The Muses Holocaust.
BE the Tongue blister'd that shall dare prefer
The Cause and Courage of John Presbyter;
And the Quill lighter then a feather thought,
That such Phanatick madness shall be taught,
As praise that Cap of Zeal, which lined comes,
Without with Cruel, and within with Thrums.
See where the Rabble, with their lugging ears,
And arm'd with black Sedition, appears
In Knots of wilde Rebellion, like a Bed
Of hissing Serpents with Contagion fed:
And that their Followers may the more adore them,
Their godly Leaders walk in Cloaks before them.
For since Sedition did this Age provoke,
Jack Presbyter hath ever chose the Cloak;
And makes that Garment at all times to be
A signal Cloak of his Hypocrisie.
They have a Cloak for every thing they do;
A Cloak i'th' Street, a Cloak i'th' Pulpit too.
A Cloak is all their Wear; and if they can,
They'll have a Cloak to cozen God and Man.
The Cloak doth act more mischief in the Town,
Then all the long Addresses of the Gown.
'Twas in his Cloak that JENKINS up did cry
'Gainst our late King another Crucifie:
'Twas in his Cloak he seem'd Another man,
And finely learnt to turn the Cat i'th' Pan:
'Twas in his Cloak returning to his Fever,
That now he seems as fiery hot as ever.
'Twas in his Cloak that BAXTER loud did bawl,
Beloved listen, and hear BAXTERS Call:
The Bishops of their Mitres dispossest,
Will breed the Saints an Everlasting Rest.
[Page] 'Twas in his Cloak that CALAMY did spit
Against Saint Pauls his Excremental Wit;
And waspish WATSON did so loudly rore,
And call'd his Mother, Englands Church, a Whore.
'Twas in his Cloak that CARTER pray'd, to gain
The sacred Scepter from his Soveraign;
And mov'd his Hearers all, like true Pres-byters,
To fight against the Bishops and their Mitres.
'Twas in his Cloak that NYE late down did crie
The Cross, the Surpliss, and the Liturgie;
And hop'd ere long his Friends would have the Power
To be again possessed of the Tower:
That so the swarming Sectaries might rule
From neerest Thames unto the farthest Thule.
And if they cannot do it, may those Elves
Help in New-England, and then hang themselves.
This is the Sense of all, This is the Ayer
Of every true-born Presbyterian Prayer.
With these is high the Anabaptist flown,
Who will have no Religion but his own:
They will conspire with all the Pow'rs of Hell,
To bid both ORDER, Truth and Peace farewel.
From such and All as are so refractory,
And care for none, but their own Directory,
Good Lord protect us! let Flames joyn with Flames,
T'abate their Numbers, and devour their Names:
Not their Church-buckets fill'd with Sisters tears,
Nor dropping Clouds of Jealousies and Fears,
(Could it rain Water fast as Bloud before)
Shall longer save this Presbyterian Whore.
Smectymnuus be henceforth the Hang-mans name,
And from his last dissecting hand take Fame.
May All together in one Fire be brent,
With Buchanans and Knoxes Testament;
And all rot with them, that would tumble down
The rising Mitre, and the stablish'd Crown.
AMEN.
FINIS.