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His office of intelligence,
His oracles, are ceas'd long since ;
And he knows nothing of the Saints,
But what some treacherous fpy acquaints.
This is fome pettifogging fiend,
Some under door-keeper's friend's friend,
That undertakes to understand,
And juggles at the second hand,
And now would pass for Spirit Po,
And all men's dark concerns foreknow.
I think I need not fear him for 't;
These rallying devils do no hurt.
With that he rous'd his drooping heart,
And hastily cry'd out, What art ?
A wretch (quoth he) whom want of grace
Has brought to this unhappy place.

I do believe thee, quoth the Knight ;
Thus far I 'm sure thou 'rt in the right :
And know what 'tis that troubles thee,
Better than thou hast guess’d of me.
Thou art fome paltry, black-guard sprite,
Condemn'd to drudgery in the night;
'Thou hast no work to do in th' house,
Nor halfpenny to drop in fhoes;
Without the raising of which sum
You dare not be so troublesome
To pinch the flatterns black and blue,
For leaving you their work to do.
This is your business, good Pug-Robin,
Ard your diversion dull dry-bobbing,




T' en




T'entice fanatics in the dirt,
And wash them clean in ditches for 't;
Of which conceit you are so proud,
At every jest you laugh aloud,
As now you would have done by me,
But that I barr'd your raillery.

Sir (quoth the Voice) ye 're no such sophi
As you would have the world judge of ye.
If you design to weigh our talents
I'th' standard of your own falfe balance,
Or think it poslible to know
Us ghosts, as well as we do you ;
We, who have been the everlasting
Companions of your drubs and balting,
And never left you in contest
With male or female, man or beast;
But prov'd as true t' ye, and entire,
In all adventures, as your Squire.

Quoth he, That may be said as true
By th' idlest pug of all your crew :
For none could have betray'd us worse
Than those allies of ours and yours.
But I have sent him for a token
To your low-country Hogen-Mogen,
To whose infernal shores I hope
He 'll swing like skippers in a rope :
And, if ye ’ave been more just to me
(As I am apt to think) than he,
I am afraid it is as true
What th’ill-affected say of you



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Ye 'ave 'spous'd the Covenant and Cause;.
By holding up your cloven paws.

Sir (quoth the Voice) 'tis true; I granty
We made, and took, the Covenant;
But that no more concerns the Cause;
Than other perjuries do the laws;
Which, when they 're provid in open court,
Wear wooden peccadillo's for 't:
And that's the reason Covenanters
Hold their hands, like rogues at bars.

I see (quoth Hudibras) from whence
These scandals of the Saints commences.
That are but natural effects
Of Satan's malice, and his sect's',
Those spider-saints, that hang by threads
Spun out o'th' entrails of their heads.

Sir (quoth the Voice) that may as true
And properly be said of you,
Whose talents may compare with either;
Or both the other put together :
For all the Independents do,
Is only what you forc'd them to';
You, who are not content alone
With tricks to put the devil down,
But must have armies rais'd to back
The Gospel-work you undertake ;
As if artillery and edge-tools,
Were th' only engines to save fouls ::
While he, poor devil, has no power
By force to run down and devour;








Has ne'er a Classis, cannot sentence
To stools, or poundage of repentante;
Is ty'd up only to design,

T' entice, and tempt, and undermine :
In which you all his arts outdo,
And prove yourselves his, betters too.
Hence 'tis poffeffions do less evil.
Than mere temptations of the devil,
Which all the horrid'st actions done:
Are charg'd in courts of law upon ;
Because, unless they help the elf,
He can do little of himself;
And therefore, where he 's best possest;
Acts most against his interest ;
Surprizes none, but those who ‘ave priests.
To turn him out, and exorcists,
Supply'd with spiritual provision,
And magazines of ammunition ;
With croffes, relics, crucifixes,
Beads, pictures, rofaries, and pixes;
The tools of working our salvation:
By mere mechanic operation :
With holy water, like a fluice,
To overflow all avenues :
But those who ’re utterly unarm’d;
T' oppose his entrance if he storm’d,
He never offers to surprize,
Although his falsest enemies ;
But is content to be their drudge,
And on their errands glad to trudge:





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For where are all your forfeitures
Intrusted in safe hands, but ours ?
Who are but jailors of the holes
And dungeons where you clap-up fouls;
Like under-keepers, turn the keys,
T' your mittimus anathemas,
And never boggle to restore
"The members you deliver o'er,
Upon demand, with fairer justice,
Than all your covenanting Trustees;
Unless, to punish them the worfe,
You put them in the secular powers,
And pass their souls, as fome demise
The same estate in mortgage twice :
When to a legal utlegation
You turn your excommunication,
And, for a groat unpaid that's due,
Distrain on foul and body too.

Thought he, 'tis no mean part of civil
State-prudence to cajole the devil,
And not to handle him too rough,
When he 'as us in his cloven hoof.

'Tis true (quoth he), that intercourse
Has pass’d between your friends and ours,
That, as you trust us, in our way,
To raise your members, and to lay,
We send you others of our own,
Denounc'd to hang themselves, or drown,
Or, frighted with our oratory,
To leap down headlong many a ftory :

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