Classic Poem

Their pens have swords bin which the Church did wound,
Whence all these scars are on her body found.
Polemicks of Religion sure have writ,
Not for the truth, but exercise of wit:
While Scriptures, Fathers, Councells, they do wrest.
As I name them, they use their names in jest.

B. Jewel

Though streams of light from Jewels of lustre fly,
Yet cracks, and flaws meet the judicious eye:
And though well polish'd, and not rudely set,
Part of the Jewel seems but counterfet.

Doctor Whitaker

Nor from Whitaker doth the Church reap more,
Where's some good Corn, there's some with tares run ore.

Doctor Field on the Church

And though the Church hath gained a whole Field
With the best Corn, he doth some Cockle yield.

Dr. White, Sir H. Lynd, Dr. Featley in answer to Lyndomastix

White may be black turn'd: Lind's not so well lin'd,
That to his aid he need no Featly find.

Master Perkins

What though a preacher Perk-in for the fight?
If not to preach, he story wants to write.

Doctor Usher

Usher to Lady truth hath better bin,
Yet with black spots he brings her fair face in.

Master Chillingworth against Knot

But Chilling's worth , of's enemy though hot,
Is praise-worth, to unty a Gordian Knot.

Master Brightman on the Revelation

In Revelations though a Brightman trade,
He many blinds, and none to see hath made.

Master Mede

Mede hath some Honey, liquors like works, swels:
Yet nought's 'bove froth of phancy, which he tels.

Doctor Potter

Potter -like to his name in dirt doth trade;
Yet to hold truth, he hath no vessell made.

Master Cotton

To spoil good paper, make foul scroles ith' same,
'Tis pitty in good ink bad Cotton Came.
He silent, by wild notions all might guesse,
New England Church the Church ith' Wildernesse.