A MENE TEKEL TO FIFTH MONARCHY, WITH The Knavery of the Cloak.
ENGLAND'S a Ship with adverse weather cross'd,
With wind and waves, schisme and sedition toss'd.
The Chiliast, (heavens, (what a ridle's he?)
Would hew down Kings, to heave up Monarchie.
He would consider all his Plots as vain,
Did he remember, but, by whom Kings reign;
Not hope with idle charmes the Moon to move:
Nor, for a King croak with the Froggs to Jove.
To holy John did Heaven hid truths reveal,
Yet the same words to thee, those truths conceal,
Which, should be preach to thee? He took in hand
A miracle, to make thee understand.
Think'st thou that Jesus, meant he such a thing,
Would countenance thy treason to thy King?
Or need thy help; shall not the son of God
Dash them in piece, with an iron Rod?
If he were hungry, would he ask thee bread?
He cannot want a Crown that made the Head:
Will he his Kingdome to thy care referre,
Who is himself the mighty Counceller?
Dost thou believe that thou canst court him down
From a Caelestial to an Earthly Crown?
Or that hel leave, as one in love with scornes,
A Crown of Glory, for a Crown of Thornes.
Look in his Word, for he has told thee there
My Kingdom's not of this World; If it were?
Then would my Servants fight: Hence therefore yee
Fight not for Christ, but for your selves I see
So have I seen a Cabbage fair curld head,
In which a loathsom Toad has made her bed.
What evil fury has the rout possess'd
That like the Spirits, they can take no rest,
But even the places, a short Peace has dry'd,
Must flow again with blood for which Christ dy'd.
Come, come, your actions give your words the lie,
Whom you pretend to crown, you crucifie.
Christ's service does consist in no such thing;
He's never true to God that's false to's King.
I now should to those numerous Sects proceed
That do as Vermine crawle about the head,
And like a shoal of Herrins, do reveal
A flaming mountain from their flashy zeal
But (fry) I wave yee, and convert mine eye
To that Leviathan Presbytery.
Not but you are though each at other railes,
Like Sampson's Foxes all ty'd by the tayles,
As if no Devil but a Covenant,
Could keep the Church in a state militant.
Do we not know (as much as in you lay)
You make the Lords Inheritance a prey:
And send to all the Nations round about
If it be possible to root us out?
To that infernal Bogge, (O conscience tender)
To get the Devil for your Faiths defender.
That treacherous Lake of Pluto, den of Thieves,
That synagogue of Satan that receives
All sorts of Assassins that can but bring
A blasphemy against the name of King.
That mart of Superstition, that by odds
More several Worships hath, then Rome had Gods.
Nor has, then the Religion they abuse,
Proteus more shapes, or the Camelion hues,
That source of schisme, where a man may find
Religion bag'd up, as a Lapland wind:
Only they Papists hate, but that is plain,
Cause the profession of the King of Spain
Worship to them goes all to six and seven;
Gain is their God, and th' Indies are their Heaven.
They fear not Hell, but rather are content;
For in the deep th' are in their Element.
I would the Gibbets now were to be seen,
That with Erasmus they might hang between.
Yet Church and State too, you are hurrying tow'rd
This filthy Minotaur to be devour'd.
Look but into your selves, and tell me (Sirs)
Does not this show yee rigid Presbyters?
This, this too truly tells us faith is fled
From the long Cloak, and Love is long since dead.
What do yee, but in a Religious vest
Turn Usurers, and plot for Interest?
You want a Parliament now to advance
Your good Old Cause, with peals of Ordinance.
But thanks to Heaven, our wise & wary City
Has order'd some into a close Committee;
And yet, alass, they do not Newgate fear,
One of their tribe got a good Living there.
But that they should design our ruine thus,
When God is visiting both them and us?
Is an offence that multiplies their blame,
And leaves them nothing, but their sin and shame.
‘Tantum Religio potuit suadere malorum?’
London, Printed in the Year 1665.