JUSTICE IN MASQUERADE; OR, SCROGGS UPON SCROGGS.


A Butcher's Son's Judge Capital
Poor Protestants for to enthral,
And England to enslave, Sirs;
Lose both our Laws and Lives we must
When to do Justice we entrust
So known an arrant Knave, Sirs.

Some hungry Priests he did once fell,
With mighty Strokes sent them to Hell,
Sent presently away, Sirs;
Would you know why? The Reason's plain
They had no _English_ nor _French_ coin
To make a longer stay, Sirs.

The Pope to Purgatory sends
Who neither Money have nor Friends,
In this he's not alone, Sirs;
For our Judge to Mercy's no inclin'd,
'Less Gold change Conscience and his Mind,
You are infallibly gone, Sirs.

His Father once exempted was
Out of all Juries [6]; why? because