You vicars, by a different way,
Have done the very same;
For you have pared your doctrines so
You made religion lame.
Your principles you’ve quite disown’d,
And old ones changed for new,
That no man can distinguish right
Which are the false or true.
I dare be bold, you’re one of those
Have took the Covenant;
With Cavaliers are Cavalier,
And with the saints a saint.
The vicar at this sharp rebuke
Begins to storm and swear;
Quoth he, Thou vile apostate wretch!
Dost thou with me compare?
I that have care of many souls,
And power to damn or save,
Dar’st thou thyself compare with me,
Thou vile, ungodly knave!
I wish I had thee somewhere else,
I’d quickly make thee know
What ’tis to make comparisons,
And to revile me so.
Thou art an enemy to the State,
Some priest in masquerade,
That, to promote the Pope’s designs,
Has learnt the cobbling trade:
Or else some spy to Cavaliers,
And art by them sent out
To carry false intelligence,
And scatter lies about.
But whilst the vicar full of ire
Was railing at this rate,
His worship, good Sir Samuel,
O’erlighted at the gate.
And asking of the landlady
Th’ occasion of the stir;
Quoth she, If you will give me leave
I will inform you, Sir.