Iter Boreal 2, Song – Title page 2
Proteus his penal Reſolution, ſpeaking alone in the Tyring-houſe before his entring the Pulpit.
OH I am almoſt mad, 'twould make one ſo,
To ſee which way Prefe…ents game doth go.
I ever thought I had her in the Wind,
And yet I'm caſt above three years behind.
Three times already I have turn'd my Coat;
Three times already I have chang'd my Note:
Il'e make it four and four and twenty more,
And turn the Compaſs round ere I'le give ore.
Love to Church-members I will give no more;
For how I'le only court the Scarlet Whore.
I'le ask the Biſhops bleſſing; and good-night
To Thomas Goodwyn, and his Child of Light.
Poor man, he wears his Capps too much in's eyes
To be my Guide, No, I muſt be more wiſe.
On all my Brethren I will look awry,
And cry, Stand farther off to Philip Nye.
Ambition, my great Goddeſs and my Muſe,
Inſpire thy Prophets all ſuch Arts to uſe,
As may exalt; Betwixt this and my Grave
A Miter, or a Halter, I muſt have.
Tell me (Ambition) prethee tell me why
So many Dunces Doctors and not I?
A Scarlet Gown I muſt and will obtain,
I cannot elſe commence a Prieſt in grain.
Among the Doctors I can get no room
Till I recant; that is my ſhameful doom.
Hang ſhame, I'le do it, and my end's to gain,
I'le cant, recant, and re-recant again.
Now help me great Ambition, for thy ſake
To break my ſleep, to break my Brains, to break
My Faith and Oaths, and ſo to act my part,
That men may think I have a broken Heart.
When I do preach my tears do trickle down;
But in my ſleeve (my Caſſock ſleeves and Gown)
I laugh, to think how by my whining trade
So many Fools in one day I have made.
Help me my Muſe, a new Song I deſire
By thee may be prepared for the Quire,
That when my Recantation Sermon's done,
This Penitential Anthem may be ſung.
But yet one thing ere I begin, I crave
A benefit, which Poets uſe to have,
That now and then, to make my Rimes agree,
What ends in Lie, may be pronounced LEE.
The Second Part; Or, the Changling in the Pulpit. To the ſame Tune.
ATtend good People, lay by ſcoffs and ſcorns,
Let Round-beads all this day pull in their Horns,
But let Conformiſts and brave Caveliers
Unto my doleful Tone prick up their Ears.
Take from my neck this Robe, a Rop's more fit;
And turn this Surplice to a Penance-ſheet,
This Pulpit is too good to act my part,
More fit to preach at Tyburn in a Cart:
There I deſerv'd t' have taken my degree,
And Doctor Dun ſhould have preſented me;
There with an Hempen Hood ſhould be ſped;
And his thee-corner'd Cap ſhould crown my head.
Here I am come to hold up guilty hand,
And of the Beaſt to give my ſelf the brand;
Here by confeſſing I have been i'th wrong,
I come to bore my ſelf through my own tongue.
In Learning my poor Parents brought up me,
And ſent me to the Univerſitie;
There I ſoon found bowing the way to riſe:
And th' only Logick was the Falacies.
In ſtead of Ariſtotles Organon,
Anthems and Organs I did ſtudy on;
If I could play on them, I ſoon did find,
I rightly had Preferment in the wind.
I follow'd that hot ſcent without controul,
I bow'd my body, and I ſung Fa Sol;
I cozen'd Doctor Couzens, and ere long
A Fellow ſhip obtained for a Song.
Then by degrees I climb'd, until I got
Good Friends, good Cloaths, good Commons, and what not?
I got ſo long, until at length I got
A Wench with Child, and then I got a blot.
Before the Conſistory I was try'd,
Where like a Villain I both ſwore and ly'd
And from the whore I made I was made free,
By purging of my ſelf Incont'nent-LEE.
But as I ſcorn'd to father mine own Brat,
'Twas done to me as I had done with That;
The Doctors all, when Doctor I would be,
As a baſe ſon, refus'd to father me.
With much ado, at length by art and cunning,
My Tears & Vows prevail'd with Peter Gunning
Me to adopt; and for his love and care,
I will devote my ſelf to Peter's Chair.
Cambridge I left with grief and great diſgrace,
To ſeek my fortune in ſome other place;
And that I might the better ſave my ſtake,
I took an Order, and did Orders take.
Amongſt Conformiſts I my ſelf did liſt,
A Son o'th Church as good as ever piſt.
But though I bow'd, and cring'd, & croſt & all,
I only got a Vicarage very ſmall.
Ere I was warm (and warm I ne're had bin
In ſuch a ſtarved hole as I was in)
A Fire upon the Church and Kingdom came,
Which I ſtraight helpt to blow into a flame.
The Third Part.
MY Conſcience firſt, like Balaam's Aſſe, was ſhy,
Bogled and winc'd; which when I did eſpy,
I cudgeld her, and ſpur'd her on each ſide,
Until the Jade her paces all could ride.
When firſt I mounted on her tender back,
She would not leave the Proteſtant dull Rack,
Till in her mouth the Cov'nant Bit I got
And made her learn the Presbyterian Trot;
'Twas an hard Trot, and fretted her (alas)
The Independent Amble eaſier was,
I taught her that, and out of that to fall
To the Tantivy of Prela…ical.
I rode her once to Rumford with a pack
Of Arguments for th' Cov'nant on her back.
That Journey ſhe perform'd at ſuch a rate,
Th 'Committee gave me a rich piece of Plate.
From Hatfield to St. Albans I did ride,
The Army call'd for me to be their Guide;
There I ſo ſpurd her, that I made her fling,
Not only dirt, but blood upon my King.
When Cromwel turn'd his Maſters out by force;
I made the Beaſt draw like a Brewers horſe;
Under the Rump I made her wear a Crooper,
And under Lambert ſhe became a Trooper.
When Noble Monk the KING did home conveigh,
She (like Darius Steed) began to neigh.
I taught her ſince to Organ Pipes to prance,
As Banks his Horſe could to a Fiddle dance.
Now with a Snaffle, or a twined thread,
To any Government ſhe'l turn her head:
I have ſo broke her, ſhe doth never ſtart,
And that's the meaning of my broken heart:
I have found out a cunning way with eaſe,
To make her caſt her Coat when ere I pleaſe;
And if at Rack and Manger ſhe may be,
Her Colts tooth ſhe will keep moſt Wanton-LEE.
I'l change as often as the Man i'th Moon;
[His frequent Changing makes him riſe ſo ſoon]
To eat Church Plumb-broth e're it all be gone,
I'le have the Devil's ſpoon but I'le have One.
For many years my Tongue did lick the Rump;
But when I ſaw a KING was turn'd up Trump,
I did reſolve ſtill in my hand to have
One winning Card, although 'twere but a Knave.
If the Great Turk to England come, I can
Make Gospel truckle to the Alchoran;
And if their Turkiſh Sabbaths ſhould take place,
I have in readineſs my Friday face.
If lock in Iron Cheſt (as we are told)
A Loadſtone their great Mahomet can hold:
The Loadſtone of Preferment (I preſage)
To Mahomet may draw this Iron Age.
The Congregation way beſt pleaſ'd my mind;
There were more Shees, and they moſt free and kind:
By Chamber practice I did better thrive,
Than all my Livings, though I skimmed five.
Mine Eyes are open now my Sins to ſee,
With Tears I cry, Good People Pardon me;
My Reverend Fathers Pardon I do crave,
And hope my Mothers Bleſſing yet to have.
My Cambridge ſins, my Bugden ſins are vile,
My Eſſex ſins, my ſins in Ely-Iſle,
My Leiceſter ſins, my Hatfield ſins are many,
But my St. Albans ſins more red than any.
To CHARLES the firſt I was a bloody foe,
I wiſh I do not ſerve the Second ſo:
The only way to make me leave that trick,
Is to beſtow on me a Biſhoprick.
This is St. Andrews Eve, and for his ſake
A Biſhoprick in Scotland I could take;
And though a Metropolitan there be,
I'de be as Sharp, and full as Arch as he.
Now may this Sermon never be forgot,
Let others call't a Sermon, I a Plot,
A Plot that takes, if it believed be;
If not I ſhall repent Unfained-LEE.
I muſt deſire the Crack-fart of the Nation,
With rev'rance to let fly this Recantation;
Our Names ty'd tail to tail, make a ſweet change,
Mine only is Strange-Lee, and his Le-ſtrange.
THE PORING DOCTOR, OR The Groſs miſtake of a Reverend Son of the Church, in bowing at the nam… of Judas at St. Pauls, November 5. 1663.
THe Papiſts, God wot,
made a notable Plot
Againſt the Church and the State;
Which ſome with good reaſon,
Call Gunpowder-Treaſon,
Diſcover'd ere 'twas too late.
Thoſe who before,
Had weltred in gore
Of Proteſtant Martyrs ſlain,
Reſolv'd with one breath,
Of Hell beneath,
To blow up all by a Train
The Biſhops, good men,
Were in jeopardy then,
The Lords, the Commons, the King;
Religion, and Laws,
For the Catholick Cauſe
To be made a Burnt Offring.
Thus ſwell'd with diſpight,
To raiſe darkneſs and night,
Heav'n cauſed the brood to miſcarry;
That day big with Thunder,
Held forth Mercies wonder,
And therefore kept Anniverſary.
You the preſent Lord Mayor,
And Brethren repair,
With the ſeveral Corporations,
To Pauls Church to pray,
And ſolemnize the Day
That ſo ſeaſonably ſaved three Nations.
But good Doctor—
When he came before ye
The Sacred Goſpel to read,
At Judas his name,
(O horrible ſhame!)
He bowed his Reverend head.
Some ſay that his fight
(Poor man) is not right,
I wiſh that it be no worſe;
But others think he,
To Judas bow'd th'knee,
For love he bears to the Purſe.
His Worſhip made doubt,
Where the battel was fought,
When Michael did prevail;
But to me it is clear,
For an hundred a year
He'l bow to the Dragons Tail.
Twelve Spiritual Promotions,
A head full of Notions,
With ſtomach more ſharp than a Sythe,
Some of Biſhopſgate there,
Perhaps did appear,
Whoſe Cloaths were pawn'd for his Tythe.
Theſe things ſet before,
And ſome ſmall reaſons more,
His ſlender wit had overthrown,
Nor can he tell how,
To read, cring or bow
By any one's Book but his own.
What then ſhall we ſay,
Can he Preach, can he Pray,
Or put to rebuke the Gainſayer,
Who in reading the Word,
Diſcerns not our Lord
From him that was his betrayer?
Sure this doting Fool,
Muſt once more to School
Before his return to the Altar,
Such another miſtake,
May poſſibly make
His neck to deſerve a Silk H—
THE FAIR QUARREL. By way of Letter, Between Mr. Wanley, a Son of the Church; and Dr. Wilde, a Nonconformist.
Publiſhed in the Year, 1666.
London, Reprinted in the year, 1668.