A Dialogue between two Zealots upon the &c. in the Oath

Sir Roger from a zealous piece of Freeze,

Rais’d to a Vicar of the Children threes;

Whose yearly Audit may, by strict account,

To twenty Nobles, and his vails Amount;

Fed on the common of the female charity,

Untill the Scots can bring about their parity,

So shotten, that his Soul like to himself,

Walks but in Querpo: this same Clergy Elf,

Encountring with a Brother of the Cloth,

Fell presently to Cudgels with the Oath:

The Quarel was, a strange mis-shapen Monster

&c. (God blesse us!) which they conster

The brand upon the buttock of the Beast,

The Dragons tayle ty’d on a knot, a neast

Of young Apocraphas, the fashion

Of a new mental Reservation.

While Roger thus divides the text, the other

Winks and expounds, saying, My pious Brother,

Hearken with reverence; for the point is nice,

I never read on’t, but I fasted twice;

And so by revelation know it better,

Than all the Idolaters o’the Letter.

With that he svell’d, and fell upon the Theam,

Like great Goliah with his Weavers beam:

I say to thee, &c. thou ly’st,

Thou art the curled lock of Antichrist:

Rubbish of Babel, for who will not say,

Tongues were confounded in &c.

Who swears &c. swears more Oaths at once

Than Cerberus out of his triple Sconce:

Who views it well, with the same eye beholds

The old half Serpent in his numerous folds.

Accurst &c. thou, for now I scent,

What lately the prodigious Oysters meant.

Oh Booker, Booker, how cam’st thou to lack

This Sign in thy prophetick Almanack?

It’s the dark Vault wherein th’ infernal plot

Of Powder ’gainst the State was first begot.

Peruse the Oath, and you shall soon descry it,

By all the Father Garnets that stand by it;

’Gainst whom the Church, whereof I am a Member,

Shall keep another fifth day of November:

Yet here’s not all, I cannot halfe untrusse

&c. it’s so abominous.

The Trojan Nag was not so fully lin’d!

Unrip &c. and you shall find

Og the great Commissary, and which is worse,

Th’ Apparatour upon his skew-ball’d horse.

Then (finally my Babe of Grace) forbear,

&c. will be too far to swear;

For ’tis (to speak in a familiar style)

A York-shire wea-bit, longer than a mile.

Then Roger was inspir’d, and by Gods-diggers,

Hee’l swear in words at large, and not in Figures.

Now by this drink, which he takes off as loath

To leave &c. in his liquid Oath.

His Brother pledg’d him, and that bloody wine,

He swears shall seal the Synods Cataline.

So they drunk on, not offering to part

Till they had quite sworn out th’ eleventh quart:

While all that saw and heard them, joyntly pray,

They and their tribe were all, &c.