University of Virginia Library

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THE FANATICK INDULGENCE.

I.

Indulgence! thunder-clap! Medusa's head:
Which makes us all like stones, dumb, stupified.
And with amazement confidently vow,
The British isle it is grown Africk now.
Its Crete, its Crete, this Island, and at length
Indulgence tells us what's the Labyrinth;
Not in one Town, but all the Nation o're
Ten thousand sold to feed the Minotaure.
And which would make an heart of flint to bleed,
No hope appears of Ariadne's threed.
Wee are in Monsters sertil; after this
Impossible? incredible what is?

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What is't that the Fanatick askes so great
Transcends his hopes, or can his wish defeat?
When wee thy Loyal Subjects looked for
Some Halcyonian dayes, the Tempests Roar:
And to our eyes on every rising wave,
Death sits in Triumph, and presents a grave,
And in the mid'st of our dispaires, and fears,
Tears drowns our sighs, and sighs dries up our tears.
Wee are like Job's these ninteen years perplext,
Betwixt distractions, and destructions vext.
And that (dread Sir) thô not so strange, as true,
By Scabbs, and Devils now Indulg'd by you.

2.

Indulgence! Mercy Lord! from whence? to whom?
From CHARLES; Nay: to ripp his mothers womb
As Nero did, I'le nee'r belive't; like this
Ovid hath no such Metamorphosis.
CHARLES both merciful and wise, to Act
The much deplored Athamas mistake,
To murder his own Children, and to spare
The loathsome vermin the

Sanum.

whole body tare.
To set three Kingdoms all again in flamm,
And throw poor Meleager in the same,
To please some mad Altheas: Acts like those,
May frett thy friends, not satisfie thy foes.
To lay the tittle, Faith's Defender, down,
The richest Jewel of thy radiant Crown.
Strike Loyalty, Law, and Religion dumb,
To please a fullsome, nastie, hairbraind scum,
A furious spawn of fiends, by whom alone
The devil doth blush to see himself outdone.

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I mean their Master leaders, the rest all sees
Hes no more brains, then sillie butter-flies;
And yet can act such bloody monstrous crimes,
Not writ in Registers of former times.
Rebellion, murder, sacriledg, a fault

The Bishops murder.

Complext, not to be purg'd with fire, nor salt!
These to indulge, is Scepter to resign,
And let the bramble King it o'r the vine.
O boundless mercy! Heaven and Hell here lyes,
In strange (how?) reconcil'd antipathies.
Base unrelenting fate could thou not spare
Good Major Weir till now to have got a share.
Unhappy Mitchel had thou liv'd so long,
Thou had escaped in this damned throng,
And had been sentenc'd at the Council Table,
The innocentest traitour of the Rabble.

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IIII.

Indulgence is Cains mark, or such another;
No man may kill him that hath kill'd his Brother.
And herein Cain was Scot: the Duke like God,
Who sent the Traitour to the Land of Nod;
And yet confind him home to this his Nation;
A Land of fugitives and trepidation,
A Land wherein disgrace, and loud toung'd shame,
Hath split the Trumpet of our former Fame,
Either for Armes or Artes. Your Huskoes yield,
Ye Sons of Mars its cowards gains the field,
These only now the Acts of grace commands,
Because no Widow curst their swords, nor hands.
An Apple cleft in two is not more twin,
Then their Religion and their fights have been;
Whose chiefest properties lyes in their voice,
Like shearing of a sow, no wool but noise:
For when with Covenants they brag the starrs,
Unto their heels they do commend ther warrs.
Just as the forced air below, doth fall
In noise and loathsom stink, and there is all.
They are no witches, tho their exercise
Are parallels, murders and Tragedies.
They'r alwayes grumbling, cruel, furious,
Ill looking, spiteful, and malitious,
Blood-thristy Tigers, never pleas'd but when
They swill like Leeches in the blood of men.
Their Baptism they renounce, or do as much;
They need no Devils each of them is such:
For being baptized to the Trinitie,
They dare sit mute to the doxologie.
They dare not sing, what they dare say, like those

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Despise in verse what they commend in prose.
They to their souls in consciencious care
Preferr their babling to our Saviours prayer.
And take their grounds of fighting from the word,
Because our Saviour said put up thy sword.
Just like that wylie Jesuits mistake.
That of Saint Peter did salt Peter make.
They say a Bishops office is for a Turk,
Because Saint Paul did call it a good work.
It brings damnation for to resist,
Saint Paul did say, they say its the cause of Christ.
Strange Estredg consciences that quick devours
Great Camel-truths, fir'd with gnat-Metaphors.
Be subject all for conscience sake; these Heroes
Can swallow that, and fight at curse ye Meroz.
But as of faith, and manhood, they are ousted,
Their learning too it mightily is doubted;
Their Logick's out of date, for they do know
No Syllogisme, but in Ferio.
And when their courage with their powder's spent,
Indulgence closeth all in Celarent.
They'r puddle-rithmers too, they dare we see
Discharge their bumbast at our Poësie.
And its reported that they largely share
In glistring Guinies, for their Paltrie ware.
The famine in Samaria we see
Makes slimie sordid doves dung sell so hie,

2 Kings 6. 25.

They gave (in ghuest accompt) when wanting bread,
Near ten pound Sterling for an Asses head.
(Had all our whiggs been there, from rear to van,
They had happ't headless every mortal man)

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Muse burn thy bayes, gold and the laurell now
Is onely given to the thick brained crew.
Empiricks let alone, your market fall's,
The Revenues of Close-stools and Urinals.
We need no potions to our paunch, nor purse;
Traitours indulg'd, will gratis murder us.
Close up the Muses Courts, the Colleges,
A living vatican, each Fanatick is.
Baronius and Bellarmin ingrost,
Their first two syllables in his brains have lost.
Our Musickes all in discords: acts of grace
Hath highest trebl's joyn'd with lowest base.
We croak like Ravens, and we screech like Rats,
And for one Sharp we have ten thousand flats.
Our notes so dissonant will nee'r agree
In Church, nor State, to make an Harmonie.
Our Kirk's a new Benjotral, which we call
Nor Presbiterian, nor Episcopal.
All tend to the old chaos, our very Laws
Are all ingulphed in the good old cause.
No wonder, Traitours make monopoly
Of the embalmed Name of honesty;
And will admit no honest man but him,
Dare call a Bishop Antichristian limm:
No honest man if not of their opinion,
Altho he were almighties dearest minion.
Saint Paul himself they scorn to call him Saint,
Because he never took their Covenant.
Yea from fool-hatred of the Organs they
Made poor bagpypes sing dumb, and out of play.

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V.

Indulgences ar Popish things, then why
Should they be fancied by such Saints as they?
Since their foundation fails them; for its known
That neither Saints, nor merits they can own.
And too, for which I verily am sorie,
They are not yet come to their Purgatorie.
Besides Indulgences they have no place,

Vid. Pell. de Indulg: Lib. 1. c. 13.

If men be not into the state of grace,
And they the very name of grace think vile,
Because it somtimes is a Bishops stile.
But now the case is stated amongst all,
Treason indulg'd makes all sins venial.
May not the Papist say what need of Rome
For Pardons now, since Charles is Pope at home.
Had Luthers minde run parallel with his,
No strife had been about Indulgences.
Martin had still been Monk, nor had he yet
In genial sheet protested with his Kate.
But yet to Pardon those, by Pardons worse,
Is Heavens dite vengeance, and Earths heavy curse.
Saw ye an Ape, that a purgation took,
Before these news so did our Whigmares look.
Now like a Passenger that scapt a grave
In the sweld womb of an impostum'd wave;
They knock the Starrs with their advanced head,
As Phaeton when he the reins did guid.
With that same success too, the world they'l fire,
By guiding ill, what they did ill desire.
For they repent not what they late have done,
Vowing the second part of that same tune.

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Clearing both throats and pypes; its not in vain,
A well payed spring ought to be played again.
If ancient Sages saws with you have credite,
To spare a vice, it is the way to spread it.
Tame mercie is the breast that suckls vice,
Till hydra like her heads she multiplies.
In sparing thieves and murderers, all see,
A privat favour's publicque injurie.
Should pitie spare, and let the gangren spread,
Until the bodies wholly putrified?
What Surgeon would do this, but he that's mad?
He's cruel to the good who spares the bad.
Cause feed them fatt, and give them flesh and wine,
Bring in a water pipe to wash the Swine.
Cause light the Western lamp, which when it died,
Was ay with fire and sacrifice supplied

Light foots Temple. Service. c. 9.

Give them a power rebellions trump to blow,
In that same breath forbid them to do so.
Give them all Kirkes, reward them for their flight,
Encourage them to such another fight.
When all is done, let the whole world view,
They only hold Kirk Government of you.
O Power (il'e not blaspheme) beyond divine,
To make meer contradictions so combine;
Things so discordant meekly to agree,
The Presbiterians and Monarchie.
The Covenant, and the alledgeance oath,
Bear-chass and butter, makes a choaking broath.
No longer then, this Prophesie is hid,
The Leopard must lie down with the kid.
Then wheel about, and as at first ye were,

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The Court commands the haughtie Presbiter.
Auspicious peace clapps her triumphant wings,
Betwixt the Presbiterians Cause and Kings.
That valiant heel runs from it self at last,
That lately ran from Bothwel-bridge so fast.
Yet who should challenge those the King will cocker
Stay, stay, & then take up that ewe and yoak her.
A companie of bloody mutineers,
Who alwayes set both Church and State by th'ears.
The Planets, if we trust the Astrologer,
At their wretcht birth were all irregular;
A tribe that would that learned Greek compel
To bring Metempsychosis too from hell.

Pythagoras.

Changing like weather Cocks, still at the flight
Like Metra daughter to the hungrie wight.
Still skittish finding fault with that, with this,
Making the Bible Metamorphosis.
The Hieroglyphicks of all ill; no less
Then the perfection of all wickedness.
For if uncleanness, lyes, and murders be
The Devils markes, they're Devils more then he.
Sleep Pluto, sleep, thou has no more to do,
Wher's one of those ther's hell and Legion too.
All coxcomb, motly clowns, yet could invent
A way to Heaven called Kirk Government.
Where Major Wier, who galls their memories,
Is now call'd Maximus, and bears the keyes.
They'r Dan and Bethels Calfs, yet whom before
Ladyes not on their face prostrate adore.
These she-Fanaticks worst of Papists be

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If creature worship be worst Poperie.
Yet since Sharp's slain, Justice may fall asleep,
And her revengful sword in scabbard keep,
And it may be Astrea's gainful trade,
To use her ballance now, more then her blade.
Or since correction makes the rabble worse,
Its gallantrie to let them take their course.
So Lybian Lyons in ther high wrought rage
With Bulls and Panthers only will engage.
While the dull snail, and painted butterflie
Glides through the Air, or craw'ls securely by.
We fear not then the Caledonian Boar,
As the Tangier his wanscot faced Moor.
For such Indulgence, were he nee'r so wild,
Would make a Tyger, or a Panther mild.
How many have severe proceedings ended?
Whom such indulgence might perhaps amended.
If Jove dart thunder still when men revolt

Si quoties peccant bemixes, &c.

He quickly would not leave himself a bolt.

VI.

Indulgence, if an Act of Pollicie,
Its deep as hell, or as the heavens it's hie.
To gather altogither in a train,
And Jehu and Baals Priests to Act again.
Or else it's like to Jesus who did call
From Heaven, and pardoned a slaughtering Saul.
Amen, good Lord; but let us never see,
Our King accurst for letting Syria free.
Me thinks, I saw our trembling Kirk for life,
Panting like Isaack underneath the knife:

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And heard Heavens cry, Charles withdraw that blow,
Let not these ramms caught in the thickets go.
But since its done, Heavens pardon all offence
In pities, or in Policies pretence;
Yet we thought Policy should taught you rather,
To Indulge them as they indulg'd your Father:
Or, as he did, we fear, too late yee'l see,
There are extreams of gracious Clemencie.
Since none may say what doest thou, I take leave,
Indulgeo seldom hes the accusative.

Mollis illa educatio quam indulgentiam vocamus, nervos omnes, & mentis, &corporis frangit. Quintilianus.

Nimia principum clementiorum lenitas, innumer a mala, Cædes, Latrocinia, in ipsorum ditionibus gignit, adeo principum Indulgentia, quàm inclementia publicè nocentior est.

O Cruel, and wicked Indulgence, that is now found guilty of the death, not only of the Priests & People, but of Religion! Unjust mercy can never end in less then blood; and it were well, if only the body should have cause to complain of that kind cruelty.

In Mr. Ninian Paterson his Book of Epigrams, Lib. 3. Epi. 4. The Ghost of King Charles the First, is brought in,

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Englished thus,