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<DATE>2008-11-06</DATE>
<RESPSTMT>
<NAME>Mona Logarbo</NAME>
<RESP>MURP</RESP>
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<ITEM>Proofed and reviewed as part of batch B080925.pdcc.</ITEM>
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<EEBO>
<IDG S="marc" R="UM" ID="B02376">
<STC T="W">c6053</STC>
<BIBNO T="umi">99886873</BIBNO>
<VID>181379</VID>
</IDG>
<TEXT LANG="eng">
<BODY>
<DIV1 TYPE="poem">
<PB REF="1" MS="y"><!-- PDF PAGE 1 -->
<HEAD>The ASSE beaten for BAWLING; OR, A REPLIE from the CITY TO THE CRIE of the COUNTRY.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">To <HI>Smectymnuus</HI> the Club of Divines, or Divines of the Club.</HEAD>
<LG>
<L>TO you, becau&s;e you are one manifold,</L>
<L>A twi&s;ted Halter, and becau&s;e w'are told</L>
<L>You under&s;tand the non&s;ence of the Cryers,</L>
<L>As they doe your's, &s;end we that are Replyers.</L>
<L>Take up your Colts, you know them by their mark,</L>
<L>Bid them give audience, that is &s;tand and hark.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Fleabitten Gray with your out-lying eares,</L>
<L>The <HI>KING's Di&s;turbers,</HI> and <HI>Gods Pillagers,</HI></L>
<L>Baule not, but heare the Crys of millions dead,</L>
<L>Our bloud has been your drink, our fle&s;h your bread.</L>
<L>And are your maws too tender for the &s;tones</L>
<L>Of the now Prie&s;t? that could eate Churche<GAP DESC="illegible" EXTENT="1 letter"> once?</L>
<L>Complain ye now of Canting ye Jack Daws</L>
<L>That &s;et Religion to a tune <HI>The Cau&s;e</HI></L>
<L>Ye Wolves Synodicall, &s;elf-Hallowing Ca&s;t,</L>
<L>If ye could pray ye &s;hould, &s;o ye would fa&s;t.</L>
<L>Our Church is like to fall into the Myre</L>
<L>If &s;he mu&s;t follow &s;uch a fatuus fire,</L>
<L>Dark Lanthorn lights, &s;uch who&s;e well-&s;hadow'd &s;in</L>
<L>Begun the Dance that Ca&s;hind <HI>Cromwell</HI> in.</L>
<L>Mi&s;take us not, we doe not meane tho&s;e zealous</L>
<L>And tender &s;oules, that fearing &s;till, were jealous:</L>
<L>Who &s;et the Kingdome all o'fire, and made</L>
<L>No con&s;cience what <HI>CHARLES</HI> &s;uffred, how betray'd.</L>
<L>Let &s;uch have double honour, Capitol Gee&s;e,</L>
<L>'Cau&s;e they'l be gagling, Pulpits two a peice,</L>
<L>But this we like not that ye &s;tand and bark</L>
<L>To keep the wearied Dove out of the Ark:</L>
<L>And that your tender con&s;cience brooks not giving</L>
<L>The Prie&s;t his Church, now you have had his living,</L>
<L>For he poor Man &s;hall not injoy't he fears</L>
<L>So many Months, as ye have had it years.</L>
<L>I but the Ravens come too, and they'l croke</L>
<L>So that a &s;econd judgment they'l provoke.</L>
<L>'Twas the fir&s;t turn'd them out, what follows then?</L>
<L>The next mu&s;t be your comming in agen.</L>
<L>Where are your wits? yet you again to Schoole</L>
<L>Ther's a &s;courge for you, and a pretty toole</L>
<L>With a Chri&s;-cro&s;s in't, There when you have been</L>
<L>Well whip'd and &s;courg'd for this your modern &s;in</L>
<L>Of &s;imple rayling at the Men of God,</L>
<L>I'll take a care for burning of the Rod</L>
<L>Till then be not &s;o mad I pray thee <HI>Smec.</HI></L>
<L>To let &s;uch Coxcombs break the Church's neck;</L>
<L>God and the King's a book that doth concern,</L>
<L>The Preacher, that would others teach, to learn;</L>
<L>'Tis not their &s;playmouth nor their hoboy no&s;e</L>
<L>Their hims and haus, and &s;uch like forms as tho&s;e</L>
<L>We quarrel at, nor black Caps &s;et in print</L>
<L>On the notch'd Poll, there may be nothing in't</L>
<L>The&s;e fooleries we own, but yet a Saint</L>
<L>Is not cut out of every one doth cant;</L>
<L>Were Arrogance and Faction wanting, how</L>
<L>Should Ignorance take Blockheads from the Plow,</L>
<L>And arme them back and brea&s;t again&s;t their King?</L>
<L>The&s;e graces are thy Saints <HI>Smec.</HI> That's the thing</L>
<L>Which blooming, Peartree makes his Livery</L>
<L>Mouth indefatigable, were all &s;uch as He!</L>
<L>Now pardon us good <HI>Smec,</HI> we do not this</L>
<L>To make the <HI>Presbyter</HI> &s;eem as he is</L>
<L>A zealous R&mdash;nor do we di&s;own</L>
<L>Or hates his ways that levell at a Throne</L>
<L>But as we would, <HI>Rome</HI> &s;hould not tyrannize,</L>
<L>And be our &s;elves a <HI>Rome</HI> put in disgui&s;e:</L>
<L>And ev'ry Man a Pope in his precinct,</L>
<L>Nor &s;hall the <HI>Scotch</HI> Kirk think to be di&s;tinct</L>
<L>But truckle under us; duly we and truly</L>
<L>For <HI>Bi&s;hops</HI> pray, that they would be unruly.</L>
<L>And to our holy work put their own hand,</L>
<L>Promoting the di&s;tractions of the Land.</L>
<L>For to &s;peak truth, we cannot weare a bridle,</L>
<L>And &s;uffer others preach, and we &s;tand idle:</L>
<L>Nor is it po&s;&s;ible we &s;hould agree</L>
<L>Unle&s;s we can have <HI>Bi&s;hops,</HI> &s;uch as we</L>
<L>That would Prie&s;ts rayling make, and factious too,</L>
<L>With whom good <HI>Cae&s;ar</HI> knows not what to do.</L>
<L>Men free from charity, and love of peace</L>
<L><HI>Smec.</HI> if thou leav'&s;t us any, leave us the&s;e</L>
<L>That robbing <HI>Peter,</HI> and not paying <HI>Paul</HI></L>
<L>We may get, what? why ee'n the Divel and all</L>
<L>But now, this very hour the world mu&s;t end,</L>
<L>Take no more care for Sunday Pudding friend.</L>
<L>Nor as was, done in dayes of the Protector</L>
<L>Ninteen probationers preach for one Lecture</L>
<L>The deep Soraction &s;now mu&s;t now turn black</L>
<L>Dark be yee dazling Lamps, <HI>Phaebus</HI> go back</L>
<L>And fetch thy Mourning Cloak, the Moon bow die</L>
<L>Fire cannot burn, nor Round-heads cannot lye.</L>
<L>Earth &s;hift thy Poles and thaw the <HI>Mu&s;covites,</HI></L>
<L>In the <HI>Armenian</HI> planes. And now the Lights</L>
<L>Are out, let all things to confu&s;ion tumble,</L>
<L>And rudely like the family conjumble.</L>
<L>They may beget an A&s;&s;e, <HI>Styx</HI> will &s;o arme,</L>
<L>And freeze, that he &s;hall feel <HI>Lawd</HI> but lukewarme.</L>
<L>Of whom the Brethren that conformed not</L>
<L>All in his time, cry'd out he was too Hot.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>God &s;ave K. <HI>CHARLES</HI> and keep him from the clutches</L>
<L>Of him that at the KING'S Religion grutches.</L>
</LG>
<DIV2 TYPE="part">
<HEAD>POSTSCRIPT.</HEAD>
<L>NOW, to this railing A&s;&s;e more &s;hall be &s;poke,</L>
<L>When he has got a Living or a Cloak,</L>
<L>Only this Country's mouth feeds in our Cubboards,</L>
<L>And brings his Cry no further then the Suburbs.</L>
<L>Adverti&s;ements and Supplements w'ave read,</L>
<L>He looks to's Eares, we mu&s;t look to our Head.</L>
<L>Now no more Mumming &s;irrah, d'off your Vizzard,</L>
<L>Know we have eyes can pierce into your Gizzard.</L>
<L>By &s;troaking of our Beards you are not like,</L>
<L>To make us be &s;ecure and let you &s;trike</L>
<L>He that calumniates the meaner &s;ort,</L>
<L>Looks ill on all, and ought to &s;uffer for't.</L>
<BYLINE>BY Edm. Cooper Of <HI>Lime&s;treet,</HI> Doctor of Phy&s;ick.</BYLINE>
</DIV2>
</DIV1>
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<BACK>
<DIV1 TYPE="colophon">
<P><HI>LONDON:</HI> Printed by <HI>J. Brudenell,</HI> dwelling in <HI>Maiden-head-Ally</HI> near New-Gate, 1661.</P>
</DIV1>
</BACK>
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