The Quakers Ballad:
OR,
An Hymn of Triumph and Exultation for their Victories, at the two late great Disputes by
them held with the Baptists; the first in Barbican, on the 9th. the second in Wheeler-street, on
the 16th. of the Eight Month, 1674.
To an excellent new Tune, called, The Zealous Atheist.
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YE she-friends and he-friends whoever inherit
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Infallible light in dark-lanthorn of Spirit,
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Come prick up your ears, for behold! I will fit ye
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with an Hymn that is cal'd by the wicked, a Ditty
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In the Scuffle we late have had with the Baptists
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Wherein both our honour and intrest wrapt is,
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Though our logick perhaps be too weak to dispute um
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We hope by a Ballad at least to confute um.
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For though Fiddle & Organs are both Babilonish
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Wherewith the prophane delighted alone is;
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Yet in such a case inspiration may haunt
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Even us which are perfect to warble a Chaunt.
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Then let us a while our tremblings lay by,
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And quit our still Meetings to set up a cry,
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Lets challenge, and rant, talk loud and be bold,
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For the Spirit at present doth move us to scold.
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'Tis time to exclaim, as receiving the wrong,
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And take up that carnal weapon the tongue,
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For if we delay our whole party must sink,
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And our long-boasted light go out in a stink.
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Our juglings so plain will appear that each eye,
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Through the mask of our holy pretences will spy,
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And see that a Quaker, when stript of his paint,
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Is neerer of kin to an Athiest, than Saint.
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Then let us equivocate neatly and lay
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A plausible meaning on all that we say,
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And the very same art that serves to excuse us,
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At once shall condemn all those that accuse us.
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This being done, we point time and place,
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And come full prepared to bandy the case,
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In the Barbican first we gave them a meeting,
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And never was seen such a Bear-garden greeting
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A Rabble thrust in from each end of the Town,
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And before half an agreement could be laid down
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In less time than a man can a pot of Ale swallow,
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'twas confirm'd with a hoop, & deny'd with a hallow
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The place like an Hot-house appear'd, and by hap
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Some Friends might be cured here of a clap;
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And if it were so I cannot but say,
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Twas the best effect of our meeting that day.
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The second part, to the same Tune.
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BUt once more have at um, for without doubt
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If we cannot confute, we must tyre them out
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& therefore sent word they were cowardly lubbars,
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If they would not in Spittle-fields venture a rub-bers
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Four hours and more we dispute in and out,
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To know what it was we should dispute about,
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Which yet at the last was never agreed,
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But no matter for that we resolv'd to proceed.
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'Twould have made puss laugh, or child in the cri-somes,
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To hear us chop logick, and talk sylogismes,
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That spiritual cantings of Nailor and s brood,
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Should Apostatize thus into figure and mood.
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To see holy seed so grand a designer,
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As to turn yea and nay into major and minor,
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Use language of beast Concedo or Pergo,
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And tickle their tobies at last with an Ergo.
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At first they came on like huffing Philistians,
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And needs would atempt to prove us no Christians
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When most by our wranglings, already thought much
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To believe that in truth either of us were such.
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All Dialogues we cry'd down as prophane,
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Though divers of us had written in that strain;
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But that by a figure must be understood,
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Making things bad in others, in us to be good.
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But let friends take notice how basely they wrong us
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By suggesting a Papist God bless us, amongst us;
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For there was no need of that I must tell ye,
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Since each of us carries his Pope in his belly.
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Ourselves to be Christians we loudly declare,
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But avoid the contest to prove that we were;
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For we find that our intrest doth better agree,
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To be counted Christians, than truly to be.
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Yet inveagled at last by a kind of a wyle,
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We were drawn into what we had shun'd all this while,
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But still we were safe, though shrewdly put to 't,
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For when all sh[i]fts fail inspiration can do 't.
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To this then we flye though certain it be,
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Old Mahomet h[a]d as much claim to 't as we;
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However it serves to ward off a blow,
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For who shall refute what no man can know.
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For if folks wou[l]d have wonders or miracles done
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We confess we can instance at present but one,
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That so many sh[o]uld Scripture and reason forsake
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And in our redic[u]lous whimses partake.
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but though in go[o]d form we would argue no more
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We went on wi[t]h bawling as high as before,
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For we knew th[a]t the croud would the glory afford
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To him that spo[k]e loudest, and had the last word.
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To prove that w[e] did our Antagonist beat,
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'Tis enough for t[o] say that we made them retreat
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And charged them bravely when we had done,
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In the Rear with an eccho, they run friends, they run.
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And to shew that [o]ur Amunition of Lungs,
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Was yet not all s[p]ent, nor weary our tongues,
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After this we beg[a]n another new quoil,
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And fell all a Pre[a]ching in Rank and in File.
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Thus in brief a str[a]nge clutter we kept, and a stir
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But what good came on't, if I know I'm a cur,
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Only people went [h]ome, some sick, and some lame,
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But all of them ju[s]t as wise as they came.
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