University of Virginia Library

Not like that Masse-Priest, he whose mouth is cram'd
With words that speake all Protestants are damn'd.
Him nor his flocke, I dare not censure so,
Nor meane to write more then I justly know
To be most true; in which knowne Path I finde,
Counterfeit Catholiques, so grossely blinde,
They dare outface Heav'ns Truth, forg'd lies maintaine
To Cloake the cunning Iesuites subtile Braine,
He that do's Theefe-like waite for vertues fall,
Lives in perpetuall watch, to blow up all.
The President, recorded stands for ever,
In this Realmes safety; which hell's Plot can never
Wipe from Rememb'rance; never shall the Evill
Of that close Secretary, to the Devill,
That Iesuite Garnet, live forgot while I,
Have Pen, or Hand, to write his Tragedy,
(That Myne of Murther, Mischiefes Master-vice,
Lodg'd in the Politicque skull of Avarice)
His desp'rate Soule was such, he durst to swimme,
A Sea of Vice, be rackt in ev'ry limme.
All tortures suffer, rather then reveale
The Treason, his Religion bids conceale.
Witnesse thou Ghost of Garnet, this is true,
He that han'gd, drawne, and quarter'd, had his due.
To him was knowne, the powder pitchie Treason,
Never to be forgot, he knew the season
When, where, and how, that suddaine bloudie blow,
(Black, Hell-bread, Thunder, flaming, overthrow,)
Should have beene given, knew the Times short space,
When no soule should have time to pray for Grace,
Or cry, God helpe; The Treason was so foule,
The Traitors would have damn'd both body and Soule
If in their power; and ev'ry soule i'th Ayre
Tost up, sent unprepar'd of heav'nly prayer,
With all their sinnes; O horrid, horrid Act,
All this the Iesuite knew; conceal'd the fact,
And rather then disclose, least warning give,
King, Prince, and Nobles, not a soule should liue,
Here was a Villaine; yet I've knowne in Spaine,
The Traitors death so moan'd, such Credit gaine,
(Though here he dyde, for Treasons just complaint)
There Monster Iesuites, make a Martyr'd Saint.
Mischievous Masse-Priests to his meriting fame,
At the high Altar in a spacious frame,
Advance to him, as to a Saint most blest,
His Body-mangled Picture, thus exprest:

Garnets Picture.

Bare Head, white Beard, Lookes sober, in his Gowne,
“Him over head, Angels with Laurell Crowne.
“About his Neck, a long large Halter tide,
“Hangs, (as befitting such) downe the Left side.
“His Belly ript, bloud seeming open straw,
“Holding in his righ hand, his pictur'd draw.
“Beneath his right side, flames a Heart in fire,
‘'Bove his left, Limmes quarter'd, Treasons hire,
“Presented on a Tower; which Pictur'd storie,
Straw-sainted set up to'th Arch-Traitors Glory,
Invites each eye, yea all the world to see
Iesuites, Protectors of all Villany.
“Poys'ning of Princes, held as trifling things,
“With them, 'tis meritorious to kill Kings.
Can this Religion be, they thinke it pure,
But man ne'r knew Religion more impure,
Their Church, is but their Cloake, bad deeds to further,
The only sanctuary for bloud and murther.
Plots, Practizes, hellish abomination,
Pardons for Treason, holy approbation
Of that ill-Sainted wretch (his cursed fault)
That Father to Faux, the Divill i'th vault.

Such Iudas-Iesuites ever Traitors prove
To King, and Prince; disloyall in their love.
“Yet outward fawning seeme on bended knee
“Low as the earth; O true hypocrisie,
“Vnder the mild aspect of Reverence,
“In duty, and submisse obedience,
“With Oylie Eloquence, best pleasing Phrase,
“Catching Orations, full of flatt'ring praise,
“When in the heart abides no spot of good,
“All treach'rous thoughts; all thirsting after bloud,
“The fall of Princes, changes, alteration,
“The Protestants Religion's desolation,
“Such is the Iesuites dive'list disposition,
“The nature of the Beast, his true condition,
“He that can temporize, by booke maintaine
“To serve his ends; and glut his God-lesse gaine.
“Be what he least seemes, cold in devotion,
Envious, at one anothers Promotion,
“Not lowly minded, but proud Ambitious,
“In tongue a Saint, in heart a slave vicious.
“Preach divine patience, when himselfe shall be,
“The waspish Image of all Tyrannie.
“Spleenative, choll'ricke, and who so offends,
“Is so farre off from ever being friends,
All-bee't he seeme a Calme, yet if he live,
Hee'll be reveng'd, be sure ne'r to forgive,
Such is the Iesuite, such his double Face,
And such his charitable signe of Grace.

He that dares awe his Countrey, King and State,
Smile, and yet be a villaine, all men hate,
Set Princes at debate, befoole the times,
Poyson the world, with irreligious Crymes,
Swell Battles, Murthers, make whole Kingdomes shake,
Shed Innocent bloud, all for Religions sake,
To defend Religion, what Religion's this,
To seeme devoute, and doe so much amisse?
“Colour Religion, with meere gullerie,
“Wrest sacred Text, to maintaine Roguerie,
“(As if Religion were a formall Law,
“Religion onely to keepe fooles in awe,)
Defend Controversies; woe to those dayes,
Woe to such Serpent-snarling Church-Mens wayes,
“Sinne ne'r triumphes, strikes a more fatall stroake,
“Then when 'tis cove'rd with Religions Cloake.

That Iesuite, he, who speaks divinely faire,
Yet hath a wicked life; I may compare
To fire, stand off, doe not come too neare it,
You then may safely warme; neede not feare it,
But if thou unadvisedly presume,
Approach too nigh, thee it will burne, consume,
So the deceitfull Priest, come not neare him,
Shun his acquaintance, you neede not feare him.
Flie his dissembling sight, his blacke life spurne,
If lodg'd within your bosome, he will burne,
With shew of holinesse burne and scorch,
Waste thee, in thy Estate, like a spent Tortch.
Ther's not a Gentleman of meanes do's die,
But with his Heire, the Jesuite presently
Shares in his land; with shew of Reverence,
(Winning of Soules) covers concupiscence.
Commits with all he like, any Mans wife,
Makes her beleeve, 'tis to preserve his life.
Perswading Letch'rie, with their Ghostly Father,
No sinne, but a deede of charity rather.
Sad-sicknesse to prevent, to scowre the veines,
To mundifie, and for to purge the Reines.
Ergo plena, Charitatis; An Act
Of meere Commiseration, such a Fact,
As to denie it, (were a damned sinne)
Pulls curse on curse, which hath for ever binne
Iustly inflicted; punishing all those
Repugnant Natures, with the worst of woes,
Dispaire, assur'd confusion, dismall horrour,
Sudden destruction, Death, infernall terrour,
Hell, and the Devill; for that high offence
Of Stubborne refusall, disobedience,
A sinne, impossible to be forgiv'n,
Such is the Iesuites charge; of purpose giv'n,
To please his Lust; makes that, a gainefull trade,
Lies with this Lady, and that Chamber-Maide.
Here gives a Pardon, there denounceth Curses,
So betwixt both, sure to picke all their Purses.
The Nimble Slaves Church-knaverie can strip,
And fetch your greatest Lady o're the hip.
With a religious show', put tricks upon her,
Rob the beleeving Foole, first of her honour,
Then pardon Sinne; and then he may enthrall,
Rob her of Coyne, Plate, Iewels, Smocke and all,
Doe, and undoe, Her Charity's soone drawne
For baudie Iesuites, her best Smocke to pawne,
Their thread of Doctrine 'mong women spun,
Is to whore all, be she the chastest Nun,
If she denie to yeeld, Murther and Rape,
Shall Wolfe-like seize that prey, there's no escape,
Such is the Murd'ring Minde of him we call,
Natures Monster, Priest Iesuiticall.

Noli gloriari quod lingua bene dicis,
Si vita male dicis.