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] |
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| THE SKETCH,
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
327
THE SKETCH,
A SATYR.
TO Sir James Long, Baronet.
1. The First Part.
Shou'd we believe there cou'd a Monster be
Confirm'd at Heart there was no Deity,
(Thô Epicurus, who did furthest go,
Taught GOD, but careless of Affairs below;)
We cannot yet this Impious Wretch suppose
In scarce so Damnable a State as those
Who a Supreme Eternal BEING own,
But Live as if they did believe in None.
Confirm'd at Heart there was no Deity,
(Thô Epicurus, who did furthest go,
Taught GOD, but careless of Affairs below;)
We cannot yet this Impious Wretch suppose
In scarce so Damnable a State as those
Who a Supreme Eternal BEING own,
But Live as if they did believe in None.
This Blacker Sort of Atheist of the two,
Is now the Draught intended for your View:
Nor care we who it galls, or gives Offence,
While we keep close to Honesty and Sense.
The rugged Lines a Satyr's Pencil draws,
Nor value Censure, or bespeak Applause:
Boldly we, then, will at their Image strike,
And tho' we take it Rough, we'll make it Like.
Is now the Draught intended for your View:
Nor care we who it galls, or gives Offence,
While we keep close to Honesty and Sense.
328
Nor value Censure, or bespeak Applause:
Boldly we, then, will at their Image strike,
And tho' we take it Rough, we'll make it Like.
Our Nobles first (for 'twill but Manners be
To pay the Deference due to Quality)
Them first we'll trace, who in all Crimes abound,
And walk for once their horrid Circle round.
To pay the Deference due to Quality)
Them first we'll trace, who in all Crimes abound,
And walk for once their horrid Circle round.
Imagine, then, the Man we'd here display,
Is once more favour'd with returning Day;
Which tho' in Mercy sent to make him mend,
He yet resolves flagitiously to spend.
Tir'd with the Drab, in whose Lascivious Arms
He pass'd the Night; and loathing now her Charms,
To get her secret off is first his Care;
And Curses next supply the Place of Prayer.
The Contemplation that shou'd be employ'd
For Life continu'd, and in Health enjoy'd,
Is how again his Consort to deceive;
Forgetting Adam had his Match in Eve:
For let no Coxcomb think if Lewd he be,
But Madam Spouse will take that Liberty;
Meet fleshly Pleasure with as warm a Gust,
And make Revenge the Season to her Lust.
Is once more favour'd with returning Day;
Which tho' in Mercy sent to make him mend,
He yet resolves flagitiously to spend.
Tir'd with the Drab, in whose Lascivious Arms
He pass'd the Night; and loathing now her Charms,
To get her secret off is first his Care;
And Curses next supply the Place of Prayer.
The Contemplation that shou'd be employ'd
For Life continu'd, and in Health enjoy'd,
Is how again his Consort to deceive;
Forgetting Adam had his Match in Eve:
For let no Coxcomb think if Lewd he be,
But Madam Spouse will take that Liberty;
Meet fleshly Pleasure with as warm a Gust,
And make Revenge the Season to her Lust.
But now he rises with tumultuous Brains,
Last Night's Debauch in his Wan Look remains,
Shakes in his Nerves, and hisses in his Veins:
Hence his Attendants all are fau'ty found,
And with Eternal Dog saluted round;
Breathing himself with Kick and Cuff the while,
As others do with Tennis or the Foil:
Then of 'em feigns a Thousand Lies and Jears,
And so diverts his grinning Visiters;
Men of like Sallow Hue and Ritt'ling Size,
With no Pretence but laughing to be Wise;
Forgetting it was ne'er recorded yet,
Abusing Servants shew'd a Master's Wit.
Ev'n to our Beasts w'are Mercy bid to show,
And Balaam's Ass reprov'd the Angry Blow;
That Nobler Creature, whom we here disgrace,
Describing this Descendant of his Race:
For Proof that less Sagaciously he hears,
Nothing in Nature more does grate his Ears,
Than to be minded of his own Affairs:
Busi'ness if his, he mortally does hate,
So leaves his Spouse to manage his Estate.
Wo to the Subjects govern'd by the Sword,
And Tenants, where the Lady is the Lord:
Audacious! at the Helm she does appear,
Racking the Needy without Shame or Fear
Of Hell hereafter, or Dishonour here:
Whole Families relentless are undone,
That she may Splendidly Confound her Own.
But there's no tracing thro' so vile a Life,
Nor must I lose the Husband in the Wife.
Last Night's Debauch in his Wan Look remains,
Shakes in his Nerves, and hisses in his Veins:
Hence his Attendants all are fau'ty found,
And with Eternal Dog saluted round;
Breathing himself with Kick and Cuff the while,
As others do with Tennis or the Foil:
Then of 'em feigns a Thousand Lies and Jears,
And so diverts his grinning Visiters;
329
With no Pretence but laughing to be Wise;
Forgetting it was ne'er recorded yet,
Abusing Servants shew'd a Master's Wit.
Ev'n to our Beasts w'are Mercy bid to show,
And Balaam's Ass reprov'd the Angry Blow;
That Nobler Creature, whom we here disgrace,
Describing this Descendant of his Race:
For Proof that less Sagaciously he hears,
Nothing in Nature more does grate his Ears,
Than to be minded of his own Affairs:
Busi'ness if his, he mortally does hate,
So leaves his Spouse to manage his Estate.
Wo to the Subjects govern'd by the Sword,
And Tenants, where the Lady is the Lord:
Audacious! at the Helm she does appear,
Racking the Needy without Shame or Fear
Of Hell hereafter, or Dishonour here:
Whole Families relentless are undone,
That she may Splendidly Confound her Own.
But there's no tracing thro' so vile a Life,
Nor must I lose the Husband in the Wife.
In Dressing next three Precious Hours are spent,
Which just make up the Ladies Complement:
Were you to see him shod, and shav'd and Wigg'd
You'd Swear the Sover'eign might as soon be Rigg'd.
And (did but ev'ry Man his Part perform)
Need fewer Hands to wether out a Storm.
Trick'd up at last, their Wretched Service done,
His Slaves avoid, and leave the Fop alone:
Where, fonder than the Self-enamor'd Ass,
His full half-hour he does with Rapture pass,
In Turns and Windings made before his Glass:
Now back he on himself does Smiling leer,
Now he bows low, as bending to the Fair;
His Hat in Feathers hid, his Face Immers'd in Hair;
Thro' which he ev'ry thing so darkly spies,
He first must shake his Ears to find his Eyes:
Safely he may th'adjusting Manage use,
And toss a Head that has no Brains to lose:
Before all soil'd with Snuff; with like Design,
Behind He's puff'd and Powder'd to the Chine.
So once a Lady, fond to be embrac'd,
Left half her Face unpainted in her hast;
And went abroad into the Envious Light
With one Cheek Fillamort, and t'other White.
And yet ev'n this Unlucky Curtezan
Was much less fau'ty than our Female Man.
No more we'll bring their Washes to our view,
Our Fop that way is perfect Woman too;
Does Patch and Paint, and like the Nicest Fair,
Less fear Damnation than a hazy Air.
No more their Triple Tow'rs shall be our Scorn,
When for one Wigg by our Sir Courtly worn,
A dozen Country Strammels must be shorn.
In after Times with Horror be it read,
The very Flou'r that's perfum'd for the Head
Is half enough to make a Dearth of Bread.
Which just make up the Ladies Complement:
Were you to see him shod, and shav'd and Wigg'd
You'd Swear the Sover'eign might as soon be Rigg'd.
And (did but ev'ry Man his Part perform)
Need fewer Hands to wether out a Storm.
Trick'd up at last, their Wretched Service done,
His Slaves avoid, and leave the Fop alone:
Where, fonder than the Self-enamor'd Ass,
His full half-hour he does with Rapture pass,
In Turns and Windings made before his Glass:
330
Now he bows low, as bending to the Fair;
His Hat in Feathers hid, his Face Immers'd in Hair;
Thro' which he ev'ry thing so darkly spies,
He first must shake his Ears to find his Eyes:
Safely he may th'adjusting Manage use,
And toss a Head that has no Brains to lose:
Before all soil'd with Snuff; with like Design,
Behind He's puff'd and Powder'd to the Chine.
So once a Lady, fond to be embrac'd,
Left half her Face unpainted in her hast;
And went abroad into the Envious Light
With one Cheek Fillamort, and t'other White.
And yet ev'n this Unlucky Curtezan
Was much less fau'ty than our Female Man.
No more we'll bring their Washes to our view,
Our Fop that way is perfect Woman too;
Does Patch and Paint, and like the Nicest Fair,
Less fear Damnation than a hazy Air.
No more their Triple Tow'rs shall be our Scorn,
When for one Wigg by our Sir Courtly worn,
A dozen Country Strammels must be shorn.
In after Times with Horror be it read,
The very Flou'r that's perfum'd for the Head
Is half enough to make a Dearth of Bread.
But now down Stairs the Hero whiffling runs,
Where He's encounter'd with a Troop of Duns,
Thro' whom Courageously he makes his Way,
With many a bitter Curse instead of Pay;
Wond'ring (as if his Peerage was unknown)
That e'er such Rogues shou'd ask him for their Own.
Mean while the Wretches Pocket up their Bills,
Just like our Modern Leacher swallowing Pills,
With Jaws distorted, and with Faces wry,
And—Lord deliver us from Quality!
This was (They cry) his own appointed Day
The very Hour he set and Swore to pay
His Honour pawn'd we shou'd no longer stay.
Mistaken Men! who have no Eyes to see
That Honour must be One with Honesty;
As steadily endeavou'ring to encrease
In War our Glory, and our Trade in Peace:
Like Light'ning swift our Properties to save
When Crowds wou'd Rule, or Lawless Pow'r enslave;
And not, as now, it self the Fool and Knave.
Who does descend to ev'ry mean Trapan
So kindly as our Honourable Man?
In all our Dealings sure to be deceiv'd
His Peerage trusted, or his Word believ'd.
He Swears, but lets his Oath regardless go
As if it were the meanest Tye below.
Not Samson from his Bands got easier free
Than Conscience does, in such, from Equity.
Not GOD himself his Blamsphemy does spare;
Tho' he might meet ev'n with Conviction there
For nothing, less than Infinite, such Insolence cou'd bear.
With him the Holiest are the vilest Race,
And Meekness only Sanctity of Face:
Religion but the Polity of Law,
To sham the Good, and keep the Bad in awe:
The Gospel all a Cant; and Moses, too,
The Ancient Cheat, as CHRIST has been the New.
Thus deals the Sceptick his Prophaneness round;
From Earth to Heav'n the Impi'ous Notes rebound,
And frighted MERCY Sicken at the Sound!
Mean while he Honour to the Sky extols,
And leaves Religion for the Bait of Fools.—
Where He's encounter'd with a Troop of Duns,
Thro' whom Courageously he makes his Way,
With many a bitter Curse instead of Pay;
Wond'ring (as if his Peerage was unknown)
That e'er such Rogues shou'd ask him for their Own.
Mean while the Wretches Pocket up their Bills,
Just like our Modern Leacher swallowing Pills,
With Jaws distorted, and with Faces wry,
And—Lord deliver us from Quality!
331
The very Hour he set and Swore to pay
His Honour pawn'd we shou'd no longer stay.
Mistaken Men! who have no Eyes to see
That Honour must be One with Honesty;
As steadily endeavou'ring to encrease
In War our Glory, and our Trade in Peace:
Like Light'ning swift our Properties to save
When Crowds wou'd Rule, or Lawless Pow'r enslave;
And not, as now, it self the Fool and Knave.
Who does descend to ev'ry mean Trapan
So kindly as our Honourable Man?
In all our Dealings sure to be deceiv'd
His Peerage trusted, or his Word believ'd.
He Swears, but lets his Oath regardless go
As if it were the meanest Tye below.
Not Samson from his Bands got easier free
Than Conscience does, in such, from Equity.
Not GOD himself his Blamsphemy does spare;
Tho' he might meet ev'n with Conviction there
For nothing, less than Infinite, such Insolence cou'd bear.
With him the Holiest are the vilest Race,
And Meekness only Sanctity of Face:
Religion but the Polity of Law,
To sham the Good, and keep the Bad in awe:
The Gospel all a Cant; and Moses, too,
The Ancient Cheat, as CHRIST has been the New.
Thus deals the Sceptick his Prophaneness round;
From Earth to Heav'n the Impi'ous Notes rebound,
And frighted MERCY Sicken at the Sound!
Mean while he Honour to the Sky extols,
And leaves Religion for the Bait of Fools.—
But let 'em both Impartially be shown:
Religion an Omniscient GOD does own,
But Honour—Modern Honour—says there's None.
Religion at no smallest Thought connives
Where Lust resides; but Honour forward drives,
Promiscuously debauching Matrons, Maids and Wives.
Religion Ven'erates ev'ry Worthy Name,
And Honour has no Joy but to defame.
Religion flies from Debt as if 'twere Sin,
And Honour's never but when once 'tis in.
Religion, tho' from Little, largely gives,
And Honour Ruins more than That relieves.
Religion to no Privilege aspires
Of doing all a Lawless Will requires;
Or takes a Monster, by Oppression rear'd;
Call'd—Scandalum Magnatum for a Guard.
In short, if there is less of Worth and Sense
In such than others, how is there Pretence
To Honour more?—if such a Conduct's Fame,
Hewson himself had once a Noble Name.
In vain their Idle Boasts of Indian Earth,
Their Tinsel Trappings, and Superiour Birth,
If Merit's wanting that shou'd make it shine,
And Rapin only does support the Line.
Ay—but a thousand Years (You'll say) are ran
Since first his Noble Pedigree began:
No more?—then that no least Advantage is,
I'm of a Line more Ancient, so, than His.
Nor does his vast Possessions clear the Case,
The Cits are then the most Illustrious Race;
A Hundred of 'em, pick'd and cull'd, wou'd buy
More than the Treble Tale of Quality.
Well—but his ANCESTORS in War have done
Prodigious things, and endless Glory won.
'Tis rare indeed!—but where's the Five by Name
Whose Great Fore-Fathers were such Sons of Fame?
Some few we grant the British Annals shew,
And Talbots Glory shall be ever New:
His Gallick Victories nobly yet appear;
But Ah! he fell and left his Genius there
And we are now too like to see them Conq'rours Here.
With Him we lost all we had there Acquir'd,
And France reviv'd as soon as he Expir'd.
First in the Roll of Peerage high he shines;
And what e'er Muse a Deathless Name designs,
Repeating his, may chase Oblivion from her Lines.
Nor less Propitious Shrewsbury does appear,
Nor moves he in a less Illustrious Sphere:
A Torrent of Renown the Sire begun,
And his Descendent keeps it rowling on:
Alike his Breast a Generous Spirit warms,
Alike he keeps us safe from Foreign harms;
In Council This as great as That in Arms.
But what were Nine tenth-Parts of all the rest
Of Ancient Peerage, and produce the Best?
Progenitors that never saw a Fight
But rais'd, as now, like Mushrooms in a Night:
That to our Bounds no least Enlargement made,
But set aloft by Flatt'ry, Law, or Trade.
Nay if our Rolls to Dignity are true,
To Purchase it was then the Method too;
So like the Ancient Honour's to the New.
How many Thousands in Oblivion lye
As undistinguish'd as the Vulgar Fry,
Not in the least to following Ages known,
Nor, but for their Debauches, to their Own?
Alike, our Modern Lords, by Means and Ways
Exactly Parallel, their Fame and Praise
As carefully secure to After Days.
Th'Encrease of 'em is now advanc'd so high,
The Court, the Parks, the Plays in swarms they ply,
A very Rabble of Nobility!
Got to the top of Pow'r by Guilt and Crimes
Unknown to Minions of the former Times.
(For Justice to Antiquity be done,
Of all the Ways to rise we find not Pimping one;
Or that the Barons, for precarious Pay,
Turn'd Advocates for Arbitrary Sway.)
Deduc'd from former Times, 'tis scarce a blame
T'express a Defe'rence to an Ancient Name
There's sometimes an Implicit Faith in Fame:
But to this Rout what Rever'ence can belong?
Plebeian witted, and Plebeian sprung:
A Subject that does make ev'n Dulness keen,
The Rabble's Laughter, and the Satyr's Grin.
Desertless Dignity we all reject,
Nor can the Mind be forc'd into Respect.
Religion an Omniscient GOD does own,
But Honour—Modern Honour—says there's None.
332
Where Lust resides; but Honour forward drives,
Promiscuously debauching Matrons, Maids and Wives.
Religion Ven'erates ev'ry Worthy Name,
And Honour has no Joy but to defame.
Religion flies from Debt as if 'twere Sin,
And Honour's never but when once 'tis in.
Religion, tho' from Little, largely gives,
And Honour Ruins more than That relieves.
Religion to no Privilege aspires
Of doing all a Lawless Will requires;
Or takes a Monster, by Oppression rear'd;
Call'd—Scandalum Magnatum for a Guard.
In short, if there is less of Worth and Sense
In such than others, how is there Pretence
To Honour more?—if such a Conduct's Fame,
Hewson himself had once a Noble Name.
In vain their Idle Boasts of Indian Earth,
Their Tinsel Trappings, and Superiour Birth,
If Merit's wanting that shou'd make it shine,
And Rapin only does support the Line.
Ay—but a thousand Years (You'll say) are ran
Since first his Noble Pedigree began:
No more?—then that no least Advantage is,
I'm of a Line more Ancient, so, than His.
Nor does his vast Possessions clear the Case,
The Cits are then the most Illustrious Race;
A Hundred of 'em, pick'd and cull'd, wou'd buy
More than the Treble Tale of Quality.
Well—but his ANCESTORS in War have done
Prodigious things, and endless Glory won.
'Tis rare indeed!—but where's the Five by Name
Whose Great Fore-Fathers were such Sons of Fame?
Some few we grant the British Annals shew,
And Talbots Glory shall be ever New:
333
But Ah! he fell and left his Genius there
And we are now too like to see them Conq'rours Here.
With Him we lost all we had there Acquir'd,
And France reviv'd as soon as he Expir'd.
First in the Roll of Peerage high he shines;
And what e'er Muse a Deathless Name designs,
Repeating his, may chase Oblivion from her Lines.
Nor less Propitious Shrewsbury does appear,
Nor moves he in a less Illustrious Sphere:
A Torrent of Renown the Sire begun,
And his Descendent keeps it rowling on:
Alike his Breast a Generous Spirit warms,
Alike he keeps us safe from Foreign harms;
In Council This as great as That in Arms.
But what were Nine tenth-Parts of all the rest
Of Ancient Peerage, and produce the Best?
Progenitors that never saw a Fight
But rais'd, as now, like Mushrooms in a Night:
That to our Bounds no least Enlargement made,
But set aloft by Flatt'ry, Law, or Trade.
Nay if our Rolls to Dignity are true,
To Purchase it was then the Method too;
So like the Ancient Honour's to the New.
How many Thousands in Oblivion lye
As undistinguish'd as the Vulgar Fry,
Not in the least to following Ages known,
Nor, but for their Debauches, to their Own?
Alike, our Modern Lords, by Means and Ways
Exactly Parallel, their Fame and Praise
As carefully secure to After Days.
Th'Encrease of 'em is now advanc'd so high,
The Court, the Parks, the Plays in swarms they ply,
A very Rabble of Nobility!
Got to the top of Pow'r by Guilt and Crimes
Unknown to Minions of the former Times.
334
Of all the Ways to rise we find not Pimping one;
Or that the Barons, for precarious Pay,
Turn'd Advocates for Arbitrary Sway.)
Deduc'd from former Times, 'tis scarce a blame
T'express a Defe'rence to an Ancient Name
There's sometimes an Implicit Faith in Fame:
But to this Rout what Rever'ence can belong?
Plebeian witted, and Plebeian sprung:
A Subject that does make ev'n Dulness keen,
The Rabble's Laughter, and the Satyr's Grin.
Desertless Dignity we all reject,
Nor can the Mind be forc'd into Respect.
A Country Spaniard, with upright Design,
Did use to Offer at Saint Nichola's Shrine:
The hearty Vot'ary never miss'd a Day
T'invoke the Image, and to Praise, or Pray:
The Priest he honour'd (as is there the Rule)
With all the ardor of a finish'd Fool;
But in Process of Time, it came to pass
The second self of good Saint Nicholas
By chance was broken, or with Age decay'd,
And of the poor Man's Plumb-Tree a new Image made.
But never after was he seen t'adore,
Or pay the least Devotion, as before.
Complain'd of to the Priest his want of Grace,
Thus Honestly he pleaded to the Case.
As for th'Old Image, Sacred long to Fame,
I knew not what it was, or whence it came:
My Adoration there my Conscience bid,
I thought it just to do as others did;
And meant sincerely while the Fraud was hid.
But, for my Heart, I cannot worship this,
Because I know 'tis only but a Piece
Of my own Plumb-Tree;—a Descent but bad,
What e'er Original the other had.
Did use to Offer at Saint Nichola's Shrine:
The hearty Vot'ary never miss'd a Day
T'invoke the Image, and to Praise, or Pray:
The Priest he honour'd (as is there the Rule)
With all the ardor of a finish'd Fool;
But in Process of Time, it came to pass
The second self of good Saint Nicholas
By chance was broken, or with Age decay'd,
And of the poor Man's Plumb-Tree a new Image made.
But never after was he seen t'adore,
Or pay the least Devotion, as before.
Complain'd of to the Priest his want of Grace,
Thus Honestly he pleaded to the Case.
As for th'Old Image, Sacred long to Fame,
I knew not what it was, or whence it came:
My Adoration there my Conscience bid,
I thought it just to do as others did;
And meant sincerely while the Fraud was hid.
But, for my Heart, I cannot worship this,
Because I know 'tis only but a Piece
335
What e'er Original the other had.
In short, set by some few Superi'our Men
That I'll not Name,—nor can I name You Ten,
What Work is there a foot for an Historian's Pen?
What is there but their Vanities and Crimes
To be deliver'd down to Future Times?
Ev'n Gaveston, methinks, this Ditty sings,
Which Haughtier Buckingham yet lower brings;
What Monsters are we Favorites of Kings?
The Man of Title not sincerely Good,
Is but th'Attaintor of Illustri'ous Blood;
So much its nobler for a Fool to get
A Man of Courage, Honesty and Wit,
Than 'tis for Hero's to begin a Race,
Their Founder's shame, and known to their Disgrace.
But granting to 'em all they can pretend,
Or hope to have; that we must humbly bend
And lick the Dust before 'em, to a Name
At best reflected from their Father's Fame;
That tho' the Substance long ago is fled,
The Shadow now must govern in its stead:
Insist on such a Distance ne'er so long,
No Privilege can justifie a Wrong.
Not Guillim can with all his Colours save
Th'unhonest P---r from being thought a Knave,
And blaz'd abroad by an Impartial Pen;
How e'er their Pow'r may awe precari'ous Men.
In vain You urge, Prescriptions on their Side.
That Veil's to thin the specio'us Fraud to hide:
In our own Constitution we may see
That wrong in Law, that's right in Equity,
Be on their Side, then, Laws perverted Pow'rs,
'Tis more to us w'ave Truth and Sense on Ours.—
Thus from the Ass the Lion's Trapping torn,
And leaving Honour to the Publick Scorn,
We'll back to it's Practitioner return.
That I'll not Name,—nor can I name You Ten,
What Work is there a foot for an Historian's Pen?
What is there but their Vanities and Crimes
To be deliver'd down to Future Times?
Ev'n Gaveston, methinks, this Ditty sings,
Which Haughtier Buckingham yet lower brings;
What Monsters are we Favorites of Kings?
The Man of Title not sincerely Good,
Is but th'Attaintor of Illustri'ous Blood;
So much its nobler for a Fool to get
A Man of Courage, Honesty and Wit,
Than 'tis for Hero's to begin a Race,
Their Founder's shame, and known to their Disgrace.
But granting to 'em all they can pretend,
Or hope to have; that we must humbly bend
And lick the Dust before 'em, to a Name
At best reflected from their Father's Fame;
That tho' the Substance long ago is fled,
The Shadow now must govern in its stead:
Insist on such a Distance ne'er so long,
No Privilege can justifie a Wrong.
Not Guillim can with all his Colours save
Th'unhonest P---r from being thought a Knave,
And blaz'd abroad by an Impartial Pen;
How e'er their Pow'r may awe precari'ous Men.
In vain You urge, Prescriptions on their Side.
That Veil's to thin the specio'us Fraud to hide:
In our own Constitution we may see
That wrong in Law, that's right in Equity,
Be on their Side, then, Laws perverted Pow'rs,
'Tis more to us w'ave Truth and Sense on Ours.—
336
And leaving Honour to the Publick Scorn,
We'll back to it's Practitioner return.
Who by this time, in private Hackney Coach'd,
Has reach'd the Lodgings of his last Debauch'd.—
O Fruitful Theme! and when shall I have done
If one Digression calls another on?
For here, my Muse, with fresh Recruits of Rage,
Lance deep a Vice that half confounds the Age:
Tho' most it reigns among the Great and Fair,
Give it no Quarter, but ev'n stab it there;
When Beauty errs we must not Beauty spare.
Curse Women first that Wit and Merit flee,
And rather than be Wives of low degree,
Will lower fall, and Whore with Quality.
With Love o'ercome we something kind cou'd say,
The Mold is soft, and Nature marks the way;
But shew no Mercy where they're Punks for Pay:
For Monarch's Drabs, degraded by their Lives,
Are yet beneath the meanest Vertu'ous Wives.
But more severely yet their Tempters curse,
That strive to make a Race so wicked, worse.
As who the Sinner to Repentance wins
'Tis said—shall hide a multitude of Sins;
So splits our Fop on the reverted Shelf,
And by seducing others damns himself.
But let me not the Beaute'ous Sex debase,
When there's so many merit endless Praise:
Among 'em Modesty erects her Throne,
Peace in their Eyes, and Sweetness all their own!
Whatever Vertue here can make us be,
In them we at its full Resplendence see.
Cou'd but the Chast of either Sex be shown,
(And we may nearly guess by what is known,)
The odds wou'd soon be on their Side confess'd,
And there worst Vertue far Surmount our best.
But Ah! Perfection we in vain pursue!
The Angels fell,—and so may Women too.
This Maxim's by the Vitious Man maintain'd,
Unless a Lucrece there's no Conquest gain'd;
Vainly believing She'll be less unjust
Than Common Traders in Promiscuous Lust.
Fool! not to know if once the Female fall,
She thinks no more on what we Honour call;
A Whore to One is next a Whore to All.
But here, You'll say, the Censure bears too hard;
A Vertuous Woman's constant to her Guard,
And all Access, with such Intention, barr'd.
True:—but with Billets first the Fair he plies,
And Ladies, if not blind, will use their Eyes.
She reads, and reads; and, tho' 'tis all a Cheat,
'Tis something to be Courted by the Great.
His next Efforts and interview to gain,
And low beneath her Feet declare his Pain.
A Thousand Oaths he Impiously lets fly,
Then calls on Heav'n to Witness Perjury.
But still She does resist his lewd intent
Forwarn'd by many a dismal Precedent.
With Songs he next a closer Siege does lay
And there comes off, too, hopeless of the Day:
But when the Chariot richly lin'd appears,
New Harness, and a Brace of Flanders Mares,
And shews her, she at Parks and Plays may vie
With Strumpets of Superiour Dignity,
She can no more resist; but takes the Bait,
And turns a Whore to Equipage and State.
Has reach'd the Lodgings of his last Debauch'd.—
O Fruitful Theme! and when shall I have done
If one Digression calls another on?
For here, my Muse, with fresh Recruits of Rage,
Lance deep a Vice that half confounds the Age:
Tho' most it reigns among the Great and Fair,
Give it no Quarter, but ev'n stab it there;
When Beauty errs we must not Beauty spare.
Curse Women first that Wit and Merit flee,
And rather than be Wives of low degree,
Will lower fall, and Whore with Quality.
With Love o'ercome we something kind cou'd say,
The Mold is soft, and Nature marks the way;
But shew no Mercy where they're Punks for Pay:
For Monarch's Drabs, degraded by their Lives,
Are yet beneath the meanest Vertu'ous Wives.
But more severely yet their Tempters curse,
That strive to make a Race so wicked, worse.
As who the Sinner to Repentance wins
'Tis said—shall hide a multitude of Sins;
So splits our Fop on the reverted Shelf,
And by seducing others damns himself.
But let me not the Beaute'ous Sex debase,
When there's so many merit endless Praise:
Among 'em Modesty erects her Throne,
Peace in their Eyes, and Sweetness all their own!
Whatever Vertue here can make us be,
In them we at its full Resplendence see.
Cou'd but the Chast of either Sex be shown,
(And we may nearly guess by what is known,)
337
And there worst Vertue far Surmount our best.
But Ah! Perfection we in vain pursue!
The Angels fell,—and so may Women too.
This Maxim's by the Vitious Man maintain'd,
Unless a Lucrece there's no Conquest gain'd;
Vainly believing She'll be less unjust
Than Common Traders in Promiscuous Lust.
Fool! not to know if once the Female fall,
She thinks no more on what we Honour call;
A Whore to One is next a Whore to All.
But here, You'll say, the Censure bears too hard;
A Vertuous Woman's constant to her Guard,
And all Access, with such Intention, barr'd.
True:—but with Billets first the Fair he plies,
And Ladies, if not blind, will use their Eyes.
She reads, and reads; and, tho' 'tis all a Cheat,
'Tis something to be Courted by the Great.
His next Efforts and interview to gain,
And low beneath her Feet declare his Pain.
A Thousand Oaths he Impiously lets fly,
Then calls on Heav'n to Witness Perjury.
But still She does resist his lewd intent
Forwarn'd by many a dismal Precedent.
With Songs he next a closer Siege does lay
And there comes off, too, hopeless of the Day:
But when the Chariot richly lin'd appears,
New Harness, and a Brace of Flanders Mares,
And shews her, she at Parks and Plays may vie
With Strumpets of Superiour Dignity,
She can no more resist; but takes the Bait,
And turns a Whore to Equipage and State.
Nor stops he here, but (easier far betray'd)
As well the Wife seduces as the Maid.
Warm from the Husband's Bed he does entice
The Punk to rise, and season'd for the Vice:
On to th'appointed Street she scours along;
Or if by dire Mistake she take the wrong,
Sagacious, when on Wickedness he's bent,
He winds the Foot, and traces by the Scent,
Return'd, her Husband (if she waking finds)
With Lust she softens, and with fondness blinds;
Th'Excuse is took; the Hony hides the Gall,
And Children not his own are Heirs of all:
Down the Transmitted wrong to Ages flows,
The Right Descent still robbing as it goes:
Till Providence, (as 'tis presum'd to do),
Cut off the Surreptitious Race to re-instate the True.
But now, too late, the Husband finds the Jilt;
The Lewdness less and less conceals the Guilt:
There's a Gradation in all Vices seen;
She that Adultery blushing does begin,
Will rise at last to Glory in the Sin.
Hence Parting, Ponyards, Poiso'ning came in play,
Pack'd from his Bed, or from the World away;—
For She must go, if He design to stay.
As well the Wife seduces as the Maid.
338
The Punk to rise, and season'd for the Vice:
On to th'appointed Street she scours along;
Or if by dire Mistake she take the wrong,
Sagacious, when on Wickedness he's bent,
He winds the Foot, and traces by the Scent,
Return'd, her Husband (if she waking finds)
With Lust she softens, and with fondness blinds;
Th'Excuse is took; the Hony hides the Gall,
And Children not his own are Heirs of all:
Down the Transmitted wrong to Ages flows,
The Right Descent still robbing as it goes:
Till Providence, (as 'tis presum'd to do),
Cut off the Surreptitious Race to re-instate the True.
But now, too late, the Husband finds the Jilt;
The Lewdness less and less conceals the Guilt:
There's a Gradation in all Vices seen;
She that Adultery blushing does begin,
Will rise at last to Glory in the Sin.
Hence Parting, Ponyards, Poiso'ning came in play,
Pack'd from his Bed, or from the World away;—
For She must go, if He design to stay.
Nor does a better Fate remain in Store
For the Young Nymph we mention'd just before.
A while, perhaps the Gaudy Thing does range,
Shine in the Ring and glare along the Change;
Till for some fresher Fair away She's thrown,
And to the Common Hackney Price brought down:
Diseas'd, despis'd, deserted, and disgrac'd,
And e'en Redu'd to ply the Streets at last,
She to some Suburb Bawdy-House retires,
Poxing and Pox'd, and in a Flux expires.
For the Young Nymph we mention'd just before.
A while, perhaps the Gaudy Thing does range,
Shine in the Ring and glare along the Change;
Till for some fresher Fair away She's thrown,
And to the Common Hackney Price brought down:
Diseas'd, despis'd, deserted, and disgrac'd,
And e'en Redu'd to ply the Streets at last,
She to some Suburb Bawdy-House retires,
Poxing and Pox'd, and in a Flux expires.
Mean while her Parents quite dissolve to Tears,
Robb'd of the Fruit of all their Cost and Cares:
To Years of Mutual Mourning they resign,
And all the Family in Concert joyn;
The Young bewail her Fate, the Old at Fate repine!
Nor can they reconcile with all their Sense,
Such Usage with the Care of Providence.
Ah Cruel Pow'rs! (methinks they Sighing say)
Was she not train'd in ev'ry Vertuous Way?
No Nicest Failing did escape our Sight,
For ever on the Watch to keep her right
And that She might not follow empty Lore,
(For Precept bids Example keep before)
We liv'd as we believ'd;—and cou'd we more!
Is this the Promis'd Recompence of Heav'n
For due Obedience to its Precepts giv'n!
Is this the Fate that Continence must share!
The meed of Vertue! and the end of Prayer!
O Sight that we with Blood-shot Eyes Survey!
O Blasted Promise of a shining Day!
We pleas'd our Selves she'd lead a Vertuous Life,
And make some Youth a dear and dutious Wife,
Conveying to all future Ages down
A Line of Worth, of Prudence and Renown;
When now she will but Propagate Disgrace,
A lewd Distemper, and a Bastard Race.
Robb'd of the Fruit of all their Cost and Cares:
339
And all the Family in Concert joyn;
The Young bewail her Fate, the Old at Fate repine!
Nor can they reconcile with all their Sense,
Such Usage with the Care of Providence.
Ah Cruel Pow'rs! (methinks they Sighing say)
Was she not train'd in ev'ry Vertuous Way?
No Nicest Failing did escape our Sight,
For ever on the Watch to keep her right
And that She might not follow empty Lore,
(For Precept bids Example keep before)
We liv'd as we believ'd;—and cou'd we more!
Is this the Promis'd Recompence of Heav'n
For due Obedience to its Precepts giv'n!
Is this the Fate that Continence must share!
The meed of Vertue! and the end of Prayer!
O Sight that we with Blood-shot Eyes Survey!
O Blasted Promise of a shining Day!
We pleas'd our Selves she'd lead a Vertuous Life,
And make some Youth a dear and dutious Wife,
Conveying to all future Ages down
A Line of Worth, of Prudence and Renown;
When now she will but Propagate Disgrace,
A lewd Distemper, and a Bastard Race.
'Tis hard indeed! extremely hard to bear!
And it is what we can't Account for Here.
How e'er, thus far we may the Point debate,
It argues strongly for a Future State;
And that a Hand both Pow'rful and severe
Will reach the Crimes that are Exempted here:
There Mercy to the Tempted may be shown,
But Tempters, who are Devils, can have None.
And it is what we can't Account for Here.
How e'er, thus far we may the Point debate,
It argues strongly for a Future State;
And that a Hand both Pow'rful and severe
Will reach the Crimes that are Exempted here:
There Mercy to the Tempted may be shown,
But Tempters, who are Devils, can have None.
Or if from Sorrow disengag'd and free
You'd have Revenge, come on, and join with Me:
Revenge is here a Vertue; all your Woe
To Scorpions turn, and Sting 'em thro' and thro'.
The sharpest Human Sufferings be his Fate
That tempts a Virgin from her Vertu'ous State;
That with deliberate Lust and Hellish Joy,
Does Truth betray, and Chastity destroy.
Let his own Daughters his Disgrace begin,
And lay on him th'Affliction with the Sin.
His eldest Son be Fool, or Coward made;
His younger, Knaves of Law, or Slaves to Trade.
Distraction, Hate, and fierce Domestick Strife
Confound his Peace, and Plague him long with Life.
And as the Wives of others he betray'd,
Alike from His be still Reprisals made:
First, let 'em separate eat, then separate lie;
(For what can such a Husband signifie)
Till all her Sense of Shame and Honour past,
She come to separate Maintenance at last;
And, by his own Example taught, prefer
All Pimps to Him, as he all Punks to Her:
Nor longer then converse with one by one,
But ev'ry Act be cover'd by a Town.
In Death let him of Future Bliss despair,
At Death uncertain who begat his Heir,
Page, Porter, Pugg, or Coachman for his Fare.
You'd have Revenge, come on, and join with Me:
340
To Scorpions turn, and Sting 'em thro' and thro'.
The sharpest Human Sufferings be his Fate
That tempts a Virgin from her Vertu'ous State;
That with deliberate Lust and Hellish Joy,
Does Truth betray, and Chastity destroy.
Let his own Daughters his Disgrace begin,
And lay on him th'Affliction with the Sin.
His eldest Son be Fool, or Coward made;
His younger, Knaves of Law, or Slaves to Trade.
Distraction, Hate, and fierce Domestick Strife
Confound his Peace, and Plague him long with Life.
And as the Wives of others he betray'd,
Alike from His be still Reprisals made:
First, let 'em separate eat, then separate lie;
(For what can such a Husband signifie)
Till all her Sense of Shame and Honour past,
She come to separate Maintenance at last;
And, by his own Example taught, prefer
All Pimps to Him, as he all Punks to Her:
Nor longer then converse with one by one,
But ev'ry Act be cover'd by a Town.
In Death let him of Future Bliss despair,
At Death uncertain who begat his Heir,
Page, Porter, Pugg, or Coachman for his Fare.
'Tis done!—I see, by a Prophetick sight,
The Curses fix, as we have aim'd 'em, Right.
Thro' all Posterity the Doom is past,
No Whoring Lord shall have a Consort Chast.
But (what e'er Privilege he else may find)
Be sure to pay Adultery still in Kind.
Not Israel's King this Destiny cou'd Guard;
Such was his Crime, and such was his Reward.
If so he suffer'd, and the Fau't but one,
What may they fear by whom 'tis daily done!—
Yet fearless our Adulterous Peer keeps on!
Luxurious in his Lust, the daintiest Flesh
He picks and culls, and ev'ry Meal has Fresh;
As if, like Ven'son Women kept too long
Wou'd hoary grow, and have a tang too strong.
But notwithstanding all his Art and Care,
His Fate is oft to deal in tainted Ware:
Why should he Hummums, else, and Bagnio's need?
And why so often Physick, Cup and Bleed?
Why Salivate and Bath? (all over Pains,
Now of his Shoulders, now his Shins complains)
Were not his Bitches in his Bones and Veins?
The Curses fix, as we have aim'd 'em, Right.
Thro' all Posterity the Doom is past,
No Whoring Lord shall have a Consort Chast.
But (what e'er Privilege he else may find)
Be sure to pay Adultery still in Kind.
Not Israel's King this Destiny cou'd Guard;
Such was his Crime, and such was his Reward.
341
What may they fear by whom 'tis daily done!—
Yet fearless our Adulterous Peer keeps on!
Luxurious in his Lust, the daintiest Flesh
He picks and culls, and ev'ry Meal has Fresh;
As if, like Ven'son Women kept too long
Wou'd hoary grow, and have a tang too strong.
But notwithstanding all his Art and Care,
His Fate is oft to deal in tainted Ware:
Why should he Hummums, else, and Bagnio's need?
And why so often Physick, Cup and Bleed?
Why Salivate and Bath? (all over Pains,
Now of his Shoulders, now his Shins complains)
Were not his Bitches in his Bones and Veins?
But now the Visit o'er, or Business feign'd,
Dinner supplies the Vigour Lust has drain'd.
And here, alas! a Graceless Scene appears,
Our own, and not the Vice of former Years:
The Poor Mechanick and Illiterate Clown,
With Eyes erected, thankfully sit down;
Tho' to so little that there's none to leave,
They render Praise for what they're to receive.
But our loose Libertine, our Modern Lord,
Claps down, Audacious, to a loaded Board
To all Variety that Man can Name
Of Earth and Sea, Fish, Flesh, and Fowl of Game,
Without a Thought from whence the Blessing came.
Dinner supplies the Vigour Lust has drain'd.
And here, alas! a Graceless Scene appears,
Our own, and not the Vice of former Years:
The Poor Mechanick and Illiterate Clown,
With Eyes erected, thankfully sit down;
Tho' to so little that there's none to leave,
They render Praise for what they're to receive.
But our loose Libertine, our Modern Lord,
Claps down, Audacious, to a loaded Board
To all Variety that Man can Name
Of Earth and Sea, Fish, Flesh, and Fowl of Game,
Without a Thought from whence the Blessing came.
In Ancient Times the Tables of the Great
Were the best Schools of Vertue; for the Meat,
'Twas the most slender part of all the Treat:
Moral Discourses with their Meals were joyn'd;
They fed the Body, but did feast the Mind.
Wit with their Wine they equally did prize;
But then no loose or trifling Talk did rise,
For He that will be Merry must be Wise.
They never met, but, different from the Throng,
Something was greatly Said, or greatly Sung,
And Learning gave the Ply to ev'ry Tongue.
Nothing was there advanc'd but things of Weight,
Or of the Present, or the Future State,
Love, Prescience, Will, Necessity and Fate.
And tho' their Reason gave 'em dubious Light,
They trim'd the Lamp, and kept the Goal in sight;
Adorning still Instruction with Delight.
Were the best Schools of Vertue; for the Meat,
'Twas the most slender part of all the Treat:
Moral Discourses with their Meals were joyn'd;
They fed the Body, but did feast the Mind.
342
But then no loose or trifling Talk did rise,
For He that will be Merry must be Wise.
They never met, but, different from the Throng,
Something was greatly Said, or greatly Sung,
And Learning gave the Ply to ev'ry Tongue.
Nothing was there advanc'd but things of Weight,
Or of the Present, or the Future State,
Love, Prescience, Will, Necessity and Fate.
And tho' their Reason gave 'em dubious Light,
They trim'd the Lamp, and kept the Goal in sight;
Adorning still Instruction with Delight.
But at his Lordship's Table you can hear
Nothing but Rack and Murder to the Ear.
Impiety at first begins the Game,
And then a List of Sins without a Name.
Now with some Beauteous Punk the Times beguil'd,
Where Lust is Prais'd, and Mutual Love revil'd.
Now at the Ministry his dirt he flings.
Traducing States and Vilifying Kings.
Now for a Common Wealth he'd all devour;
And now, prefer'd, damns all but Lawless Pow'r.
Now the whole Board at once invade your Ear,
And more than Ten shall talk for Two that hear.
A Serious look is deem'd a Monstrous Fault,
And Modesty meer Costiveness of Thought.
Religion, as they dress it, does appear
A thing we neither ought to Love, or Fear;
Only by Crowds with Adoration seen,
Or Pious Cowards troubled with the Spleen.
Mixt with this Chat, the Healths and Oaths go round
As thick as Hail; and no Decrease is found
Till Five a Clock does summon 'em away,
To wait the Fool of Honour to the Play.
Nothing but Rack and Murder to the Ear.
Impiety at first begins the Game,
And then a List of Sins without a Name.
Now with some Beauteous Punk the Times beguil'd,
Where Lust is Prais'd, and Mutual Love revil'd.
Now at the Ministry his dirt he flings.
Traducing States and Vilifying Kings.
Now for a Common Wealth he'd all devour;
And now, prefer'd, damns all but Lawless Pow'r.
Now the whole Board at once invade your Ear,
And more than Ten shall talk for Two that hear.
A Serious look is deem'd a Monstrous Fault,
And Modesty meer Costiveness of Thought.
Religion, as they dress it, does appear
A thing we neither ought to Love, or Fear;
Only by Crowds with Adoration seen,
Or Pious Cowards troubled with the Spleen.
Mixt with this Chat, the Healths and Oaths go round
As thick as Hail; and no Decrease is found
Till Five a Clock does summon 'em away,
To wait the Fool of Honour to the Play.
343
His Conduct there 'tis needless to recite,
Side-Box'd, and shown in all the Face of Light.
A thousand Witnesses his Folly see;
Fond to be known, tho' known for Infamy.
And tho' of Woman late he had his fill,
Exhausted quite, He's yet for Woman still.
Time will, he thinks, recruit the Vigor gone,
So he provides against the Hour comes on.
O needless and Ridiculous Excess,
To be bespoke for future Wickedness!
What Creature ever heard his Conscience say,
His Crimes were not Sufficient for the Day?
No matter this;—th'Assignation's set,
And he has pawn'd his very Soul to meet:
Tho' he shou'd here stand Honour'd on Record,
A very worthy and Illustrious Lord,
If here (and only here) he broke his Word:
But Fame, as Cray-fish walk, he backward seeks;
Bad Vows he follows, and the Good he breaks.
Side-Box'd, and shown in all the Face of Light.
A thousand Witnesses his Folly see;
Fond to be known, tho' known for Infamy.
And tho' of Woman late he had his fill,
Exhausted quite, He's yet for Woman still.
Time will, he thinks, recruit the Vigor gone,
So he provides against the Hour comes on.
O needless and Ridiculous Excess,
To be bespoke for future Wickedness!
What Creature ever heard his Conscience say,
His Crimes were not Sufficient for the Day?
No matter this;—th'Assignation's set,
And he has pawn'd his very Soul to meet:
Tho' he shou'd here stand Honour'd on Record,
A very worthy and Illustrious Lord,
If here (and only here) he broke his Word:
But Fame, as Cray-fish walk, he backward seeks;
Bad Vows he follows, and the Good he breaks.
Mean while the Play he lets regardless pass
Unless it shew some near resembling Ass
How e'er the Wits at Fopington revile,
He thinks him yet the Glory of the Isle
Soft in his Mein, and melting in his Stile
With secret Joy he sees him Court the Fair,
And Smiles to find his Senseless Image there:
Forgetting quite, the Poet only fits
His Coxcomb out to entertain the Wits.
Well may we doubt that Folly will endure
Which daily being laught at cannot cure:
Impenetrable to the Scoffs and Jears
Of being Cast in Publick by his Peers.
Thus resolute in Nonsense to abound,
And with a Crew of Flatterers compass'd round,
He to some Tavern from the Play retires;
Where Bacchus does infuse his Nobler Fires,
And hatter'd Venus for a while respires.
Unless it shew some near resembling Ass
How e'er the Wits at Fopington revile,
He thinks him yet the Glory of the Isle
Soft in his Mein, and melting in his Stile
With secret Joy he sees him Court the Fair,
And Smiles to find his Senseless Image there:
Forgetting quite, the Poet only fits
His Coxcomb out to entertain the Wits.
Well may we doubt that Folly will endure
Which daily being laught at cannot cure:
Impenetrable to the Scoffs and Jears
Of being Cast in Publick by his Peers.
Thus resolute in Nonsense to abound,
And with a Crew of Flatterers compass'd round,
344
Where Bacchus does infuse his Nobler Fires,
And hatter'd Venus for a while respires.
By this time Midnight's come; and now the Board
Is spread afresh for our Luxurious Lord:
At usual Times his Hunger to allay
He scorns at Heart; the nasty, Vulgar way!
So in the Ev'ning Dines, and Sups at Break of Day.
Preposterous Wretch! so tender of himself,
Yet in the midst of Surfeits hopes for Health.
For now the Glass must run a Brimming round,
Till Rage arises, and their Reason's drown'd:
So silly Flies their Danger make their Game,
Spread their thin Wings and Plunge into the Flame:
For Quarrels next, and Fighting come in Play;
When our fierce Hero (who began the Fray)
Is carry'd off, or from 'em private steals,
Nor thinks his safety in his Sword, but Heels:
Away he hies, and into Bed does get;
Ev'n then a Coward when he's most a Wit.
Mean while his Wretched Friends in Battle joyn,
Till they're, at last, as deep in Blood as Wine.
Is spread afresh for our Luxurious Lord:
At usual Times his Hunger to allay
He scorns at Heart; the nasty, Vulgar way!
So in the Ev'ning Dines, and Sups at Break of Day.
Preposterous Wretch! so tender of himself,
Yet in the midst of Surfeits hopes for Health.
For now the Glass must run a Brimming round,
Till Rage arises, and their Reason's drown'd:
So silly Flies their Danger make their Game,
Spread their thin Wings and Plunge into the Flame:
For Quarrels next, and Fighting come in Play;
When our fierce Hero (who began the Fray)
Is carry'd off, or from 'em private steals,
Nor thinks his safety in his Sword, but Heels:
Away he hies, and into Bed does get;
Ev'n then a Coward when he's most a Wit.
Mean while his Wretched Friends in Battle joyn,
Till they're, at last, as deep in Blood as Wine.
What difference is there, pray, between this bold
Bad Liver, and Pacuvius of old?
Who when h'had Whor'd, and Gormandiz'd and swill'd,
Three times been empty'd, and had thrice been fill'd,
Dead Drunk, in Publick still was born along,
His Servants Singing this Triumphant Song;
(As if the Abstemious only were deceiv'd)
Hey! Io Pæan Boys! h'has liv'd! h'has liv'd!
To Morrow Fortune may her Spite betray,
A Sudden Fate may snatch his Life away,
But He's beforehand! He has liv'd to Day!
H'has liv'd indeed;—but a most fearful End
Must soon such an Intemp'rate Beast attend.
Bad Liver, and Pacuvius of old?
Who when h'had Whor'd, and Gormandiz'd and swill'd,
Three times been empty'd, and had thrice been fill'd,
Dead Drunk, in Publick still was born along,
His Servants Singing this Triumphant Song;
(As if the Abstemious only were deceiv'd)
Hey! Io Pæan Boys! h'has liv'd! h'has liv'd!
To Morrow Fortune may her Spite betray,
A Sudden Fate may snatch his Life away,
But He's beforehand! He has liv'd to Day!
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Must soon such an Intemp'rate Beast attend.
Yet these are they who Imitation claim,
The Form by which we must our Converse Frame:
Our Buttocks, jutting, must like theirs be hung,
The Patterns of our Dress, and Standards of our Tongue.
O Contradiction! Manners to profess
Amidst their Brutal Riots, and Excess.
I have no Patience but in Rage am lost
When such of Breeding, Sense and Honour boast;
When Heaven's a Witness Earth does not contain
A thing beside so Wicked, and so vain.
A Man of Breeding! let him mark that hears;
Who had th'Advantage Pm---ke or his Bears?
A Man of Sense! it overturns our Rules;
Rid by his Drabs, and over-reach'd by Fools?
A Man of Honour! more prepost'rous yet!
And never feed the Poor, or pay a Debt?
To all Remains of Grace extinguish'd quite;
Truth his Contempt, and Falshood his Delight—
Away with such a Monster from our Sight!
The Earth ev'n groans beneath the Impious Freight!
Ah! let it not the Signal longer wait,
Nor Korah's better Tribe be single in their Fate.
The Form by which we must our Converse Frame:
Our Buttocks, jutting, must like theirs be hung,
The Patterns of our Dress, and Standards of our Tongue.
O Contradiction! Manners to profess
Amidst their Brutal Riots, and Excess.
I have no Patience but in Rage am lost
When such of Breeding, Sense and Honour boast;
When Heaven's a Witness Earth does not contain
A thing beside so Wicked, and so vain.
A Man of Breeding! let him mark that hears;
Who had th'Advantage Pm---ke or his Bears?
A Man of Sense! it overturns our Rules;
Rid by his Drabs, and over-reach'd by Fools?
A Man of Honour! more prepost'rous yet!
And never feed the Poor, or pay a Debt?
To all Remains of Grace extinguish'd quite;
Truth his Contempt, and Falshood his Delight—
Away with such a Monster from our Sight!
The Earth ev'n groans beneath the Impious Freight!
Ah! let it not the Signal longer wait,
Nor Korah's better Tribe be single in their Fate.
To Sum up all—what ever Fools have thought,
Blood gives no Honour, nor can Fame be bought;
The Fame I mean that does on Worth depend,
Which must be still acquir'd, and can't descend.
What e'er the Haughty urge for Birth and State,
Only the truely Good are truely Great.
Affluence of Fortune, and not Temp'rance there,
Their Gifts are Cheats, and Tables but a Snare,
Who wou'd for Riches, then, or Honours crave,
That see 'em of their Master make a Slave?
Expos'd by that, in broad apparent Light,
To ev'ry Passion, ev'ry Appetite;
Let it be Anger, Lucre, Lust or Pride,
There's none dismiss'd without being Gratify'd.
Not that 'tis want of Influence from above
Which makes 'em from the Paths of Vertue rove,
Or shuts their Eyes against a SAVIOUR's Love;
Nor yet that Conscience is remiss to tell,
By secret Checks, they are not doing well;
They better know; are certain of the way;
Yet knowing, err; and seeing, go astray.
Thus tho' a GOD his Lordship don't disown,
He lives as if there really were none.
Blood gives no Honour, nor can Fame be bought;
The Fame I mean that does on Worth depend,
Which must be still acquir'd, and can't descend.
What e'er the Haughty urge for Birth and State,
Only the truely Good are truely Great.
Affluence of Fortune, and not Temp'rance there,
Their Gifts are Cheats, and Tables but a Snare,
Who wou'd for Riches, then, or Honours crave,
That see 'em of their Master make a Slave?
346
To ev'ry Passion, ev'ry Appetite;
Let it be Anger, Lucre, Lust or Pride,
There's none dismiss'd without being Gratify'd.
Not that 'tis want of Influence from above
Which makes 'em from the Paths of Vertue rove,
Or shuts their Eyes against a SAVIOUR's Love;
Nor yet that Conscience is remiss to tell,
By secret Checks, they are not doing well;
They better know; are certain of the way;
Yet knowing, err; and seeing, go astray.
Thus tho' a GOD his Lordship don't disown,
He lives as if there really were none.
Thus far W'ave ventur'd to expose to shame
The base Perverters of a Noble Name:
But here we'll rest, some fresh Recruits to find,
And suit our Colours to the Crimes behind:
For what is drawn imploring no Excuse,
And painting what's to come for Common Use.
The base Perverters of a Noble Name:
But here we'll rest, some fresh Recruits to find,
And suit our Colours to the Crimes behind:
For what is drawn imploring no Excuse,
And painting what's to come for Common Use.
2. The Second Part.
The bright Arch-Angel, chief of all that fell,
Yet Great, and still maintains his Port in Hell)
Lost not his Glory, and his Prime Degree,
For want of Knowledge, but Humility:
He first 'twas that did Politicks impart,
And, Clipper-like, was Ruin'd by his Art.
Achitophel, whose Name is famous yet,
Lost not his Credit for defect of Wit;
Had he been Loyal, he had long been Great.
Nor are our Politicians far behind
The Jew in Craft, and like Reward may find.
Sometimes into a turn of State they wedge
Themselves so close, they grind their Ax's Edge:
As Bride-well Slaves, with many a weary Bang,
Beat out that Hemp in which they after Hang.
Sometimes like Squirrels, (by their Hunters vex'd),
One Tree a felling, leap into the next;
Making that way their Sanctuary good,
Till not a Royal Oak is left to Grace the Wood.
False to their Prince, but faithful to his Gold:
No Revolution makes 'em quit that hold.
Old Machiavel is always in their Eye,
And Good King David's Politicks thrown by;
After GOD's Heart was why his Pow'r was giv'n,
Tyrants but by Permission hold of Heav'n;
In Anger made, they but the Scepter bear
To Scourge th'Inconstancy that plac'd it there.
What e'er the Government, these Turn-Coats still,
Like Æsops Fly, rise up with Fortunes Wheel.
Their Labours are not to enlarge our Bounds,
But how by Fraud to get th'Adjoyning Grounds,
And lay 'em to their own: Unhappy Fate
Is His, whose Vineyard bounds on their Estate:
Like Jacks on Gudgeons, to the Prey they rowl,
Swallow'd at once, and are digested whole.
Deficient Funds so little are their Care,
They're robb'd of many Thousands every Year;
No Wonder that the Wretch'd Subject's bare.
Why must the Caytiff (tho' we own him poor)
A Beggar be that Strowls from Door to Door,
And who of Subsidies their Master Cheat,
Tho' gather'd just alike, be Props of State?
Lewis himself shall o'er the Ocean reign,
And Publick Glory's chang'd for Private Gain:
As lately they were taught our shipping Trade,
With leave to Build, that they might next Invade:
Mean while our Monarchs were Supinely shown,
(Devested both of Reason and Renown,)
Sporting with Drabs and lolling on a Throne.
Thus not a Common Wealth is the Contest
Or, whether That or Monarchy is best,
But what does most advance their Interest.
So a late Politician, when that Trump
Had won the Game, got nimbly on the Rump,
And spurr'd it on, enamor'd of the Jest,
Till Oliver himself bestrid the Beast.
To a Protector then he tun'd his Tongue,
And gently sooth'd the Brutal Herd a long.
The Father lost, he sided with the Son;
And for no Government when he was gone,
Next, when he heard all Men do so beside,
(And working lustily to save his Tyde)
For a true King and Monarchy he cry'd.
Then when wild Factions noisy Stream ran high,
Heading their Chief, he did with that comply,
And strove to lay the true Succession by.
Yet all this while, blest with a Lucky Hit,
Or whether 'twere his Fate, his Art, or Wit,
Just like a Cat, he lighted on his Feet:
And last ev'n Destiny it self did mock,
And fairly dy'd without an Ax and Block.
But tho' these Wretches more than others know,
Sagacious in what Point the Wind will blow;
Veering for Safety what e'er way it Veers,
For he must find the Danger first that Steers,
Yet since their Wealth, as we too sadly see,
Derives it self from our Calamity;
Since they do all that's in their Pow'r to prove
Religion's not descended from above;
That 'tis but what the State-Wrights did invent
To blind us when they founded Government;
And since (which is of all our Proofs the Chief)
They've brought their Practice down to that Belief,
We must conclude, what ever God they Own,
They live as if there really were None.
Yet Great, and still maintains his Port in Hell)
Lost not his Glory, and his Prime Degree,
For want of Knowledge, but Humility:
He first 'twas that did Politicks impart,
And, Clipper-like, was Ruin'd by his Art.
347
Lost not his Credit for defect of Wit;
Had he been Loyal, he had long been Great.
Nor are our Politicians far behind
The Jew in Craft, and like Reward may find.
Sometimes into a turn of State they wedge
Themselves so close, they grind their Ax's Edge:
As Bride-well Slaves, with many a weary Bang,
Beat out that Hemp in which they after Hang.
Sometimes like Squirrels, (by their Hunters vex'd),
One Tree a felling, leap into the next;
Making that way their Sanctuary good,
Till not a Royal Oak is left to Grace the Wood.
False to their Prince, but faithful to his Gold:
No Revolution makes 'em quit that hold.
Old Machiavel is always in their Eye,
And Good King David's Politicks thrown by;
After GOD's Heart was why his Pow'r was giv'n,
Tyrants but by Permission hold of Heav'n;
In Anger made, they but the Scepter bear
To Scourge th'Inconstancy that plac'd it there.
What e'er the Government, these Turn-Coats still,
Like Æsops Fly, rise up with Fortunes Wheel.
Their Labours are not to enlarge our Bounds,
But how by Fraud to get th'Adjoyning Grounds,
And lay 'em to their own: Unhappy Fate
Is His, whose Vineyard bounds on their Estate:
Like Jacks on Gudgeons, to the Prey they rowl,
Swallow'd at once, and are digested whole.
Deficient Funds so little are their Care,
They're robb'd of many Thousands every Year;
No Wonder that the Wretch'd Subject's bare.
Why must the Caytiff (tho' we own him poor)
A Beggar be that Strowls from Door to Door,
And who of Subsidies their Master Cheat,
Tho' gather'd just alike, be Props of State?
348
And Publick Glory's chang'd for Private Gain:
As lately they were taught our shipping Trade,
With leave to Build, that they might next Invade:
Mean while our Monarchs were Supinely shown,
(Devested both of Reason and Renown,)
Sporting with Drabs and lolling on a Throne.
Thus not a Common Wealth is the Contest
Or, whether That or Monarchy is best,
But what does most advance their Interest.
So a late Politician, when that Trump
Had won the Game, got nimbly on the Rump,
And spurr'd it on, enamor'd of the Jest,
Till Oliver himself bestrid the Beast.
To a Protector then he tun'd his Tongue,
And gently sooth'd the Brutal Herd a long.
The Father lost, he sided with the Son;
And for no Government when he was gone,
Next, when he heard all Men do so beside,
(And working lustily to save his Tyde)
For a true King and Monarchy he cry'd.
Then when wild Factions noisy Stream ran high,
Heading their Chief, he did with that comply,
And strove to lay the true Succession by.
Yet all this while, blest with a Lucky Hit,
Or whether 'twere his Fate, his Art, or Wit,
Just like a Cat, he lighted on his Feet:
And last ev'n Destiny it self did mock,
And fairly dy'd without an Ax and Block.
But tho' these Wretches more than others know,
Sagacious in what Point the Wind will blow;
Veering for Safety what e'er way it Veers,
For he must find the Danger first that Steers,
Yet since their Wealth, as we too sadly see,
Derives it self from our Calamity;
349
Religion's not descended from above;
That 'tis but what the State-Wrights did invent
To blind us when they founded Government;
And since (which is of all our Proofs the Chief)
They've brought their Practice down to that Belief,
We must conclude, what ever God they Own,
They live as if there really were None.
Some Men to Little are but bred, and so
But Little can of God and Nature know:
If these in Judgment Err, (as most we find,)
Or darkly see (for Ignorance is blind,)
They shou'd not in Religious Points be sham'd,
Tho' plac'd awry, but Pity'd more than blam'd:
Stubborn in Zeal and hurrying swift along
The Uulgar run, and all their Notions wrong;
Yet find out Heav'n, tho' seemingly astray
They go, while Wiser Blockheads lose their Way.
But Little can of God and Nature know:
If these in Judgment Err, (as most we find,)
Or darkly see (for Ignorance is blind,)
They shou'd not in Religious Points be sham'd,
Tho' plac'd awry, but Pity'd more than blam'd:
Stubborn in Zeal and hurrying swift along
The Uulgar run, and all their Notions wrong;
Yet find out Heav'n, tho' seemingly astray
They go, while Wiser Blockheads lose their Way.
For when I see a Coxcomb bred with cost,
And Languages and Learning makes his boast;
That has twice Twenty Years been running thro'
His Books, and talks as he all Nature knew;
What e'er You offer He's for solving strait,
As if he were the End of all debate,
Th'unerring, and Decisive Voice of Fate:
When such a One becomes a Fool in Chief,
Doubtful of Truth, and Staggering in Belief;
False to the Holy Faith he first imbib'd,
By Atheists Courted, and by Popery brib'd;
Tho' Ill the Church and distant from Applause,
That hires a Turn-Coat to support her Cause,
Who knows, by Consequence, the Ills h'has done,
Knows that he goes, and long astray has gone,
Yet like a Devil, stubbornly keeps on.
When I see Christians take so large a Scope,
The Jew, methinks, has much the livelier Hope.
A Lutheran now, a Papist next, and then
A Calvinist, and back to Rome agen:
With Notions thus for ever on the Range,
No Weather e'er did oftner Chop and Change.
Nay, when they've all these Transformations past,
They Madlier set up for themselves at last:
By their own Standard they'll have Truth be try'd,
The very utmost Stretch of Human Pride!
And think ev'n Scripture an unsafer Guide:
But thus to make a Godhead of their Own,
(If I may Judge) is certainly all one
As if they really believ'd in None.
And Languages and Learning makes his boast;
That has twice Twenty Years been running thro'
His Books, and talks as he all Nature knew;
What e'er You offer He's for solving strait,
As if he were the End of all debate,
Th'unerring, and Decisive Voice of Fate:
When such a One becomes a Fool in Chief,
Doubtful of Truth, and Staggering in Belief;
False to the Holy Faith he first imbib'd,
By Atheists Courted, and by Popery brib'd;
Tho' Ill the Church and distant from Applause,
That hires a Turn-Coat to support her Cause,
Who knows, by Consequence, the Ills h'has done,
Knows that he goes, and long astray has gone,
Yet like a Devil, stubbornly keeps on.
350
The Jew, methinks, has much the livelier Hope.
A Lutheran now, a Papist next, and then
A Calvinist, and back to Rome agen:
With Notions thus for ever on the Range,
No Weather e'er did oftner Chop and Change.
Nay, when they've all these Transformations past,
They Madlier set up for themselves at last:
By their own Standard they'll have Truth be try'd,
The very utmost Stretch of Human Pride!
And think ev'n Scripture an unsafer Guide:
But thus to make a Godhead of their Own,
(If I may Judge) is certainly all one
As if they really believ'd in None.
Some Seminaries of our Youth (if Fame
May be at all believ'd) are much to blame:
'Tis there the Disputant acquires the Skill
To make that seem a Good he knows an Ill.
Reverse of Knowledge! O perverted Schools!
Scarce London more renown'd for Knaves and Fools.
How can there due Severity be shown
To Youth, there Crimes exceeded by our Own?
To Punish an Adulterer is but right,
But shou'd he do't that is a Sodomite?
A Vertuous Hand best Grafts the Temperate Fruit;
For first Impressions take the deepest Root:
Who ever saw (so soon will Vice instill)
The Tutor bad, and not the Pupil Ill?
For Youth, like Wax, (believing, fond and vain,
Takes then the Print it does to Age retain,
Lust, if 'tis Lust; and Pride, if Pride you grave
Ev'n Plato bred to Law had been a Knave.
Or Right or Wrong, there scarce is one but treads
True to his ply,) as Education leads.
Some with vain Theories amuse the Rout,
And add more Knots to those they'd Ravel out:
A Thousand Vari'ous Noti'ons they advance,
The Dreams of Fools, and the Produce of Chance.
Others, Demure, but lavish of their Ink,
Whole Pages Scribble, for one Line they think:
Mean while the Wits their Doubts and Scruples raise,
Nor care who Profits, so they gain but Praise.
Hence Scepticks some, and others Ideots grow;
Those will know all, and these will nothing know.
Thus Learning, tho' all Glaring to the View,
Can be adapted Justly but to few:
Like Wine, or like Prosperity it flies
Up to the Brain, and all below defies;
Reason and Truth disdaining for it's Guide,
And Tyrant-like wou'd rule by Pow'r and Pride.
The rest who to their senseless Pastimes cleave,
And spare not Time such Airy Webs to weave,
Are Likelier in the Peoples Crimes to share,
Than truely to discharge the Past'ral Care;
To which no Creature ought to make pretence,
Not tinctur'd thro' with Honesty and Sense.
So that, indeed, (and state the Matter fair,)
There does but very little Hope appear
Such Foppling Teachers, tho' a God they own,
Wou'd Live as if they did believe in One.
May be at all believ'd) are much to blame:
'Tis there the Disputant acquires the Skill
To make that seem a Good he knows an Ill.
Reverse of Knowledge! O perverted Schools!
Scarce London more renown'd for Knaves and Fools.
How can there due Severity be shown
To Youth, there Crimes exceeded by our Own?
To Punish an Adulterer is but right,
But shou'd he do't that is a Sodomite?
A Vertuous Hand best Grafts the Temperate Fruit;
For first Impressions take the deepest Root:
Who ever saw (so soon will Vice instill)
The Tutor bad, and not the Pupil Ill?
For Youth, like Wax, (believing, fond and vain,
Takes then the Print it does to Age retain,
Lust, if 'tis Lust; and Pride, if Pride you grave
Ev'n Plato bred to Law had been a Knave.
Or Right or Wrong, there scarce is one but treads
True to his ply,) as Education leads.
351
And add more Knots to those they'd Ravel out:
A Thousand Vari'ous Noti'ons they advance,
The Dreams of Fools, and the Produce of Chance.
Others, Demure, but lavish of their Ink,
Whole Pages Scribble, for one Line they think:
Mean while the Wits their Doubts and Scruples raise,
Nor care who Profits, so they gain but Praise.
Hence Scepticks some, and others Ideots grow;
Those will know all, and these will nothing know.
Thus Learning, tho' all Glaring to the View,
Can be adapted Justly but to few:
Like Wine, or like Prosperity it flies
Up to the Brain, and all below defies;
Reason and Truth disdaining for it's Guide,
And Tyrant-like wou'd rule by Pow'r and Pride.
The rest who to their senseless Pastimes cleave,
And spare not Time such Airy Webs to weave,
Are Likelier in the Peoples Crimes to share,
Than truely to discharge the Past'ral Care;
To which no Creature ought to make pretence,
Not tinctur'd thro' with Honesty and Sense.
So that, indeed, (and state the Matter fair,)
There does but very little Hope appear
Such Foppling Teachers, tho' a God they own,
Wou'd Live as if they did believe in One.
But here, Methinks, they break into a Flame:
How dare you, Slave, (they call me) Learning blame,
The path to Vertue, and th'Ascent to Fame.
I blame it not, I cry; of Heav'nly use
If well apply'd, but Devilish in th'Abuse:
For what has Arius and Socinus done
To'ward the degrading of th'Eternal Son?
His God-head not believ'd, on which depends
The Christian Hope, the Christian Doctrin ends.
To these we may their present Followers add,
With all our Modern Sects both Moap'd and Mad.
Tell me then you grave Masters of Debate,
That Wire-draw, Doubt, Assert, Equivocate,
With pleasing Sophistry misleading Youth,
Adorning Falshood, and disguising Truth;
While, with the Rents by Disputation made.
The patching up Religion grows a Trade.
Tell, when the Haughty Disputant's to show
How he has laid out all his Time below,
What will th'Impertinent and Senseless Tale
Either the Writer or his Cause avail,
To say 'twas spent in some Laborious Tome,
Confuting Sectaries, and Confounding Rome?
Or what the Roman Sophistry and Paint?
With the more frightful Bulk of Baxtrian Cant?
When it appears (more winding than a Maze)
Instead of saving Souls, the Teachers Praise,
They've fixt 'em in the Errors of their Ways;
And made a Thousand Paths, when there's but one
We ought to walk in, and no more to shun?
There's nothing plainer both to Sense and Sight,
Than that th'Exemplar Preacher need not Write:
One single Instance of a Holy Life,
Is of more Force than Endless Tomes of Strife:
By that w'are taught, by that we Vertuous grow,
For only He that's Good makes others so.
How dare you, Slave, (they call me) Learning blame,
The path to Vertue, and th'Ascent to Fame.
I blame it not, I cry; of Heav'nly use
If well apply'd, but Devilish in th'Abuse:
For what has Arius and Socinus done
To'ward the degrading of th'Eternal Son?
His God-head not believ'd, on which depends
The Christian Hope, the Christian Doctrin ends.
352
With all our Modern Sects both Moap'd and Mad.
Tell me then you grave Masters of Debate,
That Wire-draw, Doubt, Assert, Equivocate,
With pleasing Sophistry misleading Youth,
Adorning Falshood, and disguising Truth;
While, with the Rents by Disputation made.
The patching up Religion grows a Trade.
Tell, when the Haughty Disputant's to show
How he has laid out all his Time below,
What will th'Impertinent and Senseless Tale
Either the Writer or his Cause avail,
To say 'twas spent in some Laborious Tome,
Confuting Sectaries, and Confounding Rome?
Or what the Roman Sophistry and Paint?
With the more frightful Bulk of Baxtrian Cant?
When it appears (more winding than a Maze)
Instead of saving Souls, the Teachers Praise,
They've fixt 'em in the Errors of their Ways;
And made a Thousand Paths, when there's but one
We ought to walk in, and no more to shun?
There's nothing plainer both to Sense and Sight,
Than that th'Exemplar Preacher need not Write:
One single Instance of a Holy Life,
Is of more Force than Endless Tomes of Strife:
By that w'are taught, by that we Vertuous grow,
For only He that's Good makes others so.
On t'other side 'tis equally as clear
Pen's loose Discourse and Lobb's Extempore Prayer
(In Matters of more Moment unconcern'd)
Is only to be Gifted thought, or Learn'd;
A Pride of Spirit, Obstinately shown
In crying down all Worship but their Own;
To have vast Parties take from them their Name
And so in Schism found a Devilish Fame.
For Lucifer, who first at Truth did Strike,
By Consequence was the first Schismatick.
Hence ev'ry Centu'ry new Perswasions rise,
Wolves, as we are forewarn'd, in Sheeps Disguise,
Who making it their Gain to Disagree,
Dissolve the Bands of Christian Unity:
Vindictive, sullen, stupid, frontless grown
The Scripture-Sense perverted to their Own,
The tortur'd Bible on the Rack is Stretcht
And wrested Texts for Proofs of Nonsense fetcht:
Mean while the Crowd (in whom the Bane's instill'd)
With Envy, Rage, and Cruelty are fill'd:
That once incens'd ev'n Altars are not spar'd,
Youth has no Pity, nor grey Hairs regard.
In short all the Domestick Strife and Jar,
Rape, Plunder, Murder, Fire and Massacre,
Which the fresh bleeding Europe yet deplores,
Must all be laid at their accursed Doors.
How is our SAVIOUR's Meekness copy'd here?
And the Reproaches he unmov'd did bear?
Where is the Love he practis'd and enjoyn'd?
Extensive as the Race of humankind!
Thus tho' in their Disputes a GOD they own,
'Twere little odds (as the Event has shown)
If really they had believ'd in None.
Pen's loose Discourse and Lobb's Extempore Prayer
(In Matters of more Moment unconcern'd)
Is only to be Gifted thought, or Learn'd;
A Pride of Spirit, Obstinately shown
In crying down all Worship but their Own;
To have vast Parties take from them their Name
And so in Schism found a Devilish Fame.
353
By Consequence was the first Schismatick.
Hence ev'ry Centu'ry new Perswasions rise,
Wolves, as we are forewarn'd, in Sheeps Disguise,
Who making it their Gain to Disagree,
Dissolve the Bands of Christian Unity:
Vindictive, sullen, stupid, frontless grown
The Scripture-Sense perverted to their Own,
The tortur'd Bible on the Rack is Stretcht
And wrested Texts for Proofs of Nonsense fetcht:
Mean while the Crowd (in whom the Bane's instill'd)
With Envy, Rage, and Cruelty are fill'd:
That once incens'd ev'n Altars are not spar'd,
Youth has no Pity, nor grey Hairs regard.
In short all the Domestick Strife and Jar,
Rape, Plunder, Murder, Fire and Massacre,
Which the fresh bleeding Europe yet deplores,
Must all be laid at their accursed Doors.
How is our SAVIOUR's Meekness copy'd here?
And the Reproaches he unmov'd did bear?
Where is the Love he practis'd and enjoyn'd?
Extensive as the Race of humankind!
Thus tho' in their Disputes a GOD they own,
'Twere little odds (as the Event has shown)
If really they had believ'd in None.
Designing here to leave these Noble Piles,
Methinks at parting the Physician Smiles:
How can this Idle Satyrist, says he,
At Scepticks rail, and blindly leave out Me?
E'er since the Christian Faith possessed the Stage
We have been thought the Pest of ev'ry Age.
True, Doctor; you have prov'd your selves a more
Flagitious Race than those that liv'd before:
'Tis but of later Date the Notion came
That Atheist and Physician are the same.
What ever Prejudice you foist between,
The First is in the second Causes seen:
The most pernicious Plant's of sov'reign Use,
If well apply'd, and Wonders may produce.
But think not ev'ry casual Cure that's done
To Man occasion'd by your Skill alone;
The Work of saving Lives is not your own.
At best y'are but the Instruments to show
How much for Health we to our Maker owe,
And that, alas! but very seldom too:
His Rods of Vengeance you are oft'ner found,
To scourge the Earth, and deal his angry Vials round.
Ev'n your whole College oft we baffl'd find,
Prescriptions working contrary to kind.
One dies to whose Recov'ry you wou'd swear;
Another lives when you of Life despair:
This shews you GOD his Pleasure does impart,
And where he'll take, or spare, in vain your Art.
Not but we grant to shew his Servant's Force,
He lets the second Causes take their Course:
But what Advantage can you thence pretend,
So ignorant of their Natures and their End!
Some few perhaps into your Knowledge fall,
But what, that's finite, comprehends 'em all!
Methinks at parting the Physician Smiles:
How can this Idle Satyrist, says he,
At Scepticks rail, and blindly leave out Me?
E'er since the Christian Faith possessed the Stage
We have been thought the Pest of ev'ry Age.
True, Doctor; you have prov'd your selves a more
Flagitious Race than those that liv'd before:
'Tis but of later Date the Notion came
That Atheist and Physician are the same.
354
The First is in the second Causes seen:
The most pernicious Plant's of sov'reign Use,
If well apply'd, and Wonders may produce.
But think not ev'ry casual Cure that's done
To Man occasion'd by your Skill alone;
The Work of saving Lives is not your own.
At best y'are but the Instruments to show
How much for Health we to our Maker owe,
And that, alas! but very seldom too:
His Rods of Vengeance you are oft'ner found,
To scourge the Earth, and deal his angry Vials round.
Ev'n your whole College oft we baffl'd find,
Prescriptions working contrary to kind.
One dies to whose Recov'ry you wou'd swear;
Another lives when you of Life despair:
This shews you GOD his Pleasure does impart,
And where he'll take, or spare, in vain your Art.
Not but we grant to shew his Servant's Force,
He lets the second Causes take their Course:
But what Advantage can you thence pretend,
So ignorant of their Natures and their End!
Some few perhaps into your Knowledge fall,
But what, that's finite, comprehends 'em all!
Yet, wou'd you argue from the Truths you see,
You least of all shou'd doubt a DEITY:
You by Experience know (as David said)
W'are fearfully, and wonderfully made!
Can you, intent, on your Dissections look
And not read GOD in that prodigious Book?
Where ev'ry Fibre, Artery, Nerve and Vein,
Shew by a strange Dependance on the Brain,
No Chance cou'd link the admirable Chain!
Who, after such a View, cou'd so forget
Reason and Shame, as with Sarcastick Wit
The Great Creator's Pow'r to disesteem,
His Being question, and his Name blaspheme?
Yet this you do; the Pow'r of Life and Death
Mean while assuming, as you gave us Breath.
Proof we might bring to bind what we attest,
But let this Instance serve for all the rest.
You least of all shou'd doubt a DEITY:
You by Experience know (as David said)
W'are fearfully, and wonderfully made!
Can you, intent, on your Dissections look
And not read GOD in that prodigious Book?
Where ev'ry Fibre, Artery, Nerve and Vein,
Shew by a strange Dependance on the Brain,
No Chance cou'd link the admirable Chain!
Who, after such a View, cou'd so forget
Reason and Shame, as with Sarcastick Wit
355
His Being question, and his Name blaspheme?
Yet this you do; the Pow'r of Life and Death
Mean while assuming, as you gave us Breath.
Proof we might bring to bind what we attest,
But let this Instance serve for all the rest.
Some time ago (and much against his Will)
A certain Knight fell violently ill:
A dear old Friend, whose Residence was by,
(One that Prescrib'd to his own Family,
Nor wanted Skill) did Remedies apply:
And still (the way a Christian Temper leans)
What e'er he gave him cry'd God bless the Means.
At last, not mending, the Physician's brought,
Who chang'd the Phrase; and, when he gave him ought,
Did worse than Mariners in Tempests swear—
Here take it off, and, DAMN ME, never fear.
In short what with his Potion and his Pill,
The Doctor prov'd Successful in his Skill:
And smiling on his Patient, told him, now
You see the Proof, and will, I hope, allow
Your Friends God Bless you frivolous and Poor,
And that my Damn me did your Health Restore:
No more believe that ought above you hears,
When Oaths more efficacious are than Prayers.
Thus, tho' he in his Heart a GOD must own,
And trembling, Devil-like, acknowledge one,
Yet, Devil-like, he lives as there indeed were none.
A certain Knight fell violently ill:
A dear old Friend, whose Residence was by,
(One that Prescrib'd to his own Family,
Nor wanted Skill) did Remedies apply:
And still (the way a Christian Temper leans)
What e'er he gave him cry'd God bless the Means.
At last, not mending, the Physician's brought,
Who chang'd the Phrase; and, when he gave him ought,
Did worse than Mariners in Tempests swear—
Here take it off, and, DAMN ME, never fear.
In short what with his Potion and his Pill,
The Doctor prov'd Successful in his Skill:
And smiling on his Patient, told him, now
You see the Proof, and will, I hope, allow
Your Friends God Bless you frivolous and Poor,
And that my Damn me did your Health Restore:
No more believe that ought above you hears,
When Oaths more efficacious are than Prayers.
Thus, tho' he in his Heart a GOD must own,
And trembling, Devil-like, acknowledge one,
Yet, Devil-like, he lives as there indeed were none.
But from these Private Murder'ers next we'll go
To those that are by set Profession so:
Where cutting Throats is purchasing a Name,
To Ravish, Honour; and to Plunder, Fame:
These three away the Life of War is gone,
Ambition cou'd not do the Work alone;
There must be Baits to drill the vulgar on.
Ambition! the Reverse of ev'ry Good!
The Blessings by it on the World bestow'd
Invasion, Devastation, Rape and Blood.
The Gallick Tyrants in this Roll the first,
As well of Christians as of Princes worst;
And here shall stand eternally accurst.
What Glory can accrue to Treaties broke,
Christians enslav'd, and Towns by Treach'ry took?
Or if the doing this be real Fame,
Who has gone further for a deathless Name?
Defensive War is only lawful, all
The rest we can but force and Robb'ry call:
When you of War and hostile Rumor hear
Implies the Christian warn'd from acting there.
Good God! that Men who into Bodies get,
Shou'd fly so far from Justice, Truth and Wit,
To think it Glory when they Outrage do!
Crimes they wou'd hang for, if they were but few.
Suppose to Day two robb'd you, and no more,
And you were robb'd to Morrow by a Score,
Are not all Thieves?—supposing further yet,
In some poor Village six that wanted Wit,
And here a hundred thousand, more they're, true;
Are not all Fools? the many like the few?
Numbers no odds; did that from Censure save,
What Man wou'd dare to call a Tradesman Knave?
In brief, War's but th'Almighty's strecht-out Rod,
The o'erflowing Vial of a jealous GOD,
Who for our Lucre, Lust, Revenge and Pride,
With all our Crimes and Villanies beside,
Lets loose the Agents of his angry Will,
And bids th'avenging Weapon take its Fill.
In vain the Politician shews his Care,
And thinks 'tis as he pleases Peace or War,
A stronger Hand does move that vast Machine;
The Statesman does, at best, but draw the Scene,
And look the first; but equally is blind,
Like us, to the revolving Turns behind,
Did we alas! but one another Love
We shou'd agree; the Sword wou'd soon remove;
The Wars of Europe and of Asia cease,
And all be lasting Universal Peace.
A certain Proof that they who only Fight
T'enlarge their Bounds, not valuing Wrong or Right,
Are guilty Souls; yet they a GOD will own
And sing his Praise for Neighb'ring States undone,
Which is more mocking than believing One.
To see in Camps how impiously they dwell,
(As the Commander so the Centinel)
To hear the Oaths they mouth, and Lies they vent,
Poxt from the General's to the Suttler's Tent,
You'd think Rome Chast, and Sodom Innocent.
To those that are by set Profession so:
Where cutting Throats is purchasing a Name,
To Ravish, Honour; and to Plunder, Fame:
356
Ambition cou'd not do the Work alone;
There must be Baits to drill the vulgar on.
Ambition! the Reverse of ev'ry Good!
The Blessings by it on the World bestow'd
Invasion, Devastation, Rape and Blood.
The Gallick Tyrants in this Roll the first,
As well of Christians as of Princes worst;
And here shall stand eternally accurst.
What Glory can accrue to Treaties broke,
Christians enslav'd, and Towns by Treach'ry took?
Or if the doing this be real Fame,
Who has gone further for a deathless Name?
Defensive War is only lawful, all
The rest we can but force and Robb'ry call:
When you of War and hostile Rumor hear
Implies the Christian warn'd from acting there.
Good God! that Men who into Bodies get,
Shou'd fly so far from Justice, Truth and Wit,
To think it Glory when they Outrage do!
Crimes they wou'd hang for, if they were but few.
Suppose to Day two robb'd you, and no more,
And you were robb'd to Morrow by a Score,
Are not all Thieves?—supposing further yet,
In some poor Village six that wanted Wit,
And here a hundred thousand, more they're, true;
Are not all Fools? the many like the few?
Numbers no odds; did that from Censure save,
What Man wou'd dare to call a Tradesman Knave?
In brief, War's but th'Almighty's strecht-out Rod,
The o'erflowing Vial of a jealous GOD,
Who for our Lucre, Lust, Revenge and Pride,
With all our Crimes and Villanies beside,
Lets loose the Agents of his angry Will,
And bids th'avenging Weapon take its Fill.
357
And thinks 'tis as he pleases Peace or War,
A stronger Hand does move that vast Machine;
The Statesman does, at best, but draw the Scene,
And look the first; but equally is blind,
Like us, to the revolving Turns behind,
Did we alas! but one another Love
We shou'd agree; the Sword wou'd soon remove;
The Wars of Europe and of Asia cease,
And all be lasting Universal Peace.
A certain Proof that they who only Fight
T'enlarge their Bounds, not valuing Wrong or Right,
Are guilty Souls; yet they a GOD will own
And sing his Praise for Neighb'ring States undone,
Which is more mocking than believing One.
To see in Camps how impiously they dwell,
(As the Commander so the Centinel)
To hear the Oaths they mouth, and Lies they vent,
Poxt from the General's to the Suttler's Tent,
You'd think Rome Chast, and Sodom Innocent.
Well but, You'll say, that is no wonder here;
They do but Fight, perhaps one Day a Year,
So all the rest may Whore, and Drink, and Swear.
But wou'd you think there can a Creature be
Who breaths no other Air but Piety;
That holier does Discourse than others Pray,
Yet twenty times more Profligate than they.
On thee, O Hypocrite! these Censures fall,
Not only in one way a Knave, but all.
Secret to Sin he moves like Eel's in Mud,
Deceives Mankind, and palms the Cheat on GOD:
With specious seeming polishes his Deeds,
And let him deal with whom he will succeeds;
The mimick Saint no other Voucher needs:
We shun a Wolf, and we must know an Ape,
But who suspects a Fraud in such a Shape?
What a strange Sight must it hereafter be
When GOD dismantles all Hypocrisie!
'Twill then with dismal Aggravations joyn'd,
Be found that Man to Man ne'er speaks his Mind;
That the Plain-Dealer's mov'd so far away,
He's only to be met with in a Play!
Husband to Wife, and Wife to Husband here
Are fau'ty found, and Truth does ne'er appear;
And to be plain, 'tis well it does not there:
Marriage, as 'tis too often proves a Curse,
Shou'd Truth be known, the Plague wou'd then be worse.
Thus walks the Hypocrite in open Day,
And unsurvey'd, does all the World survey:
But does he walk, tho' he a GOD does own,
And blames those Men that argue there is none,
As if he did himself believe in One?
They do but Fight, perhaps one Day a Year,
So all the rest may Whore, and Drink, and Swear.
But wou'd you think there can a Creature be
Who breaths no other Air but Piety;
That holier does Discourse than others Pray,
Yet twenty times more Profligate than they.
On thee, O Hypocrite! these Censures fall,
Not only in one way a Knave, but all.
Secret to Sin he moves like Eel's in Mud,
Deceives Mankind, and palms the Cheat on GOD:
With specious seeming polishes his Deeds,
And let him deal with whom he will succeeds;
The mimick Saint no other Voucher needs:
358
But who suspects a Fraud in such a Shape?
What a strange Sight must it hereafter be
When GOD dismantles all Hypocrisie!
'Twill then with dismal Aggravations joyn'd,
Be found that Man to Man ne'er speaks his Mind;
That the Plain-Dealer's mov'd so far away,
He's only to be met with in a Play!
Husband to Wife, and Wife to Husband here
Are fau'ty found, and Truth does ne'er appear;
And to be plain, 'tis well it does not there:
Marriage, as 'tis too often proves a Curse,
Shou'd Truth be known, the Plague wou'd then be worse.
Thus walks the Hypocrite in open Day,
And unsurvey'd, does all the World survey:
But does he walk, tho' he a GOD does own,
And blames those Men that argue there is none,
As if he did himself believe in One?
Happy, you'll say, (since thus the most refin'd,
The Great, as well as Learn'd of Humankind,
To their own Lusts these Liberties allow;)
Happy, you'll say, the Country Swains that Plough!
The implicit Bumkins that in Gross believe,
Whom arguing don't Corrupt or Doubt deceive.
Astræa there, with Innocence adorn'd
Does dwell, whose Absence is in Cities mourn'd.
But tho' on Rural Shades so much you Doat,
Live but among 'em and you'll change your Note;
Nor barely fall of Expectation short,
But meet ev'n equal Innocence at Court.
Fool in Appearance, but in Dealing try
His Wit, you'll find him Wary, Crafty, Sly,
A thorow Knave, all Shift, and Cheat and Lye.
Tho' six Days are allow'd him and his Beast
To Work, he blends the Sabbath with the rest.
The Publick Fasts are not at all his Care,
So Covetous of Time he thinks it lost in Pray'r.
As to no Men there longer Life is giv'n,
So none spare less in the Pursuit of Heav'n:
Stock still they stand, tho' they have Pow'r to go,
Nor will pursue one useful thing they know:
A Resty, Sullen, Brutal, Downward Race,
And all for Gain;—the Antipodes to Grace.
Tythe is a Plague he never can digest,
A Duty that's the Bane of all the rest.
When the Tenth Cock is took by the Divine,
(Ungrateful for the Benefit of Nine!)
Tho' they their Right from GOD's Appointment draw,
He wonders who the Devil made the Law.
As Seamen in a Storm will curse and swear,
And likewise in a Calm for want of Air;
So does this sordid Creature mouth and fret,
The Season happ'ning over Dry, or Wet:
At want of Rain repines; if much does fall,
He thinks it, Deluge-like, will cover all:
Almost believing HE but told a Tale
That says, an Annual Harvest ne'er shall fail.
Yet tho' he does in Health and Plenty live,
Enjoying all a Peaceful Fate can give;
Tho' he does Providence's Care behold,
Th'Increase oft doubl'd on him Fifty-fold;
When such a Harvest comes and crowds his Store,
And calls aloud—be pitious of the Poor ;
Let some small Portion to the Needy fall
A Little, for his Sake that gave you All:
Ev'n then, tho' brib'd his Rigor to abate
He Sells at an Unconscionable Rate;
And Stingier growing for a Bounte'ous Year,
Keeps up his Stock to make the Plenty dear.
So close his Griping Temper to him cleaves,
Gleaning himself, the Gleaners he deceives,
And bans 'em if they look but on the Sheaves.
'Tis Strange they shou'd receive so bad a ply,
And have the God-head always in their Eye;
In ev'ry Change of Season he is shown:—
Mean while they with the former Crew must own,
They live as if they did believe in None.
The Great, as well as Learn'd of Humankind,
To their own Lusts these Liberties allow;)
Happy, you'll say, the Country Swains that Plough!
The implicit Bumkins that in Gross believe,
Whom arguing don't Corrupt or Doubt deceive.
Astræa there, with Innocence adorn'd
Does dwell, whose Absence is in Cities mourn'd.
But tho' on Rural Shades so much you Doat,
Live but among 'em and you'll change your Note;
Nor barely fall of Expectation short,
But meet ev'n equal Innocence at Court.
Fool in Appearance, but in Dealing try
His Wit, you'll find him Wary, Crafty, Sly,
A thorow Knave, all Shift, and Cheat and Lye.
Tho' six Days are allow'd him and his Beast
To Work, he blends the Sabbath with the rest.
359
So Covetous of Time he thinks it lost in Pray'r.
As to no Men there longer Life is giv'n,
So none spare less in the Pursuit of Heav'n:
Stock still they stand, tho' they have Pow'r to go,
Nor will pursue one useful thing they know:
A Resty, Sullen, Brutal, Downward Race,
And all for Gain;—the Antipodes to Grace.
Tythe is a Plague he never can digest,
A Duty that's the Bane of all the rest.
When the Tenth Cock is took by the Divine,
(Ungrateful for the Benefit of Nine!)
Tho' they their Right from GOD's Appointment draw,
He wonders who the Devil made the Law.
As Seamen in a Storm will curse and swear,
And likewise in a Calm for want of Air;
So does this sordid Creature mouth and fret,
The Season happ'ning over Dry, or Wet:
At want of Rain repines; if much does fall,
He thinks it, Deluge-like, will cover all:
Almost believing HE but told a Tale
That says, an Annual Harvest ne'er shall fail.
Yet tho' he does in Health and Plenty live,
Enjoying all a Peaceful Fate can give;
Tho' he does Providence's Care behold,
Th'Increase oft doubl'd on him Fifty-fold;
When such a Harvest comes and crowds his Store,
And calls aloud—be pitious of the Poor ;
Let some small Portion to the Needy fall
A Little, for his Sake that gave you All:
Ev'n then, tho' brib'd his Rigor to abate
He Sells at an Unconscionable Rate;
And Stingier growing for a Bounte'ous Year,
Keeps up his Stock to make the Plenty dear.
360
Gleaning himself, the Gleaners he deceives,
And bans 'em if they look but on the Sheaves.
'Tis Strange they shou'd receive so bad a ply,
And have the God-head always in their Eye;
In ev'ry Change of Season he is shown:—
Mean while they with the former Crew must own,
They live as if they did believe in None.
In short the Man that to himself propounds
The thinking how the World with Vice abounds;
How many Brutal Tempers He will see
That have no Tincture of Humanity:
How at their Betters constantly they rail,
And in their close Revenges never fail;
But load the Stranger, Poor and Innocent,
With all the Envenom'd Terms they can invent,
Minding no more the Blackning of a Name,
Than Carted Bawds, or Female Players, shame.
How ev'ry Great Man's Family (where Wealth
Wine and high Feeding keep 'em rank in Health)
Is an Establish'd Stews within it self.
How Parents Impiously Correction spare,
And in their Children's Hearing Curse and Swear;
Bad always, but unpardonable there:
And this ev'n from the Slave of low Degree,
A General Evil up to Quality.
How either Sex divert the Natu'ral Use
A Thousand Vari'ous ways into Abuse;
That ev'n in this Cold Clime old Sodom seems
Reviv'd anew, and calls for hotter Flames.
Add to all this the Envious and the Vain,
Th'Ungratefull, Perjur'd, Treach'rous, and Profane
The Publick Frauds, and Private Breach of Trust,
Detraction, Murder, Robbery, Pride and Lust,
With all th'Injustice to the Bar we draw,
T'employ the Devilish Cormorants of Law.
Did he but seriously on this Reflect,
What cou'd he say? but that we all Reject
Goodness alike, and tho' a GOD we own,
We live as if there really were None.
The thinking how the World with Vice abounds;
How many Brutal Tempers He will see
That have no Tincture of Humanity:
How at their Betters constantly they rail,
And in their close Revenges never fail;
But load the Stranger, Poor and Innocent,
With all the Envenom'd Terms they can invent,
Minding no more the Blackning of a Name,
Than Carted Bawds, or Female Players, shame.
How ev'ry Great Man's Family (where Wealth
Wine and high Feeding keep 'em rank in Health)
Is an Establish'd Stews within it self.
How Parents Impiously Correction spare,
And in their Children's Hearing Curse and Swear;
Bad always, but unpardonable there:
And this ev'n from the Slave of low Degree,
A General Evil up to Quality.
How either Sex divert the Natu'ral Use
A Thousand Vari'ous ways into Abuse;
That ev'n in this Cold Clime old Sodom seems
Reviv'd anew, and calls for hotter Flames.
Add to all this the Envious and the Vain,
Th'Ungratefull, Perjur'd, Treach'rous, and Profane
The Publick Frauds, and Private Breach of Trust,
Detraction, Murder, Robbery, Pride and Lust,
361
T'employ the Devilish Cormorants of Law.
Did he but seriously on this Reflect,
What cou'd he say? but that we all Reject
Goodness alike, and tho' a GOD we own,
We live as if there really were None.
A Thousand other Crimes the Lash deserve;
But for the Present this rude Sketch must serve:
No further on the fainting Fury calls;
My hand grows weary, and the Pencil falls—
But while the Fau'ts of others I've Pourtray'd,
And in their Native Colours Publick made,
Too Partial to my own I've cast 'em in a Shade.
But for the Present this rude Sketch must serve:
No further on the fainting Fury calls;
My hand grows weary, and the Pencil falls—
But while the Fau'ts of others I've Pourtray'd,
And in their Native Colours Publick made,
Too Partial to my own I've cast 'em in a Shade.
Yes, Gracious GOD! who dost all Secrets view,
I censure others, and am Guilty too;
Both foolishly and wittingly offend,
And still run on, as Life wou'd never end.
But Arm, O Arm me with thy Heav'nly Grace,
And such a Faith as Fortune can't efface.
Tho' Vice is Prosp'rous, and the Vertuous, here,
Seem of thy Gifts to have the Slende'rer share;
In Worldly Trouble, and Corpor'eal Pain,
Poor and despis'd, they all their Lives remain,
While Wealth and Pleasure wait on the Prophane;
Let me not doubt (tho' hid from Human Sight)
But that a Time will come to do 'em Right:
When Piety and Patience You'll repay
With Glorious Crowns, and everlasting Day;
And all thy Faithful, wrongfully Distrest,
Advance into the Bosom of thy Rest.
The Sceptick laughs, I grant, and does display
His Wit, to hear me set so long a Day.
Well, if it never come, the Answer's short;
He'll not be there to make our Loss his Sport:
But if it shou'd—He'll sadly be deceiv'd,
And mourn in Hell the Heav'n he disbeliev'd.
Ev'n tho' our Hope were vain, w'ave nought to fear
Let then the Vertuous fix their Anchor there;
And, Villany, take thou thy Portion here.
I censure others, and am Guilty too;
Both foolishly and wittingly offend,
And still run on, as Life wou'd never end.
But Arm, O Arm me with thy Heav'nly Grace,
And such a Faith as Fortune can't efface.
Tho' Vice is Prosp'rous, and the Vertuous, here,
Seem of thy Gifts to have the Slende'rer share;
In Worldly Trouble, and Corpor'eal Pain,
Poor and despis'd, they all their Lives remain,
While Wealth and Pleasure wait on the Prophane;
Let me not doubt (tho' hid from Human Sight)
But that a Time will come to do 'em Right:
When Piety and Patience You'll repay
With Glorious Crowns, and everlasting Day;
And all thy Faithful, wrongfully Distrest,
Advance into the Bosom of thy Rest.
The Sceptick laughs, I grant, and does display
His Wit, to hear me set so long a Day.
Well, if it never come, the Answer's short;
He'll not be there to make our Loss his Sport:
362
And mourn in Hell the Heav'n he disbeliev'd.
Ev'n tho' our Hope were vain, w'ave nought to fear
Let then the Vertuous fix their Anchor there;
And, Villany, take thou thy Portion here.
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |