94. The Station.
1
Come fancy, and do not thou dabble
Thy wings, nor the wit of thy Muse,
Among the sophisticate rabble
Of Judas's, Doegs and Jews.
Fly off from their modes, do not mingle
Nor mix
Thy nature with theirs; tarry single,
And fly from their tricks.
2
Shun the fraud of the Court, if you ken it,
And from the loose Libertines flee;
Yet be not so strict as Saint Bennet:
For that superstition would be.
Be sure thy designs they be stable
And stout,
And let them be invariable,
Not like to the rout.
3
Let Jesuits envy their Masses,
And Recabites fall to their Wine:
Let Puritans fly from their Lasses,
And Atheists all be divine.
Let Ranters lie down with the Sleepers;
And then
Let the zealous Pilgrims, and Weepers
Turn laughers agen.
4
Let um chop, let um change, let um alter,
Though one take the Crown for the Oare:
Though some the gold chain for the halter,
And some the Strapado for th' Whore.
Though some 'stead of rags gather riches
And fame;
And some bewray their noble breaches:
Yet I'le be the same.
5
'Tis neither bad time, nor bad season
Shall cut off the cords of my mirth:
'Tis neither bad rhime nor bad reason
Shall spoil my design in the birth:
Let every one change as he pleases:
But yet
Whether solace or sorrow encreases,
I'le not stir a bit.
6
My Science is clearly convicted
That all their intentions are vain:
Therefore I their folly relicted,
And never will mind them again.
I know them, I felt them, I tri'd them
At best.
I like them not, but Semper Idem
For ever I'le rest.
