University of Virginia Library

MAD FASHIONs, OD FASHIONS, All out of Fashions,

OR, The Emblems of these Distracted times.

Mad fashions, od fashions, all out of fashions,

OR, The Emblems of these distracted times.

The Picture that is Printed in the front
Is like this Kingdome, if you look upon't:
For if you well doe note it as it is,
It is a Transform'd Metamorphasis.
This Monstrous Picture plainely doth declare
This land (quite out of order) out of square.
His Breeches on his shoulders doe appeare,
His doublet on his lower parts doth weare;
His Boots and Spurs upon his Armes and Hands,
His Gloves upon his feet (whereon he stands)
The Church or'eturnd (a lamentable show)
The Candlestick above, the light below,
The Cony hunts the Dogge, the Rat the Cat,
The Horse doth whip the Cart (I pray marke that)
The Wheelbarrow doth drive the man (oh Base)
And Eeles and Gudgeons flie a mighty pace.
And sure this is a Monster of strange fashion,
That doth surpasse all Ovids Transformation.
And this is Englands case this very day,
All things are turn'd the Cleane contrary way;
For Now, when as a Royall Parliament,
(With King, and Peers, and Commons whole consent)
Have almost sate two yeeres, with paines and Cares,
And Charge, to free us from our Griefes and feares,
For when many a worthy Lord and Knight,
And good Esquire (for King and Countreys Right)
Have spent so much time with Great Toyle, and Heede,
All Englands Vicious garden how to weed,
So like a Wildernesse 'twas overrun,
That though much hath been done; All is not done.
The Devill doth perswade, entice and lurke,
And force bad men to set good men aworke.
That whilst the Worthies strive to right our wrongs,
And give to each man, what to him belongs;
Whil'st they take paines to settle all things heere,
An Irish Devill, doth madly domineere.
From Hells black Pit, begirt with Romish Armes,
Thousands of Locusts are in Troopes and Swarmes,
More Barbarous then the Heathen, worse then Iewes,
No Turkes or Tartars would such Tortures use.
Sure that Religion can no wayes be good,
That so inhumanly delights in Blood:
Nor doth that doctrine from the Scriptures spring,
That Subiects should Rebell against their King.
Nay (further) murder, ravish, spoile, deflowre,
Burne and lay waste, depopulate, devoure,
Not sparing Infants at the Breast or wombe,
(To die where first they liu'd, their Birth, their Tombe)
'Tis said no Serpent, Adder, Snake, or Toade,
Can live in Ireland, or hath there aboade:
'Tis strange that shee those Vipers doth not Kill,
That Gnawes her Bowells, and her blood doth spill,
Can Irish Earth Kill all things vennemous,
And can shee nurse such Vermin Mischievous:
Her owne sonnes Native, worse then Strangers Borne,
They have their Mothers Entrailes rent and torne,
Yet still her Indulgencie, harbours those,
And feeeds those Rebells that doe breed her woes:
God (in thy Mercy) give her strength and Ayde,
And courage, make her foes and ours dismay'd,
Thou Lord of Hosts, thine owne cause take in hand,
Thy foes (Thine Antichristian foes) withstand;
Defend thy truth, and all our Armies guide,
Our enemies to scatter and devide.
Thus leaving Ireland (with my hearty prayers)
To Brittaine back againe my Muse repaires:
Where I perceive a Metamorphosis,
Is most preposterous, as the Picture is,
The world's turn'd upside downe, from bad to worse,
Quite out of frame, The cart before the Horse.
The Felt-maker, and sawcie stable Groome
Will dare to Pearch into the Preachers Roome,
Each Ignorant, doe of the Spirit Boast,
And prating fooles brag of the holy-Ghost,
When Ignoramus will his Teacher Teach,
And Sow-gelders, and Coblers dare to preach,
This shewes, mens witts are monstrously disguis'd,
Or that our Countrey is Antipodis'd.
When holy Common Prayer, is by the Rable
Accounted Porridge, and unfruitfull Babble,
When our Beliefe is not so much as sed,
When as the Ten Commandments are not read,
When as the Lords Prayer is almost neglected,
When as all decencie is quite reiected,
When to avoid a Romish Papists name,
A man must be unmannerly, past shame,
When he that doth shew Reverence, doth offend,
And he seems best that will not bow or bend,
When he that into Gods House doth not come,
As to a Stable, or a Tipling Roome,
Is counted for a Popish favorite,
And branded so, despis'd, and scorn'd with spite.
When He that (of his wayes) doth conscience make,
And in his heart doth world, flesh, feind forsake,
Loves God with all his soule; adores no pelfe,
And loves his Neighbour, as hee loves himselfe,
This man is Rare to finde, yet this Rare man
Shall have the Hatefull name of Puritan;
When execrations pierce the firmament,
And oathes doe batter 'gainst Heavens Battlement:
When Imprecations, and damb'd Blasphemies,
In sundry cursed volleys scale the Skies,
When men more Bruitish then the Horse or Mule,
Who know not to obey, presume to Rule,
Thus Church and Common-wealth, and men, all are
(Much like the Picture) out of frame or square.
And if'twere possible our fathers old
Should live againe, and tread upon this mould,
And see all things confused, overthrowne,
They would not know this Countrey for their owne.
For England hath no likelyhood, or show
Of what it was but seventy yeeres agoe;
Religion, manners, life and shapes of men,
Are much unlike the people that were then,
Nay Englands face and language is estrang'd,
That all is Metamorphis'd, chop'd and chang'd,
For like as on the Poles, the VVorld is whorl'd
So is this Land the Bedlam of the VVorld;
That I amazed, and amated am,
To see Great Brittaine turn'd to Amsterdam,
Mens braines and witts (two simples beat together)
From thence (mix'd and compounded) are sent hither.
For Amsterstam is landed (as I heare)
At Rye, or Hastings, or at Dover Peere,
At Harwich, Ipswich, Sandwich, or at Weymouth,
At Portsmouth, Dartmouth, Exmouth, Plimouth, Farmouth,
At Yarmouth, and at all the Ports to Tinmouth,
And westward unto Bristow and to Monmouth;
From all these Mouthes and more, mad sects are sent,
VVho have Religion all in pieces Rent,
One would have this, Another would have that,
And most of them would have they know not what.
God give us peace, and ease us of our paine,
And send those sects, from whence they came againe,
The Papist, and the Schismatique; both grieves
The Church, for shee's like Christ (Between two Thieves.)
I took the Protestation twice of Late,
VVhere I protested not to Innovate.
'Tavoide all Popish Rites, and to expresse
Obedience to what Englands Church professe,
My Loyalty unto my King is bent
VVith duty to the Peers and Parliament.
VVith Prayers, and my best service for them all,
That on them may Heavens chiefest blessings fall,
That with one heart, as one man, with one minde,
(For Gods great glory) they may be combinde,
And never vary, but goe boldly on,
To end the good worke, which they have begun.
This is the Sum (which ne'er shall be forsooke)
Of what I in the Protestation tooke.
But, for all this, I may be mannerly
In Gods House, and be free from Papistrie;
I hope I may put off my hat, and be
Allow'd to Kneel, and Pray, and Bow my Knee,
VVhen as divine Command bids, onely then
I'le Bow to God, and not to Saints, or Men.
And from those dueties I will never vary
Till death, or Order doe command contrary.
Th'Almighties Name be ever prays'd and blest,
That Romish superstition is supprest,
VVee have no Abbyes, Abbots, Friars, or Monks,
Nor have we Nuns, or Stewes allow'd for Punks,
VVee have no Masses, or no Mass-Priests heere,
But some are hang'd, and some are fled for feare.
All those that are so bold to stay behind,
I wish they may like entertainment finde;
Beades, Bables, Relliques, Tapers, Lamps or Lights,
Wee have no superstitious Romish Rites,
Wee seek our Pardons from our Heavenly Hope,
And not by works, or favour from the Pope;
To Saints we make no prayer, or Intercession,
And unto God alone wee make Confession;
Wee hold no Reall Presence in the Bread,
And wee doe know King Charles our supreame head
(Beneath God, who hath plac'd him in his Throne)
For other Supreame, wee acknowledge none.
No Purgatory, Image, Wood or Stone,
No Stock, or carved Block, wee trust upon,
Nor is our Church discretion heere so little,
As to Baptize with Cream, with salt and Spittle.
VVee have as many Sacraments, as Heaven
Ordain'd; which are but two, and Rome hath seven.
VVee doe not Christen Bells, and give them Names
Of Simon, Peter, Andrew, Iohn and Iames;
VVee use no Pilgrimage, or Holy-water,
Nor in an unknowne tongue our Prayers scatter;
All these, and many more, in Rome are us'd
VVhich are by us reiected and refus'd.
And yet too many faults, alas remaines,
VVhich are the Churches, and the Kingdomes staines,
The Church Triumphant is not cleere from spots,
The Poore Church Millitant hath still some blots,
Heer's all unperfect, somthing's still amisse,
And nothing's blest, but in Eternall Blisse.
Meane time, till wee amend, and leave our crimes,
The Picture is the Emblem of the Times.