Room for a Ballad,
OR,
A Ballad for Rome.
BEING
A Continuation of the Catholick Ballad inviting to Popery;
Upon the best Grounds and Reasons, that could ever yet be produced.
To an Excellent Tune, called, The Powder-plot.
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FRom Infallible Rome, once more I am come,
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With a budget of Catholick ware,
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Shall dazle your Eyes, and your Fancies surprize,
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To embrace a Religion so rare.
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Oh! the Love and Good-will, of his Holiness still,
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What will he not doe for to save ye:
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If such pains and such Art, cannot you Convert,
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pitty but Old Nick should have ye.
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Now our Priests are run down, and our Jesuits a-ground
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And their Arguments all prove invalid:
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See here he hath got, an unheard of New Plot,
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To Proselite you with a Ballad.
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Then lay by your Jeers, and Prick up your Ears,
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Whilst I unto you do display,
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The advantage and worth, the Truth and so-forth
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Of the Roman Catholick way.
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If you did but behold, the Faith and the Gold,
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Of which Holy Church is possest;
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You would never more stray, in th' Heretical way,
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But flye to her Lap to be blest.
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The Pope is the Head, and doth Peter succeed,
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(Pray come away faster and faster)
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He succeeds him 'tis true, but would you know how
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only in denying his Master.
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He's Infallible too, what need more ado,
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And ever had Truth in possession:
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For though once Mob Joan, Ascended the Throne,
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The same was no breach of Succession.
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Our Church and no other, is the Reverend Mother
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Of Christians throughout the whole Earth;
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Though Older they be, perhaps far than she,
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Yet they must owe unto her their Birth.
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Our Faith is so great, so sound and Compleat,
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It scorneth both Scripture and Reason;
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And builds on Tradition, sometimes Superstition,
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And oft-times Rebellion and Treason.
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Our strict purity, is plain to each eye,
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That Catholick Countreys views;
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For there to suppress, the sins of the Flesh,
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Sodomy is in use and the Stews.
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The second Part, to the same Tune.
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Our Zeal has been felt, where ever we dwelt,
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On all that our Doctrine deny:
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If we have a Suspition, we make Inquisition,
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And straight the poor Hereticks Fry.
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In vain they may Plead, or their Scriptures Read,
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We value them all not a pin:
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The best Argument, that we can invent,
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Is with Fire and Sword to begin.
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A most Godly way, whatever they say,
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Since it their Salvation obtains,
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Makes them Orthodox, with blows and with knocks
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And hammers Faith into their brains.
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A God we can make, of a thin Wafer Cake,
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And eat him up when we have done:
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But a Drop of the Cups Lay-men must not sup,
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For the Priests Guzles that all alone.
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We have terrible Bulls, and Pardons for Gulls,
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Holy Water to Scar-crow the Devil;
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With Consecrate Swords, take them on our words,
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They shall make the Great Turk be Civil.
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We have Saints great store, and Miracles more,
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With Martyrs a great many from Tyburn;
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Pretty Nuns that dwell, mew'd up in a Cell,
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As Chast as Night walkers of Holbourn.
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We have Holy Blood, we have Holy wood,
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A Ship-load or some such matter:
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We have Holy Bones, and some Holy Stones,
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Would make an Old Ladies Chops water.
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We have Holy men, seen but now and then,
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Monks, Abbots, and Capuchin Fryars,
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With Merits so great, they can buy one a Seat
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In Heaven, or else they are Lyars.
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Then all you that would sure Salvation procure,
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And yet still live as you list:
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Do but mutter and Pray, and say as we say,
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And your Catholicks good as e're P---.
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We are brisk and free, and always agree,
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Allowing our selves to be jolly;
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And the Puritan tricks, of dull Hereticks,
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We count but Fanatical Folly.
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Swearing and Whoreing, Drinking and Roaring,
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All those are but Venial Transgressions:
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The Murthering of Kings, and such pretty things,
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Are easily Absolv'd in Confession.
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A little short Pennance, doth wipe away Sin,
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And there is an end of all trouble;
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Which having dispatcht, you may fall too't agen,
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And safely your wickedness double.
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Bring a good round Sum, Sins past and to come,
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Shall presently be forgiven;
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But this you must know, before you do go,
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The Excize runs high upon Heaven.
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For we have the Price, of every Vice,
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Assest at a certain Rate;
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So near at a word, we do them afford,
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Not a Penny thereof we can Bate.
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But if you're content, a while to be pent,
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And in Purgatory purged;
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A smaller Spell, shall preserve you from Hell,
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And keep you from being Scourged.
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Though you have liv'd a Devil, in all kind of Evil,
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Bequeath but a Monastery,
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And Angels your Soul, without Controul,
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To Abrahams Bosome shall Carry.
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Nor need you to fear, who have bought Lands dear,
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That were Holy Churches before;
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Wee'l lend them for Life, but for your Souls health
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At your Death you must them Restore.
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Thus Popery you see, will kindly agree,
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If you will it but Embrace,
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But if you delay, there's so many i'th way,
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That you will hardly get a good Place.
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The Critical Time, is now in the Prime,
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See how Holly Mother does smile,
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And spreading her Arms, to preserve you from harms,
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So gladly would you Reconcile.
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To which purpose behold, do but tell out your Gold
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And all Things in readiness be;
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For the next Year, his Holiness (we hear)
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Doth intend a Jubilee.
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You that Pardons would have, or Indulgence crave,
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To ROME, to ROME be Trudging,
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And do not contemne, good Advice from a Friend,
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Nor take his Ballad in dudgeon.
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A Time when the POPE useth to grant General Par-
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dons, etc. Formerly kept only every Fiftyth Year: But
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now that his Holinesses Market might the oftner Return, It
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is observed every Twenty-fifth Year, which happens to be
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the approaching Year, 1675. And I wish that all Factious
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or Designing Prists, and Poplings would be packing thither
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to observe It, that we might be rid of them having more oc-
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casion for their Room then their Company.
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