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But that was but a forged lie,
For Lag lives hot and bien with me:
It was in ſpite he money gave
Unto the Prieſt, that greedy ſlave;
For he had neither pith nor power
To keep my friend from me an hour;
For when I heard that he was dead,
A legion of my den did lead
Him to my place of reſidence,
Where ſtill he'll ſtay, and not go hence;
For Purgatory, I muſt tell,
It is the loweſt place in hell;
And from that place they ne'er win free,
Tho' greedy Prieſts for gain do lie,
In making ignorants conceive,
They'll bring them from the infernal cave,
Such as do bribe them well with gold,
As heaven with pelf were bought and ſold.
Sure that is but a vain deceit,
Contriv'd by Antichriſt of late,
To keep the worſhippers of the Whore
Senſeleſs in ſin, blind and ſecure,
And to make Prieſts look fat and fine,
Who nought but carnal things do mind.
This Lag will know, and all the reſt,
Who ot my lodgings are poſſeſt:
On earth no more they can ſerve me,
But ſtill I have their company;
With this I muſt my grief allay,
So I no more of Lag will ſay.
FINIS.
———
Falkirk—T.Johnston, Printer.
