Ease was his chief disease; and to judge right,
He died for heaviness that his cart went light :
His leisure told him that his time was come
And lack of load made his life burdensome,
That even to his last breath, (there be that say't)
As he were press’d to death, he cried, More weight;
But, had his doings lasted as they were,
He had been an immortal carrier.
Obedient to the moon he spent his date
In course reciprocal, and had his fate
Link'd to the mutual flowing of the seas,
Yet (strange to think) his wain was his encrease :
His letters are deliver'd all and gone,
Only remains this superscription.

On the new Forcers of Conscience under the

Long Parliament.

BECAUSE you have thrown off your Prelate Lord,

And with stiff vows renounc'd his Liturgy,
To seise the widow'd whore Plurality

From them whose sin ye envied, not abhor'd;
Dare ye for this adjure the civil sword

To force our consciences that Christ set free,
And ride us with a classick hierarchy

Taught ye by mere A. S. and Rotherford ? Men, whose life, learning, faith, and pure intent,

Would have been held in high esteem with Paul,

Must now be nam'd and printed Hereticks
By shallow Edwards and Scotch what d'ye call :

But we do hope to find out all your tricks,
Your plots and packing worse than those of Trent,

That so the Parliament, May, with their wholesome and preventive shears, Clip your phylacteries, though bauk your ears,

And succour our just fears. When they shall read this clearly in your charge, New Presbyter is but old Priest writ large.



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