The SCOTCH Riddle Unfolded: OR, Reflections upon R. VV. his most Lamentable BALLAD, CALLED The LOYAL NON-CONFORMIST.
STand up Smectymnuus, and hear thy tryal;
Thy monstrous Title puts me to a pause:
Was ever any Non-Conformist Loyal?
Love he the King that disobeys his Laws?
Yet he can Swear, and yet he fears to Swear;
For Solemn Oaths they must have sacred grounds:
The Oaths of Scotland cost poor England dear,
That Swore from Faith and Troth, to Blood and Wounds.
'Tis truth, old Boreas never could blow West;
And you may note a Non-Conformists mouth
What ere he sayes, what ere he doth protest,
Stands (like Emanuel Chappel) North and South.
He fears an Oath, as Lawyers do a bribe,
Though he dissembles a Religious dread;
For 'tis well known that all that factious Tribe,
Swallow'd the Covenant Hand over head.
That Covenant, in which the People Swore
They knew not what: 'Twas such another thing
As Satans Oracles, of Torletons Lore,
That cry'd Forbear, yet whisper'd Kill the King.
That cursed Covenant, which he that now
Abjures is free; but he that keeps it finds
Himself a baffled Samson, and his Vow
A Dalilah, for whom it binds it blinds.
How vainly do their loose pretenses guild
That Warbeck principle, call'd Conscience, which,
Like Jone of Arc, leads Troops into the field,
She stiles her self a Saint, yet proves a Witch.
If Truth hath any virtue to convince:
If Pulpits can speak better things then Tubs:
This Conscience owes Allegiance to her Prince;
The King of Hearts command the Queen of Clubs.
But is't not strange the Bramble should defend
Joves sacred Tree, that lately did aspire
Not only th' Ivy, but the Oak to rend,
And (like a Traytour) set the Wood on fire,
Yet talk'd of Loyalty; but what he meant
Some Conjurer expound, but to Obey
Moses and flee from wicked Korah's tent,
Is Holy Writ, and not Apocraphâ.
Nor care I though th' Apocrapha were not,
And yet I do believe that Antient story
Of Bell and Dragon cannot be forgot,
If there be extant ere a Directory.
The Machabees shall flourish like Italians,
And after ages shall not be bereft
Of chast Susanna, and her pair of Stallions,
Whilest we have Church, or they have Elders left.
What our great Prelates doe, and what they are,
God and the King shall question; we're forbid:
Yet they that do the worst, doe better far
Then the Smectymnian party wish they did.
Their Bishopricks (against the false Kirk's will)
Have outliv'd Sedwick's Doomes-day; and I hope
Each Diocess will keep her Crosier still,
And not let ev'ry Parish have a Pope.
What was St. Peter's Office, what his Trade,
The Gospel gives us a most clear Narration;
It doth not say his Fishing Nets were made
Of Treason, Sacriledge, or Sequestration.
That he nere taught the Presbyterian way
Doth well appear by his Divine Epistles:
And (though he Preach'd as often as they say)
He never Preach'd for Bodkins, Spoons, and Whistles.
Peace then foul Mouth's, be still unhallow'd pates;
Make not the Church the subject of your Jeers,
But reckon Dr. Bastwick and his mates
Uncircumcis'd of heart, though not of ears.
Proud Presbyters; remember, Thirty pieces
Was all the fees the Jews ere gave your Patron:
If London Sheep had born no better fleeces
Dame Calamy had been a Thread-bare Matron.
Yet who is't does not think your sniveling Brother
Would swing his Handkercher over Pauls steeple,
And wear as high s Miter as another,
But he's a Pharisee and fears the People.
As for Church Vestments, Hemp we will bestow
On Snarling Priests that mouth against the King,
And he that comes into the Church by th' Bow,
'Tis Justice that he should go out by th' string.
But if the Gallows ere should have her right:
As who knows what may be (dear Smec. perhaps
'T may be thy day) 'twould be a pretty sight
To see the Hangman wear a brace of Caps.
Was any of Pauls Books or Parchments found
In Byfields Registry (my good Divines?)
Although his Cloak was long and swept the ground,
'Twoud be too short to cover your designs.
Hence then ye Catterpillers, Dregs of Men,
Hence Pulpit Blood-hounds, hence Seditious pack:
Bow Bells shall never say Return again,
Although perhaps the Ropes may call ye back.
And farwel Wild, with all thy learned Meeters,
Posterity shall laugh, and picture thee
On the same Sign with Archee, and Hugh Peters,
And under-write this Motto, Wee be three.
Printed in the Year; 1666.