A consultation between the Pope and a Jesuit, concerning the way how to introduce Popery into England.
Page  [unnumbered]

A CONSULTATION BETWEEN THE POPE AND A JESUIT, Concerning the way how to introduce POPERY into ENGLAND.

POPE.
IN spite of all our Arts and Force,
Will England still rebel?
And doth it still wax worse and worse,
Mauger our aids from Hell?
Sure now your Stratagems can do no more
Than my vain Thunderbolts could do before.
JESƲIT.
'Tis true, whatever yet we durst,
Hath ineffectual been,
Since that you were rejected first
By an Heretical Queen.
Yet still we to your Holiness are true:
Wee'l never cease, till England's under you.
POPE.
'Tis well resolv'd; but yet I fear,
That while you do pretend
To be the Pillars that do bear
Me up, and me defend;
You be the only men at last that shall
Cause, and procure my Empires dreaded fall.
JESƲIT.
When every day to rout that Sect
Of Protestants, we dare
Treasons commit, can you suspect
That we unfaithful are?
When Halters, Gibbets, (I need not name the rest)
Are our reward, d'ee think we are in jest?
POPE.
'Tis but for want of care (I trow)
Your Plots are always found.
You never lay them deep enough,
Though sometimes under ground.
The World is wiser now than heretofore:
We now can gull men through the Nose no more.
JESƲIT.
But may it please your Holiness,
(For you cannot mistake,
Or else we lye that so profess)
Even for your credit sake
Give us some Rules, that when we lay a Plot,
Nothing miscarry till we our ends have got.
POPE.
That was to me a blessed day,
When Kings would not rebel,
For fear lest I (such Fools were they)
Should curse them into Hell,
But now, since, when they're curst, they nothing all,
They'l turn their backs, and bid me kiss their—.
JESƲIT.
There was a time too, when you cou'd,
With speaking of a word,
Have turn'd whole Kingdoms into blood,
And given all to the Sword.
Since now you can't, What way do you propose,
(Be sure wee'l follow't) to destroy our foes?
POPE.
I did of old oblige the Turk
To help me in my need;
Should he come there, hee'd make fine work:
Hee'd rout them all indeed.
On him I did an obligation lay,
Poisoning his Brother who stood in his way.
JESƲIT.
If he your gifts did understand,
(Who gave him Greece but you?)
Sure he would lend his helping hand,
The Hereticks to subdue.
No doubt if once you had him on your side,
Between your selves you might the World divide.
POPE.
No doubt, if you I can but place
(As some are plac'd with Kings)
To be Confessor to his Grace,
You may do mighty things.
He will not such a Monarchy disdain,
Permitting me in Spirituals to reign.
JESƲIT.
But here a Question I demand,
Whether, if this succeed,
And Turk and you go hand in hand
To prosecute it with speed,
The Turk and you will easily agree,
That you should Christ's, or Mahomet's Vicar be?
POPE.
That I regard not, so that I
May have the power I crave:
Nor Christ, nor Mahomet I'le deny,
So that I power have.
The Indians are our Converts, yet you know
They reverence both Saints and Devils too.
JESƲIT.
Your Holiness is so wise, I know,
That if this way should fail,
(You have two strings unto your Bow)
The other will prevail.
When Peter's Keys would do no good, you took
Paul's Sword, and threw the Keys into the Brook.
POPE.
You must not speak of what I now
Into your ear do tell:
If here I miss the Plot (I vow)
I'le lay as deep as Hell.
For if the Turk unto me don't prove civil,
I'le cast him off, and bargain with the Devil.
So Gehazi his Master us'd,
Who took the Syrians gift.
I'le take whatever Christ refus'd,
To help at a dead lift.
Though Christ abhor'd what I account my bliss,
I'le worship Satan, rather than it miss.
JESƲIT.
Sure this will hit, though all things fail,
If Satan lend his aid,
Wee'l make the Gates of Hell prevail,
Though Christ contrary said.
He cannot sure deny't to such a Friend,
That always strives his Kingdoms to extend.
I'le tell you more, This is a way
Your Predecessors tried
With good success: They got the sway
And never were denied.
Pope Hildebrand that rais'd your Empire high,
Would often to the Devils succour fly,
Or else good Writers do him much bely.
FINIS.

LICENSED, Jan. 13. 1678/9.

LONDON: Printed for N. M. in the year, 1679.