-sliding sister-hood does now,
Weary of Rochet-Jack, the Courtier wooe.
No Bodkins, now, nor thimbles, as of old,
Cull'd charity, like water heat, most cold.
The Prentice-rabble that did club of late
For this League, now, its Doom, do antidate.
Thou wast, poor sheet, the only Vestery
Our Heteroclite Sects did all agree
To shrowd them with, these fig-leaves cast away,
The [...]'le be no Adamites, so nak'd as they.
Oh Brethren of New-England! crosse the Main,
Come and rethump the Pulpits o're again:
We 're, as yow were, when Hugh came first, some reason
To bo-peep with a Text, to guise a treason.
But, hold, sure your inventi [...]n's barren, cheats
In jugling never use (discover'd) feats:
Except they do remove their stage, to try
For fresh acceptance in new Company▪
The Knapperdolling's (thus) in Germany
Unmaskt, to England and to Scotland fly.
And, here, their forgeries, again, retriev'd,
Their next flight for New England is believ'd,
Scarce Cicatrih'd, yet are the German Scars,
These sad mementoes of Phanatique warres:
Yet, Britain's ulcer's, still malignant be,
But Cancers are best cur'd with cauterie,
May our Rebellious Leprosies at last
Be expiated with this Holocaust.

LONDON, Printed for Philemon Stephens the younger, at the Kings Arms over against Middle-Temple Gate in Fleetstreet. 1661.

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