THE Hypocritical Christian: OR THE CONVENTICLING CITIZEN Displayed.
Shewing the Refractory temper to the Whiggish Party of the Town, in Opposition to the Establish't Religion, and their Dis-affection to Monarchy.
WEll! for a careful foresight, sober wit,
Give me a Godly, zealous, Whiggish Cit.
He twice a Week to Conventicle walks,
Where Bawling, Canting Preacher Nonsense talks.
He squeamish Fool for Orthodox Divine
Ne're cares; because he cannot Sob, and Whine.
He likes a Tubster with his down cast Face,
His Comic Postures, and his damn'd Grimace.
But hates the Rev'd Clergy of the Town,
Disdains with pride a Pulpiteer in Gown.
And every Parson Dr. Crape he'l call;
Like Lad of late at Merchant-Taylors Hall.
Whose sneaking looks his Principles betray'd.
It was a sly, starv'd Whig in Masquerade,
A stingy perjur'd, faithless Renegade.
The Godly Puppet came (he said) to see,
And know the humour of the Company.
But the Glut'nous Ass he was so nesty,
Hew'd down the Walls of the Ven'son Pasty.
To come to's rost; Alas! the Tarts and Pyes,
To's Ostrich-stomack fell a Sacrifice.
His Appetite was keen for all's pretences,
He pleas'd his Eye, and Banqu'tted his Senses.
Then all the generous Guests traduces,
With sturring, dirty, pit'ful abuses.
Because they drank a Loyal Health or two,
He calls them Popish, Torish drunken Crew.
A parcel of mean sordid Lads there were,
who he was certain nere eat Buck before.
For such abuses let the Lad beware,
And so let pimping, Whiggish Harry tare.
Who's Tugging daily to Promote the Cause,
To T'wart all Justice, and make Null the Laws.
One Ignoramus-man, (says he) at least,
Is able purchase all that were at Feast.
All their Estates in equal Ballance lai'd,
By one Whig-Jury-man's would be out-weigh'd.
Faith! Harry's very generous; he prates
As tho he really knew all mens Estates.
Poor Mr. Christian's dead, and th' Dukes Grace,
May give to Harry his old Stewards Place.
For he's a Godly, Honest Man, and true,
And do's deserve his Place, and Pill'ry too.
His too hot Zeal for Reformation,
In broaching Falshoods, t'embroil the Nation;
His Venting this, and contradicting that,
Shew him more Fool, or Knave, than pillar'd Nat:
The greatest Truths that published can be,
By Hodge; are Story's and damn'd Ribaldry,
If it with his and Gotham's disagree,
The Dukes young Daughter could not live, 'twas said
'Twas so infirm a Child; and since 'tis dead.
The Serenading Crew, for all their squeaking,
Were Thieves, and did intend House-breaking.
Contriv'd with's Grace, a black and dismall War,
To batter him with Fiddles and Gitter,
The Instrument of Death, a small Rechorder,
And Fiddle Stick, and Pipe to do th'Murder.
The Chichester Informer took a Pot,
Too much of Brandy; and his Brains were hot,
Broke Windows, was a swearing drunken Sot.
H' had wild Freaks, ungovernable Passions,
And dy'd (like Bishop's Horse) of the Fashions.
The Prelatic Jade will sure be Sainted,
Yes: If Baxters book of Saint's reprinted.
Then Curtiss, Care, with mighty Polander,
Shall have their Names in Whiggish Calender.
And all who carry on the work o'th' Laird
Shall have a good and bountiful Reward.
In this large Catalogue of Fools and Knaves,
Come Leaden Constables with Wooden Staves.
With Solemn Oaths they gravely can dispence,
They have a swinging well stretcht Conscience.
Who take up the Office out of mighty Zeal,
To support their Brethren o'th' Common-Weal.
They to th' Brother-hood send holy Greetings,
Acquaint them how they'l come molest th' Meetings.
Then hey! the Godly Flock's dispers'd and gone,
And all (like young Fledg'd Birds) are quickly Flown.
The Preacher then with's Congregation,
Give thanks for this great Preservation;
And Orders that th' Thanks of the House be sent,
To Godly Constable for's good intent.
O! what will not Men do, if this they dare,
To Affront Justice? And themselves Forswear
To Oblige a few, and such Faction please,
Who in this Government were ne're at ease.
Thus Officer (though gravely Sworn) Cologues,
Call's Hilton Fool, and all th' Informers Rogues.
Though he hath Warrants with him, that's all one,
In spite of Laws, he Executeth none.
'Tis strange, such Meetings cannot silenc'd be,
Where Preachers bawls so much for Liberty,
And boldly talks of Subjects Property.
Oh! Horrid Insolence! can Justice sleep?
Not see such Vermin into Corners creep?
Seduce poor Women, and on Cit impose,
Draw him through Bogs of Error by the Nose.
Tell him of Plots, and great Designs forsooth,
All which the Cred'lous Cit sucks in for Truth.
That sev'ral Jesuits were up and down,
In close Cabals, for to enslave the Town.
It was, not long ago at Lor'ners-Hall,
That Youngster did for Magna Charta Bawl.
And (like Hugh Peters) with new strange Alarms,
Bid'm beware, stand stifly to their Arms.
To quit themselves like Men; be Strong and Stout,
Secure their Persons, and the Tories Rout.
What? lose the Priv'ledge of Chusing Shrieves,
Why North and Rich will prove two deadly Thieves.
They'l rob you of your Jury's here at home.
And make you fall sad Victims unto Rome.
Then still oppose the Polls of Sir John More,
He hugs that Witch, the Babylonic Whore,
Will ne're your Native Liberty's restore.
Be ready too, your Charter to secure,
Who those damn'd Quo-Warranto's can't endure?
You see that Oxford stoutly doth Defie,
Such Writs; and will protect their Liberty.
Ne're trust their Charter in the Hands of King's,
Who'd bauk their Priv'ledge, and clip their Wings.
Then stand it out Boyes; and still be Famous,
(Like Oxford Towns-Men) for Ignoramus.
But I'm inform'd of late that Whiggish Town
Is Alter'd strangely; and is Loyal grown,
An Impudent Resistance do's disown.
The Charter they'l Resign for all the bawling,
Of Foolish Wright, and self-conceited Pawling.
To oppose the Loyalists the Whigs don't dare,
The Youngsters laugh at dull Machine the Mayor.
Thus Honesty, I hope, in vogue may be,
And Cit may find his long lost Loyalty,
And baul no more for Bugbear Property
May names of Parties and Distinctions cease,
May Faction fall, and Loyalty increase,
To Stablish here an Universal Peace.
May Cit to Church devoutly go and Pray,
And ne're dispise a Godly-Homily.
Ne're Meet in Un-hallowed Barns and Sty's,
And blindly Offer their Fools Sacrifice.
Leave Cit, those Synagogues, and do Conform,
Into the Churches Breast at last Return.
Cast off (for Shame) the Factious Crew; you know
How they Prophanely impudent do grow.
An Am'rous Brother so kind and tender,
Did there with Sister Publickly Engender.
The Preacher saw the Godly Act of Grace,
Saw the Lewd Couple Zealously Embrace.
He nodded, Frown'd, and gravely did Reprove,
Their wicked Satyr's way, of Brutal Love.
Hence forth he'l have a Smart Rod in Pickle,
For Debaucher's of's dear Conventicle.
From such Vile Cells as from Contagion flee,
Such Deeds were never seen in Monast'ry.
Believ't (to th' Eternal shame of Meetings)
In our Churches an't such Carnal Greetings.
Then pri'thee Disaffected Cit Comply,
With Law; and thou'lt enjoy thy Liberty.
Securely live beneath thy Vine at ease,
Thy Credit and thy Fortune will encrease.
Be Loyal, and Defend the Kings Just Right,
Ne're read a Factious Pamphlet with delight.
Ne're seed on Horse flesh; read Discourses,
'Twixt Charing-Cross and your Wool-Church-Horses.
Ne're have a Vitious thought 'gainst Majesty,
But let all Treason Talkers silenc'd be,
Those Vermin that do girn at Monarchy.
Oppose their barking; and let the World know,
You can be honest, if you would be so.
The Comet that appear'd did sure portend,
That all your Factions here will have an end,
And Zealous Conventiclers will amend.
LONDON Printed by George Croom, over against Baynards Castle, in Thames-street. 1682.