 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
Religious Relicks:
Or, the Sale at the Savoy, upon the Jesuites breaking up their School and Chappel.
I
Last Sunday, by chance,I encounter'd with Pr---e,
That Man of upright Conversation,
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That I could not chuse
But laugh at his sad Declaration.
II
Says he, if you'll go,You shall see such a show,
Of Reliques expos'd to be sold,
Which from sin and disease,
Will purge all that please
To lay out their Silver and Gold.
III
Straight with him I went,Being zealously bent,
Where for sixpence the man let me in;
But the Crowd was so great,
I was all in a Sweat,
Before the rare show did begin:
IV
The Curtain being drawn,Which I think was of Lawn,
The Priest cross'd himself thrice, and bow'd;
Then with a sour Face,
Denoting his case,
He address'd himself thus to the Crowd:
V
You see our sad State,'Tis a folly to prate,
Our Church and our Cause is a-ground;
So in short, if you've Gold,
Here is to be sold
For a Guinea the worth of ten Pound.
VI
Here's St. James's Old Bottle,It holds just a Pottle,
With the Pilgrims Habit he wore;
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As our Holy Church tells,
Who denies it's a Son of a W---
VII
Here's a piece of the Bag,By Age turn'd to a Rag,
In which Judas the Money did bear;
With a part of his Rope,
Bequeath'd to the Pope,
As an Antidote 'gainst all Despair.
VIII
Here's a Rib of St: Laurence,'Tis also at Florence,
And it may be in France, or in Spain;
It cures Stone and Gravel,
And Women in Travel,
And delivers without any pain.
IX
Here's St. Joseph's Old Coat,Though scarce worth a Groat,
It's plainness does shew he'd no Pride;
Yet this he had on,
For besides it he'd none,
The day that he Marry'd his Bride.
X
His Breeches are there,A plain Leather pair,
Come buy the whole Suit, if you please;
They'll defend you from th'Itch,
From Hag, and from Witch,
And preserve you from Buggs and from Fleas.
XI
Here's the Gall of a Saint,For such as do faint,
Or are troubl'd with Fits of the Mother;
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Worse than Close-stool or Sink,
It will cure you as soon as the other.
XII
Here's a Prayer of Pope John,The like to't is none,
If you say it but three times a year;
Three hundred in Grace,
And three hundred 'twill place
In Heaven, if they ever come there.
XIII
Here's our Ladies old Shoe,Which in Old time was new,
It will cure all your Kibes and your Corns;
With the Coif of St. Bridget,
To be worn by each Idiot,
Whose Head is tormented with Horns.
XIV
Here's a bottle of Tears,Preserv'd many years,
Of Mary's that once was a Sinner;
Some o'th' Fish and the Bread,
That the five thousand fed,
Which our Saviour invited to Dinner.
XV
Here's St. Francis own Cord,You may take't on my word,
Who dies in it cannot be Damn'd;
Do but buy it, and try,
If I tell you a lye,
Many thousands of Heaven are shamm'd.
XVI
Here's his Holiness's beard,Of whom you have heard,
That the Hereticks called Pope Joan;
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Was his natural Hair,
Or else I'll be sworn he had none.
XVII
It's Vertue is such,That if it does touch
Your Head, or your Face, or elsewhere,
It does straitway restore,
More than e're was before,
Though by Age or by Action worn bare.
XVIII
Here's St. Christopher's Boot,For his Right Leg and Foot,
Which he wore when he ply'd at the Ferry,
When on's shoulders he bore
His blessed Lord o're,
For the poor man had never a Wherry.
XIX
Such as sail on the Seas,I am sure it will please,
For its parallel never was found;
Neither Tempest nor Storm,
Can e'er do them harm,
Nor is't possible they should be drown'd.
XX
Here's infinite more,I have by me in store,
All which lye conceal'd in this Hamper;
Either buy them to day,
Or I'll throw them away,
For to morrow, by Heaven, I'll scamper.
XXI
Our Market is done,We must shut up at Noon,
VVe expect them each hour at the Door;
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And we can't get away,
For none will, nor dare carry us o're.
XXII
But by th'Faith of a Priest,This is no time to jest,
Since we are baulk'd in our great Expectation;
Before I will swing,
Like a Dog in a string,
I'll Renounce the Transubstantiation.
| Poems on Affairs of State | |