ON
WINGS
OF
FEARE,
Finch
Flies away.
ALAS
Poore Will,
Hee's forc'd
to stay.
One paire of legges
is worth two paire of hands:
Whirre:
Ide try the conclusion,
were I out of these bands.
Heigh-ho.
No mass
No mass
will we
allow.
To keepe
it downe,
w'ave
ropes
enow.
He that in England thus desires to doe,
Must swing-am, swang-am, thus, a turne or two.
And if that cure not his ambitious hope,
Let me be next that capers in a rope.
Be warn'd by him who thus hath crackt his credit,
Tis true,
Qui antea non caveat post dolebit.
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1.
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REader, I know thou canst not choose but smile,
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To see a Bishop tide thus to a ring?
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Yea, such a Princely prelate, that ere-while,
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Could three at once in Limbo patrum fling;
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Suspend by hundreds where his worship pleas'd,
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And them that preach'd too oft; by silence eas'd.
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2.
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Made Lawes and Canons, like a King (at least)
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Devis'd new oaths; forc'd men to sweare to lies?
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Advanc'd his Lordly power 'bove all the rest;
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And then our Lazie Priests began to rise?
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But painfull Ministers, which plide their place
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With diligence; went downe the wind apace.
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3.
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Our honest round-heads to, then went to racke,
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The holy sisters into corners fled;
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Coblers and Weavers preacht in Tubs; for lacke
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Of better Pulpits; with a Sack instead
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Of Pulpit-cloth, hung round in decent wise,
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All which the spirit did for their good devise.
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4.
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Barnes, Cellers, Cole-holes, were their meeting-places,
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So sorely were these babes of Christ abus'd,
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Where he that most Church-government disgraces
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Is most esteem'd, and with most rev[e]rence us'd.
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It being their sole intent religiously
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To raile against the Bishops dignity.
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5.
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Brother, saies one, what doe you thinke, I pray
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Of these proud Prelates, which so lofty are?
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Truly, saies he, meere Antichrists are they.
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Thus as they parle, before they be aware,
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Perhaps a Pursivant slips in behind,
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And makes 'em runne like hares before the wind,
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6.
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Downe tumbles parson prick-eares, chaire and all,
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Making a noise, which frightens all the rest.
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Here two or three stand quivering close to th'wall.
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There halfe a score lie cram'd up in a chest,
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And though the Candles all extinguish'd were,
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A blind man easily might have smelt their feare,
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7.
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Thus still the Bishop kept the Brownists short,
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And oftentimes was catcht beyond his bounds;
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But if he were what man durst tax him for't?
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His very breath the silly wretch confounds:
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He quel'd 'em all; to no man hee'd shew favour;
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But now hee's bound (yee see) to's good behaviour.
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8.
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A yeere a gone 'tad beene a hanging matter;
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T'ave writ (nay spoke) a word 'gainst little WILL;
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But now the times are chang'd, men scorne to flatter:
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So much the worse for CANTURBURY still.
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For if that truth once come to rule the roast,
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No mar'le to see him tide up to a post.
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9.
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His high-Commission kept us once in awe;
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There men paid fees before they knew for what.
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Honest Lambe and Ducke could make it good by law,
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To squeese mens purses, when they look't too fat.
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But now your Master's catch't, run Lamb fly Duck;
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See, see, his Court's pul'd down, and hee's chain'd up.
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10.
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By wicked counsels, faine he would have set
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The Scots and us together by the eares;
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A Patriarks place, the Levite long'd to get,
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To sit bith' Pope, in one of Peters chaires.
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And having dranke so deepe of Babels cup,
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Was it not time d'ee thinke to chaine him up?
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11.
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'Twas time, 'twas time; this is the generall cry;
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And who alas can swim against the streame?
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His corner Cap, me thinkes stands all awry;
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His sleeves have lost both whitenesse and esteeme:
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All's former honour's vanish'd, he displac'd.
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Thus is his grace, for want of grace, disgrac'd.
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12.
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But stay what Bird's that, flies away so fast?
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O, tis a Goldfinch; let him goe I pray,
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Something has frighted him, he makes such hast,
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Perhaps some snare was layd to take away
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His life; if so, wisely he did to flie
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On wings of safety, danger being so nigh.
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13.
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'Tis thought he was a good Astronomer;
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And did a storme fast comming on foresee:
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Which made him, when the clouds began to appeare,
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Into another place for shelter flee.
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O subtill Finch, 'tis well he scaped is,
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His singing else had beene quite spoild ere this.
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14.
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But here's the spight; one sheep breaks thorow th'hedge
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And makes a gap, to let out all the rest:
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Finch flowne, our other birds grew quickly fledge;
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And all that could flie, thought that way the best.
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The Finch indeed lost more then all that fled,
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But who'd not part with's purse, to save his head.
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15.
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Oh, had the Bishop beene as wise as he,
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He might have found a way to cure his care.
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Now sure he vexes, frets, and fumes to see
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How like a wretch he lies in sorrowes snare.
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And how his running friends eschew'd the danger.
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Whilst he stands tide up like an Asse toth' manger.
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16.
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In this fine Finch my Lord tooke great delight,
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Ere now they've sung harmonious notes together.
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But Sunshine daies are clouded oft ere night
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So theirs; and now none cares a pin for either:
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Thus I conclude and pity 'tis I say,
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Though one be tyed that th'others flowne away.
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