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56

X. [ON A VILE PRIEST.]

Faith, now, & wryt all falsifyed ar found
By one, quho must be faithles, fals, perjur'd;
Quhose othe & promeis ar a slidrie ground
To build wpon, to make a man assuird.
My modest muse must keip his name obscur'd;
His epithets do sound the same a-loud.
A drunkin divin, by the devil obdurd,
A preacher, oh! a persecuter proud,
To Bacchus great, quhose knees ar oftest boud.
Devoirs tabacco, Cupid's plagues to quenche;
Quhose paralytik lips and tounge vntrou'd
Hath oft intrappit many a wanton wench;
This Priest, or beist, doth weir a fylthy fame,
A blotted conscience, and a spotted name.