A Rod for the Fools Back: OR, An Answer to a scurrilous Libel, called the CHANGELING.

YE learned Doctors of th' Smectymnian Creed,
Whose Rhet'rick once made Chests and Cup-boards bleed,
Were Lee's Repentance, like your Faith, a Cheat
Only to rook the Citizens of Plate,
All your Reproaches were as justly due
To him, as ever Tyburn was to you.
But this it is which makes you Faction mad,
He has appeal'd to what you never had;
A thing call'd Charity, not hair-brain'd Zeal,
That wounds much faster than the King can heal.
Tell me ye poys'nous Vermin of the Land,
That hang like Vipers on th' Apostle's Hand,
Whose rage will only with your lives expire:
Nor can you be shook off, but into th' fire.
Is't not Enough that your Rebellious Sp'rites
Refuse to enter where the Church invites;
But must you too keep others from the Door,
What could the Turk, what could the Dev'l do more?
Will you go set a guard upon Heav'ns ear,
Can you make Votes for Non-Addresses there?
Or was't Enacted by your Parliament,
Zeal to rebel, and Treason to repent?
Oh! 'tis a Scandal and a foul disgrace
To see how Judas flies in Peter's face;
And 'cause h' has got the Pence, does proudly rant,
Calls Peter Traytor, but himself a Saint.
That Man of valour who laid down his Cross,
Fled from his Colours, Kiss'd the Juncto's —
Renounc'd his Prince, and (Stumbling at Love's Block)
Play'd not the Pillar but the Weather-cock;
Is free from all these Libellers rude whips,
Because he wears a Pad-lock on his lips,
Whilest he, who frighted with the sad alar'ms
Of guilt, comes weeping to his Mothers Arms,
Is made the Jest, the Coffee-talk o'th' City,
Not hugg'd with joy, nay not with love or pity.
Take but the greatest Kora [...]s in that Pack,
Who by Rebellion dy'd their white Souls black;
They may have Wives by th' belly or the back,
Now and anon, eat Capons, and drink Sack;
Make Wives their Husbands cuckold and undo,
To make those Lab'rers rich and lusty too.
If sly as Foxes, impudent as Brass,
They shall for reverend godly Pastors pass:
While he whose tears have wash'd his black Soul white,
Is call'd the Changeling, not the Proselyte.
Forbear Kirk-Hectors now, and I could wish
Ye had not cast Church-plumb-broth in our dish;
When your own Tribe that never could digest
The Superstition of a Christmas Feast,
Could Eat whole Churches up like Ginger-bread,
Swallow the Stones, the Timber, and the Lead;
Pick Praelats bones, eat flesh of Cavaliers,
And Tope whole bottles of their Widows tears;
And swallow (to Augment the Bill of fare)
A Solemn League that would have choak'd a Bear:
Forg'd at Geneva, at Edinburgh agreed,
By Pagan Saints on th' heathen side of Tweed:
Bishops beware, these Pick-locks of an Oath,
Long for your Birth-right, though they hate your Broth.
Then let your Organs that were ne'r thought evil,
But by the Kirk of Scotland and Saul's Devil,
Sound lowder yet untill they have struck dumb
The Presbyterian Trumpet and the Drum.
I'd rather sing those Anthems that controul
The sad distempers of a troubled Soul,
Then hear those sniveling Praters Hum and Ha;
Like tinckling Cymbals on a Lecture day:
Who Gloss'd their matchless Villany with praise,
And after Murder kept Thanks-giving Days.
When (like Lycaon) the presumptuous sinner,
Slew men and then invited Jove to dinner.
His Words were Swords, and his blasphemous prayer,
Like Julian, cast up blood into the air.
For when the Presbyter first tun'd his Lyre,
He (Nero like) set all the Town on fire;
And taught the Kirk-Herodias such a Tread,
It cost a Kings as well as Prophets Head.
Now if the Turk should foot in England set,
Jack Presbyter will be his Mahomet?
And will well sute with that Impostors likeness:
Both alike troubled with the Falling-sickness;
For Sabbaths, hee'l observe their Pagan rites,
Sundays he ne'r design'd for Prayers, but Fights.
But if the Sultaness should chance to long
For Friday Faces, what a lovely throng
The Farewel Sermons will afford her now,
In ranks, with woodden heads and brazen brow!
But now 'tis time (dull Presbyterian Jack,)
To take the Saddle from the Doctors Back.
If Conscience ere was Horse, 'twas when the Rabble
Reform'd Pauls Church and turn'd it to a Stable:
When the Assembly look'd so like the Mews,
And Folks frequented Sermons to hear News;
The Priest skew'd at his Text, and flew from thence
Either to Treason or Intelligence:
Kept not the Kings High-way; The foaming [...]ost
In an hours space brought News from ev'ry Coast:
How the fierce Guns did play, and the Drums rattle,
And how the Lord himself did fight their Battle.
For which the grateful Rump (as we are told)
(Like Banks) have shod their Barbaries with Gold.
Or when the Cov'nant Neighs, and (which is worse)
In London Walls acted the Trojan Horse,
Or when the fiery Jades (at Cromwells word)
(Like Diomedes Steeds) devour'd their Lord.
Peace then ye Schismaticks, and here confess
Your Scribling hath too long debauch'd the Press:
The fair Amnestia (whom ye so abuse)
Like Hester, sav'd the lives of all you Jews:
Then let this Converts failings be conceal'd,
Touch not the sores which Caesars hand hath heal'd.
The Crime wherewith ye charge him, were it true,
He acted it when he was one of you.
O therefore let him now (like Peters Cock)
Be your Example, not your Laughing-stock,
And let him take the Halter and the Cart,
To break his neck that hates his BROKEN HEART.
And lastly for your Poet wee'l provide.
To write with Whip-cord on his Vellam hide:
And give the Dabbler for his Riming stuff,
No Crown of Laurel, but an Oaken Ruff.

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