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He fought and taught, and what's

(notorious, Destroy'd his Lord to make him glo

rious,

VII.
Yer drew for King and Parliament,
As if the Wind cou'd stand North-South,

Broke Moses's Law with bleft intent, Murther'd, and then he wip'd his Mouth,

Oblivion alters not his Case,
Nor Clemency, nor Acts of Grace,
Can blanch an Ethiopian's Face.

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VIII.
Ripe for Rebellion he begins
To rally up the Saints in swarms,

He bawls aloud, Sirs leave your Sins,
But whispers, Boys, stand to your Arms.

Thus he's grown insolently rude,
Thinking his Gods can't be subdu'd;
Money. I mean, and Multitude.

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IX,

IX.

Magistrates he regards no more Than St. George or the King of Colen,

Vowing he'll not conform before The old Wives wind" their Dead in

(Woollen. He calls the Bishop Grey-beard Coff, And makes his Power as meer a Scoff As Dagon, when his Hands were off

, X.. Hark! how he opens with full cry, Hallow my Hearts, beware of ROME

Cowards that are afraid to die. Thus make domestick Broils at home, How quietly Great Charles might

(Reign, Would all these Hot-spurs cross the

(Main, And preach down Popery in Spain.

XI.
The starry Rule of Heaven is fixt,
There's no diffention in the Sky ;

And

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And can there be a Mean berwixt
Confufion and Conformity?

A Place divided never thrives,
Tis bad where Hornets dwell in Hives
But worse where Children play with

(Knives.
XII.
I wou'd as foon turn back to Mass,
Or change my Phrase to Thee and Thou ;

Let the Pope ride me like an Ass,
And his Priests milk me like a Cow:

As Buckle to Smeltymnuan Laws,
The bad effects o’th: Geaod old Caufe,
That have Doves Pluines, but Vula

(tures Claws.

XIH.
For 'twas the Holy Kirk that nursd
The Brownists and the Ranters Crew;

Foul Errors mortly Vesture first
Was coared in a Northern Blue :

And what's th' enthufiaftick Breed,
Or Men of Knipperdolin's Creed,
But Cov'nanters run up to Seed.

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XIV. Yet they all cry they love the King, And make boast of their Innocence;

There cannot be fo vile a Thing But may be cover'd with Pretence :

Yet when all's said, one thing I'll swear

No Subject like th’ old Cavalier, : No Traytor like Jack-Presbyter.

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WHat

Hat Creature's that with his Thort

(Hairs, His little Band, and huge long Ears,

That this new Faith hath founded? The Saints themselves were never such, The Prelate ne'er rul'd half so much. O! fuch a Rogue's Round-head. L

What's

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