 | Poesis Rediviva |  |
The Presbyter.
Calvin
and Viret, rare men, calculate
Religion to their Purses, and a State.
Churches, like Dens of Theeves, inrich'd by stealth,
A rare Utopia, Plato's Commonwealth.
And Scotia which from darkness takes her name,
Doth by her nature now improve the same.
The aëry Presbyter tun'd to Geneva Jig,
Th' Scotch Bagpipe is with wind, not wisdome big.
Of Reformation all th' arch botchers read,
Truths garment, botcher-like, for Hell they shread.
Peruse each Town, when you each Priest have tride,
You'll finde they People well as Texts divide.
Hotch-potch, made up 'twixt Jews and Turks,
Cry destiny, are Abr'hams sons without his works.
He's by Election one who it believes:
Sure God loves fruit, and not Hypocrisi's leaves.
Oh may you sons be doing Gods commands
With Jacobs voice, have no more Esau's hands.
These Jews the light they boast of Lord reveal,
May it shine out more then in Glow-worm zeal.
The suffering Martyrs in th' Apocalyps now,
These two were Bishops; Can you them allow?
Or did you know that Elders Bishops were?
The names of th' Beast should now your forehead bear.
These were the grapes these Foxes could not reach,
Which made them cal them sowre, against them preach.
The Elders and Susanna surely be
No less then of Presbytery prophecy.
God's Church a garden, Word's a spring therein;
Susanna soul, which there is wash'd from sin:
Lust in the garden there doth Elders place,
The soul would ravish, and Gods stamp efface.
VVhile Cit and Priest, folly and knavery twine,
And a Scotch Primer must a shop book line:
Because deceit and lying is their trade,
Think nothing can be truth that ages said:
Nothing believe, but what's ith' stories writ
Of their own folly, squares to Cock-brain'd wit.
The Priest from's nest unplum'd, and callow hops,
Not learn'd above the gibrish of the shops.
Both serve sev'n year, and both with same intent,
That they false ware in darker shops may vent.
Having defil'd his nest, unfledg'd chirps here,
Op'ning his sparrow mouth from ear to ear.
Hence all Religion is in mouth or ear;
'Tis not Religion to do good, but hear.
Yet see the wondrous fruit of 't, though they reach,
None to act good, they have learn'd all to preach.
Religion to their Purses, and a State.
Churches, like Dens of Theeves, inrich'd by stealth,
A rare Utopia, Plato's Commonwealth.
And Scotia which from darkness takes her name,
Doth by her nature now improve the same.
The aëry Presbyter tun'd to Geneva Jig,
Th' Scotch Bagpipe is with wind, not wisdome big.
Of Reformation all th' arch botchers read,
Truths garment, botcher-like, for Hell they shread.
Peruse each Town, when you each Priest have tride,
You'll finde they People well as Texts divide.
Hotch-potch, made up 'twixt Jews and Turks,
Cry destiny, are Abr'hams sons without his works.
He's by Election one who it believes:
Sure God loves fruit, and not Hypocrisi's leaves.
Oh may you sons be doing Gods commands
With Jacobs voice, have no more Esau's hands.
These Jews the light they boast of Lord reveal,
12
The suffering Martyrs in th' Apocalyps now,
These two were Bishops; Can you them allow?
Or did you know that Elders Bishops were?
The names of th' Beast should now your forehead bear.
These were the grapes these Foxes could not reach,
Which made them cal them sowre, against them preach.
The Elders and Susanna surely be
No less then of Presbytery prophecy.
God's Church a garden, Word's a spring therein;
Susanna soul, which there is wash'd from sin:
Lust in the garden there doth Elders place,
The soul would ravish, and Gods stamp efface.
VVhile Cit and Priest, folly and knavery twine,
And a Scotch Primer must a shop book line:
Because deceit and lying is their trade,
Think nothing can be truth that ages said:
Nothing believe, but what's ith' stories writ
Of their own folly, squares to Cock-brain'd wit.
The Priest from's nest unplum'd, and callow hops,
Not learn'd above the gibrish of the shops.
Both serve sev'n year, and both with same intent,
That they false ware in darker shops may vent.
Having defil'd his nest, unfledg'd chirps here,
Op'ning his sparrow mouth from ear to ear.
Hence all Religion is in mouth or ear;
'Tis not Religion to do good, but hear.
Yet see the wondrous fruit of 't, though they reach,
None to act good, they have learn'd all to preach.
Resume thy black garb, wretch, it may be fit
To mourn your losse of Tithes, and losse of wit.
Canonical Belt, sure wisdome, to you ty'd;
Ungirt, unblest, VVisdome and Fortune slide.
To mourn your losse of Tithes, and losse of wit.
Canonical Belt, sure wisdome, to you ty'd;
Ungirt, unblest, VVisdome and Fortune slide.
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