The Church Militant :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Authour last this Corollary knits,
To help Our Church against mad wrangling Wits:
Till the Sixth Age the Spouse of Christ shone Pure;
So doth our Church. And here's her Portraiture.

The Spouse of Christ shone in her Prime
When she liv'd neere th' Apostles Time,
But afterwards Ecclips'd of Light,
She lay Obscure from most mens Sight:

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For while her Watch hugg'd Carnall Ease,
And loath'd the Crosse, she felt Disease.
Because they did Gods Rayes contemne,
And Maumets serv'd, Grace fled from them.
Then Starres fell downe, Fiends blackt the Aire,
And Mungrells held the Churches Chaire.
But now dispelling Errours Night,
By Christ his Might, our New-mans Light,
She may compare for Faith alike
With famous Romes first Catholick,
And Paragons for Vertue bright
The Royall Scribes sweet Sulamite,
Who train'd to Zeale, yet without Traps,
Her poore Young Sister wanting Paps;
Without Traditions she train'd her,
Or Quillets, which make Soules to Erre.

So feedes our Church her Tender Brood
With Milk, the Strong with stronger Food.

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She doth contend in Grace to thrive,
Reformed, like the Primitive.
She hates the Darke, yet walkes the Round,
And joyes to heare the Gospels Sound.
She hates their Mind in Judgement blind,
Who swell with Merits out of kind.
In Christ alone lies all her Hope,
Not craving Help of Saint or Pope.
Poore Saints, to shew her Faith by Deedes,
She fills their Soules, their Bodies feedes.
She grants no Weapons for Offence;
Save Vowes and Fasting for Defence;
And yet she strikes. But with what Sword?
The Spirits Sword, Gods Lightning Word.
Indiff'rent Toyes, and Childish Slips
She slights, but checks grosse Sinnes with stripes.
Yet soone the Strayes her Favour winne,
When they Repent them of the Sinne,
So mild is she, still loathing Ill,
And yet most loath the Soule to kill.

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Such is the Lady, whom I serve;
Her Goodnesse such, whom I observe,
And for whosee Love I beg'd these Layes
Borne from the Spheares with Flaming Rayes.
But who can paint the Dowries forth
Of this New Mary to the Worth?
O let us for her Gifts restor'd
Then Sacrifice to Heavens Lord
Our Hearts with Psalmes, like Trumpets lowd,
For sending her to curbe the Proud,
And to beare downe Romes Antichrist,
As she types her that brought forth Christ,
The Object of our Second Birth,
And the Prime cause of all our Mirth.
Thus is Our Church in Essence like
The Ancient True Apostolick.

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God grant this Dame, our Brittaines long to sway,
Whereby they may to Christ new Vowes repay;
And blesse thee, Reader, with like Happinesse,
To hold his pledges firme with Godlinesse.