WITH hair in characters and lugs in text; With a splay mouth and a nose circumflexed; With a set ruff of musket-bore that wears Like cartridges or linen bandoleers Exhausted of their sulphurous contents In pulpit fire-works, which that bomball vents; The Negative and Covenanting Oath, Like two mustachoes issuing from his mouth; The bush upon his chin like a carved story, In a box-knot cut by the Directory: Madam's confession hanging at his ear, Wire-drawn through all the questions, how and where; Each circumstance so in the hearing felt That when his ears are cropped he'll count them gelt; The weeping cassock scared into a jump, A sign the presbyter's worn to the stump, -- The presbyter, though charmed against mischance With the divine right of an Ordinance! @3If you meet any that do thus attire 'em, Stop them, they are the tribe of Adoniram.@1 What zealous frenzy did the Senate seize, That tare the Rochet to such rags as these? Episcopacy minced, reforming Tweed Hath sent us runts even of her Church's breed, Lay-interlining clergy, a device That's nickname to the stuff called lops and lice. The beast at wrong end branded, you may trace The Devil's footsteps in his cloven face; A face of several parishes and sorts, Like to a sergeant shaved at Inns of Courts. What mean the elders else, those Kirk dragoons, Made up of ears and ruffs like ducatoons; That hierarchy of handicrafts begun; Those New Exchange men of religion? Sure, they're the antick heads, which placed without The church, do gape and disembogue a spout. Like them above the Commons' House, have been So long without; now both are gotten in. Then what imperious in the bishop sounds, The same the Scotch executor rebounds; This stating prelacy the classic rout That spake it often, ere it spake it out. (So by an abbey's skeleton of late I heard an echo supererogate Through imperfection, and the voice restore, As if she had the hiccough o'er and o'er.) 'Since they our mixed diocesans combine Thus to ride double in their discipline, That Paul's shall to the Consistory call A Dean and Chapter out of Weavers' Hall, Each at the ordinance for to assist With the five thumbs of his groat-changing fist. Down, Dagon-synod, with thy motley ware, Whilst we do swagger for the Common Prayer (That dove-like embassy that wings our sense To Heaven's gate in shape of innocence) Pray for the mitred authors, and defy These demicastors of divinity! For, when Sir John with Jack-of-all-trades joins, His finger's thicker than the prelates' loins.' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...1914: 1. PEACE by RUPERT BROOKE TRANSFORMATIONS by THOMAS HARDY THE BATTLE OF CHARLESTON HARBOR by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE SONNET: 13. TO MR. H. LAWES, ON HIS AIRS by JOHN MILTON THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: NOVEMBER by EDMUND SPENSER |