HE's dead and gone. Now who, or whither;
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Would any know, let them come hither.
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'Tis he, whose zeal for Knoxes crew,
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Got him the name of Dick the Blew.
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Who, like an arrant Jugler, took
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Religion up but for a cloak.
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Who did the Serpents craft approve,
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But would not own the harmless Dove.
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Who dealt (though not with Whores and Bawds)
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Not Peters more, in pious Frauds.
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Who wore Sheeps-cloathing next his skin;
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But lodg'd a Ravening-Woolf within.
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Who others goods did oft invade,
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But never restitution made.
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Who, like a Presbyterian Cheat,
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Mean Flocks renounc'd, to flie at great.
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Who at small Gnats was wont to strain,
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But swallowed Camels without pain.
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Who from a Ceremony fled,
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And yet Rebellion followed.
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Who Princes murd'ring much decry'd,
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Yet Cromwels High-Court justifi'd.
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Who, whil'st he Organs overthrew,
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The Trumpet of Sedition blew.
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Who Self-denial Preach'd; but then
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The practice left for other men.
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Who hated Peace, but courted Strife;
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And would not swear, but lye for life.
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Who was against all Forms, unless
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It were a Form of Godliness.
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Who did Idolatry detest,
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But Sacriledge could well digest.
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Who Saints from Windows tumbled, and
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Yet let his Dad, the Devil stand.
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Who, 'cause Salt-waters best to scoure,
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To clean the Church, be-piss'd the flore.
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Who, that he might convert the Jew,
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The Christians Badge, the Cross o'rthrew.
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Who therefore threw the Myter down,
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That he might after cast the Crown:
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And such Triumphant-Saints as he
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Chant out their Hey then up go we.
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Who, like as all weak Brethren did,
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Took (right or wrong) the strongest side.
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And was resolv'd, what e'r was Trump,
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To follow sute, though 'twere the Rump.
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