Selected quad for the lemma: love_n
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A54774
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The religion of the hypocritical presbyterians, in meeter
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Phillips, John, 1631-1706.
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1661
(1661)
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Wing P2097; ESTC R36676
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13,680
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25
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rather like a Wolf he tore the same At first a Sister helpt him but this Elfe sir Wearying her out she cryes Pray help your self sir. Upon the Pastie though he fell anon As if 't had been the walls of Babylon Like a Cathedral down he throwes that stuff Why Sisters saith he I am pepper-proof Then down he powres the Claret and down again And would the French King were a Puritan He cryes swills up the Sack and I 'le be sworn Quoth he Spain's King is not the Popes tenth horn By this his tearing hunger doth abate And on the second course they 'gan to prate Then quoth Priscilla Oh my Brother dear Truly y' are welcome to this homely chear And therefore eat good brother eat your fill Alas for Daniel my heart aketh still Then quoth the Priest Sister be of good heart But she reply'd good Brother eat some Tart. Rebecca then a member of the ' lection Began to talk of Brotherly affection For this said she as I have heard the wise Discourse consisteth much in exercise Yet I was foolish and would oft resist But you had more grace Brother then to desist Streight he reply'd there is a time for all things There is a time for great things and for small things There 's a time to eat and drink and reformation A time to empty and for procreation Therefore dear Sister let us take our time There 's reason for 't I never car'd for Rhyme Then truly answer'd she 't is a good motion And I embrace it with a warm devotion Why you know Brother you did never prove That I was ere ingratefull for your love But sometimes Angels did attend your Purse At other times you know I did you nurse With many a secret dish of lusty meat And presently we went and did the feat Truly quoth Dorcas then I saw a Vision That we should have our foes in great derision Quoth Martha straight and then she shook the crums From off her apron white and pickt her gums So I do hope for so our Brother said O what a heavenly piece of work he made But I am ign'rant and my memory short I shall forget were I to be hang'd for 't Then quoth the Priest The cheer that here we see Is but an Emblem of Mortality The Oxe is strong and glories in his strength Yet him the Butcher knocks down and at length We eate him up A Turkie's very gay Like wordly people clad in fine array Yet on the Spit it looks most piteous And we devoure it as the wormes eate us Then full of sawce and zeale up steps Elnathan This was his name now once he had another Untill the Ducking-pond made him a Brother A Deacon and a Buffeter of Sathan Truly quoth he I know a Brother dear Would gladly pick the bones of what 's left here Nay he would gladly pick your pockets too Of a small two pence or a groat or so The sorry remnants of a broken shilling Therefore I pray you friends be not unwilling But as for me 't is more than I do need To be charitable both in word and deed For as to us the holy Scriptures say The Deacons must receive the Lay-men pay Why Heathen folks that do in Taverns stray Will never let their friends the reckning pay And therefore pour your charity into the bason Brethren and Sisters eke your coats have lace on Why Brethren in the Lord what need you care For six pence we 'll one hour enhance our ware Your six pence comes again nay there comes more Thus Charity 's th' encreaser of your store Truly well spoke then cry'd the Master-feaster Since you say so here you shall have my tester But for the women they gave more liberally For they were sure to whom they gave and why Then did Elnathan blink for he knew well What he might give and what he might conceal But now the Parson could no longer stay 'T is time to kisse he cryes and so away At which the sisters once th' alarum tak'n Made such a din as would have serv'd to wak'n A snoring brother when he sleeps at Church With bagg and baggage then they gan to march And ticled with the thoughts of their delight One sister to the other bids Good night Good night quoth Dorcas to Priscilla she Good night dear sister Dorcas unto thee In these goodly good nights much time was spent And was it not a holy complement At length in steps the Parson on his breast Laying his hand A happy night of rest Reward thy labours sister yet ere we part Feel in my lips the passion of my heart To another straight he turn'd his face and kist her And then he cryes All peace be with thee Sister To another in a godly tune he whines Dear Sister from thy lip I le take my tines With that he kist and whispers in her eare The time when it should be and the place where Thus they all part the Parson followes close For well the Parson knoweth where he goes This seem'd a golden time the fall of sin You 'd think the thousand years did now begin When Satan chain'd below should cease to roar Nor durst the wicked as they wont before Come to the Church for pastime nor durst laugh To hear the non-plust Doctor faigne a cough The Devil himself alas now durst not stand Within the switching of the Sextons wand For so a while the Priests did him pursue That he was fain to keep the Sabboth too Lest being taken in the Elders lure He should have paid his crown unto the poor And lest he should like a deceiver come 'Twixt the two Sundays inter stitium They stuft up Lecturers with texts and straw On working-dayes to keep the Devil in awe But strange to think for all this solemn meeknesse At length the Devil appeared in his likenesse While these deceits did but supply the wants Of broken unthrifts and of thread-bare Saints Oh what will men not dare if thus they dare Be impudent to Heaven and play with Prayer Play with that fear with that religious awe Which keeps men free and yet is mans great law What can they but the worst of Atheists be Who while they word it 'gainst impiety Affront the throne of God with their false deeds Alas this wonder in the Atheist breeds Are these the men that would the Age reforme That Down with Superstition cry and swarme This painted Glasse that Sculpture to deface But worship pride and avarice in their place Religion they bawle out yet know not what Religion is unlesse it be to prate Meeknesse they preach but study to controule Money they 'd have when they cry out the soul. And angry will not have Our Father said 'Cause it prayes not enough for daily bread They meet in private and cry Persecution When Faction is their end and State-confusion These are the men that plague and over-run Like Goths and Vandalls all Religion Every Mechanick either wanting stock Or wit to keep his trade must have a flock The Spirit cryes he moveth me unto it And what the Spirit bids must I not do it But having profited more than his flock by teaching And stept into authority by preaching For a lay Office leaves the Spirits motion And streight retreateth from his first devotion But this he does in want give him preferment Off goes his gown God's call is no determent Vain foolish people how are ye deceiv'd How many several sorts have ye receiv'd Of things call'd truths upon your backs lay'd on Like saddles for themselves to ride upon They rid amain and hell and Satan drove While every Priest for his own profit strove Can they the age thus torture with their lyes Low'd bellowing to the world Impieties Black as their coats and such a silent fear Lock up the lips of men and charm the ear Had that same holy Israelite been dumb That fatall day of old had never come To Baals Tribe and thrice unhappy age While zeal and piety like mask'd in rage And vulgar ignorance How we do wonder Once hearing that the heavens were fir'd to thunder Against assailing Gyants surely men Men thought could not presume such violence then But 't was no Fable or if then it were Behold a sort of bolder mortals here Those undermining shifts of knavish folly Using alike to God and men most holy Infidels who now seem to have found out A suttler way to bring their ends about Against the Deity then op'nly to fight By smooth insinuation and by slight They close with God seem to obey his Lawes They cry alowd for him and for his cause But while they do their strict injunctious preach Deny in actions what their words do teach O what will men not dare if thus they dare Be impudent with Heaven and play with Prayer Yet if they can no better teach than thus Would they would onely teach themselves not us So while they still on empty out-sides dwell They may perhaps be choakt with husk and shell While those who can their follies well refute By a true knowledge do obtain the fruit FINIS Ingredients that compound a Congâ—egation Maids beware of sleeping at Church Hang it Robert Wisdom's delight Practice of Piety Hey-day Iack-a-dandy To be heard of men To the Tune of S. Margarets Chimes Behold the zeal of the people The Exposition 1 Vse Not like an anchor Babel battered 2 Vse Would he have been so content 3 Vse Several Reasons Description of Antichrist And hey then up go we ☞ The Doctrine of Generation For Ministers may be Cuckholds Vse of Exhortation Motives 1. 4. 3. 12. Hunger a great enemy to Gospel duty A Crop-sick sister A very great Creature-comfort A great cry and a little wooll A great sign of grace Bill of fare Grace before meat Much good may do you Sir Christian forgiveness No Grace after meat Nothing beyond ingratitude A man may love his brother but Not better than himself Christian Liberty Nere a profane kiss among all these
THE RELIGION OF THE HYPOCRITICAL PRESBYTERIANS in Meeter Juvenal Sat. 1. Si natura negat facit indignatio versum Juvenal Sat. 14. Velocius citius nos Corrumpunt vitiorum exempla domestica magnis Cum subeant animos autoribus London Printed in the Year 1661. The Religion of the Hypocritical Presbyterians TEdious have been our Fasts and long our Prayers To keep the Sabbath such have been our cares That Cisly durst not milk the gentle Mulls To the great damage of my Lord Mayors Fooles Which made the greazie Catch poles swear and curse The Holy-day for want o'th'second course And men have lost their body's new adorning Because their cloathes could not come home that morning The sins of Parlament have long been bawl'd at The vices of the City have been yawl'd at Yet no amendment Certainly thought I This is a Paradox beyond all cry Why if you ask the people very proudly They answer straight That they are very godly Nor could we lawfully suspect the Priest Alas for he cry'd out I bring you Christ And trul ' he spoke with so much confidence That at that time it seem'd a good pretence Then where 's the fault thought I Well I must know So putting on clean cuffs to Church I go Now 'gan the Bells to jangle in the Steeple And in a row to Church went all the People First came poor Matrons stuck with Lice like Cloves Devoutly come to worship their white loaves And may be smelt above a German mile Well let them go to fume the Middle-Ile But here 's the sight that doth men good to see 't Grave Burghers with their Posies sweet sweet sweet With their fat Wives Then comes old Robin too Who although write or read he neither do Yet hath his Testament chain'd to his wast And his blind zeal feels out the proofs as fast And makes as greasie Dogs-ears as the best A new-shav'd Cobler follows him as it hapt With his young Cake-bread in his cloak close wrapt Then panting comes his Wife from t'other end O' th' Town to hear Our Father and see a friend Then came the shops young fore-man 't is presum'd With hair rose-water'd and his gloves perfum'd With his blew shoo-strings too and besides that A riband with a sentence in his hat The Virgins too the fair one and the Gypsie Spectatum veniunt venient spectentur ut ipsae And now the silk'n Dames throng in good store And casting up their noses to th' pew dore They come croud in for though the pew be full They must and will have room I that they wull Streight that she sits not uppermost distast One takes 'T is fine that I must be displac't By you she cries then Good Mistris Gill Flurt Gill Flurt enrag'd cries t'other Why ye dirt tie piece of Impudence ye ill-bred Thief I scorn your terms good Mistris Thimble-mans wife Marry come up cries t'other pray forbear Surely your Husband 's but a Scavenger Cries t'other then and what are you I pray No Aldermans wife for all you are so gay Is it not you that to all Christenings frisk it And to save bread most shamefully steal the bisket At which the other mad beyond all law Unsheaths her talons and prepares to claw And sure some gorgets had been torn that day But that the Readers voice did part the fray Now what a wardrobe could I put to view The cloak-bag-breeches and the sleek-stone shoe The Gallimafry cloak that looks like nonsence Now wide now narrow like his Master's conscience The grogram-gown of such antiquity That Speed could never find its pedigree Fit to be doted on by Antiquary's Who hence may descant in their old Glossary's What kinde of fardingale fair Helen wore How wings in fashion came because wings bore The Swan-transformed Leda to Iove's lap Our Matrons hoping thence the same good hap The pent-house bever and calves-chaudron ruff But of this frantick fashion now enough For now there shall no more of them be said Lest this my ware-house spoil the French-men's trade And now as if I were that woollen-spinster That doth so gravely show you Sarum Minster I le lead you round the Church from pew to pew And shew you what doth most deserve your view There stood the Font in times of Christianity But now 't is tak'n down men call it Vanity There the Church-Wardens sit hard by the dore But know ye why they sit among the Poor Because they love um well for love o' th' box Their money buys good beef good wine good smocks There sits the Clerk and there the reverend Reader And there 's the Pulpit for the good flock-Feeder Who in three lamentable dolefull dity's Unto their marriage-fees sing Nunc dimittis Here sits a learned Justice truly so Some people say and some again say no And yet methinks in this he seemeth wise To make Stypone yeild him an excise And though on Sundayes Ale-houses must down Yet wisely all the week lets them alone For well his Worship knows that Ale-house sins Maintain himself in gloves his wife in pins There sits the Mayor as fat as any Bacon With eating Custard Beef and rumps of Capon And there his corpulent Brethren sit by With faces representing gravity Who having money though they have no wit They wear gold-chains and here in green pews sit There sit True-blew the honest Parish-masters With Sattin Caps and Ruffs and Demi-casters And faith that 's all for they have no rich fansies No Poets are nor Authors of Romances There sits a Lady fine painted by Art And there sits curious Mistris Fiddle-cum-fart There sits a Chamber-maid upon a Hassock Whom th' Chaplain oft instructs without his Cassock One more accustom'd unto Curtain-sins Than to her thimble or to handle pins O what a glosse her forehead smooth adorns Excelling Phoebe with her silver horns It tempts a man at first yet strange to utter When one comes near fogh gudds it stinks of butter Another tripping comes to her Mistris's Pew Where being arriv'd she tryes if she can view Her young mans face and straight heaves up her coats That her sweet-heart may see her true-love knots But having sate up late the night before To let the young man in at the back-dore She feeleth drowzinesse upon her creeping Turns down one proof and then she falls a sleeping Then fell her head one way her book another And surely she did dream by what we gather For long she had not slept when a rude flea Upon her groyn sharply began to prey Straight she twixt sleep and waking in great ire As if sh 'ad sitting been by th' Kitchin fire Pulls up her coats with both hands smock and all And with both hands to scratch and scrub doth fall Truly the Priest though some did saw her not For he was praying and his eyes were shut Alas had he seen as much as a by-stander Much more from 's Text it would have made him wander That 's call'd the Gallery which as