Ah! but the truth, good people all, The truth is such a thing; For it wou’d undoe both Church and State too, And cut the throat of our King. Yet not the spirit, nor the new light, Can make this point so cleare, But thou must bring out, thou deified rout, What thing this truth is, and where. Speak Abraham, speak Kester, speak Judith, speak Hester, Speak tag and rag, short coat and long; Truth’s the spell made us rebell, And murther and plunder, ding-dong. “Sure I have the truth,” sayes Numph; “Nay, I ha’ the truth,” sayes Clemme; “Nay, I ha’ the truth,” sayes Reverend Ruth; “Nay, I ha’ the truth,” sayes Nem. Well, let the truth be where it will, We’re sure all else is ours; Yet these divisions in our religions May chance abate our powers. Then let’s agree on some one way, It skills not much how true; Take Pryn and his clubs; or Say and his tubs, {33} Or any sect old or new; The devil’s i’ th’ pack, if choyce you can lack, We’re fourscore religions strong; Take your choyce, the major voyce Shall carry it, right or wrong. “Then wee’le be of this,” sayes Megg; “Nay, wee’le be of that,” sayes Tibb; “Nay, wee’le be of all,” sayes pitifull Paul; “Nay, wee’le be of none,” sayes Gibb. Neighbours and friends, pray one word more, There’s something yet behinde; And wise though you be, you doe not well see In which doore sits the winde. As for religion to speake right, And in the Houses sence, The matter’s all one to have any or none, If ’twere not for the pretence. But herein doth lurke the key of the worke, Even to dispose of the crowne, Dexteriously, and as may be, For your behoofe and your owne. “Then let’s ha’ King Charles,” sayes George; “Nay, let’s have his son,” sayes Hugh; “Nay, let’s have none,” sayes Jabbering Jone; “Nay, let’s be all kings,” sayes Prue. Oh we shall have (if we go on In plunder, excise, and blood) But few folke and poore to domineere ore, And that will not be so good; Then let’s resolve on some new way, Some new and happy course, The country’s growne sad, the city horne-mad, And both the Houses are worse. The synod hath writ, the generall hath spit, And both to like purposes too; Religion, lawes, the truth, the cause, Are talk’t of, but nothing we doe. “Come, come, shal’s ha’ peace?” sayes Nell; “No, no, but we won’t,” sayes Madge; “But I say we will,” sayes firy-faced Phill; “We will and we won’t,” sayes Hodge.