Babels balm: or The honey-combe of Romes religion With a neate draining and straining-out of the rammish honey thereof. Sung in tenne most elegant elegies in Latine, by that most worthy Christian satyrist, Master George Good-vvinne. And translated into tenne English satyres, by the Muses most vnworthy Eccho, Iohn Vicars.

OF THAT LOVDE LYE, AND FOND FICTION OF TRANSVBSTANTIATION. (Book 6)

THE SIXTH SATYRE. (Book 6)

The ARGVMENT.

When I receiue (O Christ) Thy Body blest; The Signes, in Substance, still the same doe rest.

ROmes Ten b••rn'd Beast strāge Errors belcheth vp, And Heretikes, Schismatikes feeds, breeds vp. More Heresies from Peters proud Chaire spring, Than all Church, Chappell Pewes could euer bring. Much I passe-o're, since (els) my Muse would be Too too prolixe (kinde Reader) vnto Thee. But yet, ther's One, sprung from the seuen-fold Whore, Prodigious, horrid, fond, ne're found before, Amphibious Gorgon; whereby Substance slips: This, this, my Tisiphonike Satyre whips. Heere, hath my Pen large Lists, aboundant stuffe: Heere, to tryumph my Rhyme hath roome enough. Heere, Waues waues ouerflow; Depths inuocate Depths; Heer's a Meane to bee immoderate.

This nointed, big-Brood, Accher••ntine Crue; In's Masse createth a creator new. Surely, tis more Christ, than a World, to make: Nor, ere, did God, to make God, vndertake. But Popish Chymicks make a thousand Gods: Priests (then) are greater gods than God, by odds. Ith' Masse-Priests mouth, what so great vertues are, That Hee, with's Mouth, his God can make, and marre? Surely, hee hath some rare resistlesse power: Whereby hee makes and vnmakes God, each houre. Christs Flesh (ith' Masse) This Flesh-feeder eats vp: And this blood-bibbing Bishop, Blood doth sup. With Murther, stain'd is this Christ-killing Hoste: Whilst hee Gods Flesh with's Fangs to teare doth boaste. Indeed, besides this Popish Caniball, Of Men, not God-deuourers, read wee shall. Grant, This grosse Errour, and grant thousands mo••: Which from this horrid Hydra, thick, would grow. Mee thinkes, I see Serpents on Gorgons pate, When this Gorgonish Act I meditate. This Christ-eater, with's Cyclaps throat wide ope: With griping Clawes, with grinding Iames (the Pope) •• Lycaons filthie Feasts doth celebrate: And * 1.1 Laestrigons curs'd Cates doth deuourate. For, Hee to's holy Cheere inuites (most kind) Sharpe Teeth, good Stomack••, but no godly Minde▪ Proud Iayes are they, not Eagles, which, thus, dare Forecast to come, to eate Christs dainty fare. Not Abra'am, Patriarchs, not blest Prophets all; Who, yet enioy'd this Man•••• Mysticall:* 1.2 Could thus eate Christ, could thus haue sauing grace, For, God Mans-Flesh was, then found in no place.

And, since by Christ, Grace, Life's alike to me: Christ to receiue, to me like rule, let be. With mouth and teeth, I take not (sure) Soules meate: This, with my mind, heart, Faith, I take and eate. My Hearing eates, my Knowledge, Christ doth chew: And liuely Faith digests Him in me to. I taste Christ with Hearts Pallate, there, confinde, That Feast's a Fact, not of the Mouth, but Minde. Christs Presence, is Faiths Charge, Christs reall being Is sure ith' Supper, to each firme Faiths Seeing. Yea, Christ to those that thus belieue, is slaine: Whose bles•• Oblation, still doth Faith sustaine. Againe, each vnbaptized infant small, Once borne, and washt in the Fount Mysticall: Hee should with Christ haue no Community: If Corps must Corps, Flesh, Flesh, touch needfully. Herod did (once) but some young Infants smite: The Popes opinion damnes All Infants quite. Besides, Hee which belieues not, Christ may eate: And thus, to Dogs, Hogs, Mice, Christ may bee Meate. Yea, Iudas, thus, with Peter hath full share: Christs Body is to Both, like daintie fare. Can hee which is not Christs, vpon Christ feede? Are God and Satan Partners well agreed▪ Or can Christs Members in Christs Body rot, Which, bold-fac't Rome, to broach abroad, shames not? O Mad Religion, strange Diuinity: Clergies faire Helon, Popes fond Fantasie! Bread makes a God, as Mice may Ca••••ls make. Not so: The Popes opinion wee mistake. But Sure, (although the Trid••••••-Councell wise, The same, to Christs Guests more than once denies)

The same meanes which in Baptisme Christ containes: The same ith' Supper also Christ retaines. This feeds, That breeds, by Christs Concorporation: I'm Bred, and Fed, by the same Obligation. Symbolik•• Signes we all in Baptisme see: Therefore the Signes ith' Supper vnchang'd bee. In Christ I liue, as I of Christ am made: What Grace conuerts, concernes mee, as is said. Vnion giues Life, Communion It sustaines: That was the Spirits, This still the Spirits remaines. But, truely, truely, (for this truth's most true, And Faith, to be Truths Daughter, ought most due) What's made of Bread oth' Virgin is not made: Nor was Christs Being, from a Bread-corne blade. Nor was the Promis'd Seed of Graines weake power, Nor Mary blest, a Mother of fiue Flower. Nor did the Roote of les••, beare ••ares of Corne: Nor was I••d's Li•••• of Land-Acres borne. Nor Floods, on C••r••s Bi••th, the Dragon shed: Nor could a Wheat-Eare breake the Serpe••t•• Headpunc; Besides, I feele this bruis'd, assum'd, consum'd: Where was Christ•• Body then may't be presum'd: Absurdly, ••bsurd Fooles▪ absurd things reach: And to th' Absurd, absurd opinions preach. Out Field is fil'd with troopes of Reasons good: Which Popish Parad••xe•• make to skud. When Christ, Himselfe, the Bread of Life did name: Before, and after that, Christ was tho S••me. Christ is a Vine, the Ways the Life, who euer In Him gr••••bes, g••es, li••••s, f••des, wanders, die•• neuer: Thus Christ saies of himselfe; yet I suppose, Of Way, ••me, Life, no Transi••••••••tio•• ro••e.

Why then ith' Supper should a change be made? 'Cause Christ of Bread, This is my Body, said. What if huge Heapes of Loaues were consecrated? Must all to Flesh be forth-with Transmutated? What if a Groomes Horse-Bread b•• conse••red? Will it straight into Flesh be altered? What if the holy-Hoste be eate in Lent? Will it be turn'd to Flesh incontinent? At that time (I thinke, rather) tis Fish made: For, Flesh to eate, in Lens, Popes haue gaine said. How well Romes Pythagorean Foole doth act: Does things forbidden, forbids his owne Fact. Tis Witty Folly, Fathers foolish Wit: To Stab his ••tatutes, his Births heart to split. This Popish Metamorphosis most vi••d; Hath Natures Lawes puld downe, Gods Lawes defil'd. Faiths Nerues and ioynts it reaues and cleaues in sunder: And brings in Doctrines ••ew, with hideous wonder. These working-Words, This i•• my Body; They, No Type, or mysticke meaning haue, doe say. Yet heer's a Trope: for, heer's a Transmutation: Thus they deny, euen their owne affirmation. Truth's Force and Strength is great, most certainely: And makes Hi•• Foes hir praise to testifie. Thus, oft-times Thieues, fatally faults confesse: Traitors owne mouthes their trecheries expresse. For Sacraments, the Papist placeth Toyes; And, for a Trope, Tropicall Trickes employes. Deiects what Hee erects; grants, what's gain-said: Puls downe the House which his owne Hands haue made. Peruerse Conuersion doth peruert Sense sound: An impious Glosse doth Truths pure Gl••sse confound.

For, forced by the words true force and scope: The Test'ment, cald a Cup, they say's a Trope: And why ist not a Trope, when Bread is nam'd Christs body? is here other speech, forme from'd▪ He's non-plusd, now; his fond opinion frights him: And Heresies owne hand, herear, euen smites him. Incredulous, quite faithlesse may I be, Y'ere I (dull Papist) fixe my Faith to thee. Many such false, fain'd Iliads, yet haue I: All which to whip, one day cannot supply. Not all of Christ, but whole Christ, each where stayes; This, ancient Fathers faith affirmes, and sayes; If, then, Christs flesh be not in eu'ry place; Sure, 'tis not flesh, ith' Masse, in any case. If, Bread it be, and must his Body be: Then, of his Body, 'tis no Signe to me. The Body's not the Type: the Type, It, shades: If things themselues be Types, the Type (then) fades. All other holy things, their Signes ne're change: That Signes change onely here; Is it not strange? Surely these pendent Seales assure, alone, That Promise which Gods Word had me fore-showne. And sacred Seales their Patents ne're oppose: Therefore, both Signe and Substance, Christ enclose. But by the Word our Mouthes must not Christ chew: This Supper (then) Words Seale, makes not this true. This Reason's Eagle-ey'd, in truth quicke-sighted: And what It sees, is quickly erudited, This Reason seemes with radient Sun-beames written: With so pure Light, the sight is. thereby, smitten. But now, here's one, and one in stead of All: Which, thunder-throttles Romes faith mysticall.

If, vnder, shew of Bread, Christs flesh be made: Are snares of death in this flesh closely laide? Henrie the seuenth, Emp'rour of Germanie, By Poyson in a Masse (foule fact) did die. But, sure, Christs flesh, with Poyson, ne're, was mixt: True Life, not Death, is to Christs flesh affixt. Tis strange, Christs flesh ith' Poyson did not die: When venome in that Murthering-Masse did lie. I wonder, when the Frier, ith' Fier, did throw The Host: whether Christs Flesh he did it know. Fond foole, thy learned lectures thee confound: And thine owne cords, haue thee in snares fast bound. What need I striue t'oppose, Thee with my Shield? When thine owne Sword wounds Thee, wins Me the field. If consecrated-Bread so altera••e, That Masse-Priests may God to Christs flesh create: As many Lo••••es, so many Bodies be, As many Bit••, so many God•• we see. And, when Christ (first) his Body made our meate: He did, himselfe, in forme and substance eate. For, what he to his twelue-Disciples gaue; Himselfe (I thinke) did eate; This, all Feasts craue. And (sure) that Vine whose Wine Christ then did drinke, Gaue plentie of our Sauiours Bloud (I thinke) And, euen so oft, as Bi••s, Christs Body, bee: So oft, his Soule from's Body torne hath he. For (I beleeue) his Soule they cannot bake: Their foule-mouth'd-Masse, thereof no power can take. If Thou'lt on points (as Vowels Vassall) stand; And not permit true iudgement thee command: As Bread Christs Body is (witnesse Gods Writ) So is the Cup, his Bloud; (Truth prouing it.)

Any Cup, forg'd, by any, any Art; To th'Testament in Christs bloud, doth conuert. Nor was (O Christ) blest Marie, more thy Mother, Than Goddesse-Masse would be to thee another. Nor were thy Bones (O Christ) broke on the Crosse: But Popelings Teeth bruise, breake them, short as Mosse. Nor could one Body, all Christs Guests suffice, To take least part thereof, their Soules chiefe price. And whilst heau'n, earth, (at once) this flesh containe: His flesh continuous, Christ cannot retaine. And, mouldie Bread (we all know) Wormes will breed; Which, from Christs Flesh ('tis plaine) cannot proceed. And Wine kept long in Cups will (sure) waxe tart: But, thy sweet Bloud (O Christ) still cheeres my heart. And in thy hand, crucifi'd flesh, didst keepe: (O Christ) before thou crucifi'd, didst sleepe. Who e're doth striue these strifes to reconcile: Doth lose, abuse, his cost, and care, the while. Though the Popes triple Crowne thrice wreathed be: It cannot, from these Cobwebs, sweepe thee free. Why striue I then, Mad-Masses fantasies To rouze to Me, or set before Thine eyes? Behold, I quickly come, (saith Christ, and yet, He comes not downe, to be with mens teeth bit. Remaines, oth' Passe-ore (once) were burnt in fire: Did they burne ought of God (then) I require? Once, without sprinkled Bloud, Offrings were vaine, And can a bloudlesse-Masse, Gods loue (now) gaine? Ouer much Wine workes Wits intoxication; And hath Thy Bloud (O Christ) like operation? When 'mongst these Masse-Priests, Wine with Wat••r greets A Whay-like flood of Bloud and Water meets?

In shewes of Bread, lies Christs true Body here? And does the Same in many a Place appeare? Tis All, in All, and All in euery Bit: Yet, in this All, no Part, a par•• doth sit. Head, Foot, Mouth, Shoulders, Stomacke▪ hand and Brest, Conioynd by Place, ne're disioynd from the Rest. Pendulous Signes of Substance voyd, stand still: Thus, doth this emptie Aire Their Hunger fill. Bakers bake flesh, which is with Bloud well knod, So please the powerfull Will of Romes great God. Corne, the commands of this Masse-God, obeyes; Bids he a Bit? the Bit turnes flesh straightwayes. And when his Skill the Masse-Priest list to show, A coate of crums he giues and takes God fro. When Magicke sounds the Misser once giues out: The flesh is fled, the Meale gone out of doubt. This Maker of his Maker, moues his Lips; And straight, the Bread into Christs Body skins. A Change most strange, foure wondrous words do emake: This comes, That goes; something, doth nothing take. When I, by Masses▪ Popes made Lasses, see, Then Ile beleeue, Flower turn'd to flesh may be. Here's no dimension of the Quantitie: Sensible Bodies Sense cannot descrie. No Rul•• of sigh••, no set Position being, No Iudgement, Signe, of Things, no Reall seeing. Whether we eate Christs Flesh, clothed or bare, This, to disclose is Romes Apollos ••are. For, when That Suppers Rites Christ did ordaine, * 1.3 Syndon or Priest-like clothes, he wore, 'tis plaine. But Christ ith' Supper, naked to eate, now, Neither Religion, Custome, Shame, ••llow.

If we eat Christ in's cloathes, in that array, What doe we eate? is flesh a Garment gay? Had I an hundreth-fold Apollo's skill, Did Verses flow, like Oceans from my Quill: I ne're could clense th' Augaean filthy Stable, Lernaean Fen, found in this monstrous Fable. The Bread being coniur'd, by the Masse-Priests mumbling, (As cursed Ghost) a head-long pace runs tumbling. The blessed Crust, being crost, a fleshy-lumpe, Into Breads harbour ioyfully doth iumpe. Strange things I tell: Priests blustring breath can frame Christs Body, as it was, in All, the same. Imbak't in flesh, incarnate in the Bread: Christ, in the banisht Meale, is couered. And, Who (sayd Tully, once) so voyd of Wit, Thinks, that, his God, which he eates at a Bit? Substance of Bread is trans-elementated: Yet nought's ith' Bread, which was not there first stated. This flesh, lacks flesh; This ruddie Red's not Red; Much diff'rence, here, twixt Flower and Flower is bred. Can flesh lacke flesh? And must not Red, Red be? Who then ith' Popes Braines, Braines can hope to see? The same's, here, not the same, not knowne the same; Eu'ry Sense, here, deceiues, erres, limps, is lame. The same thing's not the same, at the same hower; What e're is, yet, It selfe, straight, leaues selfes power. This is my Body, Is not (if chang'd straite) The Body first t' a Bit doth alterate. The Subiect fickle, Adi••nct firme doth stay, Th' Effigial's fast, Materiall, flies away. Something makes Nought, a Body, Body makes not. What's done, is not done; what's form'd, fashion takes not.

If any maine Madnesse, all others passe, Tis this, Romes nimble slight, strange sight ith' Masse. This monstrous Metamorphosies strange charmes, Hath brotch'd abroad, vnciuill, ciuill harmes. All the Winds blustring Battailes, here, haue met, Numberlesse Numbers, with crosse Coiles doe fret. Strife followes Strife; and, Errours ancient Crew, Though payr'd, impayr'd; yet hatcht are Hydra's new. For th' Body of Christ, scarce is Christs Church (O woe) A Body: thus from Peace great Warre doth grow. But here, we onely sing the furious fight Twixt Romes * 1.4 Ericthons and * 1.5 Andabats hight. Who are these Chāpions whom their drink makes good: Bloud-suckers, and God-eaters, their dire food. Friers doe sret, and Sophisters contend, Schoolmen conscold, and threats on all sides send. Discrepant Bands, their Banners pitch'd, flocke, flow: Hoarse Academies vaunt; full Theaters, lowd-low. Grammaticke warres doe rage, yea warres indeed, Whence, last Opinions (oft) make, first to bleed. Grammaticasters rise, Munkes mightie swarm••, Clatter together, man to man, arme in arme. Petrus de Quercu, pugnes, oppugn'd is he, By Iohn d•• Monte▪ both fight valiantly. Alphonsu•• fumes, hot Hugo frets much more: Poore Polus pants, and Lyra lowd doth rore. They which want Proofes, with wrangling clamours raue▪ And seeme euen Mad, when they no Matter haue. Iodocus proues Fab'•• improues, Occam approues; Scotus euen foames at mouth; Thomas, warre moues. Andradius, Driedo, Cathrin, Carthusian, With sharpe confronts, each one doth play the man.

Guido, Capistran, Sote, Cope, Canus stout, With vpstart Errours, driue the Old-ones out. This, beates the Aire, That's light makes all more darke: This, opes no Knots; nor That, can hit the Marke. The Victour's vanquisht; Cut-throate killd by's foe; Assayld th' Assaylant; Wounder's brought to woe. Biell brings bloudy Mars; Bellarmine great, Romes Rabbi, warres, woes, blowes and threats doth threat. Bonner, he bleats, Lindan loues Lullabies; Lumbard belubbard, to's dull Doctours hies. Echhius and Hosius, Dorbell, Duns, at duell, Pighius grunts Pigge-like, Alan is most cruell. Whos'ere may belch whats'ere, 'gainst Whomsoere, Cadmaean troopes by their owne swords fall there. O Pope, worlds winking-light, lifes Rule, faiths Guide, Doe euen Thine-Owne; thy damn'd Decrees deride? With what brasse Brow wilt Thou deny, so bold, This Duell-Champion-flocke, of thy Sheepfold?

Notes

• * 1.1

  A King of Arcadia, who to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Iupiters god-head, serued in the flesh of certaine young gen∣tlemen of the Molossi∣an•• at a Feast which be made to Iupiter, who in detestatiō of that foule fact, s••ved ••••is Palar••, and turned Lycaon into a Wolfe.
• * 1.2

  Another kind of Ca∣nibals in Campania▪
• * 1.3

  Or fine Linnen.
• * 1.4

  Erichtho∣nius was the sonne of Vulcan, ha∣uing feet like a Dra∣gon. There was also one Erichtho, a woman of Thessalie, famous for her multi∣tude of poysons.
• * 1.5

  Andabata w••re certain Fencers that fought blind-fold.