Sir, quoth the voice, 'tis true, I grant, We made and took the Covenant; 1450 But that no more concerns the Cause Than other perj'ries do the laws, Which when they're prov'd in open court, Wear wooden <c> peccadillo's for't: And that's the reason Cov'nanters 1455 Hold up their hands like rogues at bars. I see, quoth HUDIBRAS, from whence These scandals of the Saints commence, That are but natural effects Of Satan's malice, and his sects, 1460 Those Spider-Saints, that hang by threads, Spun out o' th' intrails of their heads. Sir, quoth the voice, that may as true And properly be said of you, Whose talents may compare with either, 1465 Or both the other put together. For all the Independents do, Is only what you forc'd 'em to; You, who are not content alone With tricks to put the Devil down, 1470 But must have armies rais'd to back The gospel-work you undertake; As if artillery, and edge-tools, Were the only engines to save souls; While he, poor devil, has no pow'r 1475 By force to run down and devour; Has ne'er a Classis; cannot sentence To stools or poundage of repentance; Is ty'd up only to design, T' entice, and tempt, and undermine, 1480 In which you all his arts out-do, And prove yourselves his betters too. Hence 'tis <d> possessions do less evil Than mere temptations of the Devil, Which, all the horrid'st actions done, 1485 Are charg'd in courts of law upon; Because unless they help the elf, He can do little of himself; And therefore where he's best possess'd Acts most against his interest; 1490 Surprizes none, but those wh' have priests To turn him out, and exorcists, Supply'd with spiritual provision, And magazines of ammunition With crosses, relicks, crucifixes, 1495 Beads, pictures, rosaries, and pixes; The tools of working our salvation By mere mechanick operation; With holy water, like a sluice, To overflow all avenues. 1500 But those wh' are utterly unarm'd T' oppose his entrance, if he storm'd, He never offers to surprize, Although his falsest enemies; But is content to be their drudge, 1505 And on their errands glad to trudge For where are all your forfeitures Entrusted in safe hands but ours? Who are but jailors of the holes, 1510 And dungeons where you clap up souls; Like under-keepers, turn the keys, T' your mittimus anathemas; And never boggle to restore The members you deliver o're Upon demand, with fairer justice 1515 Than all your covenanting Trustees; Unless to punish them the worse, You put them in the secular pow'rs, And pass their souls, as some demise The same estate in mortgage twice; 1520 When to a legal <e> Utlegation