A Congratulatory Poem To the Reverend Dr. John Tillotson upon his Promotion to the Arch-Episcopal-See of Canterbury. By Mr. Tutchin |
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 | A Congratulatory Poem To the Reverend Dr. John Tillotson |  |
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A CONGRATULATORY POEM To the REVEREND Dr. John Tillotson,
UPON HIS PROMOTION TO THE ARCH-EPISCOPAL-SEE OF CANTERBURY.
3
Whilst Priestly Pens the Glorious Theam decline,
And at their Loss, or at your Fate repine;
And College-Wits no Tuneful Notes express,
Are drunk in Faction, or unskill'd in Verse;
I, who the Levite seldome did adore,
And scarce e're knew a Priest I lov'd before,
Do to your Fame a juster Tribute bring,
At once the Prelate and his Virtues sing.
And at their Loss, or at your Fate repine;
And College-Wits no Tuneful Notes express,
Are drunk in Faction, or unskill'd in Verse;
I, who the Levite seldome did adore,
And scarce e're knew a Priest I lov'd before,
Do to your Fame a juster Tribute bring,
At once the Prelate and his Virtues sing.
'Twas but of late my Warbling Lute I strung,
And Mighty Orange in just Numbers sung;
Did with the wondring World in Notes rejoyce,
And Prais'd our Makers and the Peoples Choice;
Now the dear sweets of fresher Joys commence,
And for the Prelate we must bless the Prince.
Methinks the Virtue of our Land appears
After the Luxury of Thirty Years,
When close Opinions set the Prelate forth,
And 'twas his Faction rais'd him, not his worth.
A juster Path our Righteous Prince did tread,
Destin'd the Mitre for a Nobler Head:
He shall Unvanquish'd on the Plain Command,
When such a Bishop does support his Hand:
Home from the Wars shall lasting Trophies bear,
For Heav'n will grant a Righteous Prelate's Pray'r.
On you, Great Sir, our Pious Hopes depend,
Your Learning must our Rational Faith defend;
We fear no Fate, resolv'd to overcome,
Beneath your Banner, who have Conquer'd Rome.
Whilst Mighty William draws his Shining Sword,
To Fight God's Battels, you Maintain his Word;
He Skill'd in War, with Manly Prowess Arm'd,
Has each Good Man and every Nation Charm'd;
Your Skill in Argument is not unknown,
Nor the great Feats your Artful Pen has done;
Although Religion seem'd to bid adieu,
It's Resurrection we expect from you.
Religion first with dazling Rays did Shine,
Her Shape was Comely, and her Face Divine,
Her Native Beauty each Admirer warm'd,
E're Stains of Error had her Meen deform'd,
And Clouds of Ignorance, that Truth o'respread,
Hover'd in Gloomy Circles round her Head.
You are the Sun that must dispel these Mists,
Revive Religion, and Reform our Priests;
Curb all our Vices, and Impede their Growth,
So long Debauch'd in Luxury and Sloth.
You are the Moses must our Factions quell,
And stop the Murmuring of our Israel.
At your Advancement Pious Souls Rejoice,
No more the Monarchs than the Peoples Choice.
Before the King's Decree was fully known,
Methought each Look Declar'd for Tillotson:
But when 'twas known, each Man his Joy Exprest,
And Thank'd the Monarch for so good a Priest.
Each distant place receiv'd the joyful sound,
Where the glad News a Hearty Welcome found.
Tho' diff'rent Sects too much infest our Land,
And with hot Zeal for either Party stand;
Tho' the Devotes too Mad and Rigid are,
There ne're appear'd a Rash Dissenter here.
The Prelate all approve, the Man Caress,
And for his Choice their Rightful Monarch Bless.
And Mighty Orange in just Numbers sung;
Did with the wondring World in Notes rejoyce,
And Prais'd our Makers and the Peoples Choice;
Now the dear sweets of fresher Joys commence,
And for the Prelate we must bless the Prince.
Methinks the Virtue of our Land appears
After the Luxury of Thirty Years,
When close Opinions set the Prelate forth,
And 'twas his Faction rais'd him, not his worth.
A juster Path our Righteous Prince did tread,
Destin'd the Mitre for a Nobler Head:
He shall Unvanquish'd on the Plain Command,
When such a Bishop does support his Hand:
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For Heav'n will grant a Righteous Prelate's Pray'r.
On you, Great Sir, our Pious Hopes depend,
Your Learning must our Rational Faith defend;
We fear no Fate, resolv'd to overcome,
Beneath your Banner, who have Conquer'd Rome.
Whilst Mighty William draws his Shining Sword,
To Fight God's Battels, you Maintain his Word;
He Skill'd in War, with Manly Prowess Arm'd,
Has each Good Man and every Nation Charm'd;
Your Skill in Argument is not unknown,
Nor the great Feats your Artful Pen has done;
Although Religion seem'd to bid adieu,
It's Resurrection we expect from you.
Religion first with dazling Rays did Shine,
Her Shape was Comely, and her Face Divine,
Her Native Beauty each Admirer warm'd,
E're Stains of Error had her Meen deform'd,
And Clouds of Ignorance, that Truth o'respread,
Hover'd in Gloomy Circles round her Head.
You are the Sun that must dispel these Mists,
Revive Religion, and Reform our Priests;
Curb all our Vices, and Impede their Growth,
So long Debauch'd in Luxury and Sloth.
You are the Moses must our Factions quell,
And stop the Murmuring of our Israel.
At your Advancement Pious Souls Rejoice,
No more the Monarchs than the Peoples Choice.
Before the King's Decree was fully known,
Methought each Look Declar'd for Tillotson:
But when 'twas known, each Man his Joy Exprest,
And Thank'd the Monarch for so good a Priest.
Each distant place receiv'd the joyful sound,
Where the glad News a Hearty Welcome found.
5
And with hot Zeal for either Party stand;
Tho' the Devotes too Mad and Rigid are,
There ne're appear'd a Rash Dissenter here.
The Prelate all approve, the Man Caress,
And for his Choice their Rightful Monarch Bless.
Let Envious Priests your Glories strive to blast,
Fixt as some Rock your Memory shall last.
No stubborn Levite shall molest your Fame,
But yours shall grow, as Mighty William's Name.
The Stubborn Levites are our Land's disgrace,
A Haughty, Proud, and a Contentious Race;
Byass'd in Judgment, Turbulent in Mind,
No King can Please, nor Acts of Grace can Bind;
Promote our Wars with vast Expence of Blood,
Prefer their Humour to their Countries Good;
If these Reproach, the Venom of their Gall
Beneath the weight of your Contempt must fall.
All the Reproaches of the Wicked must
Tend to the Praises of the Good and Just.
Who knows the Vice to Envy does belong,
Wou'd loathe the Slanders of a Railing Tongue:
The Glory of your Virtue shines more bright,
And scorns the Darkness of approaching Night:
'Tis not the Tainted Breath of Envious Fame,
Can Blast the Beauties of your Spotless Name;
You need not value what the Gloomy say,
The Clouds may Darken, not Obstruct the day.
The Lofty Pine, with Head Erect, does grow,
Nor heeds the Motion of the Shrubs below.
On in its course the constant Moon still jogs,
Disdains the Barking Neighbourhood of Dogs.
When Virtue is oppos'd by Vicious Might,
It shews its force, and shines with double Light.
Virtue, like Camomile oppress'd, still lives,
The more 'tis trampled on, the better Scent it gives.
What though you're Hated and Contemn'd by Few,
The Many to your Cause and Faith are true;
In vain the Bad their weak disgust exprest,
Since you are Lov'd, Supported by the Best.
Scarce had our Royal Pair a greater Train,
To give the Scepter of a Gentle Reign,
Than that the Prelate has so lately grac'd,
Who gave the Crosier and the Miter plac'd;
The Noble Throng led the Imperial Way,
Scarce could Mariu's Charms Command their Stay;
To see the Rites perform'd they all Resort,
Less'ning the Numbers of the Crowded Court.
Fixt as some Rock your Memory shall last.
No stubborn Levite shall molest your Fame,
But yours shall grow, as Mighty William's Name.
The Stubborn Levites are our Land's disgrace,
A Haughty, Proud, and a Contentious Race;
Byass'd in Judgment, Turbulent in Mind,
No King can Please, nor Acts of Grace can Bind;
Promote our Wars with vast Expence of Blood,
Prefer their Humour to their Countries Good;
If these Reproach, the Venom of their Gall
Beneath the weight of your Contempt must fall.
All the Reproaches of the Wicked must
Tend to the Praises of the Good and Just.
Who knows the Vice to Envy does belong,
Wou'd loathe the Slanders of a Railing Tongue:
The Glory of your Virtue shines more bright,
And scorns the Darkness of approaching Night:
'Tis not the Tainted Breath of Envious Fame,
Can Blast the Beauties of your Spotless Name;
You need not value what the Gloomy say,
The Clouds may Darken, not Obstruct the day.
The Lofty Pine, with Head Erect, does grow,
Nor heeds the Motion of the Shrubs below.
On in its course the constant Moon still jogs,
Disdains the Barking Neighbourhood of Dogs.
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It shews its force, and shines with double Light.
Virtue, like Camomile oppress'd, still lives,
The more 'tis trampled on, the better Scent it gives.
What though you're Hated and Contemn'd by Few,
The Many to your Cause and Faith are true;
In vain the Bad their weak disgust exprest,
Since you are Lov'd, Supported by the Best.
Scarce had our Royal Pair a greater Train,
To give the Scepter of a Gentle Reign,
Than that the Prelate has so lately grac'd,
Who gave the Crosier and the Miter plac'd;
The Noble Throng led the Imperial Way,
Scarce could Mariu's Charms Command their Stay;
To see the Rites perform'd they all Resort,
Less'ning the Numbers of the Crowded Court.
From ev'ry part the glad Admirers throng,
And Bless the Prelate as they pass along.
Thus once the Ransom'd People fill'd the Strand,
O'respread the Beach, to see Great ORANGE Land;
He brought Ten Thousand Blessings to the Shoar,
Great as the Miseries we felt before,
Remov'd our Scourges, and Destroy'd our Rods,
And Triumph'd o're our Wooden Priests and Gods.
The joyful People soon his Praises sing,
With one united Shout Proclaim him King.
Scarce did they more Rejoyce to see the Crown
Plac'd on a Head was Chosen by their own,
Than now they Triumph when the Miter's given,
To one approv'd by People, Prince, and Heav'n.
But now, my Lord! the Mighty Work is done,
And Heav'n with Blessings does the Action Crown;
The joyful News fills every distant Plain,
And glads the Heart of every Humble Swain.
We from your Learning do expect the Truth,
To help the Aged, and Instruct the Youth;
And hope your good Example will afford,
The same Success as Mighty WILLIAM's Sword:
Conquer the Lusts and Vices of the Age,
Asswage their Fury, and appease their Rage:
To stop a Torrent, when the Waves combine,
Requires a Courage and a Heat Divine:
To dare their Force, and with address withstand
The Impious Fury of a Sinful Land:
Such Mighty Actions never can be done,
But by the Hands of such as Tillotson;
'Tis not an easie step to mount a Throne,
And pull an old Imperious Tyrant down.
Sin, like a Tyrant, with its Scepter Reigns,
And all the Pious Strength of Man disdains;
A num'rous Train does to its Courts belong,
Its Slaves are Valiant and its Vot'ries strong:
Just like a Rightful Monarch it appears,
And pleads Succession of some Hundred Years;
Does for all Lewdness and each Vice declare,
And against Grace Proclaims an open War:
All its strong holds with Art does fortifie,
And forms a Train of its Artillery:
Of Lust, Ambition, and Insatiate Pride,
Of Malice and Ten Thousand Ills beside;
Longing for Death, and Thirsting after Blood,
And the destruction of each thing that's Good.
This is the Enemy, my Lord, you must
Destroy, and lay its Honour in the Dust;
Retrieve the Praise of Thread-bare Virtue's Fame,
And give't a Glorious and Immortal Name.
'Tis true, the Business and the Work is hard,
But great's your Help, and great is your Reward.
The Mighty WILLIAM did the Scepter Sway,
When Men were Stubborn, and refus'd t'Obey;
A Moody People in a Nation Rul'd,
Had been with Folly and with Lewdness gull'd,
So Good, so Mild, so Gentle was his Sway,
The major part soon learned to Obey.
Nor is the Hierarchy, where you Command,
Much less Infested with the Sins o'th' Land;
Despotick Sway of late o'recame the Law,
And we the Ruins of our Freedoms saw:
Then Grave Divinity became a Cheat,
And fell and dwindled to I know not what:
Some for Preferment had their Faith forgot,
And gave their Hand to carry on the Plot;
Some Braves indeed (and these were not a few)
Kept to their Doctrines and their Country true,
Oppos'd our Foes, and our Restorer serv'd,
And never yet have from his Interest swerv'd.
The Glory of our Faith you must retrieve,
And a new Life must to Religion give,
And make our Clergy good Examples live.
Thus by your Sway we hope for better times,
Men shall hate Vice, and shall abandon Crimes;
The Shame of Sinning shall its use unlearn,
And Men by Virtue shall their Worth discern,
The Priests no longer shall be steep'd in Sloth,
And 't shall be Scandal to refuse the Oath;
Nor shall Opinion one another blame,
The Wolf shall slumber with the tender Lamb;
Our Tuneful Bards exalted Notes shall raise,
And Sing the Monarch's, and the Bishop's Praise.
And Bless the Prelate as they pass along.
Thus once the Ransom'd People fill'd the Strand,
O'respread the Beach, to see Great ORANGE Land;
He brought Ten Thousand Blessings to the Shoar,
Great as the Miseries we felt before,
Remov'd our Scourges, and Destroy'd our Rods,
And Triumph'd o're our Wooden Priests and Gods.
The joyful People soon his Praises sing,
With one united Shout Proclaim him King.
Scarce did they more Rejoyce to see the Crown
Plac'd on a Head was Chosen by their own,
Than now they Triumph when the Miter's given,
To one approv'd by People, Prince, and Heav'n.
But now, my Lord! the Mighty Work is done,
And Heav'n with Blessings does the Action Crown;
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And glads the Heart of every Humble Swain.
We from your Learning do expect the Truth,
To help the Aged, and Instruct the Youth;
And hope your good Example will afford,
The same Success as Mighty WILLIAM's Sword:
Conquer the Lusts and Vices of the Age,
Asswage their Fury, and appease their Rage:
To stop a Torrent, when the Waves combine,
Requires a Courage and a Heat Divine:
To dare their Force, and with address withstand
The Impious Fury of a Sinful Land:
Such Mighty Actions never can be done,
But by the Hands of such as Tillotson;
'Tis not an easie step to mount a Throne,
And pull an old Imperious Tyrant down.
Sin, like a Tyrant, with its Scepter Reigns,
And all the Pious Strength of Man disdains;
A num'rous Train does to its Courts belong,
Its Slaves are Valiant and its Vot'ries strong:
Just like a Rightful Monarch it appears,
And pleads Succession of some Hundred Years;
Does for all Lewdness and each Vice declare,
And against Grace Proclaims an open War:
All its strong holds with Art does fortifie,
And forms a Train of its Artillery:
Of Lust, Ambition, and Insatiate Pride,
Of Malice and Ten Thousand Ills beside;
Longing for Death, and Thirsting after Blood,
And the destruction of each thing that's Good.
This is the Enemy, my Lord, you must
Destroy, and lay its Honour in the Dust;
Retrieve the Praise of Thread-bare Virtue's Fame,
And give't a Glorious and Immortal Name.
8
But great's your Help, and great is your Reward.
The Mighty WILLIAM did the Scepter Sway,
When Men were Stubborn, and refus'd t'Obey;
A Moody People in a Nation Rul'd,
Had been with Folly and with Lewdness gull'd,
So Good, so Mild, so Gentle was his Sway,
The major part soon learned to Obey.
Nor is the Hierarchy, where you Command,
Much less Infested with the Sins o'th' Land;
Despotick Sway of late o'recame the Law,
And we the Ruins of our Freedoms saw:
Then Grave Divinity became a Cheat,
And fell and dwindled to I know not what:
Some for Preferment had their Faith forgot,
And gave their Hand to carry on the Plot;
Some Braves indeed (and these were not a few)
Kept to their Doctrines and their Country true,
Oppos'd our Foes, and our Restorer serv'd,
And never yet have from his Interest swerv'd.
The Glory of our Faith you must retrieve,
And a new Life must to Religion give,
And make our Clergy good Examples live.
Thus by your Sway we hope for better times,
Men shall hate Vice, and shall abandon Crimes;
The Shame of Sinning shall its use unlearn,
And Men by Virtue shall their Worth discern,
The Priests no longer shall be steep'd in Sloth,
And 't shall be Scandal to refuse the Oath;
Nor shall Opinion one another blame,
The Wolf shall slumber with the tender Lamb;
Our Tuneful Bards exalted Notes shall raise,
And Sing the Monarch's, and the Bishop's Praise.
FINIS.
| A Congratulatory Poem To the Reverend Dr. John Tillotson | |