 | A collection of historical and state poems |  |
St. PAUL's Church;
OR, THE Protestant Ambulators.
A Burlesque POEM.
Since all Religion's made a publick Jest,
And he that least regards her fares the best;
The Poet, sure, may venture to correct
Those Ills that prosper by our Guides Neglect.
And he that least regards her fares the best;
The Poet, sure, may venture to correct
Those Ills that prosper by our Guides Neglect.
3
Amidst a City much decay'd,
For want of Wisdom, Truth, and Trade,
Where all Religions, but the right,
Like Discord, thrive 'twixt Zeal and Spight;
There stands a sacred Pile of Stone,
So artful, 'tis excell'd by none;
A lasting Monument of Fame
To th'golden Knight, who rear'd the same,
And crown'd the Work, without the Aid
Of foreign Hand, or foreign Head:
Nor can the Seven Hills of Rome
Boast such a Church, with such a Dome,
Where Strength and Beauty nobly join,
And in promiscuous Order shine;
Like awful Mars, when he's gallanting
Fair Venus, in a Piece of Painting,
Whose interwoven Legs and Arms
Display his Strength, her lucid Charms,
And thus at once compleatly render
A Mixture of the Bold and Tender;
So in each Pillar do we see
Such lasting beauteous Symmetry,
As if both Art and Nature join'd
Their Forces to amuse Mankind.
For want of Wisdom, Truth, and Trade,
Where all Religions, but the right,
Like Discord, thrive 'twixt Zeal and Spight;
There stands a sacred Pile of Stone,
So artful, 'tis excell'd by none;
A lasting Monument of Fame
To th'golden Knight, who rear'd the same,
And crown'd the Work, without the Aid
Of foreign Hand, or foreign Head:
Nor can the Seven Hills of Rome
Boast such a Church, with such a Dome,
Where Strength and Beauty nobly join,
And in promiscuous Order shine;
Like awful Mars, when he's gallanting
Fair Venus, in a Piece of Painting,
Whose interwoven Legs and Arms
Display his Strength, her lucid Charms,
And thus at once compleatly render
A Mixture of the Bold and Tender;
So in each Pillar do we see
Such lasting beauteous Symmetry,
4
Their Forces to amuse Mankind.
But tho' this venerable Pile,
The Glory of the British Isle,
Inspires us with a Christian Sense
Of Duty to Omnipotence,
And elevates the Soul on Wings
Of Zeal above all earthly Things;
Yet has it heretofore been made
A Stable for each Roundhead's Jade,
In pious Times, when Cromwell's Forces
Had less Religion than their Horses,
And ev'ry Saint, by dint of Pride,
Was more a Christian than his Guide;
For when they'd founded all Dominion
In Grace, and Grace in false Opinion,
No wonder that each holy Brother
Should seem more righteous than another,
Since he that could dissemble most,
Had Title to the highest Post,
And none were thought t'abound in Grace,
But he who dawb'd it o'er his Face.
The Glory of the British Isle,
Inspires us with a Christian Sense
Of Duty to Omnipotence,
And elevates the Soul on Wings
Of Zeal above all earthly Things;
Yet has it heretofore been made
A Stable for each Roundhead's Jade,
In pious Times, when Cromwell's Forces
Had less Religion than their Horses,
And ev'ry Saint, by dint of Pride,
Was more a Christian than his Guide;
For when they'd founded all Dominion
In Grace, and Grace in false Opinion,
No wonder that each holy Brother
Should seem more righteous than another,
Since he that could dissemble most,
Had Title to the highest Post,
And none were thought t'abound in Grace,
But he who dawb'd it o'er his Face.
Yet in that over-godly Season,
When Truth was more a Crime than Treason,
To Church they forc'd their Steeds to come,
Altho' their Riders staid at home;
That Brutes might lay their Tails all o'er
The Place where Kings had knelt before,
On purpose that the World might see
Their Spight to Church and Monarchy:
The best of all their Arguments,
To prove the Commonwealth were Saints,
And that they had reform'd like mad,
From all that's Good to all that's Bad;
Till most were glad to wish and hope
For what they hated worse than Pope
Or Dev'l; which was to ease the Nation,
By that sad Bugbear Restoration:
So the poor Spaniards, when, in Fear,
They saw their own Destruction near,
They timely chose a Sov'reign Lord
From France, a Nation they abhorr'd.
But Envy must aside be laid,
When Common-Safety calls for Aid.
When Truth was more a Crime than Treason,
To Church they forc'd their Steeds to come,
Altho' their Riders staid at home;
That Brutes might lay their Tails all o'er
The Place where Kings had knelt before,
On purpose that the World might see
Their Spight to Church and Monarchy:
The best of all their Arguments,
To prove the Commonwealth were Saints,
And that they had reform'd like mad,
From all that's Good to all that's Bad;
5
For what they hated worse than Pope
Or Dev'l; which was to ease the Nation,
By that sad Bugbear Restoration:
So the poor Spaniards, when, in Fear,
They saw their own Destruction near,
They timely chose a Sov'reign Lord
From France, a Nation they abhorr'd.
But Envy must aside be laid,
When Common-Safety calls for Aid.
Tho' good Saint Roundhead, as before
We mention'd, had engross'd the Pow'r,
And Cromwells Troops defil'd Saint Paul's,
And dung'd within her sacred Walls;
As soon as CHARLES assum'd his Right,
And Grace bid Government Good-night,
Avenging Heav'n, to shew its Ire,
Repurify'd that Church by Fire,
And made her change the sully'd Form
She wore in that domestick Storm;
When all good Works, and all good Men,
Alike were treated with Disdain:
The Church oppress'd, the King destroy'd,
Their Friends sequester'd, Truth bely'd,
And e'ery Villain sanctify'd.
We mention'd, had engross'd the Pow'r,
And Cromwells Troops defil'd Saint Paul's,
And dung'd within her sacred Walls;
As soon as CHARLES assum'd his Right,
And Grace bid Government Good-night,
Avenging Heav'n, to shew its Ire,
Repurify'd that Church by Fire,
And made her change the sully'd Form
She wore in that domestick Storm;
When all good Works, and all good Men,
Alike were treated with Disdain:
The Church oppress'd, the King destroy'd,
Their Friends sequester'd, Truth bely'd,
And e'ery Villain sanctify'd.
But now the holy Ground sustains
A Pile more worthy humane Pains
Than that which was before despoil'd
By Rebels, and by Brutes defil'd;
Yet tho' no Horses stable there,
No stubborn Jade, God save the M---,
A numerous Throng frequent the Place,
Unworthy of God's House or Grace;
Besides those Wolves that lolling wait
Six Days in seven at Compter-Gate,
Then proudly take their Sunday's Post,
Not to attend the Lord of Host,
But such a pious Lord that comes
To Church surrounded by his Bums,
That he and they, with Mace and Sword,
May fright the Preacher of God's Word
From old unfashionable High-
Church Doctrine that may squint awry
At Matters which the World think much on,
Yet dang'rous for a Priest to touch on.
A Pile more worthy humane Pains
Than that which was before despoil'd
By Rebels, and by Brutes defil'd;
Yet tho' no Horses stable there,
No stubborn Jade, God save the M---,
A numerous Throng frequent the Place,
Unworthy of God's House or Grace;
Besides those Wolves that lolling wait
Six Days in seven at Compter-Gate,
6
Not to attend the Lord of Host,
But such a pious Lord that comes
To Church surrounded by his Bums,
That he and they, with Mace and Sword,
May fright the Preacher of God's Word
From old unfashionable High-
Church Doctrine that may squint awry
At Matters which the World think much on,
Yet dang'rous for a Priest to touch on.
The first of all the mottley Train,
That crowd Saint Paul's without a Grain
Of true Religion, or Devotion,
But walk to keep their Heels in Motion,
Are Whetters, such as meet and join
To serve no God but that of Wine,
And seldom entertain the Hopes
Of any Heav'n beyond their Cups;
Therefore they only rendezvou'
At Church, as Rakes and Atheists do,
There to consult whose Mountain White
Is best to raise an Appetite,
Or what near Tavern does excell
In Sherry, Port, or Calcavel:
Thither they post without Delay,
Much more inclin'd to drink than pray,
Quitting Saint Paul's for Tavern Kitchen,
Without regard to Pray'rs or Preaching:
So careless Patriots, at a Time
Of need, forsake the Sanhedrim,
And their poor Country's Good neglect,
To follow what they more affect.
That crowd Saint Paul's without a Grain
Of true Religion, or Devotion,
But walk to keep their Heels in Motion,
Are Whetters, such as meet and join
To serve no God but that of Wine,
And seldom entertain the Hopes
Of any Heav'n beyond their Cups;
Therefore they only rendezvou'
At Church, as Rakes and Atheists do,
There to consult whose Mountain White
Is best to raise an Appetite,
Or what near Tavern does excell
In Sherry, Port, or Calcavel:
Thither they post without Delay,
Much more inclin'd to drink than pray,
Quitting Saint Paul's for Tavern Kitchen,
Without regard to Pray'rs or Preaching:
So careless Patriots, at a Time
Of need, forsake the Sanhedrim,
And their poor Country's Good neglect,
To follow what they more affect.
Next these, a hungry Tribe appears,
Call'd Brewesites or Dumplineers,
Devouring Cormorants that swallow
Large Breakfasts to increase their Tallow,
The Plague of Tavern-Cooks, call'd Maids,
As well as those that keep the Jades:
Rare Belly-Guests, who eat a Pound
Of Dumplin, e'er the Glass goes round,
Else rob the Cook-Wench of her Fees,
By knuckling deep in Bread and Grease,
Call'd Brewess, such as often eat
At Wapping, and on board the Fleet;
Where a boil'd Bisket, piping-hot,
Oil'd o'er with greasy Scum of Pot,
Is more esteem'd by Neptune's Rabble,
Than Custard at my Lord-Mayor's Table:
Yet these, altho' they only meet
At Church to walk and then to eat,
Conceit themselves, among the rest,
As steddy Churchmen as the best,
Will say as much as Flesh and Blood
Can say, if that would do her Good;
But if a Dumplin would preserve her,
Themselves would eat it, tho' 'twould starve her:
For their Religion neither lies
In Faith, Grace, Pray'r, or Sacrifice;
But, Hottentot-like, in exceeding
All others in uncleanly feeding.
How can such Mortals have a Notion
Of True Religion or Devotion?
Who, Glutton-like, neglect the Latter
For sodden Lumps of Flow'r and Water,
Contriv'd by th'Vintner and the Devil,
To draw Mankind from Good to Evil,
And tempt unthinking Sots and Fools
To feast their Guts before their Souls.
Call'd Brewesites or Dumplineers,
7
Large Breakfasts to increase their Tallow,
The Plague of Tavern-Cooks, call'd Maids,
As well as those that keep the Jades:
Rare Belly-Guests, who eat a Pound
Of Dumplin, e'er the Glass goes round,
Else rob the Cook-Wench of her Fees,
By knuckling deep in Bread and Grease,
Call'd Brewess, such as often eat
At Wapping, and on board the Fleet;
Where a boil'd Bisket, piping-hot,
Oil'd o'er with greasy Scum of Pot,
Is more esteem'd by Neptune's Rabble,
Than Custard at my Lord-Mayor's Table:
Yet these, altho' they only meet
At Church to walk and then to eat,
Conceit themselves, among the rest,
As steddy Churchmen as the best,
Will say as much as Flesh and Blood
Can say, if that would do her Good;
But if a Dumplin would preserve her,
Themselves would eat it, tho' 'twould starve her:
For their Religion neither lies
In Faith, Grace, Pray'r, or Sacrifice;
But, Hottentot-like, in exceeding
All others in uncleanly feeding.
How can such Mortals have a Notion
Of True Religion or Devotion?
Who, Glutton-like, neglect the Latter
For sodden Lumps of Flow'r and Water,
Contriv'd by th'Vintner and the Devil,
To draw Mankind from Good to Evil,
And tempt unthinking Sots and Fools
To feast their Guts before their Souls.
8
Whilst they, who love more Grease than Meal,
From Mother-Church to Tavern steal,
Where e'ery Sunday they are fed
With Kitchen-stuff and Scraps of Bread,
Old mouldy Crusts in Cupboard found,
Despis'd by all the Drawers round,
Long piss'd upon by Mouse and Rat,
In Porrage boil'd, and drown'd in Fat,
Thus artfully prepar'd to feast
Their Sunday Morning's hungry Guest,
Who with their greasy Brewess Sops
So stuff their Guts, and smear their Chops,
That they appear, at present View,
Like Dutchmen lapping up Burgoo,
Whose sandy, piss-burnt Whiskers wear
An Oatmeal Pearl on e'ery Hair,
And look, to th'Scandal of each Glutton,
Like dag-lock'd Arse of living Mutton.
From Mother-Church to Tavern steal,
Where e'ery Sunday they are fed
With Kitchen-stuff and Scraps of Bread,
Old mouldy Crusts in Cupboard found,
Despis'd by all the Drawers round,
Long piss'd upon by Mouse and Rat,
In Porrage boil'd, and drown'd in Fat,
Thus artfully prepar'd to feast
Their Sunday Morning's hungry Guest,
Who with their greasy Brewess Sops
So stuff their Guts, and smear their Chops,
That they appear, at present View,
Like Dutchmen lapping up Burgoo,
Whose sandy, piss-burnt Whiskers wear
An Oatmeal Pearl on e'ery Hair,
And look, to th'Scandal of each Glutton,
Like dag-lock'd Arse of living Mutton.
Among the rest whose Feet defile
The Pavement of the Sacred Pile,
Apollo's jingling Train appears,
Not to serve God, but please their Ears,
Poets, Musicians, Pipers, Fidlers,
And other Sorts of Sunday-Idlers,
Who only come to Church, and throng
The Choir, to hear the Anthem sung,
And then retiring, loiter round
The Pillars to digest the Sound,
Of which, each unprovided Sinner
Is forc'd to make a Sunday's Dinner,
An airy Banquet only fit
For Men of Musick and of Wit,
Whose refin'd Taste may feast sometimes
On those light Dainties Tunes and Rhimes;
Thin Diet, such I doubt that none
But Angels e'er grow fat upon:
Tho' this harmonious Crew, that visit
St. Paul's, are oft contented with it;
These we call Anthemites, who come
To Church to hear the Organ hum
A thorough Bass to those that sing
The Praises of our Heav'nly King,
Which they attend without the least
Regard to either Church or Priest:
As if in Simpson's Books they'd found
That all Religion lay in Sound,
And that there was no Way to come at
St. Peter's Key but by the Gammut;
Tho', if they'll take a Friend's Advice,
They'll make more sure of Paradise
By Faith, and penitential Praying,
Than by fine Singing and Sol-fa-ing.
The Pavement of the Sacred Pile,
Apollo's jingling Train appears,
Not to serve God, but please their Ears,
Poets, Musicians, Pipers, Fidlers,
And other Sorts of Sunday-Idlers,
Who only come to Church, and throng
The Choir, to hear the Anthem sung,
And then retiring, loiter round
The Pillars to digest the Sound,
Of which, each unprovided Sinner
Is forc'd to make a Sunday's Dinner,
An airy Banquet only fit
For Men of Musick and of Wit,
Whose refin'd Taste may feast sometimes
On those light Dainties Tunes and Rhimes;
9
But Angels e'er grow fat upon:
Tho' this harmonious Crew, that visit
St. Paul's, are oft contented with it;
These we call Anthemites, who come
To Church to hear the Organ hum
A thorough Bass to those that sing
The Praises of our Heav'nly King,
Which they attend without the least
Regard to either Church or Priest:
As if in Simpson's Books they'd found
That all Religion lay in Sound,
And that there was no Way to come at
St. Peter's Key but by the Gammut;
Tho', if they'll take a Friend's Advice,
They'll make more sure of Paradise
By Faith, and penitential Praying,
Than by fine Singing and Sol-fa-ing.
Another Tribe next these advance
Of gazing, mungrel Protestants,
Who come not here to pray, but please
Their sundry Curiosities,
In pond'ring on the Strokes of Art,
That grace the Whole in e'ery Part.
Their wond'ring Eyes some upward throw,
To view the Dome and Cupilo,
And with distended Necks and Throats,
Strain'd Eyes, and elevated Snouts,
Staring aloft, they crowd together,
Like frighted Hogs in windy Weather;
Some setting forth their Admiration,
In Words, some by Gesticulation,
Expressing a profound Surprize,
In lifting up their Hands and Eyes.
Of gazing, mungrel Protestants,
Who come not here to pray, but please
Their sundry Curiosities,
In pond'ring on the Strokes of Art,
That grace the Whole in e'ery Part.
Their wond'ring Eyes some upward throw,
To view the Dome and Cupilo,
And with distended Necks and Throats,
Strain'd Eyes, and elevated Snouts,
Staring aloft, they crowd together,
Like frighted Hogs in windy Weather;
Some setting forth their Admiration,
In Words, some by Gesticulation,
Expressing a profound Surprize,
In lifting up their Hands and Eyes.
10
Others, more sanctify'd than they,
With Envy do the Pile survey,
And think the whole Edification,
A Work of Supererogation:
Thus gaze, until they find their Necks,
By looking up, as stiff as Stakes;
Retiring, when themselves think fitting,
Like wry-neck'd Saints from Quakers Meeting;
Who walk as if each holy Brother
Had strain'd one Jugular or t'other.
With Envy do the Pile survey,
And think the whole Edification,
A Work of Supererogation:
Thus gaze, until they find their Necks,
By looking up, as stiff as Stakes;
Retiring, when themselves think fitting,
Like wry-neck'd Saints from Quakers Meeting;
Who walk as if each holy Brother
Had strain'd one Jugular or t'other.
Hither another Clan repairs,
Who use the Church, but hate her Pray'rs;
An ill-look'd Gang of Decollators,
The Spawn of Regicides and Traytors,
Who in their Foreheads wear the Print
O'th' Ax that did at once disjoint
The Church, Three Kingdoms, and the Martyr,
To whom their Fathers gave no Quarter,
But left the Blood of Charles the good,
Entail'd on all their sinful Brood,
Who justify the dreadful Sentence,
And hug the Curse of Non-Repentance;
Endeav'ring still to wrong his Name,
And blast his never-dying Fame
With vile Reproaches, only due
To those that did his Life pursue.
Just so th'invidious Jews deny'd
The Power of him they crucify'd;
And still, to magnify their Guilt,
Blaspheme his Name whose Blood they spilt.
Who use the Church, but hate her Pray'rs;
An ill-look'd Gang of Decollators,
The Spawn of Regicides and Traytors,
Who in their Foreheads wear the Print
O'th' Ax that did at once disjoint
The Church, Three Kingdoms, and the Martyr,
To whom their Fathers gave no Quarter,
But left the Blood of Charles the good,
Entail'd on all their sinful Brood,
Who justify the dreadful Sentence,
And hug the Curse of Non-Repentance;
Endeav'ring still to wrong his Name,
And blast his never-dying Fame
With vile Reproaches, only due
To those that did his Life pursue.
Just so th'invidious Jews deny'd
The Power of him they crucify'd;
And still, to magnify their Guilt,
Blaspheme his Name whose Blood they spilt.
These, who in spight frequent St. Paul's,
And with their Breath pollute her Walls,
Are by their ill-condition'd Faces,
Their moody Gestures and Grimaces,
As eas'ly known from other Men,
As Cockle from the useful Grain.
Some with dub Noses do appear,
Such as our true-bred Bull-Dogs wear,
Grin as they walk, like Beasts of Prey,
And look as mischievous as they.
And with their Breath pollute her Walls,
Are by their ill-condition'd Faces,
Their moody Gestures and Grimaces,
11
As Cockle from the useful Grain.
Some with dub Noses do appear,
Such as our true-bred Bull-Dogs wear,
Grin as they walk, like Beasts of Prey,
And look as mischievous as they.
Others display their savage Natures,
Like Bombardiers, or Gladiators,
In scarry Seams, old Bumps and Bruises
Upon their Brows, their Jaws, or Noses,
In Party-Quarrels got, fomented
By heaping Lyes on God's Anointed,
And setting forth how much they owe
To th'pious Hand that gave the Blow.
Like Bombardiers, or Gladiators,
In scarry Seams, old Bumps and Bruises
Upon their Brows, their Jaws, or Noses,
In Party-Quarrels got, fomented
By heaping Lyes on God's Anointed,
And setting forth how much they owe
To th'pious Hand that gave the Blow.
Others, with hairy Moles and Wens,
Like Witches Teats beneath their Chins;
Some bearing on one Cheek or t'other
The Longings of a pregnant Mother,
Large Claret-Stains, red Marks of Cherries,
Plums, Peaches, or perhaps Mulberries,
Enough to prove the fruitful Dame,
Who brought to Town the pretty Lamb,
Would to no craving Lust give place,
But had a self-denying Grace;
At least no Pocket-Pence to buy
The Dainty that had charm'd her Eye;
Wherefore offended Nature painted
The Child with what the Mother wanted.
Like Witches Teats beneath their Chins;
Some bearing on one Cheek or t'other
The Longings of a pregnant Mother,
Large Claret-Stains, red Marks of Cherries,
Plums, Peaches, or perhaps Mulberries,
Enough to prove the fruitful Dame,
Who brought to Town the pretty Lamb,
Would to no craving Lust give place,
But had a self-denying Grace;
At least no Pocket-Pence to buy
The Dainty that had charm'd her Eye;
Wherefore offended Nature painted
The Child with what the Mother wanted.
These are the Prodigies of Men,
Who hold all Vertue in Disdain;
Rebellious, Calves-head, surly Wretches,
Averse to all that Scripture teaches;
An ill-look'd Race that flock together,
Like Carrion-Crows of the same Feather:
And as the Latter haunt the Mead
Where sick and ailing Cattle feed,
That they may ready be to feast
Themselves upon each dying Beast;
The Former, tho' their Hearts dissent,
The Church invidiously frequent,
Hoping in time to prey upon her,
When those that envy'r have undone her;
Forgetting that the Gates of Hell
Shall not against her Truths prevail;
Or impious Atheists, who abjure
Their God, be able to undo her.
Who hold all Vertue in Disdain;
Rebellious, Calves-head, surly Wretches,
Averse to all that Scripture teaches;
An ill-look'd Race that flock together,
Like Carrion-Crows of the same Feather:
12
Where sick and ailing Cattle feed,
That they may ready be to feast
Themselves upon each dying Beast;
The Former, tho' their Hearts dissent,
The Church invidiously frequent,
Hoping in time to prey upon her,
When those that envy'r have undone her;
Forgetting that the Gates of Hell
Shall not against her Truths prevail;
Or impious Atheists, who abjure
Their God, be able to undo her.
The next, among this graceless Rout,
Who come to Church to gaze about,
Are Oglers, who survey the Faces
Of each fair Lady as she passes,
Descanting on the Dress and Motion
Of all that trip to their Devotion;
That not a Dowdy, or a Beauty,
Can tread the Pavement to her Duty;
Or pious Matron lead her fair
Inviting Progeny to Pray'r,
But some indecent Jest or other
Is on the Daughter thrown, or Mother:
Perhaps, the good old pious Dame,
By dressing gay, may merit Blame;
Or young one's Head-Dress sit so flaring,
That she appears too wild and staring.
Who come to Church to gaze about,
Are Oglers, who survey the Faces
Of each fair Lady as she passes,
Descanting on the Dress and Motion
Of all that trip to their Devotion;
That not a Dowdy, or a Beauty,
Can tread the Pavement to her Duty;
Or pious Matron lead her fair
Inviting Progeny to Pray'r,
But some indecent Jest or other
Is on the Daughter thrown, or Mother:
Perhaps, the good old pious Dame,
By dressing gay, may merit Blame;
Or young one's Head-Dress sit so flaring,
That she appears too wild and staring.
A Third may shew, by her Complexion,
She has to Gin no small Affection;
Because each ruby Cheek proclaims
The Influence of her Closet-Drams,
And tells the World she drowns all Care
In Anniseed and Juniper,
Two cursed Cordial-Enemies
To Midwives, and their Deputies,
Invented by the Dev'l, in Spight
To old Hereditary Right:
For vicious Spirits must annoy
The fruitful Womb, and soon destroy
That Heat which animates the Boy.
She has to Gin no small Affection;
Because each ruby Cheek proclaims
The Influence of her Closet-Drams,
And tells the World she drowns all Care
In Anniseed and Juniper,
13
To Midwives, and their Deputies,
Invented by the Dev'l, in Spight
To old Hereditary Right:
For vicious Spirits must annoy
The fruitful Womb, and soon destroy
That Heat which animates the Boy.
A Fourth may lean so much awry,
No Art can the Defect supply,
No padded Stays or Bolsters hide
The Weakness of her yielding Side,
Which bends beneath the former Curse
Of Rickets, or a careless Nurse,
And keeps her an unwilling Maid,
Till Youth and Beauty are decay'd.
No Art can the Defect supply,
No padded Stays or Bolsters hide
The Weakness of her yielding Side,
Which bends beneath the former Curse
Of Rickets, or a careless Nurse,
And keeps her an unwilling Maid,
Till Youth and Beauty are decay'd.
A Fifth, above her maiden Waste,
May chance to have an Atlas Cast,
And bear round Shoulders in Disgrace
Of pouting Breasts and pretty Face,
Those soft Temptations which delight
The Lover's Eye, and charm the Sight.
May chance to have an Atlas Cast,
And bear round Shoulders in Disgrace
Of pouting Breasts and pretty Face,
Those soft Temptations which delight
The Lover's Eye, and charm the Sight.
A Sixth, whose Rump is bolster'd up,
May wear, perhaps, too large a Hoop,
And cause the Oglers to surmise
Love's Center, which in secret lies,
Has been of late o'er-warm'd by some Man.
And wants more Airing than is common.
May wear, perhaps, too large a Hoop,
And cause the Oglers to surmise
Love's Center, which in secret lies,
Has been of late o'er-warm'd by some Man.
And wants more Airing than is common.
A Seventh may be a tender Maid,
A slender pizzle-wasted Jade,
Whose scanty Petticoat may prove
A Bulwark against hasty Love;
Opening her Fan, along she glides,
With Elbows pinion'd to her Sides,
Looks full of Innocence and Truth,
And walks as well-becomes her Youth,
Not like an airy spreading Bride,
But close, as if her Legs were ty'd,
Knocking her nimble rising Heels
Against her Hoop as on she steals,
Whilst her lac'd Toes before make way,
And as she moves their Charms display.
A slender pizzle-wasted Jade,
Whose scanty Petticoat may prove
A Bulwark against hasty Love;
Opening her Fan, along she glides,
With Elbows pinion'd to her Sides,
Looks full of Innocence and Truth,
And walks as well-becomes her Youth,
14
But close, as if her Legs were ty'd,
Knocking her nimble rising Heels
Against her Hoop as on she steals,
Whilst her lac'd Toes before make way,
And as she moves their Charms display.
The next, perhaps, may be a Lass
Whose Graces do the rest surpass,
Young, buxom, free, all over Air,
Profusely vain, and wondrous fair,
Dress'd like an Angel, to allure
And fire the Hearts of all that view her;
Tossing her Head, she treads the I'le,
Dispensing here and there a Smile,
And by her am'rous Carriage shews
She's ready for the Nuptial Noose.
Along upon her Toes she trips,
Draws up her Breasts, and licks her Lips,
Juts with her Bum, and gazes round,
To see what Blockhead she can wound.
Whose Graces do the rest surpass,
Young, buxom, free, all over Air,
Profusely vain, and wondrous fair,
Dress'd like an Angel, to allure
And fire the Hearts of all that view her;
Tossing her Head, she treads the I'le,
Dispensing here and there a Smile,
And by her am'rous Carriage shews
She's ready for the Nuptial Noose.
Along upon her Toes she trips,
Draws up her Breasts, and licks her Lips,
Juts with her Bum, and gazes round,
To see what Blockhead she can wound.
These are the Objects that are made
The Jest of e'ery ogling Blade,
Who gaze on Woman, not like Man,
To love, but spy what Faults they can,
That they may ridicule and cast
Reflections on the Fair and Chaste;
And, like true Libertines, disparage
All Women that insist on Marriage;
Because themselves profess a great
Aversion to that holy State,
And void of all good Manners, want
To love at large without Restraint;
Therefore, like wary Fish, they look
Upon the Bait, but shun the Hook;
And make a Jest of Girls that padlock
Their Maiden-Treasure up for Wedlock:
So Hogs love Apples, yet they hate
To hang their Heads i'th' Hort-Yard Gate:
And Misers oft delight the Eye
With Dainties they've no Will to buy.
The Jest of e'ery ogling Blade,
Who gaze on Woman, not like Man,
To love, but spy what Faults they can,
That they may ridicule and cast
Reflections on the Fair and Chaste;
And, like true Libertines, disparage
All Women that insist on Marriage;
Because themselves profess a great
Aversion to that holy State,
And void of all good Manners, want
To love at large without Restraint;
Therefore, like wary Fish, they look
Upon the Bait, but shun the Hook;
15
Their Maiden-Treasure up for Wedlock:
So Hogs love Apples, yet they hate
To hang their Heads i'th' Hort-Yard Gate:
And Misers oft delight the Eye
With Dainties they've no Will to buy.
Another Sort of Ambulators,
Who shift off all religious Fetters,
Yet skreen themselves beneath the Cant-
Ing pious Name of Protestant,
Are Mungrel-Politicians, such
As little know, but rattle much,
Enthusiasts, who from Flights and Dreams,
Amuse the World with Plans and Schemes,
And tell us how we shall become
The Masters of all Christendom,
Which way the Emp'ror shall prevail
O'er the Half-Moon and Horses Tail,
And how the Dutch and we restrain
The Pride of France and haughty Spain,
And make our Markets of the War
'Twixt Denmark, Sweden, and the Czar,
How England may absolve her large
Arrears without a Penny Charge,
And be as rich by Paper made,
As e'er she was in Coin and Trade;
Provided we'll but understand
The Riches of the British Land
Consist not in a Golden Store,
But in the Numbers of her Poor.
If so, we soon may find a Way
T'improve our Riches e'ery Day;
And to promote such good Designs,
Send o'er once more for Palatines.
'Tis true, the Poor are the Sustainers
Of Trade, and Trade makes all Men Gainers
But then, if Trade be lost, what more
Occasion have we for our Poor;
Therefore, let's first revive our Trade,
Before in Poor we're richer made;
Else Beggars will too num'rous grow,
Without new Schemes to make us so.
Who shift off all religious Fetters,
Yet skreen themselves beneath the Cant-
Ing pious Name of Protestant,
Are Mungrel-Politicians, such
As little know, but rattle much,
Enthusiasts, who from Flights and Dreams,
Amuse the World with Plans and Schemes,
And tell us how we shall become
The Masters of all Christendom,
Which way the Emp'ror shall prevail
O'er the Half-Moon and Horses Tail,
And how the Dutch and we restrain
The Pride of France and haughty Spain,
And make our Markets of the War
'Twixt Denmark, Sweden, and the Czar,
How England may absolve her large
Arrears without a Penny Charge,
And be as rich by Paper made,
As e'er she was in Coin and Trade;
Provided we'll but understand
The Riches of the British Land
Consist not in a Golden Store,
But in the Numbers of her Poor.
If so, we soon may find a Way
T'improve our Riches e'ery Day;
And to promote such good Designs,
Send o'er once more for Palatines.
16
Of Trade, and Trade makes all Men Gainers
But then, if Trade be lost, what more
Occasion have we for our Poor;
Therefore, let's first revive our Trade,
Before in Poor we're richer made;
Else Beggars will too num'rous grow,
Without new Schemes to make us so.
These empty prating Politicians,
Whose Looks betray their Dispositions,
Are fiery Partisans, who use
To crack their shallow Brains with News;
Meer Scavengers, who load their Senses
With all the Filth the Press dispenses,
That they may shoot their Rubbish-Lyes,
And bury Truth with Falsities,
Plaguing all Places, where they're known,
With wise State-Comments of their own;
Perhaps, upon some strange Report
That's father'd on the Regent's Court,
To fright the Tim'rous, and to please
The Nation's hood-wink'd Enemies;
Else some new politick Affair
That's warmly canvass'd here and there;
Or cunning Artifice to try
The Tempers of the Low and High;
That they who sit aloft may take
Th'Advantage of the Feuds we make.
Whose Looks betray their Dispositions,
Are fiery Partisans, who use
To crack their shallow Brains with News;
Meer Scavengers, who load their Senses
With all the Filth the Press dispenses,
That they may shoot their Rubbish-Lyes,
And bury Truth with Falsities,
Plaguing all Places, where they're known,
With wise State-Comments of their own;
Perhaps, upon some strange Report
That's father'd on the Regent's Court,
To fright the Tim'rous, and to please
The Nation's hood-wink'd Enemies;
Else some new politick Affair
That's warmly canvass'd here and there;
Or cunning Artifice to try
The Tempers of the Low and High;
That they who sit aloft may take
Th'Advantage of the Feuds we make.
These are the Matters which our State-
Correctors in St. Paul's debate;
Thither they in Cabals resort,
To tell or hear what News from Court;
Or to invent, at least improve
Those Lyes that do our Passions move;
[illeg.]d abrogate, we plainly see,
[illeg.] Christian-Love and Charity;
{Tu}rning God's House, by this ill Course,
{Int}o a Coffee-House, or worse;
{Pr}ophaning, e'ery Step they walk,
The holy Place with idle Talk,
{Till} the loud Organ fills the Quire,
And bids the Christian Flock retire;
Extending its melodious Sound
To all the Ambulators round,
That e'ery Saint, and loit'ring Sinner,
May know 'tis Time to think of Dinner.
[illeg.] Temple-Students nodding fit
[illeg.]er crabbed Law, the Bane of Wit;
But when the Horn sends forth its Summons,
They quit their Books, and scour to Commons,
Correctors in St. Paul's debate;
Thither they in Cabals resort,
To tell or hear what News from Court;
Or to invent, at least improve
Those Lyes that do our Passions move;
17
[illeg.] Christian-Love and Charity;
{Tu}rning God's House, by this ill Course,
{Int}o a Coffee-House, or worse;
{Pr}ophaning, e'ery Step they walk,
The holy Place with idle Talk,
{Till} the loud Organ fills the Quire,
And bids the Christian Flock retire;
Extending its melodious Sound
To all the Ambulators round,
That e'ery Saint, and loit'ring Sinner,
May know 'tis Time to think of Dinner.
[illeg.] Temple-Students nodding fit
[illeg.]er crabbed Law, the Bane of Wit;
But when the Horn sends forth its Summons,
They quit their Books, and scour to Commons,
Hither there also comes a Race
Of English Jews for Verse too base;
Locusts, who on their Country prey,
And damn their Souls Ten Times a Day,
Of Oaths and Lyes, without Repentance,
Can merit so severe a Sentence:
Fellows, who in their Foreheads bear
Worse Marks than Cain was doom'd to wear,
And in their crafty Looks express
A Jewish Avariciousness.
Besides, Cain only slew his Brother,
But these, more vile than any other,
Destroy their Country that's their Mother;
Deceitful Serpents, worse than all
The speckl'd Brood that hissing crawl;
Deluding subtil Vipers, nay,
Worse Enemies to Man than they,
Who, by their Shams, and other Evil
Designs, anticipate the Devil,
And make themselves, by down-right Dint
Of Lying, Masters of his Mint;
Not only K---s, but Atheists too,
False to their God, and all that's true;
Hell's Factors upon Earth, who range
Saint Pauls to make her their Exchange,
That they may there invent on Sunday,
Some strange amusing Lye for Monday,
Whereby to raise or fall the Value
Of South-Sea in Trick-Noddy Alley,
That they may buy, as they've Occasion,
Or sell their Stocks, that is, the Nation;
An Artifice, found out by Knaves,
To beggar Fools, and make 'em Slaves;
The Shadow of a wond'rous Mine
Of Treasure hid beyond the Line,
At which we snap, like Fable-Towzer,
Till e'ery Blockhead is a Loser;
Whilst Men of Craft enjoy the Sweet,
And slily carry on the Cheat.
These Jew-ey'd Protestants, who ply
Six Days at 'Change, or somewhere nigh,
Have Grace enough, without being driven,
To shame the Church one Day in seven;
Tho' not to hear her holy Pray'rs,
Or join therein in seven Years;
Yet to Church-Government incline,
And own her Faith and Discipline,
Drink Bumpers to her Preservation,
Without a Keck or Hesitation.
But if the Church should rise, and Stocks
Should fall for not being Orthodox,
They'd join the Dev'l, her greatest Foe,
To work her fatal Overthrow,
Much rather than their holy Mother
Should prosper by the Bane of t'other.
Thus most Men seemingly embrace
The Church, and do her Faith profess,
Till darling Int'rest comes in play,
And if that leans another way,
Then farewell Church and all that's good;
The Error's plain, the Man's subdu'd,
And blesses God, with shaking Head,
He's now convinc'd he was misled;
Which shews Religion ne'er could make
Those Bonds which Int'rest cannot break.
Of English Jews for Verse too base;
Locusts, who on their Country prey,
And damn their Souls Ten Times a Day,
Of Oaths and Lyes, without Repentance,
Can merit so severe a Sentence:
Fellows, who in their Foreheads bear
Worse Marks than Cain was doom'd to wear,
And in their crafty Looks express
A Jewish Avariciousness.
Besides, Cain only slew his Brother,
But these, more vile than any other,
Destroy their Country that's their Mother;
Deceitful Serpents, worse than all
The speckl'd Brood that hissing crawl;
Deluding subtil Vipers, nay,
Worse Enemies to Man than they,
Who, by their Shams, and other Evil
Designs, anticipate the Devil,
18
Of Lying, Masters of his Mint;
Not only K---s, but Atheists too,
False to their God, and all that's true;
Hell's Factors upon Earth, who range
Saint Pauls to make her their Exchange,
That they may there invent on Sunday,
Some strange amusing Lye for Monday,
Whereby to raise or fall the Value
Of South-Sea in Trick-Noddy Alley,
That they may buy, as they've Occasion,
Or sell their Stocks, that is, the Nation;
An Artifice, found out by Knaves,
To beggar Fools, and make 'em Slaves;
The Shadow of a wond'rous Mine
Of Treasure hid beyond the Line,
At which we snap, like Fable-Towzer,
Till e'ery Blockhead is a Loser;
Whilst Men of Craft enjoy the Sweet,
And slily carry on the Cheat.
These Jew-ey'd Protestants, who ply
Six Days at 'Change, or somewhere nigh,
Have Grace enough, without being driven,
To shame the Church one Day in seven;
Tho' not to hear her holy Pray'rs,
Or join therein in seven Years;
Yet to Church-Government incline,
And own her Faith and Discipline,
Drink Bumpers to her Preservation,
Without a Keck or Hesitation.
But if the Church should rise, and Stocks
Should fall for not being Orthodox,
They'd join the Dev'l, her greatest Foe,
To work her fatal Overthrow,
19
Should prosper by the Bane of t'other.
Thus most Men seemingly embrace
The Church, and do her Faith profess,
Till darling Int'rest comes in play,
And if that leans another way,
Then farewell Church and all that's good;
The Error's plain, the Man's subdu'd,
And blesses God, with shaking Head,
He's now convinc'd he was misled;
Which shews Religion ne'er could make
Those Bonds which Int'rest cannot break.
With these Stock-jobbing Misers mix
A peevish Crew of Spleneticks,
Mortals, whose crabbed Looks reveal
The inward Discontents they feel,
And shew us in their awkward Features,
The sordid Sourness of their Natures.
Some for the Sweden Hero mourn,
And make his Cause their high Concern;
Rest not by Day, nor sleep by Night,
For fear he should not manage right;
As if their own Estates or Lives,
Their Childrens Welfare, and their Wives,
Depended on that Prince's Fortune,
Which seems at present so uncertain.
A peevish Crew of Spleneticks,
Mortals, whose crabbed Looks reveal
The inward Discontents they feel,
And shew us in their awkward Features,
The sordid Sourness of their Natures.
Some for the Sweden Hero mourn,
And make his Cause their high Concern;
Rest not by Day, nor sleep by Night,
For fear he should not manage right;
As if their own Estates or Lives,
Their Childrens Welfare, and their Wives,
Depended on that Prince's Fortune,
Which seems at present so uncertain.
Others distract their silly Brains
About the present State of France,
Upon that Court's Proceedings ponder,
And at their late Remisness wonder;
Because the Regency neglected
To do what many Fools expected.
About the present State of France,
Upon that Court's Proceedings ponder,
And at their late Remisness wonder;
Because the Regency neglected
To do what many Fools expected.
Some, who have other distant Views,
Ill-grounded on fallacious News,
Perplex their penetrating Souls
About Augustus and his Poles,
And give their Minds as much Disquiet,
As if themselves were of the Dyet.
Some for the King in Pow'r declare,
As if they had an Int'rest there;
Whilst other Fools espouse the Cause
Of poor contending Stanislaus,
And with such Zeal and Pitty moan
His Loss of the Polonian Throne,
As if they made his Case their own.
Ill-grounded on fallacious News,
20
About Augustus and his Poles,
And give their Minds as much Disquiet,
As if themselves were of the Dyet.
Some for the King in Pow'r declare,
As if they had an Int'rest there;
Whilst other Fools espouse the Cause
Of poor contending Stanislaus,
And with such Zeal and Pitty moan
His Loss of the Polonian Throne,
As if they made his Case their own.
Others, with frighted Looks, declare
Their wild Opinions of the Czar,
Dreading his Troops, these wicked Times,
Should punish Europe for her Crimes,
And that his Czarship should aspire
To greater Power than some desire,
And prove a Thorn that soon may wound
The Sides of all his Neighbours round;
Maintain his Army at the Cost
Of Kingdoms plunder'd by his Host,
And force the Loyal Swedes to eat
Caveare instead of better Meat.
Their wild Opinions of the Czar,
Dreading his Troops, these wicked Times,
Should punish Europe for her Crimes,
And that his Czarship should aspire
To greater Power than some desire,
And prove a Thorn that soon may wound
The Sides of all his Neighbours round;
Maintain his Army at the Cost
Of Kingdoms plunder'd by his Host,
And force the Loyal Swedes to eat
Caveare instead of better Meat.
But those good Saints who hone the most,
For fear Religion should be lost,
Or at least suffer by the worldly
Affairs that make this Hurly-burly,
Seem greatly terrify'd to hear
Old Antichrist is drawing near
With armed Force, to overturn
The Christian Empire with his Horn,
And make all Europe pay Submission
To th'Alcoran and Circumcision;
The Dread of which is no small Terrour
To modern Saints reform'd from Errour,
Tho' some who well consider Matters,
And wisely talk like Moderators,
An Honour to the Turks will say
They'r honest, take 'em in their Way:
Tis true, they're Infidels, what then;
Hear me a little, Gentlemen;
Their Enemy, and all his Force,
Are Papists, that's as bad, or worse:
Why therefore should the Godly close
With either Side, since both are Foes;
No, no, true Protestants are bound
Against 'em both to stand their Ground,
And should for neither pray nor care,
But cry Halloo, fight Dog, fight Bear;
For how can the Elect be civil
To Antichrist, Turk, Pope, or Devil;
Or pray for those whose false Opinions
Breed Earthquakes in the Saints Dominions?
With Purgatorian Hummums fright us,
And threaten Violence to the Righteous.
No, 'tis our Int'rest when they try
The Battle, to be Standers-by;
For when two potent Kingdoms quarrel,
And long contend about the Laurel,
A Third, if they are wise, may take
Advantage of the Wars they make,
And raise their Greatness by the Fall
Of those who're hazarding their All.
For fear Religion should be lost,
Or at least suffer by the worldly
Affairs that make this Hurly-burly,
Seem greatly terrify'd to hear
Old Antichrist is drawing near
With armed Force, to overturn
The Christian Empire with his Horn,
And make all Europe pay Submission
To th'Alcoran and Circumcision;
The Dread of which is no small Terrour
To modern Saints reform'd from Errour,
21
And wisely talk like Moderators,
An Honour to the Turks will say
They'r honest, take 'em in their Way:
Tis true, they're Infidels, what then;
Hear me a little, Gentlemen;
Their Enemy, and all his Force,
Are Papists, that's as bad, or worse:
Why therefore should the Godly close
With either Side, since both are Foes;
No, no, true Protestants are bound
Against 'em both to stand their Ground,
And should for neither pray nor care,
But cry Halloo, fight Dog, fight Bear;
For how can the Elect be civil
To Antichrist, Turk, Pope, or Devil;
Or pray for those whose false Opinions
Breed Earthquakes in the Saints Dominions?
With Purgatorian Hummums fright us,
And threaten Violence to the Righteous.
No, 'tis our Int'rest when they try
The Battle, to be Standers-by;
For when two potent Kingdoms quarrel,
And long contend about the Laurel,
A Third, if they are wise, may take
Advantage of the Wars they make,
And raise their Greatness by the Fall
Of those who're hazarding their All.
Others there are who seem too much
Concern'd about our Friends the Dutch,
And think, like us, they ne'er can be
Secure enough from Popery,
Unless we further Friendship do 'em,
And give up all our Trade unto 'em;
Good Policy; for you must know,
When they are High and we are Low,
They'll be the abler still to send us
What Sums are needful to defend us,
In case some Popish Inundation
Should chance to overflow the Nation:
Therefore, when they're in Streights, relieve 'em
They husband well whate'er we give 'em,
And warily improve the Pence,
Which are a Nation's best Defence:
But we, whene'er we do abound
In Riches, do our Wealth confound
In building Castles in the Air,
And buying Foreign Friends too dear.
Concern'd about our Friends the Dutch,
And think, like us, they ne'er can be
Secure enough from Popery,
Unless we further Friendship do 'em,
And give up all our Trade unto 'em;
22
When they are High and we are Low,
They'll be the abler still to send us
What Sums are needful to defend us,
In case some Popish Inundation
Should chance to overflow the Nation:
Therefore, when they're in Streights, relieve 'em
They husband well whate'er we give 'em,
And warily improve the Pence,
Which are a Nation's best Defence:
But we, whene'er we do abound
In Riches, do our Wealth confound
In building Castles in the Air,
And buying Foreign Friends too dear.
Next these, another Sort, that prate
At large about the Church and State,
Each Sunday rendezvous among
The graceless ambulating Throng.
These are compos'd of diff'rent Parties,
Yet much alike in Faith and Vertues;
Whose restless Fancies never load
Their Noddles with Affairs Abroad,
But limit all their wise Conceits
To our domestick Feuds and Heats;
Some fearing Popery and Slav'ry,
Others, Presbytery and Knav'ry;
Both Protestants, and both in great
Concern for th'Church's present State;
Yet neither to her Altars go,
Because One thinks she is too low,
And T'other truly can't comply,
By reason she's a Peg too high:
Thus both the same Religion own,
Yet both dissent, because they've none;
For the true Motives why they cavil,
Are not of Conscience, but the Devil;
Else, why should they frequent St. Paul's
Only to gaze upon her Walls;
Since each may on the Sabbath find
A Place of Worship to his Mind?
Thither would Men of Conscience steer,
Had Conscience any thing to fear
From joining with a Congregation
That swear and pray by th'Laws oth' Nation;
Therefore, to those who can't abjure,
Or pray, to make themselves secure,
Let 'em on Sabbath-Days repair
To their own Chappels, they know where;
And there, as often as they can,
Hear some old, honest, pious Man,
One that's an Honour to his Cloth,
And makes some Conscience of an Oath,
Who does not from the Crowd dissent,
To thwart the Civil Government,
But calmly suffers or obeys
In all Things, to his Maker's Praise;
And, when requir'd, resigns his Whole,
To shew th'Uprightness of his Soul,
A faithful Guide, who never prays,
Or swears for Gain, two diff'rent Ways,
But squares his Life, without Design,
By Laws not Human, but Divine.
I say, let tender Consciences
Seek out such honest Guides as these,
And loiter not their Time away,
Like Atheists, on the Sabbath-Day,
In any Place of Worship where
They cannot freely join in Pray'r,
If so, they have no Business there.
At large about the Church and State,
Each Sunday rendezvous among
The graceless ambulating Throng.
These are compos'd of diff'rent Parties,
Yet much alike in Faith and Vertues;
Whose restless Fancies never load
Their Noddles with Affairs Abroad,
But limit all their wise Conceits
To our domestick Feuds and Heats;
Some fearing Popery and Slav'ry,
Others, Presbytery and Knav'ry;
Both Protestants, and both in great
Concern for th'Church's present State;
Yet neither to her Altars go,
Because One thinks she is too low,
And T'other truly can't comply,
By reason she's a Peg too high:
Thus both the same Religion own,
Yet both dissent, because they've none;
23
Are not of Conscience, but the Devil;
Else, why should they frequent St. Paul's
Only to gaze upon her Walls;
Since each may on the Sabbath find
A Place of Worship to his Mind?
Thither would Men of Conscience steer,
Had Conscience any thing to fear
From joining with a Congregation
That swear and pray by th'Laws oth' Nation;
Therefore, to those who can't abjure,
Or pray, to make themselves secure,
Let 'em on Sabbath-Days repair
To their own Chappels, they know where;
And there, as often as they can,
Hear some old, honest, pious Man,
One that's an Honour to his Cloth,
And makes some Conscience of an Oath,
Who does not from the Crowd dissent,
To thwart the Civil Government,
But calmly suffers or obeys
In all Things, to his Maker's Praise;
And, when requir'd, resigns his Whole,
To shew th'Uprightness of his Soul,
A faithful Guide, who never prays,
Or swears for Gain, two diff'rent Ways,
But squares his Life, without Design,
By Laws not Human, but Divine.
I say, let tender Consciences
Seek out such honest Guides as these,
And loiter not their Time away,
Like Atheists, on the Sabbath-Day,
In any Place of Worship where
They cannot freely join in Pray'r,
If so, they have no Business there.
24
But, as for Hypocrites who own
The Church, and yet would pull her down;
Ill Men, who, to Religion's Shame,
Have nothing of her but her Name,
And that they claim, to have the better
Pretence to blame and over-set her,
When 'tis their Int'rest to expose
Themselves in favour of her Foes;
These only join the Church to serve
Themselves, but from her Int'rest swerve,
When they can make their Votes amount,
Against her, to their own Account:
So does the Bully-Spendthrift take
The Woman for her Fortune's Sake,
Not for the Love he bears unto her,
But weds her only to undo her.
The Church, and yet would pull her down;
Ill Men, who, to Religion's Shame,
Have nothing of her but her Name,
And that they claim, to have the better
Pretence to blame and over-set her,
When 'tis their Int'rest to expose
Themselves in favour of her Foes;
These only join the Church to serve
Themselves, but from her Int'rest swerve,
When they can make their Votes amount,
Against her, to their own Account:
So does the Bully-Spendthrift take
The Woman for her Fortune's Sake,
Not for the Love he bears unto her,
But weds her only to undo her.
These, who, as Actors shift their Cloathing,
Can change to Anything or Nothing,
Are only Atheists who prophane
All Godliness with sinful Gain,
And think Religion is no more
Than the mere Craft of human Pow'r;
A study'd Trick, confirm'd by Law,
To keep the stubborn Crowd in awe;
That prosp'rous Knaves may ride astraddle
On pious Slaves that bear the Saddle.
May these Dissemblers in Religion,
Who make the Church their Enchiridion,
No more prophane the sacred Walls
Of that Celestial Pile, St. Paul's,
But be henceforward doom'd to listen
To P---n, G---y, or W---n;
And if those Emp'ricks cannot ease
Their wrangling, restless Consciences,
Let 'em be d---d which Way they please.
Can change to Anything or Nothing,
Are only Atheists who prophane
All Godliness with sinful Gain,
And think Religion is no more
Than the mere Craft of human Pow'r;
A study'd Trick, confirm'd by Law,
To keep the stubborn Crowd in awe;
That prosp'rous Knaves may ride astraddle
On pious Slaves that bear the Saddle.
May these Dissemblers in Religion,
Who make the Church their Enchiridion,
No more prophane the sacred Walls
Of that Celestial Pile, St. Paul's,
But be henceforward doom'd to listen
To P---n, G---y, or W---n;
And if those Emp'ricks cannot ease
Their wrangling, restless Consciences,
Let 'em be d---d which Way they please.
25
Hither, beneath the lofty Dome,
Our City-Misers also come,
Not to serve God, but to invent
New Ways of gaining Cent per Cent.
In flat-heel'd carbonado'd Shooes,
To ease their Corns and gouty Toes;
Along the Pavement do they waddle,
Like Ducks proceeding to a Puddle;
Pleas'd they without Expence can walk,
And starve away their Time in Talk;
That is, the Sabbath-Day, whereon
No gainful Business can be done,
To gratify their vile Excess
Of sinful Avariciousness,
A reigning Vice, the common Curse
Of Age, that dreads an empty Purse,
And grows most covetous of Treasure,
When hurry'd past expensive Pleasure;
Yet old Men love to hug their Bags,
Proud of their Riches and their Rags,
Hoping to be ador'd, like Lords,
By all Men, for their wealthy Hoards,
Which ne'er are broke, but with Design
To break the Borrow'r of their Coin,
By base excessive Procuration,
Large Int'rest, and Continuation,
Which prey on those with whom they deal,
As Aqua Fortis does on Steel,
Whose vile destructive Nature such is,
It eats and cankers where it touches.
Our City-Misers also come,
Not to serve God, but to invent
New Ways of gaining Cent per Cent.
In flat-heel'd carbonado'd Shooes,
To ease their Corns and gouty Toes;
Along the Pavement do they waddle,
Like Ducks proceeding to a Puddle;
Pleas'd they without Expence can walk,
And starve away their Time in Talk;
That is, the Sabbath-Day, whereon
No gainful Business can be done,
To gratify their vile Excess
Of sinful Avariciousness,
A reigning Vice, the common Curse
Of Age, that dreads an empty Purse,
And grows most covetous of Treasure,
When hurry'd past expensive Pleasure;
Yet old Men love to hug their Bags,
Proud of their Riches and their Rags,
Hoping to be ador'd, like Lords,
By all Men, for their wealthy Hoards,
Which ne'er are broke, but with Design
To break the Borrow'r of their Coin,
By base excessive Procuration,
Large Int'rest, and Continuation,
Which prey on those with whom they deal,
As Aqua Fortis does on Steel,
Whose vile destructive Nature such is,
It eats and cankers where it touches.
Nor can the wiser World devise
Wherein the Miser's Comfort lies,
Who heaps up Riches by Oppression,
And sins on even to Damnation;
For still, the less he needs Supplies,
The more he covets, till he dies.
What Pleasure has he, but the Care
Of keeping what he ought to spare?
Beauty he grins at as she passes,
And thinks her young Admirers Asses:
Delicious Meats he hates, because
They're much too costly for his Jaws:
Like Mahumet, condemns the Use
Of Wine, and rails against the Juice;
Unless invited as a Guest
On Free-cost, to some City-Feast,
And there the wary Knave can tipple,
And gormandize, like other People:
For he that has no Heart to spend
His own, to treat himself or Friend,
Ne'er fails to eat and drink at large,
When 'tis at others Cost and Charge.
Wherein the Miser's Comfort lies,
Who heaps up Riches by Oppression,
And sins on even to Damnation;
26
The more he covets, till he dies.
What Pleasure has he, but the Care
Of keeping what he ought to spare?
Beauty he grins at as she passes,
And thinks her young Admirers Asses:
Delicious Meats he hates, because
They're much too costly for his Jaws:
Like Mahumet, condemns the Use
Of Wine, and rails against the Juice;
Unless invited as a Guest
On Free-cost, to some City-Feast,
And there the wary Knave can tipple,
And gormandize, like other People:
For he that has no Heart to spend
His own, to treat himself or Friend,
Ne'er fails to eat and drink at large,
When 'tis at others Cost and Charge.
A Number of such Grubs as these
Frequent St. Paul's, to starve with Ease;
Whose level Pavement suits their Ailings,
And sooths their Corns and gouty Swellings:
A double Curse that always plagues
The Wretch who doats upon his Bags,
And makes his Life, with Pains and Stitches,
A Punishment, in spight of Riches.
These are the Muck-worms that oppress
The Widow and the Fatherless,
Whose Mony by too much per Cent.
Entails a Curse where e'er 'tis lent,
And makes the Borrower become
A Slave to the increasing Sum;
For he that hopes, when driven near,
To thrive, by buying Gold too dear,
Is like the lazy Fool, that lays
One Burthen down for present Ease,
Upon condition he shall take
A greater, that may break his Back.
Frequent St. Paul's, to starve with Ease;
Whose level Pavement suits their Ailings,
And sooths their Corns and gouty Swellings:
A double Curse that always plagues
The Wretch who doats upon his Bags,
And makes his Life, with Pains and Stitches,
A Punishment, in spight of Riches.
These are the Muck-worms that oppress
The Widow and the Fatherless,
Whose Mony by too much per Cent.
Entails a Curse where e'er 'tis lent,
And makes the Borrower become
A Slave to the increasing Sum;
For he that hopes, when driven near,
To thrive, by buying Gold too dear,
27
One Burthen down for present Ease,
Upon condition he shall take
A greater, that may break his Back.
These Misers too, among the rest,
Are true-blue Protestants profess'd,
Dissembling Wretches, who can cant
Religion like a Leyden Saint,
Altho' their Hearts think nothing of it,
But whats consistent with their Profit;
Yet, with much Zeal, can rave and roar
Against the Babylonian Whore;
Treat the poor Pope with so much Evil,
And make his Comrade such a Devil;
That had they both been bound to pay
A Sum, upon a certain Day,
To these old Knaves, and had deny'd
The Debt, they'd not be more bely'd,
Or worse reproach'd and vilify'd;
Tho' Satan, lest he lyes, must say,
He has no greater Friends than they,
Who, blind with Riches, hit or miss,
Espouse his Kingdom more than this,
Not caring what vile Course they steer,
If they can be but wealthy here:
So wicked Statesmen often sell
Their Country's Good to purchase Hell;
And avaricious Priests betray
The Church of Christ for Judas Pay.
Are true-blue Protestants profess'd,
Dissembling Wretches, who can cant
Religion like a Leyden Saint,
Altho' their Hearts think nothing of it,
But whats consistent with their Profit;
Yet, with much Zeal, can rave and roar
Against the Babylonian Whore;
Treat the poor Pope with so much Evil,
And make his Comrade such a Devil;
That had they both been bound to pay
A Sum, upon a certain Day,
To these old Knaves, and had deny'd
The Debt, they'd not be more bely'd,
Or worse reproach'd and vilify'd;
Tho' Satan, lest he lyes, must say,
He has no greater Friends than they,
Who, blind with Riches, hit or miss,
Espouse his Kingdom more than this,
Not caring what vile Course they steer,
If they can be but wealthy here:
So wicked Statesmen often sell
Their Country's Good to purchase Hell;
And avaricious Priests betray
The Church of Christ for Judas Pay.
Hither the Lover also comes,
To fret and fume, and bite his Thumbs,
When driven into deep Despair,
By some Repulses of the Fair.
Here does he slide his Feet along,
And softly hum some am'rous Song
That suits the Coyness and severe
Deportment of his scornful Dear;
Here he contemplates on her Charms,
Wishing the fair One in his Arms,
And vainly fancies he could find
A Mine of Joy, would she be kind;
That would afford more lasting Pleasure,
Than dazling Heaps of Indian Treasure,
Alas, when one Night's mutual Folly
Would cure his love-sick Melancholy,
And make him wish for Sol's returning
An Hour or two before 'twas Morning;
For that which tempts the whining Lover,
Of all Delights, is soonest over:
Therefore if they who pine for Bliss,
Thought it not something more than 'tis,
None e'er would have so little Wit,
To break their Rest for want of it.
'Tis not the Dame that wounds and grieves us,
But our own Fancy that deceives us;
'Tis not her Beauty does us harm,
But wild Ideas that we form,
Which we unwarily apply
To her who most delights our Eye;
But when she proves so kind to grant
The last dear Blessing that we want,
We're undeceiv'd, neglect and flout her,
Because she proves not what we thought her:
Therefore it is no Fault in those
Whose Charms disquiet our Repose,
But in our wild Imaginations,
Which flatter and foment our Passions,
And make us entertain too good
Conceits of female Flesh and Blood,
Such as enamour and decoy,
But surely vanish with the Joy.
To fret and fume, and bite his Thumbs,
When driven into deep Despair,
By some Repulses of the Fair.
Here does he slide his Feet along,
And softly hum some am'rous Song
28
Deportment of his scornful Dear;
Here he contemplates on her Charms,
Wishing the fair One in his Arms,
And vainly fancies he could find
A Mine of Joy, would she be kind;
That would afford more lasting Pleasure,
Than dazling Heaps of Indian Treasure,
Alas, when one Night's mutual Folly
Would cure his love-sick Melancholy,
And make him wish for Sol's returning
An Hour or two before 'twas Morning;
For that which tempts the whining Lover,
Of all Delights, is soonest over:
Therefore if they who pine for Bliss,
Thought it not something more than 'tis,
None e'er would have so little Wit,
To break their Rest for want of it.
'Tis not the Dame that wounds and grieves us,
But our own Fancy that deceives us;
'Tis not her Beauty does us harm,
But wild Ideas that we form,
Which we unwarily apply
To her who most delights our Eye;
But when she proves so kind to grant
The last dear Blessing that we want,
We're undeceiv'd, neglect and flout her,
Because she proves not what we thought her:
Therefore it is no Fault in those
Whose Charms disquiet our Repose,
But in our wild Imaginations,
Which flatter and foment our Passions,
And make us entertain too good
Conceits of female Flesh and Blood,
29
But surely vanish with the Joy.
Another, half besides his Wits,
Looks pale, and like a Statue sits
In one o'th' Wall or Pillar Niches,
Where musing Mortals cool their Breeches;
With Arms across he lolls, and seems
Perplex'd, and rack'd 'twixt two Extreams;
As if Love had not only found.
Looks pale, and like a Statue sits
In one o'th' Wall or Pillar Niches,
Where musing Mortals cool their Breeches;
With Arms across he lolls, and seems
Perplex'd, and rack'd 'twixt two Extreams;
As if Love had not only found.
Way to give his Breast a Wound,
But that a much more pungent Smart
Afflicted some inferiour Part,
And that the young unhappy 'Squire
Was waiting for his Mundifier,
To pop into his Hands a Dose
If Scourers to secure his Nose,
And cleanse, without the least Detection,
This bridl'd Rudder of Affection,
Not daring to receive at Home
But that a much more pungent Smart
Afflicted some inferiour Part,
And that the young unhappy 'Squire
Was waiting for his Mundifier,
To pop into his Hands a Dose
If Scourers to secure his Nose,
And cleanse, without the least Detection,
This bridl'd Rudder of Affection,
Not daring to receive at Home
Packet, or a Visit from
Doctor Pil. Cochiæ cum Mercurio,
Thro' Fear of Scandal in futuro:
For tho' the Hero, bred in Wars,
Is proud of Martial Wounds and Scars,
Yet he that in Venereal Scuffles
Meets with the Crinkums or the Snuffles,
Is not so hardy as to boast
The Maims he'as got, or Blood he 'as lost;
Because, when Beauty takes the Field,
And dares us with her cloven Shield,
The youngest and the bravest He
Contends in vain for Victory.
Doctor Pil. Cochiæ cum Mercurio,
Thro' Fear of Scandal in futuro:
For tho' the Hero, bred in Wars,
Is proud of Martial Wounds and Scars,
Yet he that in Venereal Scuffles
Meets with the Crinkums or the Snuffles,
Is not so hardy as to boast
The Maims he'as got, or Blood he 'as lost;
Because, when Beauty takes the Field,
And dares us with her cloven Shield,
The youngest and the bravest He
Contends in vain for Victory.
A Third, perhaps a powder'd Beau,
In Gloves and Linnen white as Snow,
Whose modish Shooes attract the Eye,
With Lappets of Vermilion-Dye;
Swinging his Cane around his Thumb,
He loiters near the Porticum
Where Madam enters at, to shew
Her Damask-Gown or Callico;
At length the pretty Minx appears
With Crystal Diamonds in her Ears,
Proudly adorn'd, in gay Apparel,
Well hoop'd below, like Strong-Beer Barrel,
And on her Head a Cap of Lace,
Scarce fitting for a Baby's Face;
A Mode brought up by Tory-Sinners,
In spight to Hanoverian Pinners;
That Blockheads, skill'd in Female Whims,
May judge between the two Extreams.
In Gloves and Linnen white as Snow,
30
With Lappets of Vermilion-Dye;
Swinging his Cane around his Thumb,
He loiters near the Porticum
Where Madam enters at, to shew
Her Damask-Gown or Callico;
At length the pretty Minx appears
With Crystal Diamonds in her Ears,
Proudly adorn'd, in gay Apparel,
Well hoop'd below, like Strong-Beer Barrel,
And on her Head a Cap of Lace,
Scarce fitting for a Baby's Face;
A Mode brought up by Tory-Sinners,
In spight to Hanoverian Pinners;
That Blockheads, skill'd in Female Whims,
May judge between the two Extreams.
As soon as Finikin espies
The Darling of his Heart and Eyes,
Aw'd by her Charms, he walks and struts,
As she along the Pavement juts;
Heaves up her Dumplins in her Walk,
He bows, she curtsies, but no Talk;
She's proud and cunning, he's too meek,
She will not, and he cannot speak;
Thus meet, and with their Eyes reveal
The Throbs and Pit-a-pats they feel;
So parting, let their Looks betray
What vertuous Lovers fear to say.
She nimbly pacing to the Quire,
Whilst he does to some Nook retire,
To whisper forth an am'rous Pray'r
Relating to his Only Fair,
That dear Destroyer of his Rest,
That Heav'nly Charmer of his Breast,
Who fills his Head with fine Conceits
Of Honey-Moons, and nuptial Sweets,
Which skreen from e'ery Lover's Mind
The Vinegar that lurks behind.
Beauty, 'tis true, the World admires;
But still, all Roses grow on Briars;
And he that gathers without Care,
May prick his Fingers unaware.
The Darling of his Heart and Eyes,
Aw'd by her Charms, he walks and struts,
As she along the Pavement juts;
Heaves up her Dumplins in her Walk,
He bows, she curtsies, but no Talk;
She's proud and cunning, he's too meek,
She will not, and he cannot speak;
Thus meet, and with their Eyes reveal
The Throbs and Pit-a-pats they feel;
So parting, let their Looks betray
What vertuous Lovers fear to say.
She nimbly pacing to the Quire,
Whilst he does to some Nook retire,
To whisper forth an am'rous Pray'r
Relating to his Only Fair,
That dear Destroyer of his Rest,
That Heav'nly Charmer of his Breast,
31
Of Honey-Moons, and nuptial Sweets,
Which skreen from e'ery Lover's Mind
The Vinegar that lurks behind.
Beauty, 'tis true, the World admires;
But still, all Roses grow on Briars;
And he that gathers without Care,
May prick his Fingers unaware.
Besides these Sunday-Ambulators,
Wh' along the Pavement slide like Skaters,
Where is another Herd of Sinners,
Some seeking Stomachs to their Dinners,
Whilst others rack their hungry Wits
For Dinners to their Appetites.
Wimps, broken Gamesters, Beaus, and Bullies,
Young Spendthrifts, Rakes, and beggar'd Cullies,
[illeg.]adators, Bailiffs, Grenadiers,
And poor discarded Officers,
Excisemen broke at the Old-Jury,
For being too honest to the Brew'ry,
Dutch Skippers in their Trunks and Jackets,
Waterlane-Whores with gaping Plackets,
Old crippl'd Soldiers, Sots, and Sailors,
Informing Rascals, Under Jaylors,
And all the Scum of humane Race,
That can the Church of God disgrace;
Hither they come, as to a Fair,
And crowd the Isles in Time of Pray'r,
There gape and gaze their Hours away,
Regarding neither Place nor Day;
But loiter on their lazy Heels,
Like Aquæpotes at Tunbridge-Wells;
Till the loud Pipes proclaim the last
Amen is said, and all is past;
Wh' along the Pavement slide like Skaters,
Where is another Herd of Sinners,
Some seeking Stomachs to their Dinners,
Whilst others rack their hungry Wits
For Dinners to their Appetites.
Wimps, broken Gamesters, Beaus, and Bullies,
Young Spendthrifts, Rakes, and beggar'd Cullies,
[illeg.]adators, Bailiffs, Grenadiers,
And poor discarded Officers,
Excisemen broke at the Old-Jury,
For being too honest to the Brew'ry,
Dutch Skippers in their Trunks and Jackets,
Waterlane-Whores with gaping Plackets,
Old crippl'd Soldiers, Sots, and Sailors,
Informing Rascals, Under Jaylors,
And all the Scum of humane Race,
That can the Church of God disgrace;
Hither they come, as to a Fair,
And crowd the Isles in Time of Pray'r,
There gape and gaze their Hours away,
Regarding neither Place nor Day;
But loiter on their lazy Heels,
Like Aquæpotes at Tunbridge-Wells;
Till the loud Pipes proclaim the last
Amen is said, and all is past;
A Rustical Description OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, Lately Reform'd, IN A Fanatical Visitation
Upon the 6th of October, &c. in the Year of our Lord 1648. with the same Committees in the following Year. And other Things not unworthy to be noted.
1
I
Whilst out of Town, strange News allarm'dMy Ears, which founded odly,
That Oxford was to be reform'd
By Dunces, call'd, the Godly.
II
I soon resolv'd, if no ill ChanceShould cross my Inclination,
To make my Eyes the Evidence
Of this New Reformation.
III
Entring the City to inspectThese blessed Regulators,
There only found a meagre Sect
Of formal ugly Creatures.
2
IV
Those who had slept in Decius's DenAn Age, and then awaking,
Sure never saw such ill-look'd Men,
Or Monsters of GOD's making.
V
Crosses and Temples [they] beheld,In early Days erected,
Which Pious Guides took care to build
When Virtue was respected.
VI
But, in these Holier Times, our SaintsHold Temples in derision,
And pull down Crosses with pretence,
They're Signs of Superstition.
VII
First drawn toth' Schools b'Assemblies Rules,I found 'em much polluted,
Where Scholars once, instead of Fools,
In solemn Form disputed.
3
VIII
[illeg.] Kings Professors did expect,As usual, but I found none,
Nor young Inceptors, but th'Elect,
With neither Hood nor Gown on.
IX
Then cross the Quadrangle I pass,Where Youth were wont to prattle;
But found the same o'errun with Grass,
Enough to fat lean Cattle.
X
Toth' Musick-School I next repair'd,By Ladies once frequented;
But saw no Sports, no Musick heard,
The Place seem'd quite absented.
XI
Mounting the Bod'leian Pile, I step'dTo view the Kingdom's Glory,
There only found the Knave that kept
That fam'd Repository.
4
XII
Where Piles of Books, in woful Case,Neglected lay at random,
Because the Saints had not the Grace,
Or Wit, to understand 'em.
XIII
Next Sunday I to Mary's went,To hear the Text Expounded;
Plain Mary's, for the Style of Saint
Was plunder'd by the Roundhead.
XIV
Be'ng over-careful, first I fear'dA dangerous Introduction,
But finding no great Flock appear'd,
I pass'd without Obstruction.
XV
And entring where the Seniors us'd,To loll, and hear the Sermon,
Saw Cooks and Scullions sit confus'd,
With Botchers, and such Vermin.
5
XVI
In Pomp appear'd the new moroseBook-learn'd Procancellarius,
Hated by all Good Men, because
His Conscience was nefarious.
XVII
Next, what I ne'er observ'd before,Saw Proctors sine Clavibus,
And that which made me laugh the more,
New Beadles sine Stavibus.
XVIII
At length, a little Mushroom, stuff'dWith Nonsence, climb'd the Pulpit,
Sure Cusheon ne'er before was cuff'd
By such an empty Dulpate.
XIX
Who bawl'd aloud whate'er came next,'Thout rub or hesitation,
With dexter Fist drove on his Text,
And threaten'd his Congregation.
6
XX
Tir'd with dull Cant, much Tongue, no Brains,And Looks enough to fright ye,
I mov'd to see my Rev'rend Friends,
Not yet expell'd the City.
XXI
To All-Souls College first I steer'd,Whose Name was well adapted,
For few Corporeal Things appear'd,
The House itself excepted.
XXII
I sought the Ward'n, that sweet good Man,Polite in e'ery Knowledge,
But heard, with Grief, my Friend was ta'en
To Prison, from the College.
XXIII
I then to Corpus Christi went,S'oppress'd with Malediction,
That you'd have sworn, 'twixt Thieves they meant
Its second Crucifixion.
7
XXIV
Christ-Church was tumbl'd up and down,By sanctify'd Ill-nature,
And all her Children of the Gown,
Were forc'd abroad to scatter.
XXV
I Hammond sought, divine his Sence,But found Incarceration
Eclips'd that Sun of Eloquence
And Glory of the Nation.
XXVI
Hence to St. John's, who'd undergoneOne sad Decapitation,
There found Tormentors carrying on
A second Decollation
XXVII
Their Holy President b'ing lost,The Scholars quit their College,
And whilst a Hell-born rul'd the Roast,
Were barr'd of Food and Knowledge.
8
XXVIII
Alas! fair House, delightful once,Where pleasant Streams abounded,
Now poyson'd by a dirty Dunce,
Foul Channel, and a Roundhead.
XXIX
Old Trinity, tho' near I came,I pass'd, for her Impiety,
Because 'twas dang'rous to condemn
That Heretick Society.
XXX
For in these wicked Times, so blindWere Youth, and those that taught 'em,
That no where could a Churchman find
Three Persons, had he sought 'em.
XXXI
Then musing on the wretched Case,And miserable Omen
O'th' College, from whose Nose of Brass,
The House derives its Nomen.
9
XXXII
Here their harsh Rulers plac'd a dullDamn'd Principal, t'enslave 'em,
Whose Eyes distorted in his Skull,
Made Nature start that gave 'em.
XXXIII
Entring New-College, by and by,Where Age can find no Quarter,
Amaz'd! I heard the horrid Cry
Of one that suffer'd Torture.
XXXIV
A pleasant House, built with intent,Our freeborn Youth to cherish,
But now a Bridewel to torment
The Loyal, till they perish.
XXXV
To weeping Magdalen I strole,My self a weeping Brother,
There sighing find, that College full
As empty as each other.
10
XXXVI
Which happy Place was once adorn'dWith young attentive Scholars,
And well supported by a learn'd
Supply of worthy Pillars.
XXXVII
But those fair Props are tumbl'd down,In which her Strength consisted,
Herself a-ground, her Offspring flown,
Of all her Joys divested.
XXXVIII
These Walls, where once the Muses smil'd,And us'd to dwell and thrive-there,
Are now with dolesome dulness fill'd,
And Bats and Howlets live-there.
XXXIX
In room o'th' President, a ManNo Age produc'd a greater,
A Hum-drum Dotard leads the Van,
And Reigns as Gubernator.
11
XL
These direful Omens made me ev'nDread all those Devils together,
Driv'n out by Heav'n, in number sev'n,
Were now returning hither.
XLI
Wheree'er I stroll'd, or whatsoe'erI thought worth looking after,
Induc'd me still to shed a Tear,
Or else provok'd my Laughter.
XLII
I wept to see the Learn'd deny'dTh'enjoyment of their Places,
But smil'd to see the same supply'd,
By dull unthinking Asses.
XLIII
O rare! O fine Reforming Art!Whose Med'cines are so fatal,
They cure, as Emp'ricks cure, a Part,
When they destroy the Total.
12
XLIV
Square Heads they plague and persecute,Till Learning's quite confounded,
And in their Places constitute
Each canting Rebel Roundhead.
XLV
Survey the Colleges, you'll findHard Laws, but nothing rightful,
Except the Buildings now resign'd
By th'Scholars, to the spightful.
XLVI
Cold Kitchens, where no Meat they dress,Chappels without Devotion,
Dry Cellars, Halls without a Mess
To keep their Jaws in motion.
XLVII
No Sermons in their Churches heard,From decent Rites they vary,
For Hums and Haws of picked Beard,
And Pray'rs extemporary.
13
XLVIII
Mean while, what is't the Townsmen do,Amidst these Reformations?
But madly wish the Saints pursue
Their sanctify'd Mutations.
XLIX
Thus whilst the Mountain's bringing forth,Th'exalt their Horns with Gladness,
But soon disdain the foolish Birth,
And bite their Thumbs for Madness.
L
The World's great Ornament, alas!The Age's Pride and Honour:
O tell me! how it comes to pass,
The same's the same no longer.
LI
For, as 'tis said, 'twas once made known,By some old dreaming Author,
Oxford should not in Oxford Town,
Be found by those that sought her.
FINIS.
| A collection of historical and state poems | |