The Pope's knavery, or, Old Nick's invention (1)/Old Nick's Invention

OLD NICK's INVENTION:

⁠Of all the arts the De'il did shew,
His Master-piece I Pop'ry view;
For being himself with Heaven at odds,
He taught them ⟨first⟩ to eat their gods,
Which wicked false and cunning trick,
Was first ⟨invented⟩ by Old ⟨Nick⟩.
⁠Fal al fa la,

⁠They say the Pope can pardon sin,
If that be true we’ve need of him;
For there’s no fear but we'll get work,
For him and all his hellish folk,
As long’s his Master Devil can,
Unthinking ⟨mortals⟩ thus trapan.⁠Fal &c.

⁠Yes work enough that’s very su(illegible text)e:
But what becomes of all that’s poor,
To Purgatory trip must ⟨they⟩;
Unless ⟨with⟩ bribes the Priest you ⟨pay⟩;
And there ly a thousand years.
The least he'll tak's a peck o' bear.⁠Fal &c.

⁠The ⟨Porter⟩ too must have his groat;
Or then he'll take you by the ⟨throat⟩.
And a wax candle there must be
Through Purgatory there for to ⟨see⟩,
First to be sure to get them money:
They'd work for ⟨that if⟩ they'd work for any,

⁠They'll take you to a better place,
Without ⟨repenting⟩, faith or grace:
And well I wot that is srange news,
For there the Turks and there the Jews,
As bad as ever they were ca’d
They ne'er set up this hellish trade,⁠Fal. &c.

⁠I dont't remember that the De'il,
To pardon sin ⟨pretean'ed⟩ skill
But Turks and Jews with a’ their cha'
The Popish Clergy bangs them a’,
The ⟨Saints⟩ and ⟨Angels⟩ they address,
For deed and ⟨living⟩ they say Mass.⁠Fal &c.

⁠All kinds of sin commit do they,
And none dare ⟨challenge⟩, or gainsay;
They'll rob a Virgin of her prize,
And pardon her ⟨before⟩ ⟨she⟩ rise,
It’s shocking ⟨to the⟩ human ear
The tricks of Popish Priests to hear.⁠Fal, &c.

⁠Where it the zeal your fathers bore,
Against the Pope and Romish Whore,
Think on Argyle ⟨and⟩ Jeaviswood,
Who fear’d so: faggot, nor the sword,
But to ⟨expose⟩ the ⟨Romish⟩ Faity,
Lay down their lives and welcome death.⁠Fal &c,

⁠Ye Lowland Lads that drive the cart,
I know you have good hands and heart,
Charge your ⟨musket⟩, point your lance,
Unto Mars’ field do ye advance,
And join brave Donald without breeks,
Who make the French to wet their cheeks.⁠ &c.

⁠Why should ⟨the⟩ Pea'ant’s heart be cold,
When ⟨Princes⟩' hearts are firm and bold,
They are the head you are the hand,
That shou'd defend our British land,
Go forth with Howe and Elliot true,
The French and Spaniards to subdue.⁠Fal &ci