Poor ROBBIN turn'd SEEKER;
OR,
The Seekers Ballad.
To the Tune of 49.
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OH where am I now?
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which way shall I go?
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that wander thus by guessing?
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So puzzl'd in mind,
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I do not well know,
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the Kirk that is truth professing.
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A Protestant still
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methinks I could be,
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but then the half Papist
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is cast upon me;
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and as for a Presbiter
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what if I try,
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to cog, cologue,
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dissemble, and lie.
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Fa, la, la, la,
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La, la, la, la, la, la, la, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la.
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The Protestant sayes,
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Since Papist, and Pope,
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Were thrust out of possession;
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although he retain,
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A Cross, and a Cope,
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Yet Ours is the true profession;
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By Parliament Law,
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Synodical too;
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Our Faith was establisht,
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and therefore is true:
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And Bishops are ancient,
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Cannot be deny'd;
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For Cranmer, Cranmer,
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For the truth dy'd.
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Fa la, la, la, fa, la, la, etc.
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The Presbiter then,
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Pulls me by the sleeve,
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And says we are all in an Errour;
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Says this is the Parliament,
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We must Believe;
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As pure as a Chrystal Mirour:
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The Lord does on them
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Such favours confer,
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Enlightens them so,
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That they cannot Erre:
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And Prelacy is,
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No Man can deny,
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A Rag, a badge,
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Of old Popery.
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Fa, la, la, etc.
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The Second Part.
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THe Anabaptist,
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Comes running betwixt,
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In the Spirit alike confiding;
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Says Parliament 'Faith,
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With Errour is mix'd;
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And therefore he's thus deciding:
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That his is the truth,
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That's prov'd by the word;
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Not foisted by Votes,
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Nor forc'd by the Sword;
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And therefore concludes,
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The Spirit tells me,
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My Faith, my Faith,
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From Errour is free.
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Fa, la, la, la, etc.
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Yet see, unawares,
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Comes in a Fourth Man;
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And 'tis an Independent,
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Who verily swears,
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He'll do what he can,
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against a Super-intendent:
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That he may not Swear,
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for they must live free;
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And will not admit
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Of Presbiterie:
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'Mongst them shall not lurk,
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So per'lous an Elf,
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But Parsons, Parsons,
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Each by himself.
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Fa, la, la, etc.
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Behold a Socinian,
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Comes in with his wit,
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Though now't be out of season;
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Says, He that desires
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To Level, and hit,
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Must follow the light of reason:
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By Judgement expound,
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The Text as it lies;
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And shape to himself,
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a Faith by his Eyes;
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And then may conclude,
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the Spirit tells me,
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My Faith, my Faith,
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From Errour is free.
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Fa, la, la, etc.
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But stay my dear Friends,
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the Quaker then cri'd,
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By Yea and by Nay you are dark-lings,
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You all erre and you stray,
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And you walk on one side,
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and ye have not of Faith
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The least sparlings.
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Then tremble and groan,
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And move as I do;
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I will shew you the Light,
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And the Dark at one view:
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You shall quickly behold,
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We are glorious within:
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Since we're so perfect,
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that we cannot sin.
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Fa, la, la, etc.
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Last in the fag end,
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the Papist began
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To boast his Catholick Mother,
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the Pillar of truth;
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Yet then as one Man,
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though one 'gainst another,
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'Gainst him to oppose,
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We all were combin'd:
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Saying she is old,
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that now being blind;
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She cannot see that,
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which is writ in the word:
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The Truth, the Truth,
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Inspir'd by the Lord.
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Fa, la, la, etc.
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Now who must come in?
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But I to decide?
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Who likewise may have the Spirit?
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and if they presume,
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Then I may confide,
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that never beleev'd in Merit.
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A true Seeker till,
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For my self will I be,
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Yet outward as pure,
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As any you see,
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Who turn up the whites,
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as godly as they;
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And Cog, Cologue,
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For this is the way.
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Fa, la, la, etc.
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