Classic Poem

I.

Room for a Gamester that plays at all he sees,
Whose fickle faith is fram'd, Sir, to fit such times as these;
One that cryes Amen , to ev'ry factious Prayer,
From Hugh Peters Pulpit, to St. Peters Chair:
One that can comply with Crosier and with Crown;
And yet can bouze
A full carouze,
While bottles tumble down,
Dery down.

2.

This is the way to trample without trembling.
Since Sycophants only secure;
Covenants and Oaths are badges of dissembling,
'Tis the Politique pulls down the pure:
To plunder and pray,
To protest and betray
Are the only ready wayes to be great,
Flattering will do the feat:
Ne're go, ne're stir
Have ventred farther,
Then the greatest o' th' Damme's in the Town,
From a Copper to a Crown.

3.

I am in an excellent homor now to think well,
And I'me in another humor now to drink well;
Fill us up a Beer-bowl boy,
That we drink it merrily;
And let none other see,
Nor cause to understand,
For if we do, 'tis ten to one we are Trepand.

4.

Come fill us up a brace of Quarts,
Whose Anagram is call'd true hearts;
If all were true as I would hav't,
And Britain were cured of its humor,
Then I should very well like my fate,
And drink off my Wine at a freer rate,
Without any noise or tumor;
And then I should fix my humor.

5.

But since 'tis no such matter, change your hue,
I may cog and flatter, so may you;
Religion
Is a wigeon,
And reason
Is Treason;
And he that hath a Noble heart may bid the world adieu.

6.

We must be like the Scotish man,
Who with intent to beat down schism,
Brought forth a Presbyterian,
A Canon and a Catechism.
If Beuk wont do't, then Jockie shoot,
The Kirk of Scotland doth command;
And what hath been, since he come in,
I am sure we ha' cause to understand.