A Scourge for the POPE,
Satyrically scourging the itching sides of his obstinate
Brood, in ENGLAND.
To the tune of Roome for etc.
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F Amous Brittany ,
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Give thankes to God on high,
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Who hath delivered thee
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from Popish fictions:
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Thy Religion free,
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With Gods Word doth agree,
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While Romes false doctrine
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imply contradictions:
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With subtill intrusion,
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They sought Truthes confusion,
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I trust, the conclusion
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will frustrate their hope.
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Our King doth defy them,
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Our Commons descry them,
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'Tis fit they should hye them
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away to the Pope.
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Where are the Jesuites,
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That late were so arrogant,
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That they would needs
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take upon them to teach us?
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In every corner
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Seduceing the ignorant,
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But now I hope they
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no more shall ore-reach us.
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They are best be packing,
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Their power is slacking,
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Unlesse they love cracking
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their necks in a rope.
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[?Truth]'s manifested,
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[?][m]olested;
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[?] [?]tested,
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[?]Pope.
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Long have they looked
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To get toleration,
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But God kept the heart
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of our King in his Hand.
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That would have wrought
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Our Truth's extirpation,
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If they had divulged
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their lyes through the Land:
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But now 'tis otherwise,
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All popish trumperies,
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With faigned forgeries,
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shall have no scope.
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Our Laws will prevent them,
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And shrewdly torment them,
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Theres none to content them,
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so soone as the Pope.
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You fond Papists,
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That late were seduced,
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In time be resolved
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to make recantation,
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That your poore soules may
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Againe be reduced
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Unto his blest Gospell,
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who bought your salvation.
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Shake hands, and bid adue
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To that deceitfull crue:
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What pittie tis that you
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[in] blindnesse grope!
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Make haste, and come from thence,
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Submit for your offen[ce],
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Put no more confiden[ce]
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in the false Pop[e].
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Now we shall have
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No secret Assemblies,
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Nor meeting houses
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to celebrate Masse:
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Now the Jesuit[es]
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With feare made to tremble is,
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To thinke what strange events
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will come to passe.
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This great vexation,
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Beyond expectation,
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A strange alteration
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hath bred in their hope:
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They Arguments framed,
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And priviledge claimed,
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But now they are tamed,
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and fly to the Pope.
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All Professors true,
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Lately were sore afraid,
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For feare the Papists would
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get some permission,
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To have free use of their
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Seditious lying trade,
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But now I hope
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there's no cause of suspicio[n],
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Our Parliament Royall,
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Will give them deniall,
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A meanes to destroy all
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their causes of hope.
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Our King will requit th[em]
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And worthily fit them
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Their best waie's to [?]
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with speed to the [Pope]
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The second Part. To the same tune.
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F Arewell Masse-mongers,
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With all your juggling tricks,
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Your puppet plaies will not
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here be allow'd.
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Have me commended
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Unto your great Pontifex,
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Tell him, Saint Peter
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was never so proud:
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And say, tis needful,
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That he should be heedfull
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Lest Gods Judgements dreadfull
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do light on his Cope:
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Dominic , nor Francis ,
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Whom Rome so advances,
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Cannot from mischances
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secure the proud Pope.
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Our good King is
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The patterne of pietie,
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And well deserveth
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his Stile, Faiths Defender.
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He, like a Shepheard
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Ordained by the Deity,
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His Flocks most safely
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will nourish and tender:
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The Pope he excludeth,
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Though oft he intrudeth:
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Yet like zealous Judeth ,
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his head he will crop:
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Like good Hezekias ,
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And fervent Josias ,
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He serves the Messias ,
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and hateth the Pope.
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Then, Professors true,
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Plucke up a courage good,
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Feare the Lord truely,
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dread not your foes:
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Keepe your faith still pure,
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And doe not spare your bloud,
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Let not the Papists
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delude you with showes.
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Give no permission
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To Romes superstition,
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Upon no condition,
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of promise or hope.
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Let due execution,
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And stout resolution,
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Expell all pollution,
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that springs from the Pope.
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That we may effect
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What we desire to see,
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Let us to God direct
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our supplications.
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For our dread Soveraigne,
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Under whose Majestie,
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We doe enjoy the true
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meanes of Salvation:
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Give him strength to subdue,
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Antichrist and his crue,
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With zeale Prince Charles endu
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our second hope:
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Good Lord, be thou present,
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In our high Parliament,
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That none may give consent
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to love the Pope.
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