AN
ANSWER
To the AUTHOR of
Humble Thanks for His Majesties Gracious Declaration
FOR
LIBERTY of CONSCIENCE.
|
TWixt Heaven and thee, how sprung these fatal jars,
|
That thou (Poor Robin) railst against the Stars?
|
To thee what have their influences done,
|
With so much zeal to bark against the Moon?
|
On Heavens Tables if thou knewst whats writ
|
As well as on the Earthly what is set,
|
We would allow thou mightst the feud maintain,
|
Enabled by the belly not thy brain:
|
These things, alas, transcend thy scrutiny,
|
Their Language is but Arabick to thee;
|
Thou that couldst never yet higher advance,
|
Then Dod, and Cleaver, and the Concordance.
|
Thou knowst not that the Square of Mercury
|
To Mars afflicts a Punners brain, yet we
|
Find it alas, to be too true in thee.
|
We know what Saturn did at Bartholmew,
|
And some are of opinion so do you:
|
In those Dog-days had been the fittest time
|
To curse thy Stars (Poor Robin) in lewd rime;
|
Mount Ano for Parnassus then had gone,
|
Thou mightst have made with tears an Helicon,
|
And fetchd a Pegasus from Abingdon.
|
But Now to rave, when a propitious ray
|
Has shind on thee, and turnd thy night to day;
|
Now that the Claret-dispensations come,
|
And thou mayst vie for Toe with Him at Rome;
|
Assumd the pristine Rubies of thy beauty,
|
And art made capable of being gouty:
|
What is it less then when no foe was near us,
|
With so much heat to cry out, Curse ye Meroz!
|
What have those Reverend Prelates done to thee
|
Thus to blaspheme their pious memory?
|
Glocster, and learned Durhams name shall live,
|
When thine in Grubstreet hardly shall survive.
|
Unmannerd man! in Stars, and Men, ill read,
|
To trample on the Ashes of the Dead!
|
Well! since the Royal Clemency has given
|
Each man his leave to choose his way to Heaven,
|
Clean, and unclean Beasts into one Ark driven:
|
Since pressing i th Church-Militant disappears,
|
And all men now are Gospel Volunteers;
|
Since we are all united, lets agree,
|
Think you no worse of us, then of you, we;
|
For by your foul reflections wer afraid,
|
You write the Good Old Cause in Masquerade.
|
Instead of bonds and persecution,
|
Wherewith you usd to make the Pulpit groan,
|
Thank our kind Prince who with compassionate eyes
|
Lookd down and pittied your infirmities.
|
This may be done without or Rope, or Bell,
|
And thus Dear Doggrel, heartily farewel.
|
|
|
|
|
|