I Here ne mare than ye aw her, gif yee ha eny luggs.

But how does the Parlia­ment proceed there?

Marry, mickle weele, thay ha brunt the Coov'nant, ſir, beth­hond o the Comon Hong mon.

Oh horrid!

Oh horrid! Monſtra mo­rendum.

I'le juſtifie it was an act of ſacriledge, a work of the Divel.

And his damme, a ſin 'gainſt God and man.

Nay, a plain ſin againſt the Holy Ghoſt; for as I ſind it, and can prove it, it is a ſin againſt know­ledge, Ergo, a ſin againſt the Holy Ghoſt, as I ſaid before.

A ſin unpardonable, and therefore damnable.

Haud, haud, ſirs, haud, ne mere Blesfemy, wha med the Coov­nant?

The ſelect people of God.

The Righteous of three Nations; like as a three-fold cord is the ſtrongeſt, ſo the Covenant was ſtrengthened, and made up with the moſt undefiled hands of three Na­tions.

Haud, haud, ſirs, haud, yee gang ta feſt: A me ſaw, the thrads o that Coord was wop'd in Hell, an yar Coovnant med up o the Deele himſell; I ken it reit weele ſirs, gif ye ha eny greſs curſs an ban it fro yar hooſe an yar ſaws ſirs, an faw to the tra ſervice o Goad ſirs; mind yee me; let noot Prid an ſiller damm ye ſirs, ye ha a gretious King ſirs, an a geod Kirk Government noow ſirs, I up­hold ye ſirs, the lick i ne plece i the Wardd ſirs.

Yes at Rome ſir.

Fi, fi, geod feath yare mickle oout ſirs.

Where the Whore of Ba­bylon commits daily fornication with the Kings of the earth.

And hides all her iniquities in Lawn Sleeves, the Marke of the Beaſt is upon her.

ſhe drinks the blood of the Faithful, and devours the livings of the Godly; ſhe is more Inſatiate then the Sea or the Grave.

Or Hell fire, and choakes worſe then brimſton.

Yare mickle wiſe ſirs, ye ha roab'd a feole latly ſirs, mind yee me an herke yee toll me be aviſd ſirrs I ſpeke fur aw yere geods. yare Coovnant has med ye aw woud ſirrs, be aviſed ſirs.

The Covenant was a ſa­cred thing, framed to maintain the Church in its Primitive whiteneſſe and purity.

Againſt the pride of the Prelates and the Innovations of Antichriſt.

Oout oout faw ſham, the10 faw deele has gin yee a lift, fro Goad Sirs an noow ye lick Lymmer loones ſpet at his ſervants gif yee had ane, fer O the Loord yee wold noot de as yee de Sirs.

Why, What doe we doe Sir?

I, What doe we doe Sir?

Did not the Covenant re­ceive its Birth in your Countrey? and were not your Countreymen the law­ful and rightful Fathers of it? and were not we advertiſed by Henderſon, that man of God;

O the dele mon

And many other precious Saints by Letters; I ſay advertiſed by Letters, with holy and powerful ſan­ctifying Reaſons that Biſhops were not Jure Divino, that their Calling & Power in the Church was but mere Uſurpa­tion, promoted by the Pope to intro­duce his Power, and make the Sea of Rome more glorious; and to that end to11 ſecond their Brotherly Engagements with us (who were tender Conſcien­ces) made an Inrode into England with the Bible in one hand, and Sword in the other the very Sword of the Spirit which carried all before it and puniſhed all from Dan to Bar­ſheba; do you not know this?

Ne be Goad noow yee mack me ſwer, for aw the tim, the Coove­nant ers wern up i Erms, they wern beten meſt beſtly i ery plece, an the geod King ded proſper tol Crumwall (the faw deele ſplits Crag for't) cam wi his Independent riff raff ragged rogs thaut fooght for the Kirk, but plunder'd the Quire oout o hoilly roth the dele a bit ded yar thar Coovenant threve Sirs, tall than Sirs.

You are miſtaken ſir, Out intentions were geod, Our Cauſe was geod, and our ſucceſſe in every place geod.

Ded yee fitt foor Goad oor the Deele ſirs, oor foor ſiller ſirs, foor Mammon ſirs, the Deels none Couſin12 ſios, ans Damms Munion ſirs

We fought for the Cove­nant ſir.

Wha the Deele ſhod yee fitt foor that yee had befer ſirs?

We fought for the keep­ing and maintaining it.

And for the Church in generall, and againſt Biſhops and Pre­lates as we ſaid before.

Ne Ne geod feath, I ken wee'l enoow what yee foot for firs; Ye foote een'e anenſt the Kirke an foor the Beſhops Lands ſirs, an foorne yere none pert Maſter Copton Wrethers yee durſt nere leoke a ti­ny Kitlin ith fece, yat lick Seint Thefe in the Legend; Yee ha threv'e brawly; wi a murren toll yee a•Noll grazd a fett Soow i the brech, whan he ga you the Statute Office,13 whilke yee ſauld i the Deeles nam to Maſter thats o the Duck, Drake Drack, Maſter Drake Drack for a powr o poonds geod an mickle ſterlin ſiller be the Maſſe, an ded yee noot ater yee had plunder­ed the Biſhops o thar hoorſes and ſiller bi thar Londs an ſa roobd the Kirke i the faw Deels nem an noow de yee complan o yar paverte i prent; wi a hoorſe pox toll yee aw me ſaw ye pratend lyolty, an hoow muckle yee ha loov'd the King and Kirke, whan yee ha wrot an ſpeke anenſt um lick a ralling rat­ling rag as towart an enderſt emong yee toll riſ a new warr ſirs anenſt the pece othe King an Countre.

The Man's mad ſure, have you a minde to bee beaten Prieſt?

Wha ſall dot, noot ſike a limmer Loone, a rabbell rab­bell o rim an noone ſenſe as tou art.

I profeſſe you are very uncivil ſir.

Ne Ne noot ſa, un­ſele as tow art toll pip, i the Laſ­ſes breches an ſee aw foor noaught, their very noock an aw, geod feath yee Presbyters are pintell proud Jacks, yee loove to be pepin in hools an vant your Leachery at yare fingers ends ſirs.

You baſe unworthy man, doe you abuſe me in my own howſe?

Nee Nee yee ha a­baſed yar nan ſell ſir, in yar non hooſe an a brod ta ſir, bi bringing yar tiny Laſſe tool the ſtol o Re­pentance, gif ya ſtend ſe muckle and mayn on yar Covenant, an your San­tete, whot med ye ſham et ſe beſtli, but yar looſt lick a fawſe Loone gis yee are.

Get you out of my doores, I profeſſe my fingers tingle at him.

Ne, Ne, tes at an­other Laſs Mon, gang yar waies foor a coople of Dunces, yee cannoot hald deſpute worth a Crack.