The SCOTCH Riddle Unfolded:
OR,
Reflections upon R.W. his most Lamentable BALLAD,
CALLED
The LOYAL NON-CONFORMIST.
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STand up Smectymnuus, and hear thy tryal;
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Thy monstrous Title puts me to a pause:
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Was ever any Non-Conformist Loyal?
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Loves he the King that disobeys his Laws?
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Yet he can Swear, and yet he fears to Swear;
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For Solemn Oaths they must have sacred grounds:
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The Oaths of Scotland cost poor England dear,
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That Swore from Faith and Troth, to Blood and Wounds.
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'Tis truth, old Boreas never could blow West;
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And you may note a Non-Conformists mouth
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What ere he sayes, what ere he doth protest,
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Stands (like Emanuel Chappel) North and South.
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He fears an Oath, as Lawyers do a bribe,
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Though he dissembles a Religious dread;
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For 'tis well known that all that factious Tribe,
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Swallow'd the Covenant Hand over head.
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That Covenant, in which the People Swore
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They knew not what: 'Twas such another thing
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As Satans Oracles, or Torletons Lore,
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That cry'd Forbear, yet whisper'd Kill the King.
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That cursed Covenant, which he that now
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Abjures is free; but he that keeps it finds
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Himself a baffled Samson, and his Vow
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A Dalilah, for whom it binds it blinds.
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How vainly do their loose pretenses guild
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That Warbeck principle, call'd Conscience, which,
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Like Jone of Arc, leads Troops into the field,
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She stiles herself a Saint, yet proves a Witch.
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If Truth hath any virtue to convince:
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If Pulpits can speak better things then Tubs:
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This Conscience owes Allegiance to her Prince;
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The King of Hearts command the Queen of Clubs.
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But is't not strange the Bramble should defend
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Joves sacred Tree, that lately did aspire
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Not only th' Ivy, but the Oak to rend,
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And (like a Traytour) set the Wood on fire,
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Yet talk'd of Loyalty; but what he meant
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Some Conjurer expound, but to Obey
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Moses and flee from wicked Korah's tent,
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Is Holy Writ, and not Apocrapha.
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Nor care I though th' Apocrapha were not,
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And yet I do believe that Antient story
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Of Bell and Dragon cannot be forgot,
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If there be extant ere a Directory.
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The Machabees shall flourish like Italians,
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And after ages shall not be bereft
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Of chast Suanna, and her pair of Stallions,
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Whilest we have Church, or they have Elders left.
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What our great Prelates doe, and what they are,
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God and the King shall question; we're forbid:
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Yet they that do the worst, doe better far
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Then the Smectymnian party wish they did.
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Their Bishopricks (against the false Kirks will)
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Have outliv'd Sedwicks Doomes-day; and I hope
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Each Diocess will keep her Crosier still,
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And not let ev'ry Parish have a Pope.
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What was St. Peters Office, what his Trade,
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The Gospel gives us a most clear Narration;
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It doth not say his Fishing Nets were made
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Of Treason, Sacriledge, or Sequestration.
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That he nere taught the Presbyterian way
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Doth well appear by his Divine Epistles:
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And (though he Preach'd as often as they say)
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He never Preach'd for Bodkins, Spoons, and Whistles.
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Peace then foul Mouth's, be still unhallow'd pates;
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Make not the Church the subject of your Jeers,
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But reckon Dr. Bastwick and his mates
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Uncircumcis'd of heart, though not of ears.
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Proud Presbyters; remember, Thirty pieces
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Was all the fees the Jews ere gave your Patron:
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If London Sheep had born no better fleeces
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Dame Calamy had been a Thread-bare Matron.
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Yet who is't does not think your snivel[i]ng Brother
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Would swing his Handkercher over Pauls steeple,
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And wear as high a Miter as another,
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But he's a Pharisee and fears the People.
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As for Church Vestments, Hemp we will bestow
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On Snarling Priests that mouth against the King,
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And he that comes into the Church by th' Bow,
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Justice that he should go out by th' string.
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But if the Gallows ere should have her right:
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As who knows what may be (dear Smec. perhaps
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'T may be thy day) 'twould be a pretty sight
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To see the Hangman wear a brace of Caps.
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Was any of Pauls Books or Parchments found
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In Byfields Registry (my good Divines?)
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Although his Cloak was long and swept the ground,
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be too short to cover your designs.
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Hence then ye Catterpillers, Dregs of Men,
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Hence Pulpit Blood-hounds, hence Seditious pack:
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Bow Bells shall never say Return again,
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Although perhaps the Ropes may call ye back.
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And farwel Wild, with all thy learned Meeters,
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Posterity shall laugh, and picture thee
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On the same Sign with Archee, and Hugh Peters,
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And under-write this Motto, Wee be three.
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