Classic Poem

Th'Rabble's an olio made 'twixt Knave and Fool,
To work his ends, the politicians tool:
While he the Devils quilted Anvile is,
On which he frames all that we finde amiss.
Divide and Rule; these Foxes heads divide
Best for Combustion, by the tails they're ti'de:
While th' routs a number there will errours be,
From God recession, who is Unity.
Who from the first simplicities teach them swerve,
Give them but bread of life to make them starve.
Most Nature call what Custome is of sin,
Vertue, not Vice, Nature implants within;
Lest it be done to them to do no ill:
Love which the Law and Gospel doth fulfil;
We leave the things, and about names make strife,
Nature exalted is a Christians life.
But oh from th' silver forge Diana comes:
Religious forms are stamp'd to Coin new sums,
Minted by passion, profit, seduc'd zeal;
All must be damn'd, deny what they reveal.
Yet sure when Justice up her scales doth hold,
For the forms sake shee'l take no lighter gold.
Lord, let us strive thy Image for to bear;
The gold can ne're be light, thy Image there.
From th' dross of sin it must refined be,
Nor light with lusts can we take form from thee.