 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
A Litany.
From the lawless Dominion of Mitre and Crown,
Whose Tyrannies are so absolute grown,
That Men become Slaves to the Altar and Throne,
And can call neither Bodies nor Souls their own,
Libera nos Domine.
Whose Tyrannies are so absolute grown,
That Men become Slaves to the Altar and Throne,
And can call neither Bodies nor Souls their own,
Libera nos Domine.
From a Reverend py-bald Theologick Professor,
From a Protestant zealous for a Popish Successor,
Who for a great Bishoprick still leaves a lesser,
And ne'er will die Martyr, nor make good Confessor,
Libera nos, &c.
From a Protestant zealous for a Popish Successor,
Who for a great Bishoprick still leaves a lesser,
And ne'er will die Martyr, nor make good Confessor,
Libera nos, &c.
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From Deans and from Chapters who live at their Eases,
Whose Leachery lies in renewing Church-Leases,
Who live in Cathedrals like Maggots in Cheeses,
And lie like Abby-Lubbers stew'd in their own Greases,
Libera nos, &c.
Whose Leachery lies in renewing Church-Leases,
Who live in Cathedrals like Maggots in Cheeses,
And lie like Abby-Lubbers stew'd in their own Greases,
Libera nos, &c.
From Oxford and Cambridg Scholastical Fry,
Whose Leachery's with their Landress to lie,
Of Church and State their Wants to supply,
That Religion and Learning may never die,
Libera nos, &c.
Whose Leachery's with their Landress to lie,
Of Church and State their Wants to supply,
That Religion and Learning may never die,
Libera nos, &c.
From a comfortable—Divine,
From a Crissingle Parson in Silk Cassock fine,
Who loves no Tobacco, no Women, nor Wine,
But any Religion so of the right Line,
Libera nos, &c.
From a Crissingle Parson in Silk Cassock fine,
Who loves no Tobacco, no Women, nor Wine,
But any Religion so of the right Line,
Libera nos, &c.
From a spruce Court-Chaplain, whose Pulpit rings
With Jure Divino of Bishops and Kings;
And from true Scripture false Evidence brings.
That Kingship and Priesthood are two sacred things,
Libera nos, &c.
With Jure Divino of Bishops and Kings;
And from true Scripture false Evidence brings.
That Kingship and Priesthood are two sacred things,
Libera nos, &c.
From a Minister of the English Church Breed,
Mother-Church's own Son by Episcopal Seed,
Who turns to burlesque the Lords-Pray'r and Creed,
And can the whole Bible ridicule for a need,
Libera nos, &c.
Mother-Church's own Son by Episcopal Seed,
Who turns to burlesque the Lords-Pray'r and Creed,
And can the whole Bible ridicule for a need,
Libera nos, &c.
From a scandalous limping litigious
Vicar,
Of whom his Parish grows sicker and sicker,
Who taught his dull Maid to grow quicker, and quicker,
And who stole the Tankard when he drunk out the Liquor,
Libera nos, &c.
Of whom his Parish grows sicker and sicker,
Who taught his dull Maid to grow quicker, and quicker,
And who stole the Tankard when he drunk out the Liquor,
Libera nos, &c.
From a Ceremony-Monger, who rails at Dissenters,
And damns Non-Conformists in the Pulpit he enters,
Yet all the Week long his own Soul he ventures,
By being so drunk, that he cutteth Indentures,
Libera nos, &c.
And damns Non-Conformists in the Pulpit he enters,
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By being so drunk, that he cutteth Indentures,
Libera nos, &c.
From a young Boy ordain'd tho a—he has none,
From a Journyman Preacher to some dignify'd Drone,
Who whatever Text he preaches upon,
Still talks of Rebellion and Forty One,
Libera nos, &c.
From a Journyman Preacher to some dignify'd Drone,
Who whatever Text he preaches upon,
Still talks of Rebellion and Forty One,
Libera nos, &c.
From the
Bishops Chaplain who scribbles everlasting,
On whom once Cook bestow'd a dry basting,
Who in his old Age young Flesh would be tasting,
And now writes for Bread to keep him from fasting,
Libera nos, &c.
On whom once Cook bestow'd a dry basting,
Who in his old Age young Flesh would be tasting,
And now writes for Bread to keep him from fasting,
Libera nos, &c.
From a Protestant Church where a Papist must reign,
From an Oxford Parliament call'd in vain,
Who because Fitz-Harris the Plot would make plain,
Was dissolv'd in a fit, and sent home again,
Libera nos, &c.
From an Oxford Parliament call'd in vain,
Who because Fitz-Harris the Plot would make plain,
Was dissolv'd in a fit, and sent home again,
Libera nos, &c.
From Fools and Knaves, Prerogative Tories,
From a Church that for the Babylon Whore is,
From a Prince like a Pear, who rotten at Core is,
From a Court that has Millions, yet as Job poor is,
Libera nos, &c.
From a Church that for the Babylon Whore is,
From a Prince like a Pear, who rotten at Core is,
From a Court that has Millions, yet as Job poor is,
Libera nos, &c.
From a French Whore at Whitehall, and another at Paris,
From Dangerfield's Plot outdone by Fitz-Harris;
Deliver us Lord from the self-same thing,
From the King of France, and from the French King.
From Dangerfield's Plot outdone by Fitz-Harris;
Deliver us Lord from the self-same thing,
From the King of France, and from the French King.
| Poems on Affairs of State | |