Classic Poem

Each Father sure's a Janus , two waies looks?
One face Reformers have, one Papists Books.
Do they by follies issues their names gain?
They father spurious issues of each brain:
Now to th' Protestant tun'd, now Roman Key,
Do Echo-like to every voice obey:
Ah! Echo-like yield an imperfect sound
Which can't instruct a knowledg, but confound,
Whence most polemick truths as clearly note,
As th' Lover's Mistresse face in a Wanescot:
Or Wittingtons Mai'rship by a chime of bels,
Which seem to tune to all wild phancy tels.
What though the Richets in the Roman head
Some truth's obstructed, is the body dead?
Or cause not uniform, must no union be?
Belief in one Christ sure speaks unitie.
Though various Colours in Christs Coat be knit,
They make no seam, nor cause a schism in it.
But these are souldiers which do pierce Christs side,
Cast lots for's Vesture, and his Coat devide.
See in a mighty bulk their volumes swell!
Heav'ns way is narrow; sure these lead to Hell:
Homonymas wave, and skirmishing with words,
Or shadow fights, see what each book affords.
You these Tostati may with ease outvie
With a slight single sheeted Mercury :
Their tumid bodies onely serve to tell
Poison within is, thus can make them swell.