THis Page I send you Sir, your Newgate Fate
|
Not to condole, but to congratulate.
|
I envie not our Mitred men, their Places
|
Their rich Preferments, nor their richer F[a]ces:
|
To see them Steeple upon Steeple set,
|
As if they meant that way to Heaven to get
|
I can behold them take into their Gills
|
A dose of Churches, as men swallow Pill,
|
And never grieve at it: Let them swim in Wine
|
While others drown in tears, Ile not repine,
|
But my heart truly grudges (I confess)
|
That you thus loaded are with happiness;
|
For so it is: And you more blessed are
|
In Peters Chain, than if you set ins Chair.
|
One Sermon hath preferrd you so much Honour,
|
A man could scarce have had from Bishop Bonner;
|
Whilst we (your Brethren) poor Erraticks be,
|
You are a glorious fixed Star we see.
|
Hundreds of us turn out of House and Home,
|
To a safe Habitation you are come.
|
What though it be a Gaol? Shame and Disgrace
|
Rise only from the Crime, not from the place.
|
Who thinks reproach or injurie is done
|
B[y and Eclipse] to the [uns]potted Sun?
|
He only by that black upon his brow
|
Allures spectators more; and so do you.
|
Let me find Honey, though upon a Rod,
|
And prize the Prison, where my Keepers God:
|
Newgate or Hell were Heaven if Christ were there,
|
He made the Stable so, and Sepulchre.
|
Indeed the place did for your presence call;
|
Prisons do want perfuming most of all.
|
Thanks to the Bishop and his good Lord Mayor,
|
Who turnd the Den of Thieves into a House of Prayer:
|
And may some Thief by you converted be,
|
Like him who sufferd in Christs company.
|
Now would I had sight of your Mittimus;
|
Fa[i]n would I know why you are dealt with thus.
|
Jaylor, set forth your Prisoner at the Bar,
|
Sir, you shall hear what your offences are.
|
First, It is provd that you being dead in Law
|
(As if you card not for that death a straw)
|
Did walk and haunt your Church, as if you[]ld scare
|
Away the Reader and his Common-Prayer.
|
Nay twill be provd you did not only walk,
|
But like a Puritan your Ghost did talk.
|
Dead, and yet Preach! these Presbyterian slaves
|
Will not give over Preaching in their Graves.
|
Item, You playd the Thief, and ift be so,
|
Good reason (Sir) to Newgate you should go:
|
And now youre there, some dare to swear you are
|
The greatest Pick-pocket that ere came there:
|
Your Wise too, little better then your self you make,
|
She is the Receiver of each Purse you take.
|
But your great Theft, you act it in your Church,
|
(I do not mean you did your Sermon lurch,
|
Thats crime Canonical) but you did pray
|
And preach, so that you stole mens hearts away.
|