University of Virginia Library

But, O the Church! that, that's the second Cry,
As very a Sham as that of Monarchy:
For while the Letters in our Ears do ring,
The Cabala is quite another thing.
Some mean by Church down-right Debauchery;
For tho our Church abhors such Villany,
Yet when a Sot or Bully, reeking from
Tavern or Brothel, to a Church doth come,
Mumbling his Orisons without Regard,
To charm his Conscience, more than to be heard,
That he might sin a-fresh with greater Gust,
(As Turks with Opium fortify their Lust)
Then, Ah the Church! the Church! that sacred Name
Must serve to hallow his impurer Flame;
Cancel old Sins, and qualify for new,
Give Absolution, and a Licence too.
So when he hugs the Sanctuary-Walls,
Himself a Saint, the Malefactor falls;
Christens his Fears, and from the sacred Stone
Hath turn'd his Flight into Devotion.
So Temples were by Heathens made their Stews,
And Dens of Thieves and Robbers by the Jews.
So Eli's Sons, who at the very Doors
Of the Assembly made the Women Whores,
Were Church-men too, but to the Church's Cost;
For by such Church-men soon the Ark was lost.

With others, Name of Church doth signify
A mere misplaced Zeal and Bigotry
For Rites and Ceremonies, and these too
The very worst and meanest of the Crew;
Such as perhaps the Church might better spare,
And more her Blemish than her Beauty are.
Live as you list, this Man doth not regard;
Infringe her Doctrines too, he is not stirr'd:
But touch a Surplice, or an Eastern Nod,
You wound his Darling, and blaspheme his God.
Ask him but whence unlighted Candles came?
And straight the Man himself is in a Flame:
Speak but against the Cross, he'l read your doom,
That you deserve to hang in Gismas Room:
He'd rather have two Easters in a Year,
Than to disturb the sacred Calendar.
What most is scrupled, that he values most;
And rather would have all Dissenters lost,
Than old Translation should be refitted,
Or Tobit and his Dog should be omitted.
He joys when Service in the Chancel's read,
Tho half the People hear not what is said.
Adores an Organ, tho he needs must know
That when the Heav'nly Boreas doth blow,
The Sense too oft is murder'd by the Sound,
And many a Psalm feloniously is drown'd.
And if you do but lisp of Alteration,
Then straight Vox Cleri must alarm the Nation:
You're then Phanatick, Neuter, Half-way-man,
Or mungrel Latitudinarian;
You pull the Church down; for 'twill surely fall,
If you but pick one Pebble from the Wall:
Or tho you never move the smallest Stone,
'Tis Sacrilege to pull the Ivy down.
So Pedants count themselves the best Orators,
And Fops and Beaus the only Courtiers,
So Dancing Masters walk the Fields by Rules,
Whilst all the World proclaims them formal Fools.

A third, by Church, mean Persecution,
A right Church-militant with Sword and Gun:
A Church that governs more by Fear than Love,
And more hath of the Eagle than the Dove:
A Church that into Swords doth beat her Shares,
And all her Pruning-books converts to Spears.
“Ah could we but these Vermin hunt to Death
“By five and thirtieth of Elizabeth;
“Or plague them by Imprisonment or Fine,
“Until we had compell'd them to come in,
“'Twere brave indeed! but since that's laid asleep,
“And (which is still a Wound more wide and deep)
“A free and legal Toleration
“Is gain'd for all that do our Doctrines own;
“What help remains, the Church doth gasping lie,
“And all is lost beyond Recovery!

But hold Sir! Is't impossible to save
The Church's Life, and keep her from the Grave,
Unless these Steel Prescriptions we have?
Pray tell me how in Ages Primitive
She made a shift to keep herself alive,
And flourish'd too? Or else resolve me how
All pious Pastors hold up Churches now
By Preaching and good Life? and so may you.
The way is open, imitate your Lord,
And that alone will Followers afford:
Most Men are not so giddy as to scorn
Good Sermons more at Church than in a Barn,
Or think an Heav'nly Life less fair doth look
Under a Gown and Cassock than a Cloke.
But if you rather choose to prop your Cause
By violent and compulsory Laws,
Which is Dragooning in the best Edition,
(Or younger Brother to an Inquisition)
Your Church will meet the Fate of Tyranny,
Hated to live, and soon unpitied, die.

The last of those pretended Cheats and Shams,
Doth [by the Church] at bottom mean King James:
Let one that's true to William's Interest
(Altho as good a Churchman as the best)
Attempt to stand at an Election,
Straight he's a Whig: the Church is quite undone!
But for a trusty Spark, that secretly
Drinks James's Health, when knows his Company,
They'l rend the Welkin with their bellowing Cry.
There needs no Oedipus t'unriddle this;
Church is the Apologue, and James the Moral is.
But if you think indeed King James your Friend,
And that your Church he'l mightily defend;
Then pray, to do King Lewis Right, remember
Give him the Stile too, of your Great Defender;
Who list'ning to the Groans of the Oppress'd,
In pure Compassion sent his Fleet from Brest.
This would resolve the Question, whether France
Came hither by Agreement or by Chance?
Or if the last abortive Letter-Plot
Was to be finish'd by French Force or not?
And who must pay him his expended Pelf?
Or if he wou'd not wisely pay himself?
And ballancing the Charge against the Gains,
Rescue the Church, and take it for his Pains?
But whatsoever Int'rest was intended
By French Invasion to be befriended,
'Tis all a Case, the Treason is the same,
Whoe'er the Authors are; and if the Name
Of Church must shelter ev'ry Plotting Knave,
(As once the Ark did Toads and Vipers save)
Both Church and State, so late at Ruin's Brink,
Sav'd in a Storm, will in the Harbour sink.