A TALE of THE TUBBS or ROMES MASTER PEICE Defeated
If Englands Prayers be heard, and Senate sit; Down goes proud Rome, French Arms, and Northern Wit.
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O Unkind Devil, thus at last deceive me!
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Stay till the Ale was out, and then to leave me:
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Hath not my service greater been by odds,
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Than can be hopt from Bread and wooden Gods?
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See how our off-spring altogether strive,
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To keep the Ballance and the Ale alive,
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Although at Bottom, while perfidious you
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Tack to that Tripple Dogg and Damned Crew
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Of Loyalas, till they Us all undo:
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Sot that you are, to have a greater hope
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From a few Priests, and an old doting Pope,
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That their dry PLOTS, can ere your intrest further
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Than I have done, by Rapine, Whores, and Murder,
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Who by the Liquor of my musty Cell
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Hath sent you scores, nay hundreds, quick to Hell:
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You are ungrateful, thus to leave old Friends,
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And think Romes Vassals ere can make amends;
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Who when their work is done will Domineer;
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And swear that hell was meally mouthd for fear:
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Then turn your hand, and on our side it give,
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Or they will stave my Hogshead as I live,
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And so grow sober, then shall both ons pass,
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Ale for a Witch, thou Devil for an Asse.
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The Devil (or Jack on both sides) Reply.
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What Ails this Drunken Puppy to Complain,
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Thinks he I know not wheres my greatest gain:
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That Pack of Bandoggs, breed of Northern Tikes;
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Shall Teize the souls of all that us dislikes;
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Must my Vicegerent with his Tripple Crown
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By Empty Ale-Tubs ere be weighed down?
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No know I am wiser, Drunkards are but fools
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Unto this MEAL-TUB and his Holinesses Tools.
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Tis true, the Ale-Tub, is our friend we know,
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And oft from thence some Reeling to Hell go,
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But these can Ruine Kingdoms at a Blow.
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And where they Conquer, there the Herreticks feel,
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Far greater Torments than our whips of Steel
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We Exercise upon our Slaves below,
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Who (but for them) did nere such tortures know.
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Flay men alive, then forth their Bowels tear,
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Women rip up with Child, and on their Spear
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Mount their young Infants, while in blood they sprawl,
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The Catholicks way to quiet them that Bawl;
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Cities Consume with fire, Ravish Maid and Wife,
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Destroy by Poyson, Pistol, Burnings, Knife,
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With thousand other ways to End their hated Life.
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But what is best of all: when they have done,
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They call this holy work: most Christian ------
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Acted from pure zeal, and love so mild,
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Makes them as guiltless as the Unborn Child;
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Two Ave-marys, and one Pater-Nos ------
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Will make amends for all, and quit the Cost
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Theyr daring sinners, of the Popes first Rate,
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With God himself they will Equivocate ------
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By Breaden Gods they can Absolve a Lye ------
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Nay by the Mass they dare do more than I,
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Not Tremble at, but mock the Deity. ------
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Then cease to murmur, they shall bear the Bell
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For Damnd Designs, and PLOTS that out-does Hell.
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The Jesuits speak their merrits.
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Most Holy Father, we do much admire
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Your weighty Goodness, and your Reverend Sire,
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Whose helping hand doth for us turn the Scale,
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By him we have, and do, and shall prevail;
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Tis not Heavens Power that shall frustrate this
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Most Brave design, which in the MEAL-TUB is;
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Nor Presbyterians save their hated Throats,
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Now at the last, by a Damnd tell-tale Oats.
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If Hell (for Heaven we matter not) Conceal
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This Blest Intreague, by all our Gods the MEAL
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Shall have high honour, on our Altars that
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Made into Gods be worshipt smoaking hot.
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This matchless Treason, makes it holy all ------
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White as from Tower scrapt, or West-ward Hall;
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This wonder-working Euchrist shall do more
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Than Jesuits Powder, Pentioner, or Whore,
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Or all the Baffled Plots we ere Contrivd before,
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Twill make the Herreticks all agast to see
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Themselves the Plotters, murdered Legally.
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And make us fat with Laughing, how they will
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Divided fall and one another Kill: ------
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Tis holy sport to see their blood run down
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In every Channel of the Burned Town,
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While Changling Robin, Bugbear in the City,
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Dye the Green Ribbons Red; by Hell thats pretty:
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Then shall that Mote, in Northern eye be sped,
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After Exile calld back to lose his head.
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But these are scraps of what our TUB contains,
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And do these Coxcombs, with their addled Brains,
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Think ere to weigh us down with Ale and Grains?
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No Punies know, your Reeling throngs out-done,
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Weel make all England stagger eret be Long:
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But talkings Idle, lets to action come,
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And strike the stroak, may Ruine Christendom.
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Sir William Waller to Col. Mansell.
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See Mansell where that Damned hellish Crew,
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Are plotting Murders, and begin with you;
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See heaven discovers unto thee and I
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Their horrid Treasons, hellbred Villany,
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Coucht in that pacquet brought by Willoughby.
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Oh Blessed God! whose mercies infinite
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Do yet preserve us from Eternal Night;
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Its thou alone whose heavenly goodness still
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Defends our Lives (almost) against our will,
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From these vile Plotters, Miscreants of Rome,
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Blood-thirsty Villains, Pests of Christendom.
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Direct me Heaven to take them in their toyl,
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And all their Treasons, and their plottings spoil.
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Lets in amongst them, Mansel, heres my hand,
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Ile lose my life to save my native Land.
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Tis done, says Mansel, brave Sir William; I
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In such a cause with you am proud to dye.
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Well make those Vermin know, we scorn their rage,
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Our nobler Souls dares Rome and Hell ingage.
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And if such manhood Reigneth in us two,
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What cant the Courage of our English do?
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But Ruine all its Foes, when once provokt thereto.
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Lets search that Pesthouse, where the Midwifes bred
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Who brings Romes Bastards and their Plots to bed,
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Methinks it looks, as if the Tower Beasts
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Had there some Prey on which they often feast.
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Tis there my Lady meets her trusty Steer;
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Some Newgate-Birds and Sir Examiner.
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Theres Stars amongst them whence young Tycho drew
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The Plots good fortune, but his own not knew;
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See how the Whores of either Sexes Tugg,
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While the Grand Bawde sits Brooding on the TUB,
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Well turn the Bottom upwards ere we go,
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Ile lay my Life theres Treason at his Toe.
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So off they fetch him, with his Tripple Crown,
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And threw the Crosier, and the MEAL-TUB down;
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Whence came such stuff the Devil, frighted, swore,
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He never saw such Princely stuff before,
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The West must yield the Belt unto the Nore:
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Thus England once more is delivered from
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Romes Rogues abroad, and Plotters here at home:
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Stand on your Guard, now hold your selves awake,
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Lest their next Plot (you careless) Napping take.
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Respice & Cave.
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