The Church must use her arm of flesh,
The other will not do;
The clergy waste their breath and time
On miscreants like you.
You are so stubborn and so proud,
So dull and prepossest,
That no instructions can prevail
How well soe’er addrest.
Who would reform such reprobates,
Must drub them soundly first;
I know no other way but that
To make them wise or just.
Fie, vicar, fie, his patron said,
Sure that is not the way;
You should instruct your auditors
To suffer or obey.
Those were the doctrines that of old
The learned fathers taught;
And ’twas by them the Church at first
Was to perfection brought.
Come, vicar, lay your feuds aside,
And calmly take your cup;
And let us try in friendly wise
To make the matter up.
That’s certainly the wiser course,
And better too by far;
All men of prudence strive to quench
The sparks of civil war.
By furious heats and ill advice
Our neighbours are undone,
Then let us timely caution take
From their destruction.
If we would turn our heads about,
And look towards forty-one,
We soon should see what little jars
Those cruel wars begun.
A one-eyed cobbler then was one
Of that rebellious crew,
That did in Charles the martyr’s blood
Their wicked hands imbrue.