THE
RECANTATION
Of a PENITENT
PROTEUS;
Or, The
CHANGLING:
AS
It was Acted with good Applause in St. Maries in Cambridge, and St. Pauls in London, 1663.
To the Tune of Doctor Faustus.
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ATend good People, lay by scoffs and scorns,
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Let Roundheads all this day pull in their horns,
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But let Conformists and brave Caviliers
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Unto my doleful Tone prick up their Ears.
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Take from my neck this Robe, a Rope's more fit,
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And turn this Surplice to a Penance-sheet,
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This Pulpit is too good to act my part,
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More fit to preach at Tyburn in a Cart:
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There I deserv'd t' have taken my degree,
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And Doctor Dun should have presented me;
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There with an hempen Hood I should be sped,
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And his three-corner'd Cap should crown my head.
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Here I am come to hold up guilty hand,
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And of the Beast to give myself the Brand,
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Hereby confessing I have been i'th wrong,
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I come to bore myself through my own Tongue.
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In learning my poor Parents brought up me,
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And sent me to the Universitie,
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There I soon found bowing the way to rise:
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And th' only Logick was the Falacies.
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Instead of Aristotles Organon,
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Anthems and Organs I did study on;
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If I could play on them, I soon did find,
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I rightly had Preferment in the Wind.
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I follow'd that hot scent without controul,
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I bow'd my body, and I sung Fa Sol;
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I cozen'd Doctor Couzens, and e're long
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A Fellowship obtained for a Song.
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Then by degrees I clim'd until I got,
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Good Friends, good Cloaths, good Commons, and what not?
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I got so long, until at length I got
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A Wench with Child, and then I got a Blot.
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Before the Consistorie I was try'd,
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Where like a Villain I both swore and ly'd,
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And from the Whore I made, I was made free,
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By purging of myself Incont'nent LEE.
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But as I scorn'd to Father mine own Brat,
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'Twas done to me as I had done with That.
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The Doctors all, when Doctor I would be,
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As a base Son, refus'd to Father me;
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With much adoe, at length by art and cunning,
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My Tears and Vows prevail'd with Peter Gunning,
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Me to adopt; and for his love and care,
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I will devote myself to Peter's Chair.
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Cambridge I left with grief and great disgrace,
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To seek my fortune in some other place;
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And that I might the better save my stake,
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I took an Order, and did Orders take.
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Amongst Conformists I myself did list
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A Son o'th Church as good as ever pist.
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But though [I] bow'd and cring'd, and crost and all,
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I only got a Vicaridge very small.
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E're I was warm (and warm I ne're had been
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In such a starved hole as I was in)
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A fire upon the Church and Kingdome came;
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Which I strait help't to blow into a flame.
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The Second Part.
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MY Conscience first, like Balaams Ass, was shy,
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Bogled, and winc't; which when I did espy,
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I cudgel'd her, and spurr'd her on each side,
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Until the Jade her paces all could ride.
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When first I mounted on her tender back,
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She would not leave the Protestant dull Rack,
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Till in her mouth the Cov'nant Bit I got,
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And made her learn the Presbyterian Trot;
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'Twas an hard Trot, and fretted her (alas)
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The Independent Amble easier was,
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I taught her that, and out of that to fall
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To the Tantivy of Prelatical.
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I rode her once to Rumford with a pack
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Of Arguments for th'Cov'nant on her back.
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That Journey she perform'd at such a rate,
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ThCommittee gave me a rich piece of Plate.
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From Hatfield to St. Albans I did ride,
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The Army call'd for me to be their Guide;
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There I so spur'd her, that I made her fling
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Not only dirt, but Blood upon my King.
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When Cromwel turn'd his Masters out by force,
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I made the Beast draw like a Brewers horse;
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Under the Rump I made her wear a Crooper,
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And under Lambert she became a Trooper.
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When Noble Monk the KING did home conveigh,
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She (like Darius Steed) began to neigh.
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I taught her since to Organ Pipes to prance,
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As Banks his Horse could to a Fiddle dance.
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Now with a Snaffle or a Twined-Thread
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To any Government shee'l turn her head.
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I have so broke her, she doth never start,
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And that's the meaning of my broken heart.
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I have found out a cunning way with ease
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To make her cast her Coat whenere I please;
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And if at Rack and Manger she may be,
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Her Colts tooth she will keep most Wanton-LEE.
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I'le change as often as the Man i'th Moon;
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[His frequent Changing makes him rise so soon]
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To eat Church Plumb-broth e're it all be gone,
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I'le have the Devils spoon but I'le have One.
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For many years my Tongue did lick the Rump;
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But when I saw a KING was turn'd up Trump,
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I did resolve still in my hand to have
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One winning Card, although 'twere but a Knave.
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If the Great Turk to England come, I can
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Make Gospel truckle to the Alchoran;
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And if their Turkish Sabbaths should take place,
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I have in readiness my Friday face.
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If lockt in Iron Chest (as we are told)
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A Loadstone their great Mahomet can hold:
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The Loadstone of Preferment (I presage)
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To Mahomet may draw this Iron Age.
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The Congregation way best pleas'd my mind;
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There were more Shees, and they most free and kind:
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By Chamber practice I did better thrive
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Than all my Livings, though I Skimmed five.
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Mine Eyes are open now my Sins to see,
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With Tears I cry, Good People pardon me;
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My Reverend Fathers Pardon I do crave,
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And hope my Mothers Blessing yet to have.
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My Cambridge sins, my Bugden sins are vile,
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My Essex sins, my sins in Ely-Isle,
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My Leicester sins, my Hatfield sins are many,
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But my St. Albans sins more red than any.
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To CHARLES the First I was a bloody Foe,
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I wish I do not serve the Second so:
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The only way to make me leave that trick,
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Is to bestow on me a Bishoprick.
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This is St. Andrews Eve, and for his sake
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A Bishoprick in Scotland I could take;
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And though a Metropolitan there be,
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I'de be as Sharp, and full as Arch as he.
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Now may this Sermon never be forgot,
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Let others call't a Sermon, I a Plot,
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A Plot that takes, if it believed be;
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If not, I shall repent Unfeigned-LEE.
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I must desire the Crack-fart of the Nation,
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With rev'rance to let fly this Recantation;
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Our Names ty'd tail to tail, make a sweet change,
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Mine only is Strange-Lee, and his Le-Strange.
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