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.
FINIS.