An Tali Studeam CALAMO?
‘— Quantum nummorum servat in ARCA, Tantum Habet & FIDEI. Lillys Grammer.
OF a sullen Dumb Devil I mean to relate,
That with Brazen-head was lately heard prate,
Against the late Law (the best walls of the State.)
Pray remember the Ark.
Now because this Ark is a pretty fine thing,
A Labyrinth lacking a directory string
Call'd a clue, Melpomene shall you in bring,
To this most notable Ark.
For since the Parson with such storie plaies,
And cozens the Sisters with those holy Layes,
The sacred nine sisters in zeal we must raise,
Pray, &c.
Beloved 'tis thus, i'th Latine tongue (whence
The Hebrew's made out with pregnant sit sense,
And saves Smec's schollars book learned expence,)
Pray, &c.
It holds forth and implies a spacious chest,
Or hugy Coffer, which you like best:
This Explication; the uses now rest.
Pray, &c.
In this a bright Idol was lately enshrin'd,
But alas this troubles the vext Levites mind,
It hath chose other Altars, He never divin'd.
Pray, &c.
The growing despair of increasing his Sums,
(Twenty pieces a time for comforting Crums,)
And no guift beyond the conveyance of Thums.
Pray, &c.
Made the Mammonist think to revenge on the times,
His late disappointment with recenter crimes,
Complexion'd to the American climes.
Pray, &c.
When Old Jsaac and Pym were Elders and Saints,
And the publique Faith without the constraints
Of reason was swallow'd, nor was troubled with Faints.
Pray, &c.
When Antiquity yielded it's sacreder Gold,
And Vessels of Silver to the godly Houshold,
And consecrate bags to the same use were told.
Pray, &c.
When instead of abundance of milk and of Honey,
It showr'd down the White and eke yellow Money,
When Guildball was Canaan, and Calamy Bonny.
Pray, &c.
Then the Ark was safe; for Bell and the Dragon,
Treason and piety jointlie did wag on,
And stood together like Baal and Dagon.
Pray, &c.
No Common Hall, but his preachment or speech,
With a tedious three Hours measure of each,
That did the groans of three Kingdomes out-reach.
Pray, &c.
A Thousand rich Caudles he gulg'd to the Cause,
Molten gold would scarce have injur'd his Jawes,
And this made him Kick and Wince against Laws.
Pray, &c.
But he hath the luck still, whoever fares worse,
His disobedience crams his full purse,
Like the Fox he is sure to thrive by the curse.
Pray, &c.
Never was Evil so rewarded as this,
He was hired and payed for doing amisse,
And then his Imprisonment most profit is.
Pray, &c.
And this a quaint party-Poet per pale,
To the wretched disgrace of Iter Boreale,
In chequer'd sense and a strange Medlie Tale.
Descants upon the Ark.
The Gout and a Bishop by Wild simile,
Are here coupled together (both Tyrant like be)
By head, and by ears, as by foot, and by knee.
Pray, &c.
Wild-fire and sober Combustion's in's Pate,
Here Squib, there misehievous Mortar shell Fate,
Jeers at a Rabby and damns the whole State.
Pray, &c.
So that this same Ark is Pandora's curst Box,
Fil'd with Gout and with Itch and Scotch Plague & Pox
To be cur'd by none but Bedlams rare Locks.
Pray remember the Ark.

London, Printed in the Year, 1663.

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