The Works of Mr. Robert Gould In Two Volumes. Consisting of those Poems [and] Satyrs Which were formerly Printed, and Corrected since by the Author; As also of the many more which He Design'd for the Press. Publish'd from his Own Original Copies [by Robert Gould] |
 | 1. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| 2. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. | The Fourth Part. |
| 5. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
4. The Fourth Part.
In Spite of all the Villains last decry'd,
There yet are others that have err'd as wide
From Sanctity misled, and misapply'd:
The Unity tho' ev'ry Sect'rist rends,
Each on his Faith, as Orthodox, depends;
And give 'em but their way, our whole Religion ends.
There yet are others that have err'd as wide
From Sanctity misled, and misapply'd:
193
Each on his Faith, as Orthodox, depends;
And give 'em but their way, our whole Religion ends.
Th'Objection here may be—that such as these
Who, just like Madmen, know not their Disease,
But have their Failings rooted at the Brain,
We Lash or Laugh at equally in vain.
Who, just like Madmen, know not their Disease,
But have their Failings rooted at the Brain,
We Lash or Laugh at equally in vain.
I answer, were we sure the Sick wou'd die
Unless we did one Med'cine more apply,
The Indiscretion were not much to try.
The last Extreme has often Wonders wrought,
And made a Cure beyond the Leeches thought:
Who then can tell, when Rage with Truth combines,
Th'Effect of daring, but Instructive Lines?
The World is Madness to the last Decree,
And ev'ry one (but for himself) can see
That all besides are touch'd with Lunacy.
To those in Bedlam some Respect we bear,
There 'tis indeed Humanity to spare;
Especially the Few whose Maladies
From Chance, or Natural Causes did arise.
Besides, the Rest are by a Fate severe
Paying at full for that which brought 'em there;
Love, Jealousy, Ambition, Lust and Pride,
Revenge and Lucre;—or what else beside:
These I shall wave, (as odious to appear
To Human View,) and only mention here
The Folly, Frenzy, Vanity and Sin
Of some without that ought to be within.
Unless we did one Med'cine more apply,
The Indiscretion were not much to try.
The last Extreme has often Wonders wrought,
And made a Cure beyond the Leeches thought:
Who then can tell, when Rage with Truth combines,
Th'Effect of daring, but Instructive Lines?
The World is Madness to the last Decree,
And ev'ry one (but for himself) can see
That all besides are touch'd with Lunacy.
To those in Bedlam some Respect we bear,
There 'tis indeed Humanity to spare;
Especially the Few whose Maladies
From Chance, or Natural Causes did arise.
Besides, the Rest are by a Fate severe
Paying at full for that which brought 'em there;
Love, Jealousy, Ambition, Lust and Pride,
Revenge and Lucre;—or what else beside:
These I shall wave, (as odious to appear
To Human View,) and only mention here
The Folly, Frenzy, Vanity and Sin
Of some without that ought to be within.
Suppose a Heathen on our Sabbath Day
Shou'd all our different Swarms of Sects survey
Flock to their Meetings, or behold 'em come
Hungry with tedious stay and driving home;
The Antinomians and Fanaticks there,
The Quaker, Baptist, and Socinian here;
With fifty other sorts too long to name,
Thoughtless of Truth, and Christians to their shame;
What cou'd he say? but with an Angry tone
Cry out—O Jove! is yet the Use not done,
Of Man's believing in more Gods than one!
Or shou'd he hear 'em, with what Virulence
They wrest the Scriptures from their Genuine Sense;
How bitterly th'Establish'd Faith they ply
With Spite, Aspersion and Indignity,
Only because it can't in Fact agree
With Nonsense, Guile and Contrariety;
And, ceasing to be led by Scripture Rules,
Become no Church to pleasure Knaves and Fools.
Shou'd he observe how some Perswasions place
Their Purity in Whining and Grimace,
And all Good Manners in a Sullen Face;
Forgetting quite there can no Error be
In undesigning Looks, and Cheerful Modesty:
Truth and Good Humour cannot be disjoyn'd,
And Vertue must be one with Peace of Mind:
To make Religious and Morose agree,
Has this with that no least Consistency?
Or shou'd we others shew him, all within
(They say) Perfection, and exempt from Sin;
Wrought up to such a Frame of Truth and Love
As can't attain more Purity above;
That thence Inspir'd they nothing say, or do,
But what like God is Just, and more than Scripture true:
Yet all the while such Boobies, Sots and Elves,
Their very Brutes are wiser than themselves:
A Race that Knave and Fool at once commence;
Careless of Church and State, of Priest and Prince,
Nor to be reconcil'd to Manners, Truth, and Sense:
Churning their Jaws, when e'er they teach the Rout
Their Light within turns all to Foam without:
Bigotted to that Impudent Degree,
That keeping on their Caps, and Thou and Thee,
They think the utmost Marks of Sanctitie:
So but their Hats refuse the Civil ply,
And the Cravat's so short as just to Tye,
Their Consciences are still, and hear no Call
Mean while Extortion, Slander, Pride and Gall,
Are things they never boggle at at all
In short, were Heav'n by Rancour to be won,
Their Business wou'd Effectively be done,
And all be happy, ev'ry Mother's Son.
But since that Glorious State w'are not to gain
By Dullness, Spite, and Freakishness of Brain;
Since Peace to slight, and Falshood to affect,
Can never be the Marks of the Elect;
Such wilfull Men, in spite of all their Din,
Wou'd seem to any that had Bedlam seen
More Craz'd without than all their Friends within.
Shou'd all our different Swarms of Sects survey
Flock to their Meetings, or behold 'em come
Hungry with tedious stay and driving home;
194
The Quaker, Baptist, and Socinian here;
With fifty other sorts too long to name,
Thoughtless of Truth, and Christians to their shame;
What cou'd he say? but with an Angry tone
Cry out—O Jove! is yet the Use not done,
Of Man's believing in more Gods than one!
Or shou'd he hear 'em, with what Virulence
They wrest the Scriptures from their Genuine Sense;
How bitterly th'Establish'd Faith they ply
With Spite, Aspersion and Indignity,
Only because it can't in Fact agree
With Nonsense, Guile and Contrariety;
And, ceasing to be led by Scripture Rules,
Become no Church to pleasure Knaves and Fools.
Shou'd he observe how some Perswasions place
Their Purity in Whining and Grimace,
And all Good Manners in a Sullen Face;
Forgetting quite there can no Error be
In undesigning Looks, and Cheerful Modesty:
Truth and Good Humour cannot be disjoyn'd,
And Vertue must be one with Peace of Mind:
To make Religious and Morose agree,
Has this with that no least Consistency?
Or shou'd we others shew him, all within
(They say) Perfection, and exempt from Sin;
Wrought up to such a Frame of Truth and Love
As can't attain more Purity above;
That thence Inspir'd they nothing say, or do,
But what like God is Just, and more than Scripture true:
Yet all the while such Boobies, Sots and Elves,
Their very Brutes are wiser than themselves:
A Race that Knave and Fool at once commence;
Careless of Church and State, of Priest and Prince,
Nor to be reconcil'd to Manners, Truth, and Sense:
195
Their Light within turns all to Foam without:
Bigotted to that Impudent Degree,
That keeping on their Caps, and Thou and Thee,
They think the utmost Marks of Sanctitie:
So but their Hats refuse the Civil ply,
And the Cravat's so short as just to Tye,
Their Consciences are still, and hear no Call
Mean while Extortion, Slander, Pride and Gall,
Are things they never boggle at at all
In short, were Heav'n by Rancour to be won,
Their Business wou'd Effectively be done,
And all be happy, ev'ry Mother's Son.
But since that Glorious State w'are not to gain
By Dullness, Spite, and Freakishness of Brain;
Since Peace to slight, and Falshood to affect,
Can never be the Marks of the Elect;
Such wilfull Men, in spite of all their Din,
Wou'd seem to any that had Bedlam seen
More Craz'd without than all their Friends within.
But further, were our Ancient next to see
A Set of Teachers all Hypocrisie,
And yet their Flocks the more exactly fit;
A sort of Hearers always mainly smit
With much Inveteracy, and little Wit.
Shou'd he observe (suppose it to him known)
What small Regard is to our Rubrick shown,
And what a Stress is laid on Rambles of their own;
Forgetting He that will in Publick Pray
Without one previous Thought of what to say,
Must be a Sot not worth our while to hear;
And if he thinks before, 'tis not Extempore Pray'r.
Cou'd but the Truth be known, 'twou'd soon be found
The Men that so in Fluency abound,
Or rather, that wou'd be so Gifted thought,
Have, at the Bottom, all their Cant by Roat;
And that it does as easily arise
As Rufull Emphasis, and Goggling Eyes;
To which of late they such Regard have shown
As Heav'n were gain'd by Aspect, and by Tone.
But granting what they Use Extempore Pray'r
It yet must be a Form to those that hear,
Because confin'd they to the Words must be,
The very same as to our Rubrick, We:
So that, in short, from Forms away they run,
And follow but a Form when all is done;
Only they take the Worse, and better shun.
We all at once Respond, and know to what;
While they Implicitly, and fond of that,
Return Amen to vain, and oft to Impious Chat.
Alike Perversly, Cassock, Scarf and Gown,
With them are Rags of Rome and Babylon.
But pray where is the Diffe'rence to be found
Between two Garbs, if both must touch the Ground?
Why shou'd the Dress we nam'd be counted wrong,
When their own Teachers have their Cloaks as long?
Thus a Peculiar wear with Us they slight,
Yet a Peculiar wear with them is Right.
But White, that Dangerous Colour, gives Offence,
Tho' meant but to Resemble Innocence,
That Peace and Truth in Worship may be joyn'd
And Decency with Purity of Mind.
The Man 'tis told us, after God's own Heart
In Robes of Linen Sung and Prais'd his Part;
And so the Levites (whence our Usage springs)
When e'er they Taught, or Handl'd Holy Things:
Beside we in th'Apocalypse may read
Who lov'd the Lamb, and for the Lamb did bleed,
In Heav'n it self that spotless Colour wear;
And why then shou'd it be forbid us here
When thither we, like them, wou'd rise by Praise and Pray'r?
Or lastly, shou'd he see another sort
Of Christians that make all the rest their sport;
But with this Difference be it understood,
'Tis not with Fau'ts and Follies, but with Blood:
Witness their Halters, their Dragoons, and Fire,
By which so many Blameless Souls expire,
Only because they will not quit their Sense,
And let Impossibilities convince.
Fansie our Heathen had at Bedlam been
After his Sight of this so Rufull Scene,
He'd swear these Lunaticks without were worse than those within.
A Set of Teachers all Hypocrisie,
And yet their Flocks the more exactly fit;
A sort of Hearers always mainly smit
With much Inveteracy, and little Wit.
Shou'd he observe (suppose it to him known)
What small Regard is to our Rubrick shown,
And what a Stress is laid on Rambles of their own;
Forgetting He that will in Publick Pray
Without one previous Thought of what to say,
Must be a Sot not worth our while to hear;
And if he thinks before, 'tis not Extempore Pray'r.
Cou'd but the Truth be known, 'twou'd soon be found
The Men that so in Fluency abound,
196
Have, at the Bottom, all their Cant by Roat;
And that it does as easily arise
As Rufull Emphasis, and Goggling Eyes;
To which of late they such Regard have shown
As Heav'n were gain'd by Aspect, and by Tone.
But granting what they Use Extempore Pray'r
It yet must be a Form to those that hear,
Because confin'd they to the Words must be,
The very same as to our Rubrick, We:
So that, in short, from Forms away they run,
And follow but a Form when all is done;
Only they take the Worse, and better shun.
We all at once Respond, and know to what;
While they Implicitly, and fond of that,
Return Amen to vain, and oft to Impious Chat.
Alike Perversly, Cassock, Scarf and Gown,
With them are Rags of Rome and Babylon.
But pray where is the Diffe'rence to be found
Between two Garbs, if both must touch the Ground?
Why shou'd the Dress we nam'd be counted wrong,
When their own Teachers have their Cloaks as long?
Thus a Peculiar wear with Us they slight,
Yet a Peculiar wear with them is Right.
But White, that Dangerous Colour, gives Offence,
Tho' meant but to Resemble Innocence,
That Peace and Truth in Worship may be joyn'd
And Decency with Purity of Mind.
The Man 'tis told us, after God's own Heart
In Robes of Linen Sung and Prais'd his Part;
And so the Levites (whence our Usage springs)
When e'er they Taught, or Handl'd Holy Things:
Beside we in th'Apocalypse may read
Who lov'd the Lamb, and for the Lamb did bleed,
197
And why then shou'd it be forbid us here
When thither we, like them, wou'd rise by Praise and Pray'r?
Or lastly, shou'd he see another sort
Of Christians that make all the rest their sport;
But with this Difference be it understood,
'Tis not with Fau'ts and Follies, but with Blood:
Witness their Halters, their Dragoons, and Fire,
By which so many Blameless Souls expire,
Only because they will not quit their Sense,
And let Impossibilities convince.
Fansie our Heathen had at Bedlam been
After his Sight of this so Rufull Scene,
He'd swear these Lunaticks without were worse than those within.
But Dress, Grimace, and Nonsense may be bore,
There's something yet more dangerous at the Core:
Tho' Harmless in it self to have no Sense,
It may be Fatal in it's Consequence:
For Proof, to Gape and Bawl, and Cry and Whine,
(As Teaching were to them like Storms to Swine)
Is sport at which ev'n Truth it self may smile,
All Fright their Aspect, and all Cant their stile;
So mean, perverse, incongruous, dull and flat,
Their Gossips mend it in their Maudlin Chat!
But then, while this mistaken Worship's shown
Their other secret Ends are driving on;
Designs which from our Fathers Times we rue,
And notwithstanding all the Love we shew;
When e'er they can, they'll certainly renew.
For, first, our Discipline they all condemn,
And think Salvation only meant for them.
Each wou'd Establish what their selves profess,
And still the more their Zeal, their Love is less;
Till they at last to such a Pitch arrive,
Whose Creed is not as theirs, is thought too vile to live.
From this bad Mind, took from the Papal Sway,
The Murdering for God's service came in Play,
That Monst'rous Race! and steep'd to that degree
In Blood, as shames all former Cruelty;
Who hating, like Caligula, to do
A Puny Ill, to take a Head or so,
Are still for Chopping off a Kingdom at a Blow.
But why must Murder take Saint Peter's Station?
And Guilt and Rage set up for Reformation?
Some Penal Sums the Civil Power may Rate
Those Factious Men that wou'd disturb the State,
And, in a Church and Nation govern'd well,
Teach Fools to Cant, and Rascals to Rebell;
But what least Shadow of a Reason's giv'n
By Men or Angels, that the Will of Heav'n
Is, These to Those the Doom of Death shou'd give,
For not believing what they can't believe?
If Damnable it is conceiv'd to hold
Some Errors new, or others that are old,
'Tis yet more Damnable by vast Degrees,
On People of a different Faith to Seize,
And, Mercyless, cut off by Pow'r and Passion,
Ev'n when we think their State is Reprobation:
Our Hate we thus to other Worlds pursue,
Exerting, so, the utmost we can do,
To kill at once both Soul and Body too;
When in a little time, perhaps, they might
Have seen their Errors, and Embrac'd the Right;
Or rather did before to that belong,
For Persecution's always in the Wrong.
Copy'd from hence, the Baptist, had his Swill
In German Towns to Ravage, Burn and Kill;
As if their Sacrament they understood
Not dipt in Water, but Immers'd in Blood.
The Independent and Fanatick here.
Have open'd a like Sluce of Plague and War;
Murders that yet wou'd make the hardest Melt,
Cou'd it be told as truely as 'twas felt.
Thus while they Govern'd with Successful Might,
The Sequestrations were their Chief Delight;
That was Religion, and their Pow'r was Right.
Who that had liv'd in such a Barbar'ous Age,
When all was slaughter, Plunder, Fire and Rage?
Or who that now Surveys a sort of Men,
(From Lob down to the Passive Sons of P---n,)
All eager to revive those Times again?
But must, with Horror in his Face, confess
This Greater Bedlam wilder than the less!
There's something yet more dangerous at the Core:
Tho' Harmless in it self to have no Sense,
It may be Fatal in it's Consequence:
For Proof, to Gape and Bawl, and Cry and Whine,
(As Teaching were to them like Storms to Swine)
Is sport at which ev'n Truth it self may smile,
All Fright their Aspect, and all Cant their stile;
So mean, perverse, incongruous, dull and flat,
Their Gossips mend it in their Maudlin Chat!
But then, while this mistaken Worship's shown
Their other secret Ends are driving on;
Designs which from our Fathers Times we rue,
And notwithstanding all the Love we shew;
When e'er they can, they'll certainly renew.
For, first, our Discipline they all condemn,
And think Salvation only meant for them.
Each wou'd Establish what their selves profess,
And still the more their Zeal, their Love is less;
198
Whose Creed is not as theirs, is thought too vile to live.
From this bad Mind, took from the Papal Sway,
The Murdering for God's service came in Play,
That Monst'rous Race! and steep'd to that degree
In Blood, as shames all former Cruelty;
Who hating, like Caligula, to do
A Puny Ill, to take a Head or so,
Are still for Chopping off a Kingdom at a Blow.
But why must Murder take Saint Peter's Station?
And Guilt and Rage set up for Reformation?
Some Penal Sums the Civil Power may Rate
Those Factious Men that wou'd disturb the State,
And, in a Church and Nation govern'd well,
Teach Fools to Cant, and Rascals to Rebell;
But what least Shadow of a Reason's giv'n
By Men or Angels, that the Will of Heav'n
Is, These to Those the Doom of Death shou'd give,
For not believing what they can't believe?
If Damnable it is conceiv'd to hold
Some Errors new, or others that are old,
'Tis yet more Damnable by vast Degrees,
On People of a different Faith to Seize,
And, Mercyless, cut off by Pow'r and Passion,
Ev'n when we think their State is Reprobation:
Our Hate we thus to other Worlds pursue,
Exerting, so, the utmost we can do,
To kill at once both Soul and Body too;
When in a little time, perhaps, they might
Have seen their Errors, and Embrac'd the Right;
Or rather did before to that belong,
For Persecution's always in the Wrong.
Copy'd from hence, the Baptist, had his Swill
In German Towns to Ravage, Burn and Kill;
As if their Sacrament they understood
Not dipt in Water, but Immers'd in Blood.
199
Have open'd a like Sluce of Plague and War;
Murders that yet wou'd make the hardest Melt,
Cou'd it be told as truely as 'twas felt.
Thus while they Govern'd with Successful Might,
The Sequestrations were their Chief Delight;
That was Religion, and their Pow'r was Right.
Who that had liv'd in such a Barbar'ous Age,
When all was slaughter, Plunder, Fire and Rage?
Or who that now Surveys a sort of Men,
(From Lob down to the Passive Sons of P---n,)
All eager to revive those Times again?
But must, with Horror in his Face, confess
This Greater Bedlam wilder than the less!
Then for their Disputants, and Terms they use,
Some to Pervert, and others to Abuse,
What do they but make Truth the vastly more abstruse?
A hardn'd Race! who rather than unsay
One Error, will make Thousands go astray,
And hurry blindly on to Sin and Doubt,
Only because they wou'd be thought without.
But God, we plainly may in Scripture see,
Did not intend to poze Mortality;
What Paul does of Himself and Cephas say
Shews CHRIST design'd not each a several Way.
In short the Path to our Salvation's this,
So easie, 'tis not Possible to miss,
Wou'd we the Truth unprejudic'd pursue,
Nor leave the Ancient Rules for Notions vain and new.
These Things (said the Evangelist Saint John)
Are Written, and these Miracles are shown
To fix you in this Faith, and this alone;
That JESUS (He who left the blest Abode,
To dye for Man) was CHRIST, the Son of GOD;
And that believing so (that thence he came
A Sacrifice for Sin, and free from Blame,)
You may have Life Eternal thro' his Name.
This is our Faith; and what w'are next to do
Is but to follow one Command, or two;
Be (first) Your Love to each as Mine has been to You:
Performing this, the next You cannot shun,
To do to others as You wou'd have done
To You and Yours,—and endless Life's your own!
In other Words as follows;—wou'd You be
From Present Fear, and Future Danger free?
Wou'd You in both Worlds have Your Soul's Delight?
Keep Innocent and do the Thing that's Right,
And, whether such a Life run slow, or fast,
'Twill meet with Joy, and endless Peace at last.
Here lies the Christian Faith, and Practice all,
Summ'd up effectively, tho' Summ'd in small:
My Soul for Yours, but so Believe, and Do,
'Twill give You Peace below, and Peace Eternal too.
What a strange Race are then these heedless Men
That think Religion's Parrying with the Pen!
As if with us 'twere only Feuds and Jarrs
As with the French, Dragoons and Massacres.
In short, by Steering toward such various Shelves,
We darken, puzzle, and Confound our selves:
Right Reason, which shou'd at the Helm preside,
In all the Purity of Scripture try'd
They will not own, or suffer for a Guide:
Mean while a Thousand different Ways they split,
And Guile and Nonsense take for Grace and Wit.
Those follow Prejudice and Interest there;
These Bigottry, and scorn of Publick Pray'r;
Pride in the Front, and Malice in the Reer.
Others are led by Fury, Foam and Spite.
And a Left-handed Zeal believe the Right.
In the mean time, with Sorrow 'tis confess'd,
The true Belief's not seen in the Contest,
So many false Ones Arguing which is best.
Ah wou'd they better Live, and Scribble less,
How soon our Sectaries such a Change wou'd bless!
For Printed Disputations have, we find,
Yet more than all distracted Humankind:
In Barns their Hearers doze out half their Strains,
But in these Tracts th'Untemper'd Filth remains.
Impossible we shou'd expose to View
All the Contended Points they dash and brew,
It only shall Suffice to name a Few.
But such, at least, as shall Abhorrence win
From Madmen, and ev'n make their College grin,
To see our Fools without outdo their Freaks within.
Some to Pervert, and others to Abuse,
What do they but make Truth the vastly more abstruse?
A hardn'd Race! who rather than unsay
One Error, will make Thousands go astray,
And hurry blindly on to Sin and Doubt,
Only because they wou'd be thought without.
But God, we plainly may in Scripture see,
Did not intend to poze Mortality;
What Paul does of Himself and Cephas say
Shews CHRIST design'd not each a several Way.
In short the Path to our Salvation's this,
So easie, 'tis not Possible to miss,
Wou'd we the Truth unprejudic'd pursue,
Nor leave the Ancient Rules for Notions vain and new.
These Things (said the Evangelist Saint John)
Are Written, and these Miracles are shown
To fix you in this Faith, and this alone;
That JESUS (He who left the blest Abode,
To dye for Man) was CHRIST, the Son of GOD;
200
A Sacrifice for Sin, and free from Blame,)
You may have Life Eternal thro' his Name.
This is our Faith; and what w'are next to do
Is but to follow one Command, or two;
Be (first) Your Love to each as Mine has been to You:
Performing this, the next You cannot shun,
To do to others as You wou'd have done
To You and Yours,—and endless Life's your own!
In other Words as follows;—wou'd You be
From Present Fear, and Future Danger free?
Wou'd You in both Worlds have Your Soul's Delight?
Keep Innocent and do the Thing that's Right,
And, whether such a Life run slow, or fast,
'Twill meet with Joy, and endless Peace at last.
Here lies the Christian Faith, and Practice all,
Summ'd up effectively, tho' Summ'd in small:
My Soul for Yours, but so Believe, and Do,
'Twill give You Peace below, and Peace Eternal too.
What a strange Race are then these heedless Men
That think Religion's Parrying with the Pen!
As if with us 'twere only Feuds and Jarrs
As with the French, Dragoons and Massacres.
In short, by Steering toward such various Shelves,
We darken, puzzle, and Confound our selves:
Right Reason, which shou'd at the Helm preside,
In all the Purity of Scripture try'd
They will not own, or suffer for a Guide:
Mean while a Thousand different Ways they split,
And Guile and Nonsense take for Grace and Wit.
Those follow Prejudice and Interest there;
These Bigottry, and scorn of Publick Pray'r;
Pride in the Front, and Malice in the Reer.
Others are led by Fury, Foam and Spite.
And a Left-handed Zeal believe the Right.
201
The true Belief's not seen in the Contest,
So many false Ones Arguing which is best.
Ah wou'd they better Live, and Scribble less,
How soon our Sectaries such a Change wou'd bless!
For Printed Disputations have, we find,
Yet more than all distracted Humankind:
In Barns their Hearers doze out half their Strains,
But in these Tracts th'Untemper'd Filth remains.
Impossible we shou'd expose to View
All the Contended Points they dash and brew,
It only shall Suffice to name a Few.
But such, at least, as shall Abhorrence win
From Madmen, and ev'n make their College grin,
To see our Fools without outdo their Freaks within.
What Faith have some to Image Worship paid;
As if the Scene in Ephesus were laid
And making Shrines for Jesus were a Trade;
Kneeling to Stocks and Stones, when nothing more
The Sacred Writ does threathen and abhor.
The Adoration to the Virgin giv'n
But ranks her with Astarte, Queen of Heav'n:
Grant her a Saint, as we must all confess,
The making her a Goddess makes her less.
Then to the Martyrs to address by Pray'r
Was never heard for full five Hundred Year,
Till in the Papal Church they broach'd it there.
Nor yet of their Petitions, for the Dead
Can there be any thing Material said;
For granting 'twere not meerly done for Gain,
Tis but at best, Ridiculous and Vain:
But for their Praying to 'em, it must be
Nor more, nor less than flat Idolatry.
In such a Scheme of Worship to proceed
Looks as we did no Mediator need;
For if the Saints can do, why did our Saviour Bleed?
How have their Works of Supererogation
Been Trumpeted by Blookheads thro' the Nation!
Strange they shou'd better be than Heav'n desires,
When the least Duty all our strength requires,
And Scripture does so much on this Enlarge,
'Tis Man's the Debt, and Christ that does discharge:
His Wisdom only 'twas that found the Way,
And 'twas his Goodness only that cou'd Pay.
Be Human Life as holy as it will,
At best 'tis but Unprofitable still.
How can our most Subline Endeavours rise
To equal Infinitely Good, and Wise!
Less wou'd not do, cou'd Man for Sin atone,
And fly to Heav'n on Pinions of his own.
O Truth Revers'd! for all the while 'tis thus,
We reach not that, but that descends to us!
But tho' such Faults no Reason can excuse;
'Tis Nothing to the Wonder that ensues;
For, Transubstantiated by a Pray'r
The Priest asserts, tho' Bread does but appear,
The Whole, Entire, Essential Saviour's there;
That Individual Flesh and Blood he wore
When on th'Accursed Cross our Sins he bore:
So that at once, his Double Pow'r to shew,
He makes his God and Consecrates him too:
A Tenet worse than Egypt's wild Opinion
When they Ador'd, among the rest, an Onion;
But never to the Pope's Presumption grew;
They Eat but wou'd not own they made it to:
The Canibals were sure a Race but odd,
But what are these that can devour their God!
Then for Infallibility, the Fruit
It bears is Endless Volumes of Dispute;
An Errour that does Thousands else comprise,
To that they are Resolv'd, from that they rise;
So wild a Monster! Discord's all her Food,
Devouring much of Ink, but more of Blood.
The Vatican it self contains, if one,
Ten Thousand Authors on that Point alone;
Which were a Man by Scripture Rules to try
And their Deposing Doctrine by the By;
From whence to the King Killing Mufty's giv'n
At once the Crowns of Earth, and Keys of Heav'n;
Dropping to whom he Pleases Kingdoms here,
And to his Perjur'd Sons Salvation there.
Were but, I say, some Good Impartial Man
Such black Assuming seriously to Scan,
He'd soon the proud Infatuation find
To be all Tumour, and Reverse of Mind,
And Rome's Spiritual Bedlam, manag'd thus,
Much Wilder than the Secular with us.
As if the Scene in Ephesus were laid
And making Shrines for Jesus were a Trade;
Kneeling to Stocks and Stones, when nothing more
The Sacred Writ does threathen and abhor.
The Adoration to the Virgin giv'n
But ranks her with Astarte, Queen of Heav'n:
Grant her a Saint, as we must all confess,
The making her a Goddess makes her less.
Then to the Martyrs to address by Pray'r
Was never heard for full five Hundred Year,
Till in the Papal Church they broach'd it there.
Nor yet of their Petitions, for the Dead
Can there be any thing Material said;
For granting 'twere not meerly done for Gain,
Tis but at best, Ridiculous and Vain:
But for their Praying to 'em, it must be
Nor more, nor less than flat Idolatry.
202
Looks as we did no Mediator need;
For if the Saints can do, why did our Saviour Bleed?
How have their Works of Supererogation
Been Trumpeted by Blookheads thro' the Nation!
Strange they shou'd better be than Heav'n desires,
When the least Duty all our strength requires,
And Scripture does so much on this Enlarge,
'Tis Man's the Debt, and Christ that does discharge:
His Wisdom only 'twas that found the Way,
And 'twas his Goodness only that cou'd Pay.
Be Human Life as holy as it will,
At best 'tis but Unprofitable still.
How can our most Subline Endeavours rise
To equal Infinitely Good, and Wise!
Less wou'd not do, cou'd Man for Sin atone,
And fly to Heav'n on Pinions of his own.
O Truth Revers'd! for all the while 'tis thus,
We reach not that, but that descends to us!
But tho' such Faults no Reason can excuse;
'Tis Nothing to the Wonder that ensues;
For, Transubstantiated by a Pray'r
The Priest asserts, tho' Bread does but appear,
The Whole, Entire, Essential Saviour's there;
That Individual Flesh and Blood he wore
When on th'Accursed Cross our Sins he bore:
So that at once, his Double Pow'r to shew,
He makes his God and Consecrates him too:
A Tenet worse than Egypt's wild Opinion
When they Ador'd, among the rest, an Onion;
But never to the Pope's Presumption grew;
They Eat but wou'd not own they made it to:
The Canibals were sure a Race but odd,
But what are these that can devour their God!
Then for Infallibility, the Fruit
It bears is Endless Volumes of Dispute;
203
To that they are Resolv'd, from that they rise;
So wild a Monster! Discord's all her Food,
Devouring much of Ink, but more of Blood.
The Vatican it self contains, if one,
Ten Thousand Authors on that Point alone;
Which were a Man by Scripture Rules to try
And their Deposing Doctrine by the By;
From whence to the King Killing Mufty's giv'n
At once the Crowns of Earth, and Keys of Heav'n;
Dropping to whom he Pleases Kingdoms here,
And to his Perjur'd Sons Salvation there.
Were but, I say, some Good Impartial Man
Such black Assuming seriously to Scan,
He'd soon the proud Infatuation find
To be all Tumour, and Reverse of Mind,
And Rome's Spiritual Bedlam, manag'd thus,
Much Wilder than the Secular with us.
What strange Confusions, next, have taken place
From the Perverse Expositors of Grace!
What Tomes have been produc'd by Reprobation,
Free-will, Election and Predestination!
And this so Positive, as if they'd heard
The plain, Eternal Will of God declar'd,
Before the Earth was form'd or Sun appear'd.
What bolder Crime can be by Man presum'd
Than pointing who are sav'd, and who are doom'd?
Nearly to these are these Disputes ally'd
Of being Sanctify'd, and Justify'd;
So wrested from the Genuine Sense they bear,
'Tis just a Maze by what Preposte'rous Care
It's render'd dark, what Scripture makes so clear.
What Bawling has the Private Spirit made
By Fumes and Guesses to the Brain convey'd,
And calling in of Nonsense to her Aid?
Unerring Conduct she believes her Due;
In Rome 'tis false, but in herself 'tis true;
So Rails against it, and Asserts it too.
Some upon Tracts of Inspiration fall,
As if they'd been in the Third Heav'n with Paul,
When all they Teach is Rancour, Spite and Gall.
Others Election to that height profess,
That, Good or Ill, they're sure of Happiness;
Nay, tho' they dy'd both in their Sin and Shame,
Without ev'n hearing a Saviour's Name,
They yet assert their Bliss wou'd be the same.
Some lose themselves in a like dangerous Mist,
That Justice, and that Mercy can't consist,
And Schemes wou'd lay by finite Human Sense,
For an Exacter Sway by Providence.
Some to their Pray'rs so scurvily will fall,
In Streets and Markets they presume a Call;
And some more Wild, are for no Pray'rs at all.
Mean while their Leaders Snarl, and Grin, and Jar,
And press with Reams of Pamphlets to the War.
Added to these, what Volumes may we see
Where Paul and James but seem to disagree?
While Faith and Works by different Lights are shown,
Confounding two that must be always one;
For He that has not both, had e'en as Good have none.
From these Divisions, hateful to the Sight,
(And many we have nam'd and more we might)
Revenge, Contention, and Dislike arise,
Boil in our Blood, and Lighten from our Eyes
Driving along, till they Obliterate quite
The very Notions both of Wrong and Right.
The Scripture that we quote we turn to Gall;
On Heav'n we look, but thence for Fire we call,
And Heat, and Pride, and Frenzy govern all:
So that but go to Bedlam, You wou'd Swear
Much less of Blood and Ruin wou'd appear,
Of Rage, of Virulence, of Hate and Sin,
If those were out, and all our Sectaries in;
From whom cou'd we, but so, the Future Ages free,
How wou'd they bless the Care we took of Lunacy!
From the Perverse Expositors of Grace!
What Tomes have been produc'd by Reprobation,
Free-will, Election and Predestination!
And this so Positive, as if they'd heard
The plain, Eternal Will of God declar'd,
Before the Earth was form'd or Sun appear'd.
What bolder Crime can be by Man presum'd
Than pointing who are sav'd, and who are doom'd?
Nearly to these are these Disputes ally'd
Of being Sanctify'd, and Justify'd;
So wrested from the Genuine Sense they bear,
'Tis just a Maze by what Preposte'rous Care
It's render'd dark, what Scripture makes so clear.
What Bawling has the Private Spirit made
By Fumes and Guesses to the Brain convey'd,
And calling in of Nonsense to her Aid?
204
In Rome 'tis false, but in herself 'tis true;
So Rails against it, and Asserts it too.
Some upon Tracts of Inspiration fall,
As if they'd been in the Third Heav'n with Paul,
When all they Teach is Rancour, Spite and Gall.
Others Election to that height profess,
That, Good or Ill, they're sure of Happiness;
Nay, tho' they dy'd both in their Sin and Shame,
Without ev'n hearing a Saviour's Name,
They yet assert their Bliss wou'd be the same.
Some lose themselves in a like dangerous Mist,
That Justice, and that Mercy can't consist,
And Schemes wou'd lay by finite Human Sense,
For an Exacter Sway by Providence.
Some to their Pray'rs so scurvily will fall,
In Streets and Markets they presume a Call;
And some more Wild, are for no Pray'rs at all.
Mean while their Leaders Snarl, and Grin, and Jar,
And press with Reams of Pamphlets to the War.
Added to these, what Volumes may we see
Where Paul and James but seem to disagree?
While Faith and Works by different Lights are shown,
Confounding two that must be always one;
For He that has not both, had e'en as Good have none.
From these Divisions, hateful to the Sight,
(And many we have nam'd and more we might)
Revenge, Contention, and Dislike arise,
Boil in our Blood, and Lighten from our Eyes
Driving along, till they Obliterate quite
The very Notions both of Wrong and Right.
The Scripture that we quote we turn to Gall;
On Heav'n we look, but thence for Fire we call,
And Heat, and Pride, and Frenzy govern all:
205
Much less of Blood and Ruin wou'd appear,
Of Rage, of Virulence, of Hate and Sin,
If those were out, and all our Sectaries in;
From whom cou'd we, but so, the Future Ages free,
How wou'd they bless the Care we took of Lunacy!
Unhappy Church of England!—but the best
That ever yet the Christian Name Profess'd:
From Earliest Times she does her Worship draw,
Her Linage just as Ancient as her Law.
By Test of Scripture all her Doctrine's try'd,
And only follows as th'Apostles Guide;
So that She can't be Judg'd of modern date,
Unless Saint Paul and Peter were of late.
Fathers She quotes, and on their Sense relies
For the first Five and purest Centuries;
Councils She owns for Publick Service meant,
Not such as the last Monster was of Trent.
The Mitre too She wears, the Crosier holds,
But uses all her Power in saving Souls.
So far her Mind from Persecution's found,
She trembles at an Inquisitions sound,
And wonders Meekness shou'd so much Decrease
To raise Confusion from the Sourse of Peace.
Not that she wants a Power Judicial, when
Her Constitution's Min'd by Treach'rous Men;
But then, ev'n that Judicial Pow'r is Judg'd
Best in the Civil Administration lodg'd;
Because (Intent on Things of Greater weight,)
The Church shou'd still be guarded by the State:
From hence her Tests and Penal Laws arose,
Not that her Will's to threaten, or Impose,
But to be screen'd from her Inveterate Foes;
Fixt in which Circle, She, in that Redoubt,
Can ward against the Schismaticks without;
But if beyond the Ring they dare descend,
They clip her Right;—and Right she may defend:
For Passive tho' she be (as knowing well
Her Duty is to suffer, not Rebell)
Yet when Commands by Lawless Pow'r are laid,
That wou'd break God's Commands to have Obey'd,
She first Refuses, as her Scripture Right;
And Urg'd beyond, Opposes Might to Might:
Not that this Needful Doctrine current runs,
Or has been sided with by all her Sons:
By that indeed her Laicks stand or fall,
But she, what e'er th'Extremes, is yet for suffering all:
Her Seculars, when Boundless Pow'r appears,
Oppose against it, Buckler, Sword, and Spears;
But all her own Defence is Fasting, Pray'rs and Tears.
What e'er Scurrility her Foes invent,
This is her Use in turns of Government:
And tho' so oft they've strove to pull her Down,
They find her yet Inseparate to the Crown.
Then for her Rites, and Moderate Discipline,
Religion never drew a Nobler Scene:
So Cautious Wrong with Rigour to pursue,
She never suffers, but she Pardons too.
From needless Ceremonies wholly free,
For those she has are kept for Decencie;
So both the dangerous Rocks does wisely shun,
Of Using Many, and of having None.
But for her Form, her Heav'nly Form of Pray'rs,
What Infidel without Devotion hears!
The best that ever Reach'd th'Immortal Ears!
Not crudely thought of, and compos'd in hast,
But wrole in Words that will like Language last:
Solemn, Engaging, Weighty and Divine,
Agreeing with, or took from Scripture ev'ry Line.
O Holy Composition! Sacred Charm!
That can our Minds of all their Fears disarm!
O make, at first, then keep our Spirits ever warm
That ev'ry time thy Duties we attend,
Our Souls may rise, till they at last ascend
Where Pray'r and Praises never! never are to end!
That ever yet the Christian Name Profess'd:
From Earliest Times she does her Worship draw,
Her Linage just as Ancient as her Law.
By Test of Scripture all her Doctrine's try'd,
And only follows as th'Apostles Guide;
So that She can't be Judg'd of modern date,
Unless Saint Paul and Peter were of late.
Fathers She quotes, and on their Sense relies
For the first Five and purest Centuries;
Councils She owns for Publick Service meant,
Not such as the last Monster was of Trent.
The Mitre too She wears, the Crosier holds,
But uses all her Power in saving Souls.
So far her Mind from Persecution's found,
She trembles at an Inquisitions sound,
And wonders Meekness shou'd so much Decrease
To raise Confusion from the Sourse of Peace.
Not that she wants a Power Judicial, when
Her Constitution's Min'd by Treach'rous Men;
But then, ev'n that Judicial Pow'r is Judg'd
Best in the Civil Administration lodg'd;
Because (Intent on Things of Greater weight,)
The Church shou'd still be guarded by the State:
From hence her Tests and Penal Laws arose,
Not that her Will's to threaten, or Impose,
But to be screen'd from her Inveterate Foes;
Fixt in which Circle, She, in that Redoubt,
Can ward against the Schismaticks without;
206
They clip her Right;—and Right she may defend:
For Passive tho' she be (as knowing well
Her Duty is to suffer, not Rebell)
Yet when Commands by Lawless Pow'r are laid,
That wou'd break God's Commands to have Obey'd,
She first Refuses, as her Scripture Right;
And Urg'd beyond, Opposes Might to Might:
Not that this Needful Doctrine current runs,
Or has been sided with by all her Sons:
By that indeed her Laicks stand or fall,
But she, what e'er th'Extremes, is yet for suffering all:
Her Seculars, when Boundless Pow'r appears,
Oppose against it, Buckler, Sword, and Spears;
But all her own Defence is Fasting, Pray'rs and Tears.
What e'er Scurrility her Foes invent,
This is her Use in turns of Government:
And tho' so oft they've strove to pull her Down,
They find her yet Inseparate to the Crown.
Then for her Rites, and Moderate Discipline,
Religion never drew a Nobler Scene:
So Cautious Wrong with Rigour to pursue,
She never suffers, but she Pardons too.
From needless Ceremonies wholly free,
For those she has are kept for Decencie;
So both the dangerous Rocks does wisely shun,
Of Using Many, and of having None.
But for her Form, her Heav'nly Form of Pray'rs,
What Infidel without Devotion hears!
The best that ever Reach'd th'Immortal Ears!
Not crudely thought of, and compos'd in hast,
But wrole in Words that will like Language last:
Solemn, Engaging, Weighty and Divine,
Agreeing with, or took from Scripture ev'ry Line.
207
That can our Minds of all their Fears disarm!
O make, at first, then keep our Spirits ever warm
That ev'ry time thy Duties we attend,
Our Souls may rise, till they at last ascend
Where Pray'r and Praises never! never are to end!
Yet O unhappy Church! surrounded by
So many Sects and Sons of Enmity;
And more Unhappy, as shall next be shown,
From Faithless Friends and Sons suppos'd her Own;
Who yet more Dang'rous Notions have Imbib'd
Than all the Knaves and Fools before Describ'd.
So many Sects and Sons of Enmity;
And more Unhappy, as shall next be shown,
From Faithless Friends and Sons suppos'd her Own;
Who yet more Dang'rous Notions have Imbib'd
Than all the Knaves and Fools before Describ'd.
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |