Liberty without money, is like a man opprest with the Gout, every step he puts forward puts him to {102} pain; when on the other side, he that has Coyn with his Liberty, is like the swift Post-Messenger of the Gods, that wears wings at his heels, his motion being swift or slow, as he pleaseth. I received this year two Caps, the one white, of an honest plain countenance, the other purple, which I conceive to be some antient Monumental Relique; which of them you sent I know not, and it was a wonder how I should, for there was no mention in the Letter, more then, _that my Brother had sent me a Cap_: They were delivered me in the company of some Gentlemen that ingaged me to write a few lines upon the purple one, and because they were my Friends I could not deny them; and here I present them to you as they were written. _Haile from the dead, or from Eternity,_ _Thou Velvit Relique of Antiquity;_ _Thou which appear’st here in thy purple hew,_ _Tell’s how the dead within their Tombs do doe;_ _How those Ghosts fare within each Marble Cell,_ _Where amongst them for Ages thou didst dwell._ _What Brain didst cover there? tell us that we_ _Upon our knees vayle Hats to honour thee:_ _And if no honour’s due, tell us whose pate_ _Thou basely coveredst, and we’l joyntly hate:_ _Let’s know his name, that we may shew neglect;_ _If otherwise, we’l kiss thee with respect._ _Say, didst thou cover Noll’s old brazen head,_ _Which on the top of Westminster high Lead_ {103} _Stands on a Pole, erected to the sky,_ _As a grand Trophy to his memory._ _From his perfidious skull didst thou fall down,_ _In a dis-dain to honour such a crown_ _With three-pile Velvet? tell me, hadst thou thy fall_ _From the high top of that Cathedral?_ _None of the_ Heroes _of the_ Roman _stem,_ _Wore ever such a fashion’d Diadem,_ _Didst thou speak_ Turkish _in thy unknown dress,_ _Thou’dst cover_ Great Mogull, _and no man less;_ _But in thy make methinks thou’rt too too scant,_ _To be so great a Monarch’s Turberant._ _The_ Jews _by_ Moses _swear, they never knew_ _E’re such a Cap drest up in_ Hebrew: _Nor the strict Order of the_ Romish _See,_ _Wears any Cap that looks so base as thee;_ _His Holiness hates thy Lowness, and instead,_ _Wears Peters spired Steeple on his head:_ _The Cardinals descent is much more flat,_ _For want of name, baptized is_ A Hat; _Through each strict Order has my fancy ran,_ _Both_ Ambrose, Austin, _and the_ Franciscan, _Where I beheld rich Images of the dead,_ _Yet scarce had one a Cap upon his head:_  Episcopacy _wears Caps, but not like thee,_ _Though several shap’d, with much diversity:_ _’Twere best I think I presently should gang_ _To_ Edenburghs _strict_ Presbyterian; _But Caps they’ve none, their ears being made so large,_ _Serves them to turn it like a_ Garnesey _Barge;_