Classic Poem

1

From a Forraign shore
I am not come to store,
Your Shops with rare devices:
No drugs do I bring
From the Indian King,
No Peacocks, Apes, nor Spices
Such wares I do show
As in England do grow,
And are for the good of the Nation,
Let no body fear
To deal in my ware,
For Sacriledge now's in fashion

2

I the Pedler am,
That came from Amster dam
With a pack of new Religions,
I did every one fit,
According to's wit,
From the Tub to Mahomets pigeons
Great trading I found,
For my spiritual ground,
Wherein every man was a medler;
I made people decline,
The learned Divine,
And then they bought Heaven of the Pedler.

3

First Surplices I took,
Next the Common-prayer book,
And made all those Papists that us'd 'um;
Then the Bishops and Deans,
I strip'd of their means,
And gave it to those that abus'd 'um
The Clergymen next,
I withdrew from their Text,
And set up the gifted brother;
Thus Religion I made,
But a matter of trade,
And I car'd nor for one or t'other

4

Then Tythes I fell upon,
And those I quickly won,
'Twas profane in the Clergy to take 'um
But they serv'd for the Lay,
Till I sold them away,
And so did Religious make 'um
But now come away,
To the Pedler, I pray,
I scorn to rob or cozen;
If Churches you lack,
Come away to my pack,
Here's thirteen to the dozen.

5

Church Militants they be,
For now we do see,
They have fought so long with each other;
The Rump's Churches threw down,
Those that stood for the Crown,
And sold them to one another
Then come you factious crue,
Here's a bargain now for you,
With the spoiles of the Church you may revell;
Now pull down the bells,
And then hang up your selves,
And so give his due to the Devil.