With Popish Predomination:
Cut Bishops down in hast,
And Cathedrals as fast
As corn that’s fit for the sickle:
But ah, ah, ha, ha, ha, ha, Rotundos, rot,
ah, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha Rotundos rot,
’Tis you that my spleen doth tickle.
[The three next in the Antidote, respectively by Aurelian Townshend (?), Sir John Suckling, and “by T. R.” (or Dr. Thomas Wild?), are to be found also in our Merry Drollery, Compleat, pp. 218, 101, and 242. [See Appendix Notes.]]
[p. 47.]