A Satyr against Hypocrites :: :: University of Virginia Library

A Satyr against Hypocrites

[by John Phillips]

Phillips, John (1631-1706)

[epigraph]

[section]

A SATYR AGAINST HIPOCRITES.

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A SATYR AGAINST HIPOCRITES.

Tedious have been our Fasts, and long our Prayers;
To keep the Sabbath such have been our cares,
That Cisly durst not milk the gentle Mulls,
To the great damage of my Lord Mayors Fooles,
Which made the greazie Catchpoles swear and curse
The Holy-day for want o'th' second course;
And men have lost their body's new adorning
Because their cloathes could not come home that morning
The sins of Parlament have long been bawl'd at,
The vices of the City have been yawl'd at,
Yet no amendment; Certainly, thought I,
This is a Paradox beyond all cry.
Why if you ask the people, very proudly
They answer straight, That they are very godly.
Nor could we lawfully suspect the Priest,
Alas, for he cry'd out, I bring you Christ:
And trul' he spoke with so much confidence,
That at that time it seem'd a good pretence:
Then where's the fault? thought I: Well, I must know,
So putting on clean cuffs, to Church I go.

Now 'gan the Bells to jangle in the Steeple,
And in a row to Church went all the People.
First came poor Matrons stuck with Lice like Cloves,
Devoutly come to worship their white loaves;

And may be smelt above a German mile,
Well, let them go to fume the Middle-Ile.
But here's the sight that doth men good to see't,
Grave Burghers, with their Posies, sweet, sweet, sweet,
With their fat Wives. Then comes old Robin too,
Who although write or read he neither do,
Yet hath his Testament chain'd to his wast,
And his blind zeal feels out the proofs as fast,
And makes as greasie Dogs-ears as the best.
A new shav'd Cobler follows him, as it hapt,
With his young Cake-bread in his cloak close wrapt;
Then panting comes his Wife from t'other end
O'th' Town, to hear Our Father and see a friend;
Then came the shops young fore-man, 'tis presum'd,
With hair rose-water'd, and his gloves perfum'd,
With his blew shoo-strings too, and besides that,
A riband with a sentence in his hat:
The Virgins too, the fair one, and the Gypsie,
Spectat unt veniunt, venient spectentur ut ipsæ
And now the silk'n Dames throng in, good store,
And casting up their noses to th' pew dore,
Look with disdain to see the pew so full,
Yet must and will have room, I, that they wull;
Streight that she sits not uppermost distast
One takes; 'Tis fine that I must be displac't
By you, she cries then, Good Mistris Gill Flurt;
Gill Flurt, enrag'd cries t'other, Why ye dirt-
tie piece of Impudence, ye ill-bred Thief,
I scorn your terms, good Mistris Thimble-mans wife.
Marry come up, cries t'other, pray forbear,
Surely your Husband's but a Scavenger;
Cries t'other then, and what are you I pray?
No Aldermans wife for all you are so gay.
Is it not you that to all Christenings frisk it?
And to save bread, most shamefully steal the bisket,
At which the other mad beyond all law,
Unsheaths her talons, and prepares to claw,
And sure some gorgets had been torn that day,

But that the Readers voice did part the fray.

Now what a wardrobe could I put to view,
The cloak-bag-breeches, and the sleek-stone shoe,
Th' Embroider'd Girdles, and your Usurers Cloaks,
Of far more various forms than there be Oaks
In Sherword, or Religions in this Town,
Strong then of Cypres chest appears the Gown:
The grogram-gown of such antiquity,
That Speed could never find its pedigree;
Fit to be doted on by Antiquary's,
Who hence may descant in their old Glossary's,
What kind of fardingale fair Helen wore,
How wings in fashion came, because wings bore
The Swan-transformed Leda to Jove's lap,
Our Matrons hoping thence the same good hap;
The pent-house bever, and calves-chaudron ruft,
But of these frantick fashions now enough,
For now there shall no more of them be said,
Lest this my ware-house spoil the French-men's trade,

And now as if I were that woollen-spinster,
That doth so gravely show you Sarum Minster,
Ile lead you round the Church from pew to pew,
And shew you what doth most deserve your view,
There stood the Font, in times of Christianity,

Ingredients that compound a Congregation.

But now 'tis tak'n down, men call it Vanity;
There the Church-VVardens sit, hard by the dore,
But know ye why they sit among the Poor?
Because they love um well for love o'th' box,
Their money buys good beef, good wine, good smocks.
There sits the Clerk, and there the reverend Reader,
And there's the Pulpit for the good flock-Feeder,
VVho in three lamentable dolefull ditty's
Unto their marriage-fees sing Nunc dimittis
Here sits a learned Justice, truly so
Some people say, and some again say no,
And yet methinks in this he seemeth wise
To make Stypone yeild him an excise,

And though on Sundayes Ale-houses must down,
Yet wisely all the week lets them alone,
For well his Worship knows that Ale-house sins
Maintain himself in gloves, his wife in pins.
There sits the Mayor as fat as any Bacon
With eating Custard, Beef, and rumps of Capon;
And there his corpulent Brethren sit by,
With faces representing gravity,
Who having money, though they have no wit,
They wear gold chains, and here in green pews sit.
There sit True-blew the honest Parish-masters.
With Sattin Caps, and Ruffs, and Demi-casters,
And faith that's all; for they have no rich fansies,
No Poets are, nor Authors of Romances.
There sits a Lady, painted fine by Art,
And there sits curious Mistris Fiddle-cum-fart:
There sits a Chamber-maid upon a Hassock,
Whom th' Chaplain oft instructs without his Cassock:
One more accustom'd unto Curtain-sins,
Than woman is to wet her thumb, that spins.
O what a gloss her forehead smooth adorns!
Excelling Phœbe with her silver horns.
It tempts a man at first, yet strange to utter,
When one comes near, fogh gudds, it stinks of butter.
Another tripping comes to her Mistris's Pew,
Where being arriv'd, she tryes if she can view
Her young mans face, and straight heaves up her coats,
That her sweet-heart may see her true-love knots.
But having sate up late the night before
To let the young man in at the back-dore.
She feeleth drawziness upon her creeping,
Turns down one proof, and then she falls a sleeping.
Then fell her head one way, her book another,
And she sleeps, and sneres, a little a tone with t'other.

That's call'd the Gallery; which (as you may see)
Was trimm'd and guilt in the year Fifty three.

Twas a zealous work, and done by two Church-wardens,
VVho for mis-reckoning hope to have their pardons,
There Will writes short-hand with a pen of brass,
Oh how he's wonder'd at by many an asse

Hang it.

That see him shake so fast his warry fist,
As if he'd write the Sermon 'fore the Priest
Has spoke it; Then, O that I could (sayes one)
Do as but this man does, I'de give a crown.
Up goes another hand, up go his eyes,
And he, Gifts, Industry, and talents cries.
Thus are they plac'd at length: a tedious work,
And now a bellowing noise went round the Kirk,
From the low Font, up to the Golden Creed.
(O happy they who now no eares do need:)
VVhile these cought up their morning flegm, and those.
Do trumpet forth the snivel of their nose;
Straight then the Clerk began with potsheard voice
To grope a tune, singing with wofull noise,
Like a crackt Sans-bell jarring in the Steeple,
Tom Sternholds wretched Prick song to the people:
VVho soon as he hath plac'd the first line through,
Up steps Chuck-farthing then, and he reads too:
This is the womans boy that sits i'th' Porch
Till th' Sexton comes, and brings her stool to Church.
Then out the people yaule an hundred parts,
Some roar, some whine, some creek like wheels of Carts,
Such Notes that Gamut never yet did know,
Nor numerous keys of Harpsicalls in a row
Their Heights and Depths could ever comprehend,
Now below double Are some descend,
'Bove Ela squealing now ten notes some flie;
Straight then as if they knew they were too high,
VVith head-long haste down staires again they tumble;
Discords and Concords O how thick they jumble!
Like untam'd horses tearing with their throats
One wretched stave into an hundred notes.

Robert Wisdom's delight.

Some lazie-throated fellowes thus did baule
They a i hin a moy a meat uh ga have a ha me uh a ha gall a.
And some out-run their words and thus they say,
Too cruel for to think a hum a haw,

Now what a whetstone was it to devotion
To see the pace, the looks, and every motion
O'th Sunday Levite when up stairs he march't.
And first behold his little band stiff starcht,
Two caps he had, and turns up that within,
You'd think he wore a black pot tipt with tin,
His cuffs asham'd peep't only out at's wrist;
For they saw whiter gloves upon his fist,
Out comes his kerchief then, which he unfolds
As gravely as his Text. and fast he holds
In's wrath-denouncing hand; then mark when he pray'd
How he rear'd his reverend whites, and softly said
A long most Mercifull, or O Almighty,
Then out he whines the rest like some sad ditty,
In a most dolefull recitative style,
His buttocks keeping Crotchet-time the while;
And as he slubbers ore his tedious story
Makes it his chiefest aim, his chiefest glory,
T' excell the City Dames in speaking fine,
O for the drippings of a fat Sir-loyn,
Instead of Aron's oyntment for his face,
When he cries out for greace instead of grace.
Up stept another then, how sowre his face is!
How grim he lookt! for he was one oth' Classis,

And here he cries, Blood, blood, blood, destroy, O Lord!
The Covenant-breaker, with a two edg'd sword.
Now comes another, of another strain,
And he of Law and Bondage doth complain:
Then shewing his broad teeth, and grinning wide,
Aloud, Free grace, free grace, free grace, he cry'd.
Up went a Chaplain then, fixing his eye
Devoutly on his Patron's gallery,
Who as duty binds him, cause he eats their pyes,
God bless my good Lord and my Lady, cryes,
And's hopeful Issue. Then with count'nance sad,
Up steps a man stark revelation mad,
And he, Cause us thy Saints, for thy dear sake,
That we abustle in the world may make,
Thy enemies now rage, and by and by
He tears his throat for the fift Monarchy.
Another mounts his chin, East, West, North, South,
Gaping to catch a blessing in his mouth,
And saying, Lord! we dare not ope our eyes
Before thee, winks for fear of telling lies.

Mean while the vulgar frie sit still, admiring

Practice of Piety.

Their pious sentences, as all inspiring;
At every period they sigh and grone,
Though he speak sometimes sense, and sometimes none:
Their zeal doth never let them mind that matter,
It is enough to hear the Magpy chatter;
They croud, they thrust, are crouded, and are thrusted,
Their pews seem pasties, wherein they incrusted,
Together bake and fry; O patience great!
Yet they endure, though almost drown'd in sweat.
It seem'd as if those steaming vapours were
To stew hard doctrines in, and to prepare
Their rugged doubts, that might breed some disease
Being tak'n raw in queasie consciences.
But further mark their great humility,
Their tender love, and mutual charity,
The short man's shoulder bore the tall man's elbow,
Nor he so much as call'd him Scurvy fellow,

Wrarh was forgot, all anger was forborn,
Although his neighbour trod upon his corn;
And in a word, all men were meek and humble,
Nor dar'd the Sexton, though unfeed, to grumble;
He honest man went with his neck a skew,
Gingling his bunch of keys from pew to pew;
Good man to's Market-day he bore no spleen,
But wish'd the seven dayes had Sabbaths been;
How he worships sattin, with what a Gospel-fear
He admires the man that doth a bever wear,
Room, room, bear leave, he cries, then not unwilling
With a Pater noster face receives the shilling.

But what was more religious than to see
The women in their streins of pietie,
Who like the Seraphins in various hews
Adorn'd the Chancell and the highest pews.
Stand up good middle-Ile-folks and give room,

Hey-day!

See where the Mothers and the Daughters come!
Behind the Servants looking all like Martyrs,
With Bibles in plush jerkins and blew garters,
The silver Ink horn, and the writing book,
In which I wish no friend of mine to look.
Nor must we now forget the Children too,
Who with their fore-tops gay stand up ith pew.
Brought there to play at Church, and to be chid,
And for discourse at meals what children did.
Well, be good children, for the time shall come,
When on the Pulpit-stairs ye shall have room,
There to be asked many a Question deep,
By th' Parson, with his dinner, half a sleep.

But now aloft the Preacher 'gan to thunder,
When the poor women they sit trembling under,

Jack-a-candy.

And if he name Gehenna or the Dragon,
Their faith, alas! was little then to brag on;
Or if he did relate, how little wit
The foolish Virgins had, then do they sit
Weeping with watry-eyes, and making vows
One to have Preachers alwayes in her house,

To dine them well, and breakfast 'um with gellies,
And caudles hot to warm their wambling bellies;
And if the cash, where she could not unlock it,
Were close secur'd, to pick her Husbands pocket.
Another something a more thrifty sinner,
To invite the Parson twice a week to dinner;
The other vows a purple Pulpit-cloth,
With an embroyder'd Cushion, being loth
When the fierce Priest his Doctrine hard unbuckles,
That in the passion he should hurt his knuckles.

Nay, in the Church-yard too was no small throng,
And on the Window-bars in swarms they hung:
And I could see that many Short-hand wrote,
Where listning well, I could not hear a jote;
Friend, this is strange, quoth I, but he reply'd,
Alas! your ears are yet unsanctifi'd.

Cuds so, I had even almost now forgot
To tell you th' chiefest thing of all; what's that?
How the good women in a row do come,
To bring the New-born babe to Christendome.

The Midwife, Captain of the gang, walks first,
Laden with Childe, and Naples-bisket crust;
Most reverently she steps, drest all in print,
If she be not a Saint the Devils in't:
For so demure she looks, that you would guess
She were some holy penitent Votaress,
With eyes and mouth set in her Looking-glass,
On purpose for to carry Babe of Grace:
Nor is't a thing inspir'd, but got by Art,
And Practice, as the Beggar learnt to Fart.
Then follow th' Guests, each one in her degree,
Most punctual in their Parish-Heraldry.
Being come to Church, they keep their close order,
And go on, and go on, and go farther and farther,
Till they arrive where for the Priests ease, God wot,
Stands a pretty, little, stone Syllabub-pot;
Water 't had in't, though but a little, God knows,
Scarcely to wet the tip of the Childs nose:

Men say there was a secret wisdom then,
That rul'd the strange opinions of these men;
For by much washing Child got cold in head,
Which was the cause so many Saints snuffled:
Oh cry'd another sect, let's wash the cock,
And eke that other thing that lurks in smock;
Those were the members whence did first arise
The sinfull cause of all our miseries.
But their wise Wives reply'd, fuming and fretting,
'Twas dangerous, least the parts should shrink in wetting;
And for that cause they only did be-sprinkle
The pretty Birdsney-Pigsney-Periwinkle.
Now when the Priest had spoke, and made an end,
And that the Child was made the Churches friend,
The women straightway they went home agen,
To talk of things which they conceal from men:
Then Midwife carries Child t' ask Mother blessing,
Who gives it a kiss in her Flanders-lace dressing,
She sate with Curtains drawn, most princum prancum,
And call'd the women every one to thank 'um:
Full threescore pound it cost in Plumbs and Dishes,
Which women eat as Pikes eat little Fishes;
But when the Claret and Hypocriss came in,
Then the tittle tattle began to begin;
The Midwife takes a Tankard and drinks up all,
Of all the Saints, quoth she, God bless St. Paul,
He bid the men give the women their due;
If they do'nt, may the women ne're prove true:
Well fare my Son here, he is a young man,
But let any other do better if he can;
Five in six years!—hey ho,—here daughter,
Here's to the next bout, and what shall come after.
But what ayles my Neighbour here to look so glum?
A year and a half, and nothing yet come.—
Alas, I lost time, quoth she, I married a Fool,—
'Twas six months ere he knew he was to use his tool:
But I ha' taught him a new lesson I faith; quo I, fye upon't,
Such a fool at these years,—but learn more wit,—if ye do'nt—

Alas, cryes one, you are happy to me,
Weeping and drinking most heartily,
My Husband whores and drinks all the week,
Judge you then Neighbours how I am to seek:
(Then they all shook their heads, and lookt most sad)
These are they, quoth the Midwife, spoyl our trade;
But be of good cheer daughter, come, come,
If he wont, another must in his room.
Alas, quoth she, with a jolly red Nose,
There's many an able Christian, God knows,
Would leap at that which thy Husband despises:
Then 'gin they to talk of the several sizes,
Of the long, and the short, the little and great,
'Twould put a modest Gamester into a sweat.
I thank my God, quoth the Midwife then,
I have buried three Husbands, all proper men;
I thank my God for't, though I say't that shou'd not,
Yet I can't say, like one that understood not,
There was no difference between the three,
But if any man a good workman be,
He may well do enough, if he be intent,
To give a reasonable She content.
I speak merrily Neighbours,—hah—hah—heres to you all.
God send us more of these good jobs to fall:
By and by they single out a poor woman,
That has had the luck to have as good as no man;
But her they use most unmercifully,
Calling her Husband Do-little, and Cully,
Fumbler and Gelding, and then they all exhort her,
Rather then be sham'd, to hire some strong Porter.
Now after this discourse, and th' Wines drank up,
They all depart to their own homes to sup;
After that to bed, and 'tis a pound to a doight,
If their Husbands sleep for their Quail-pipes that night.

Others not so concern'd, walk in the fields,
To give their longing Wives what Cake-house yields;

To be heard of men.

And as they go, God, Grace, and Ordinances,
Is all their chat, they seem in heav'nly trances;

Thus they trim up their souls with holy words,
Shaving off sin as men shave off their Beards,
To grow the faster; sins, they cry, are fancies,
The Godly live above all Ordinances.

Now they're at home, and have their suppers eat,
When Thomas, cryes the Master, come, repeat;
And if the windows gaze upon the street,
To sing a Psalm they hold it very meet.
But would you know what a preposterous zeal
They sing their Hymnes withall? then listen well;
The Boy begins,

To the Tune of S. Margarets Chimes.

Go too therefore ye wicked men,

‘Depart from me [Thomas] anon,
For the [Yes Sir] commandments will I keep

Of God [Pray remember to receive the 100 l. in Gracious-street to morrow] my Lord alone.
As thou has promis'd to perform, [Mary, anon forsooth]

That death me not assaile, [Pray remember to rise betimes to morrow morning, you know you have a great many cloaths to soap]
Nor let my hope abuse me so,

That through distrust I quaile.

Behold the zeal of the people.

But Sunday now good night, and now good morrow,
To thee oh Covenant Wednesday full of sorrow:
Alas! my Lady Anne wont now be merry,
She's up betimes, and gone to Alderman-bury;
Truly 'twas a sad day, for every sinner
Did feast a supper then, and not a dinner;
Nor men nor women wash their face to day,
Put on their cloaths, and piss, and so away;
They throng to Church just as they sell their ware,
In greasie hats, and old gowns worn thread bare,
Where, though the whole body suffered tedious pain,
No member yet had more cause to complain
Than the poor nose, when little to its ease,
A Chandlers cloak perfum'd with candle-grease,
Commixing sents with a Sope-boylers breeches,
Did raise a stink beyond the skill of Witches.

Now steams of Garlick whifting through the nose,
Smelt worse than Assa-fetida, or Luthers hose;
With these mundungus, and a breath that smells
Like standing pools in subterraneal cells.
Compos'd Pomanders to out-stink the Devil,
Yet strange to tell, they suffer'd all this evil,
Nor to make water all the while would rise,
The women sure had spunges 'twixt their thighs:
To stir at this good time they thought was sin,
So strictly their devotion kept them in.

Now the Priests elbows do the cushion knead,
While to the people he his Text doth read,
Beloved, I shall here crave leave to speak
A word, he cries and winks, unto the weak,
The words are these, Make haste and do not tarry,
But unto Babylon thy dinner carry,
There doth young Daniel want in the Den,
Thrown among Lyons by hard-hearted men.
Here my Beloved, and then he reaches down
His hand, as if he'd catch the Clerk by th' crown.
Not to explain this pretious Text amiss,
Daniel's the subject, Hunger th' object is,
Which proves that Daniel was subject to hunger,
But that I may'nt detain you any longer,
My Brethren dear prick up your ears, and put on
Your senses all while I the words unbutton.
Make haste, I say, make haste and do not tarry,]

The Exposition.

Why? my Beloved, these words great force do carry.
Au! 'tis a waundrous emphatical speech,
Some men Beloved, as if th' had lead i'their breech,
Do walk, some creep like Snails, they're so sloe pac't,
Truly, my Brethren, these men do not make haste.

But be ye quick dear Sisters, be ye quick,

1 Use. Not like an Anchor:

And lest ye fall, take hope, hope's like a stick.
To Babylon] Ah Babylon! that word's a weighty one,
Truly 'twas a great City, and a mighty one.
Which as the learned Rider well records,

Babel battered.

Semiramis did build with brick and bords.

Wicked Semiramis, accursed Bitch!
My spirit is mightily provok'd against that wretch.
Lustful Semiramis, for will I wist
Thou wert the mother of proud Antichrist.
Nay, like to Levi and Simeon from antiquity,
The Pope and thee were Sisters in iniquity.
Strumpet Semiramis, like her was non,
For she built Babylon, Ah! she built Babylon.

2 Use.

But, Brethren, be ye good as she was evil,
Must ye needs go because she's gone to the Devil?
Thy dinner carry.] Here may we look upon
A childe of God in great affliction:
Why what does he aile? Alas! he wanteth meat,
Now what (Beloved) was sent him for to eat?
Truly a small matter; only a dish of pottage,
But pray what pottage? Such as a small cottage
Afforded only to the Country swains,
From whence, though not a man the place explains,
'Tis guess'd that neither Christmas pottage 'twas,
Nor white-broth, nor capon-broth, good for sick maws,
Or milk-porrage, or thick pease-porrage either,
Nor was it mutton-broth, nor veal broth neither,
Nor any broth of noble tast or scent,
Made by receipt of the Countess of Kent;
But sure some homely stuff crum'd with brown-bread,
And thus was Daniel, good Daniel fed.
Truly, this was but homely fare you'l say,

Would he have been to content.

Yet Daniel, good Daniel was content that day.
And though there could be thought-on nothing cheaper,
Yet fed as well on't as he had been a reaper.

3 Use.

Better eat any thing than not at all,
Fasting, Beloved, why? 'tis prejudiciall
To the weak Saints; Beloved, 'tis a sin,

Several Reasons.

And thus to prove the same I here begin:
Hunger, Beloved, why? this hunger mauls,
Au! 'tis a great mauler, it breaks stone-walls;
Now my Beloved, to break stone-walls you know,
Why 'tis flat felony, and there's great woe

Follows that sin, besides 'tis a great schism,
'Tis ceremonious, 'tis Pagan Judism;
Judism? why Beloved, have you ere been
Where the black Dog of Newgate you have seen?
Hair'd like a Turk, with eyes like Antichrist,

Description of Antichrist.

He doth and hath ye Brethren long entic't.
Claws like a Star-chamber Bishop, black as hell,
and doubtless he was one of those that fell.
Judism I say is uglier than this curr,
Though he appear'd wrapt up in Bear-skin furr.
Thrown among Lyons by hard-hearted men,]
Here Daniel is the Church, the World's the Den.
By Lyons are meant Monarchs, Kings of Nations,
Those worse than heathenish abominations:
Truly dear friends, these Kings and Governours,
These Bishops too, nay all superiour powers,
Why they are Lyons, Locusts, Whales, I Whales, beloved,
Off goes our ears if once their wrath be moved;
But woe unto you Kings! woe to you Princes!
'Tis fifty and four, now Antichrist, so says
My Book, must reign three days, and three half days,
Why that is three years and a half beloved.
Or else as many precious men have proved,
One thousand two hundred and threescore dayes;
Why now the time's almost expir'd, time stayes
For no man; friends then Antichrist shall fall,
Then down with Rome, with Babel, down with all,
Down with the Devil, the Pope, the Emperour,

And hey then up go we.

With Cardinals, and th' King of Spain's great power;
They'l muster up, but I can tell you where,
At Armageddon, there, Beloved, there,
Fall on, fall on, kill, kill, haloo, haloo,
Kill Amalek, and Turk, kill Gog and Magog too.
But who dear friends fed Daniel thus forsaken,
Truly (but there's one sleeps, a would do well to waken)
As 'tis in th' English his name ends in uck,
And so his name is called Habacuck.

The Doctrine of Generation.

But in th' original it ends in Ock,
For that dear Sisters calls him Have-a-Cock.
And truly I suppose I need not fear
But that there are many Have-a-Cocks here:
The Laud increase the number of Have-a-Cocks,
Truly false Prophets will arise in flocks;
But as a arding-candle shut up quite

For Ministers may be Cuckolds.

In a dark Lanthorn never giveth light;
Even such are they. Ay but my brethren dear,
I'm no such Lanthorn, for my horns are clear.
But I shall now conclude this glorious truth

Use of Exhortation. Motives

With an Exhortation to old men and youth:
Be sure to feed young Daniel, that's to say,
Feed all your Ministers that preach and pray.
First of all, 'cause 'tis good, I speak that know so,

And by experience find 'tis good to do so:

Fourthly, 'cause 'tis not evil; Nextly and Thirdly,

For that 'tis very good, unless the Word lye.

Sixthly, for that y'are mov'd thereto; and Twelfthly,

12.

'Cause there's nought better, unless I my self lye.

Hunger a great enemy to Gospel-duty. A Cropsick sister.

But now he smells the Pyes begin to reak,
His teeth water, and he can no longer speak:
Only it will not be amiss to tell ye
How he was troubled with a womans belly;
For she was full of caudle and devotion,
Which in her stomach raised a commotion,
For the hot vapours much did damnifie
Her that was wont to walk in Finsbury.
So though a while she was sustain'd with ginger,
Yet at the length a cruel pain did twinge her;
And like as marble sweats before a shower,
So did she sweat, and sweating forth did pour
Her mornings draught of Sugar-sops and Saffron,
Into her sighing neighbours Cambrick apron.
At which a Lard she cry'd, full sad to see
The foul mishap, yet suffer'd patiently:
How do you, then she cry'd? I'me glad 'tis up:
Ah sick, sick, sick; cryes one, Oh for a cup

Of my mint water that's at home:
As part as might be, then the Parson cry'd,
'Tis good; one holds her head, let't come, let't come,
Still crying; just i'th' nick the Priest reply'd,
Yea like a stream ye ought to let it flow,
And then she reach'd, and once more let it go.
Streight an old woman with a brace of chins,
A bunch of keys, and cushion for her pins,
Seeing in earnest the good woman lack it,

A very great Creature-comfort.

Draws a Strong-water bottle from her placket;
Well heated with her flesh, she takes a sup,
Then gives the sick, and bids her drink it up.
But all in vain, her eyes begin to roul,

A great cry, and a little wool.

She sighs, and all cry out, alas poor soul!
One then doth pinch her cheek, one pulls her nose,
Some blest the opportunity that were her foes,
And they reveng'd themselves upon her face,
S. Dunstans Devil was ne're in such a case.
Now Priest say what thou wilt, for here's a chat
Begun of this great Empyrick, and that
Renowned Doctor, what cures they have done:
I like not Mayern, he speaks French sayes one.
Oh sayes another, though the man be big,
For my part I know none like Dr. Trig.
Nay, hold you there sayes t'other, on my life
There's none like Chamberlain the Man-midwife.
Then in a heap, their own receipts they muster,
To make this gelly, how to make that plaster,
Which when she hears that but now fainting lay,
Up starteth she, and talks as fast as they.
But they that did not mind this dolefull passion,
Followed their business on another fashion;
For all did write, the Elder and the Novice,
Methought the Church lookt like the Six-Clerks-Office.

But Sermon's done, and all the folks as fast
As they can trudge, to Supper now make hast:
Down comes the Priest, when a grave Brother meets him,
And putting off his broad-brim'd hat, thus greets him:

A great sign of grace.

Dear Sir, my Wife and I do you invite
O'th' Creature with us to partake this night:
And now suppose what I prepare to tell ye,
The City-dame, whose faith is in the belly
Of her cram'd Priest, had all her cates in order,
That Gracious-street, or Cheap-side can afford her.

Bill of fare.

Lo first a Pudding! truly 't had more Reasons
Than forty Sermons shew at forty seasons.
Then a Sur-loyn came in, as hot as fire,
Yet not so hot as was the Priests desire.
Next came a shoulder of Mutton roasted raw,
To be as utterly abolisht as the Law.
The next in order was a Capon plump,
With an Use of Consolation in his rump.
Then came a Turkey cold, which in its life
Had a fine tail, just like the Citizens wife.
But now by'r leave and worship too, for hark ye,
Here comes the Venson put in Paste by Starkey:
Which once set down there, at the little hole
Immediately in whips the Parsons soul.
He saw his Stomachs anchor, and believ'd
That now his belly should not be deceiv'd.
How he leans ore the cheer toward his first mover!
While his hot zeal doth make his mouth run over.
This Pastie had Brethren too, like to the Mayor,
Three Christmas, or Minc'd-pyes, all very fair:
Methought they had this Motto, Though they flirt us,
And preach us down, Sub pondere crescit virtus.
Apple-tarts, Fools, and strong Cheese to keep down
The steaming vapours from the Parsons crown.
Canary too, and Claret eke also,
Which made the tips of their ears and noses glow.

Up now they rise, and walk to their several chairs,
When lo, the Priest uncovers both his ears.

Grace before meat.

Most gracious Shepherd of the Brethren all,
Thou saidst that we should eat, before the Fall;
Then was the world but simple, for they knew
Not either how to bake, or how to brew.

But happily we fell, and then the Vine
Did Noah plant, and all the Priests drank wine:
Truly we cannot but rejoyce to see
Thy gifts dispenc'd with such equality.
To us th' hast given wide throats, and teeth to eat;
To the women, knowledge how to dress our meat.
Make us devoutly constant in thy cup,
And grant us strength when we shall cease to sup,
To bear away thy creatures on our feet,
And not be seen to tumble in the street.
We are thy sheep, O let us feed, feed on,
Till we become as fat as any Brawn.
Then let's fall to, and eat up all the cheer;
Straight So be it he cryes, and calls for beer.

Now then, like Scanderbeg, he falls to work,

Much good may do you Sir.

And hews the Pudding as he hew'd the Turk:
How he plough'd up the Beef like Forrest-land,
And fum'd because the bones his wrath withstand.
Upon the Mutton he fell like Woolf or Mastie,
Still hewing out his way unto the Pastie:
At first a Sister helpt him, but this Elfe sir,
Wearying her out, she cryes, Pray help your self sir.
Upon the Pastie though he fell anon,
As if 't had been the walls of Babylon.
Like a Cathedral down he throws that stuff,
Why, Sisters, saith he, I am pepper proof.
Then down he pours the Claret, and down again,
And would the French King were a Puritan,
He cryes: swills up the Sack, and I'le be sworn,
Quoth he, Spains King is not the Popes tenth horn.

Christian forgiveness.

By this his tearing hunger doth abate,
And on the second course they 'gan to prate.
Then quoth Priscilla, Oh my brother dear,

No Grace after meat.

Truly y'are welcome to this homely chear,
And therefore eat, good brother, eat your fill,
Alas for Daniel my heart aketh still.
Then quoth the Priest, Sister be of good heart;
But she reply'd, good Brother eat some Tart.

Rebecca then a member of the 'lection,
Began to talk of Brotherly affection;
For this, said she, as I have heard the wise
Discourse, consisteth much in exercise;
Yet I was foolish once, and did resist,
And but that a dear Brother would not desist,
Carried forth by a strong believing power
That I would yield at length, even to this hour
I had liv'd in darkness still, and had not known
What joys the Land revealeth to his own.
Then said the Priest, there is a time for all things,
There is a time for great things, and for small things:
There's a time to eat, and drink, and reformation,
A time to empty, and for procreation;
Therefore dear Sister, we may take our time,
There's reason for't, I never car'd for Rhyme.
Do not the wicked Heathen speak and say,
Gather your Flowers and Rose-buds while you may?
Ay truly, answer'd she, 'tis such a motion
As alwayes I embrac'd with warm devotion:
I mean since it did please the Laud in mercy,
To shew me things by feeling, not by hear-say;

Nothing beyond ingratitude.

And truly Brother, there's no man can prove
That I was ere ingratefull for his love;
But sometimes Angels did attend his Purse,
At other times I did him duly nurse
With many a secret dish of lusty meat,
Which did enable us to do the feat.
Truly quoth Dorcas then, I saw a Vision,
That we should have our foes in great derision.
Quoth Martha straight, (and then she shook the crums
From off her apron white, and pickt her gums)
So did I too; methought I went a Maying,
And the Word of the Laud came to me, saying,
Martha put off thy cloaths, for time is come,
That men may bauble shew, and women bum,
For that the seed of them that do profess,
Shall only need be cloath'd with Righteousness.

'Tis true dear Sister, there are some that now
Are come to this perfection, and I trow
We may in time grow up to be as they,
Grant us, ah Laud, that we may see that day;
Let's ith' mean time at home and eke abroad,
Uncloath and unbrace our selves before the Laud,
On all occasions that time shall yield,
That our dear Sisters dream may be fulfill'd.
Why did not Jacob dream, and so it was;
And Pharoah dreamt, and so it came to pass.
Then Dorcas cry'd, reach me the Cheese up hither;
Sister, quoth she, give this unto our Brother,
'Tis very good, if well wash'd down with Sack,
His wasted spirits much refreshing lack.
Recruited thus, All this good chear, quoth he,
Is but an Emblem of Mortality.
The Oxe is strong, and glories in his strength,
Yet him the Butcher knocks down, and at length
We eat him up. A Turkey's very gay,
Like worldly people clad in fine array;
Yet on the Spit it looks most piteous,
And we devour it, as the Worms eat us.

Then full of sawce and zeal up steps Elnathan,
[This was his name now, once he had another,
Untill the Ducking-pond made him a Brother]
A Deacon and a Buffeter of Sathan:
Truly, quoth he, I know a Brother dear,

A man may love his Brother,

Would gladly pick the bones of what's left here;
Nay he would gladly pick your pockets too
Of a small two pence, or a groat, or so,
The sorry remnants of a broken shilling;
Therefore I pray you friends be not unwilling.
As for my self, 'tis more than I do need,
To be charitable both in word and deed;
For as to us, the holy Scriptures say,
The Deacons must receive, the Lay-men pay.

but

Why heathen folks that do in Taverns stray,
Will never let their friends the reckning pay;

And therefore pour your charity into the bason,
Brethren and Sisters eke, your coats have lace on.
Why Brethren in the Lord, what need you care
For sixpence? we'll next morn enhance our ware:
Your sixpence comes again, nay there comes more;
Thus Charity's th' encreaser of your store.
Truly well spoke, then cry'd the Master-feaster,
Since you say so, I freely give my tester:
But for the women, they gave more liberally,
For they were sure to whom they gave, and why.

Not better than himself.

Then did Elnathan blink, for he knew well
What he might give, and what he might conceal.
But now the Parson could no longer stay,
'Tis time to kiss, he cryes, and so away:
At which the Sisters, once th' alarum taken,
Made such a din as would have serv'd to waken
A snoring Brother, when he sleeps at Church;
With bagg and baggage then they 'gan to march;
And tickled with the thoughts of their delight,
One Sister to the other bids Good night.
Good night, quoth Dorcas to Priscilla; she,
Good night dear Sister Dorcas unto thee.
In these goodly good nights much time was spent,
And was it not a holy complement?

Christian Liberty.

At length in steps the Parson, on his breast
Laying his hand, A happy night of rest
Refresh thy labours, Sister; yet ere we part,
Feel in my lips the passion of my heart.
To another straight he turn'd his face, and kist her,
And then he cryes, All peace be with thee Sister.

Ne're a prophane kiss among all these.

Next her that made the Feast he kisses harder,
And in a Godly tone, cryes, God reward her:
And having done, he whispers in her ear,
The time when it should be, and the place where.
Thus they all part, and for that night the Priest
Enjoys his own Wife, as good as ever pist.

This seem'd a golden time, the fall of sin,
You'd think the thousand years did now begin,

When Satan chain'd below should cease to roar,
Nor durst the wicked as they wont before
Come to the Church for pastime, nor durst laugh
To hear the non-plust Doctor faign a cough.
The Devil himself, alas! now durst not stand
Within the switching of the Sextons wand,
For so a while the Priests did him pursue,
That he was fain to keep the Sabboth too,
Lest being taken in the Elders lure,
He should have paid his crown unto the poor;
And lest he should like a deceiver come
'Twixt the two Sundays inter stitium,
They stuft up Lecturers with texts and straw,
On working-days to keep the Devil in awe.
But strange to think, for all this solemn meekness,
At length the Devil appeared in his likeness,
While these deceits did but supply the wants
Of broken unthrifts, and of thread-bare Saints.

Oh what will men not dare, if thus they dare
Be impudent to Heaven, and play with Prayer!
Play with that fear, with that religious awe
Which keeps men free, and yet is mans great law:
What can they but the worst of Atheists be,
Who while they word it 'gainst impiety,
Affront the throne of God with their false deeds,
Alas, this wonder in the Atheist breeds.
Are these the men that would the Age reform,
That Down with Superstition cry, and swarm
This painted Glass, that Sculpture to deface,
But worship pride, and avarice in their place.
Religion they bawl out; yet know not what
Religion is, unless it be to prate.
Meekness they preach, but study to controul;
Money they'd have, when they cry out your soul.
And angry, will not have Our Father said,
'Cause it prays not enough for daily bread.
They meet in private, and cry Persecution,
When Faction is their end, and State-confusion:

These are the men that plague and over-run
Like Goths and Vandalls all Religion.
Every Mechanick either wanting stock,
Or wit to keep his trade must have a flock,
The Spirit, cryes he, moveth me unto it,
And what the Spirit bids, must I not do it?
But having profited more than his flock by teaching,
And stept into authority by preaching
For a lay Office, leaves the Spirits motion
And streight retreateth from his first devotion.
But this he does in want, give him preferment,
Off goes his gown, God's call is no determent.
Vain foolish people, how are ye deceiv'd?
How many several sorts have ye receiv'd
Of things call'd truths, upon your backs laid on
Like Saddles for themselves to ride upon?
They rid amain, and hell and Satan drove,
While every Priest for his own profit strove.
Can they the age thus torture with their lyes,
Low'd bellowing to the world Impieties,
Black as their coats, and such a silent fear
Lock up the lips of men, and charm the ear?
Had that same holy Israelite been dumb,
That fatal day of old had never come
To Baals Tribe; oh thrice unhappy age!
While zeal and piety lye mask'd in rage
And vulgar ignorance! How we do wonder
Once hearing, that the heavens were forc'd to thunder
Against assailing Gyants, surely men,
Men thought could not presume such violence then:
But 'twas no Fable, or if then it were,
Behold a sort of bolder mortals here,
Those undermining shifts of knavish folly,
Using alike to God and men; most holy
Infidels, who now seem to have found out
A subtler way to bring their ends about
Against the Deity, than op'nly to fight;
By smooth insinuation and by slight:

They close with God, seem to obey his Laws,
They cry aloud for him and for his cause.
But while they do their strict injunctions preach.
Deny in actions what their words do teach.

O what will men not dare, if thus they dare
Be impudent to Heaven, and play with Prayer!
Yet if they can no better teach than thus,
Would they would only teach themselves, not us:
So while they still on empty outsides dwell,
They may perhaps be choakt with husk and shell;
While those who can their follies well refute,
By a true knowledge do obtain the fruit.

FINIS.