 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
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Religious Relicks:
or, The Sale at the Savoy, upon the Jesuits breaking up their School and Chappel.
1
Last Sunday by chanceI encounter'd with Prance,
That Man of upright Conversation?
Who told me such News,
That I could not chuse
But laugh at his sad Declaration.
2
Says he, if you'll go,You shall see such a Show
Of Relicks expos'd to be sold;
Which from Sin and Disease
Will purge all that please
To lay out their Silver and Gold.
3
Strait with him I went,Being zealously bent,
Where for Sixpence the Man let me in:
But the Croud was so great,
I was all in a Sweat,
Before the rare Show did begin.
4
The Curtain being drawn,Which I think was of Lawn,
The Priest cross'd himself thrice, and bow'd;
Then with a sour Face,
Denoting his Case,
He address'd himself thus to the Croud.
5
You see our sad State,'Tis a Folly to prate,
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So in short, if you've Gold,
Here is to be sold
For a Guinea the Worth of ten Pound.
6
Here's St. James's old Bottle,It holds just a Pottle,
With the Pilgrims Habit he wore;
The same Scollop-shells,
As our holy Church tells;
Who denies it's a Son of a Whore.
7
Here's a Piece of the Bag,By Age turn'd to a Rag,
In which Judas the Mony did bear;
With a Part of his Rope
Bequeath'd to the Pope,
As an Antidote 'gainst all Despair.
8
Here's a Rib of St. Lawrence.'Tis also at Florence,
And it may be in France or in Spain;
It cures Stone and Gravel,
And Women in Travail,
It delivers without any Pain.
9
Here's St. Joseph's old Coat,Tho scarce worth a Groat,
Its Plainness does shew he'ad no Pride;
Yet this he had on,
For besides he had none,
The Day that he marry'd his Bride.
10
His Breeches are there,A plain Leathern Pair,
Come buy the whole Suit if you please:
They'll defend you from th'Itch,
From Hag, and from Witch,
And preserve you from Bugs and from Fleas.
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11
Here's the Gall of a Saint,For such as do faint,
Or are troubled with Fits of the Mother;
Nay, if your Breath stink
Worse than Close-stool or Sink,
It will cure you as soon as the other.
12
Here's a Prayer of Pope Joan,The like to't is none,
If you say it but three times a year,
Three hundred in Grace,
And three hundred 'twill place
In Heav'n, if they ever come there.
13
Here's our Lady's old Shoe,Which in old time was new,
It will cure all your Chilblains and Corns;
With the Coif of St. Bridget,
To be worn by each Ideot,
Whose Head is tormented with Horns.
14
Here's a Bottle of Tears,Preserv'd many years,
Of Mary's that once was a Sinner;
Some o'th' Fish and the Bread
That the five thousand fed,
Whom our Saviour invited to Dinner.
15
Here's St. Francis' own Cord,You may take't on my word,
Who dies in it cannot be damn'd;
Do but buy it, and try
If I tell you a Lye,
Many thousands of Heav'n are shamm'd.
16
Here's his Holiness's Beard,Of whom you have heard,
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Yet this I dare swear
Was his nat'ral Hair,
Or else I'll be sworn he had none.
17
Its Virtue is such,That it if does touch
Your Head, your Face, or elsewhere,
It does straightway restore
More than e'er was before,
Tho by Age, or by Action worn bare.
18
Here's St. Christopher's Boot,For his right Leg and Foot,
Which he wore when he ply'd at the Ferry,
When on's Shoulders he bore
His blessed Lord o'er,
For the poor Man had never a Wherry.
19
Such as sail on the Seas,I am sure it will please,
For its Parallel never was found;
Neither Tempest nor Storm
Can e'er do 'em harm,
Nor is't possible they should be drown'd.
20
Here's an infinite moreI have by me in store,
All which lie conceal'd in this Hamper:
Either buy 'em to-day,
Or I'll throw 'em away,
For to-morrow by Heaven I'll scamper.
21
Our Market is done,We must shut up at Noon,
We expect 'em each hour at the door:
We are hang'd if we stay,
Nor can we get away,
For none will dare carry us o'er.
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22
But by the Faith of a Priest,This is no time to jest,
Since we're baulk'd in our great Expectation:
Before I will swing
Like a Dog in a String,
I'll renounce Transubstantiation.
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