The Church of ENGLAND's Glory: OR THE Vindication of Episcopacy.
With Allowance,
July 3. 1688.
NOW call to mind,
Edom, remember well
Your cursed Cries against God's
Israel.
Now who's Disloyal, where's the obstinate
And busie Fops, that tall of Things of State?
A Plot, a Plot! Who is't that now looks blue?
Now where's Sedition? Where's the Factious Crew?
Now mock no more, go consecrate the Room
Where
Essex dy'd, and think on
Russel's Doom.
Now who are they that cry'd,
Ram us and
Dam us?
Who is't that now comes off with
Ignoramus?
Now who's surmising Fears and Jealousies?
Now who's malicious, fomenting of Lies?
Now whose nice Conscience pleads Religion,
Nay, rather they that once swore they had none.
Now let's
Huzza, Huzza, Huzza, examin
Now for the Loyalty exprest by Damming,
Roaring and Whoring,—that—Rotting and Sinking:
Hey-Boys! New Healths with Bumpers bravely Drinking.
But say these are the Worst, whose Words are Wind;
But mark our Doctrines, and the more refin'd.
Now where's the Doctrine made the Pulpits ring,
'Twas all Divine to Love and Laud the King?
Where's Loyal Sermons now? Where are they gone?
Heark, heark a while, and you shall hear anon.
Where's Non-resistance now? Now where's Compliance?
Why here, in this, to bid the King Defiance.
In what, an Edict? No, His Declaration.
For Conscience Liberty, to free the Nation
From those accursed
Penal Laws and
Test,
That Tender Conscience ever might have Rest.
But now 'tis
Popery, Popery, that's the Song;
'Tis coming like a Flood: But pray how long
Has Fear of Popery been this dreadful Tone?
Just since you let the Protestants alone.
'Tis Fear of Papists,—Good lack!—Sad's the Case
Since they've excell'd Episcopals in Grace.
No sooner Clemency doth Peace propose,
But Envy cries, Take heed of Popish Foes.
Was't not for fear of Popery once ago,
You writ and printed, preach'd and raged so?
Down with Dissenters, thus with Storm and Thunder;
Magistrates, mind your Duty, seise and plunder.
Fine and imprison, ruin, follow't hot:
This was for fear of Popery, was it not?
Thus Persecution echo'd from the Pulpit;
But now look simply, say you cannot help it.
Law was not then so much, as it is since,
But the King's Pleasure, as you made Pretence:
Yet though you've lost the Spur, you'd hold the Bridle,
With a streight Rein too: O! but that's as idle
As those that blame this Liberty of Conscience,
And have the Impudence to say 'tis Nonsence.
Were they (which God forbid) but half so long
To feel the Right, that did Dissenters wrong,
They'd wiser be, kinder, and humbler too,
Who're now so proud, they know not what they do.
Now who are they that cannot be content
With Regal Right, but Acts of Parliament
Of their own chusing? Yet this will not do;
But must have also Convocation too.
Now who like Toads spit Venom, swell, and pant?
Now who are they that have the way to Cant?
Now who's most busic to degrade the King?
And who knows what? With secret Whispering,
And holding Consults, who makes Parties now?
For to rebell the Malecontent knows how.
Fat Benefits, and Tythes, and Bishopricks
Do not content you; O, these little Tricks!
For
Mordecai stoops not: Here's the Dispute;
You want the Power still to Persecute.
Whence comes this Rule, to Lord it o're the rest?
From Tory-Gospel, Penal-Laws, and Test:
Touch 'em in that, and they'll begin to wince,
And galled Loyalty spurns at their Prince.
But poor Dissenters, now, as heretofore,
Thankful for Peace, rejoice, and seek no more.
But now, 'tis well, your cursed Power's subdu'd;
Here's Peace, which others like: But let's conclude:
Here's your own Language, and the Work of late
You glory'd in, and still wou'd vindicate.
Look in this Glass, and learn to blush for shame;
Be Christians once, and stain no more that Name.