Epilogue
Spoken by Alupis.
He Author bid me tell you-faith, I have
Forgot what 'twas; and I'me a
very slave
If I know what to say; but only this,
Bee merry, that my counsell alwayes is.
Let no grave man knit up his brow, and say,
'Tis foolish: why? 'twas a Boy made the Play.
Nor any yet of those that sit behind,
Because he goes in Plush, be of his mind.
Let none his Time, or his spent money grieve,
Bee merry; Give me your hands, and I'le believe.
Or if you will not, I'le goe in, and see,
If I can turne the Authors mind, with mee
To sing away the day,
For 'tis but a folly
To bee melancholy
Since that can't mend the Play.
two rude waves, by stormes together throwne, Roare at each other, fight, and then grow one. Religion is a Circle; men contend,
And runne the round in dispute without end.
Now in a Circle who goe contrary,
Must at the last meet of necessity.
The Roman to advance the Catholicke cause
Allowes a Lie, and calls it Pia Fraus.
The Puritan approves and does the same,
Dislikes nought in it but the Latin name.
He flowes with these devises, and dares ly
In very deed, in truth, and verity.
He whines, and sighes out Lies, with so much ruth,
As if he griev'd, 'cause he could ne're speake truth.
Lies have possest the Presse so, as their due,
'Twill scarcely, 'I feare, henceforth print Bibles true.
Lies for their next strong Fort ha'th' Pulpit chose,
There throng out at the Preachers mouth, and nose.
And how e're grosse, are certaine to beguile
The poore Booke-turners of the middle Isle.
Nay to th' Almighty's selfe they have beene bold.
To ly, and their blasphemous Minister told
They might say false to God, for if they were
Beaten, he knew't not, for he was not there.
But God, who their great thankefulnesse did see,
Rewards them straight with another Victorie,
Just such another at Brainceford; and san's doubt
Will weary er't be long their gratitude out.
Not all the Legends of the Saints of old,
Not vast Baronius, nor sly Surius hold
Such plenty of apparent Lies, as are
In your one Author, Jo. Browne Cleric. Par.
Besides what your small Poets have said, or writ,
Brookes, Strode, and the Baron of the Saw-pit:
With many a Mentall Reservation,
You'le maintaine Liberty, Reserv'd [your owne.]
For th' publique good the summes rais'd you'le disburse;
Reserv'd, [The greater part for your owne purse.]
You'le root the Cavaliers out, every man;
Faith, let it be reserv'd here; [If yee can.]
You'le make our gracious CHARLES, a glorious King;
Reserv'd [in Heaven,] for thither ye would bring
His Royall Head; the onely secure roome
For glorious Kings, whither you'le never come.
To keepe the estates o'th' Subjects you pretend;
Reserv'd [in your owne Trunkes ;] you will defend
The Church of England, 'tis your Protestation ;
But that's New-England, by'a small Reservation.
Power of dispensing Oaths the Papists claime;
Case hath got leave o' God, to doe the same.
For you doe hate all swearing so, that when
You have sworne an Oath, ye breake it streight agen.
A Curse upon you! which hurts most these Nations,
Cavaliers swearing, or your Protestations?
Nay, though Oaths by you be so much abhorr'd,
Ye allow God damne me in the Puritan Lord.
They keepe the Bible from Lay-men, but ye
Avoid this, for ye have no Laytie.
They in a forraigne, and unknowne tongue pray,
You in an unknowne sence your prayers say:
So that this difference 'twixt ye does ensue,
Fooles understand not them, nor Wise men you.
They an unprofitable zeale have got,
Of invocating Saints that heare them not.
'Twere well you did so; nought may more be fear'd In your fond prayers, then that they should be heard. To them your Non-sence well enough might passe, They'd ne're see that i'th' Divine Looking-glasse:
Nay, whether you'de worship Saints is not yet knowne,
For ye❜have as yet of your Religion none.
They by good-workes thinke to be justified,
You into the same errour deeper slide e;
You thinke by workes too justified to be,
And those ill workes, Lies, Treason, Perjurie.
But oh your faith is mighty, that hath beene,
As true faith ought to be, of things unseene.
At Worc'ster, Brainceford, and Edge hill, we see,
Onely by faith you'have gotten victory.
Such is your faith, and some such unseene way
The publique faith at last your debts will pay.
They hold free-will (that nought their soules may bind)
As the great Priviledge of all mankind.
You're here more moderate, for 'tis your intent,
To make't a Priv'ledge but of Parliament.
They forbid Priests to marry; you worse doe,
Their Marriage you allow, yet punish too:
For you'de make Priests so poore, that upon all
Who marry, scorne and beggery must fall.
They a bold power o're sacred Scriptures take,
Blot out some Clauses, and some new ones make.
Your great Lord Jesuite Brookes publiquely said,
(Brookes whom too little learning hath made mad)
That to correct the Creed ye should doe well,
And blot out Christs descending into Hell.
Repent wild man, or you'le ne're change, I feare,
The sentence of your owne descending there.
Yet modestly they use the Creed, for they
Would take the Lords prayer Root and Branch away.
And wisely said a Levit of our nation,
The Lords Prayer was a Popish Innovation.
Take heed, you'le grant ere long it should be said,
An't be but to desire your daily Bread.
They keepe the people ignorant, and you
Keepe both the People, and yourselves so too.
They blind obedience and blind duty teach;
You blind Rebellion and blind faction preach.
Nor can I blame you much, that yee advance
That which can onely save yee, Ignorance;
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