(Lord) cease this direfull tintamarre
Of civill warre:
The bellowing drumme, and trumpet shrill,
Are musicke meete,
Rather for flameing Sinai Hill,
Then Sion sweet.
The Gospell came in a still voyce,
Although the Law was given with horride noyse.
The Axes, and the hammers sound,
Did not rebound,
In thy first Temple; and much lesse,
Should tumults rage,
Within thy second House of peace,
Late made a stage,
Where clamr'ous Furyes acte their parts,
A dreadfull spectacle to pious hearts.
Thou cams't downe (oh Messias true)
Like the calme dew,
On Gedeon's fleece: And being here,
Didst not exclayme,
None in the streetes thy voyce did heare,
But as a Lambe,
Before the shearer, Thou wer't dumbe:
In silent manner, Thou dids't goe and come.
But Hee, who doth pretend to bee,
Thy Feoffee:
Hee, who thy Vicar himself calls,
Makes such a noyse,
With Prelates proud, and Cardinalls,
That Hee annoyes
The World, and breakes the sleepes of Kings:
His pride pontificall through all lands rings.
His anger, like an Earthquake, shockes
Both Hills, and rockes:
And t'is more hard him to appease,
Then to still windes,
Or pacifye the rageing seas:
The hands he bindes
Of Monarkes, and keepes them in awe,
(As Hindes doe birds) by men of ragges and straw.
The sound of his Apostles runnes
In drummes, and gunnes,
Through the whole Earth, for where His word
Cannot prevaile,
They (for their ends) employ the sword;
And if this faile,
They treach'rous plottes contrive, and can
Father all mischiefes, on the Puritan./
Our Caballs, and our cajoleings,
Are subtile things,
Of their invention, words of art,
Made to beguile
An honest, and well meaneing heart.
By the new style
Wee write, and acte: By th' old alone,
Wee measure time from th' Incarnation./
Lots wife on Sodome did reflect,
But one aspect,
And shee for this insipide tricke,
Was turn'd into
A rocke of salt, which Beasts did licke:
The Hebrewes too,
When they for Egypts flesh did lust,
Were sharply punish'd, by God's vengeance just.
And while wee vainly did looke backe,
On Egypt blacke,
And Sodome foule, the Lord above
Did us chastise,
Because wee did backsliders prove,
And with fond eyes,
The pleasures of that bondage sought,
From whence, by miracle wee had bene brought.
Each Hat was of a Roman blocke;
Cassocke, and cloke,
Were of the Babylonian size;
But what is worse,
Our hearts were Romish in disguise,
And by recourse
To their vaine rites, gave reasons strong,
That for Italian Melons wee did long.
(Lord) wee have sinn'd: and doe not seeke
A Moses meeke,
To worke our peace, but thine owne Sonne:
Whom wee implore;
His bloud did us with Thee attone,
In time of yore:
And by His bloud, wee crave now (Lord)
That our bloud may bee staunch'd, and peace restord.
Of civill warre:
The bellowing drumme, and trumpet shrill,
Are musicke meete,
Rather for flameing Sinai Hill,
Then Sion sweet.
The Gospell came in a still voyce,
Although the Law was given with horride noyse.
The Axes, and the hammers sound,
Did not rebound,
In thy first Temple; and much lesse,
Should tumults rage,
Within thy second House of peace,
Late made a stage,
Where clamr'ous Furyes acte their parts,
A dreadfull spectacle to pious hearts.
Thou cams't downe (oh Messias true)
Like the calme dew,
On Gedeon's fleece: And being here,
Didst not exclayme,
None in the streetes thy voyce did heare,
But as a Lambe,
Before the shearer, Thou wer't dumbe:
In silent manner, Thou dids't goe and come.
But Hee, who doth pretend to bee,
Thy Feoffee:
Hee, who thy Vicar himself calls,
Makes such a noyse,
With Prelates proud, and Cardinalls,
That Hee annoyes
The World, and breakes the sleepes of Kings:
His pride pontificall through all lands rings.
His anger, like an Earthquake, shockes
Both Hills, and rockes:
And t'is more hard him to appease,
Then to still windes,
Or pacifye the rageing seas:
The hands he bindes
Of Monarkes, and keepes them in awe,
(As Hindes doe birds) by men of ragges and straw.
The sound of his Apostles runnes
In drummes, and gunnes,
Through the whole Earth, for where His word
Cannot prevaile,
They (for their ends) employ the sword;
And if this faile,
They treach'rous plottes contrive, and can
Father all mischiefes, on the Puritan./
Our Caballs, and our cajoleings,
Are subtile things,
Of their invention, words of art,
Made to beguile
An honest, and well meaneing heart.
By the new style
Wee write, and acte: By th' old alone,
Wee measure time from th' Incarnation./
Lots wife on Sodome did reflect,
But one aspect,
And shee for this insipide tricke,
Was turn'd into
A rocke of salt, which Beasts did licke:
The Hebrewes too,
When they for Egypts flesh did lust,
Were sharply punish'd, by God's vengeance just.
And while wee vainly did looke backe,
On Egypt blacke,
And Sodome foule, the Lord above
Did us chastise,
Because wee did backsliders prove,
And with fond eyes,
The pleasures of that bondage sought,
From whence, by miracle wee had bene brought.
Each Hat was of a Roman blocke;
Cassocke, and cloke,
Were of the Babylonian size;
But what is worse,
Our hearts were Romish in disguise,
And by recourse
To their vaine rites, gave reasons strong,
That for Italian Melons wee did long.
(Lord) wee have sinn'd: and doe not seeke
A Moses meeke,
To worke our peace, but thine owne Sonne:
Whom wee implore;
His bloud did us with Thee attone,
In time of yore:
And by His bloud, wee crave now (Lord)
That our bloud may bee staunch'd, and peace restord.
