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By keeping Preſbytery in fame,
Which King and Council did diſclaim:
Who of their conſcience were ſo tender,
Religion they would not ſurrender
To pleaſe his Majeſty and Court,
And turn as changes came about;
To Scripture they ſo firmly ſtood,
On them I did ſpue out a flood
Of miſchief and calamity,
McKinzie acted well for me.
Scripture-religion at that time.
He made it ſuch a heinous crime,
That for it nought could ſatisfy,
But guilty perſons they muſt die.
He many a ſaint purſu'd to death;
He feared neither hell nor wrath.
His conſcience was ſo cauteriz'd,
He refus'd nothing that I pleas'd:
For which he’s had my kindneſs ſtill,
Since he his labours did fulfill.
Rothes, like a ſow in mire,
Who of his whoredom did not tire,
But wallow'd in adultery,
In curſing and profanity,
And did allot the Sabbath-day
To ſpend it in his game and play;
Perjur'd himſelf in Mitchel's caſe,
To bring that rebel to diſgrace.
To Popery he was a good friend,
To let it up this man was keen.
His drunkenneſs I need not name,
My friend of this thought never ſhame:
He did contrive that rare engine,
That did make Hackſton dree great pain;
