The Life of Our Blessed Lord & Saviour Jesus Christ An Heroic Poem: Dedicated to Her Most Sacred Majesty. In Ten Books. Attempted by Samuel Wesley ... Each Book illustrated by necessary Notes, explaining all the more difficult Matters in the whole History: Also a Prefatory Discourse concerning Heroic Poetry. With Sixty Copper-Plates |
 |
 | The Life of Our Blessed Lord & Saviour Jesus Christ |  |
Surpriz'd a while were all the Audience by,
With such mysterious Truths, august and high,
Beyond the reach of narrow Natures Rules,
Or Roman Eloquence, or Grecian Schools:
Tho' something not unlike in Greece which you
From ancient sacred Hebrew Fountains drew
Your pleasant Walks divinest Plato knew:
Hence the vain Heathen World, and vainer Tribe
Of Atheistick Fools to thee ascribe
Many a noble Truth and Mystery,
More ancient than the Grecian Name, or Thee,
From all the blinded VVorld before conceal'd,
And only to the chosen Jews reveal'd,
Nay ev'n by them kept secret, and alone
To the few wise and good amongst 'em known,
To all his Follw'ers by our Saviour shewn.
Hence even the learned Doctors they outdo,
Who wonder'd whence such wond'rous things they knew:
So those who here—But freer than the rest
Thus the Centurion his surprize exprest.
—That you're good men is easily discern'd,
But I confess I never thought you learn'd:
And are the Grecian Arts too hither spred?
With such mysterious Truths, august and high,
Beyond the reach of narrow Natures Rules,
Or Roman Eloquence, or Grecian Schools:
Tho' something not unlike in Greece which you
From ancient sacred Hebrew Fountains drew
Your pleasant Walks divinest Plato knew:
Hence the vain Heathen World, and vainer Tribe
Of Atheistick Fools to thee ascribe
Many a noble Truth and Mystery,
More ancient than the Grecian Name, or Thee,
From all the blinded VVorld before conceal'd,
And only to the chosen Jews reveal'd,
Nay ev'n by them kept secret, and alone
To the few wise and good amongst 'em known,
To all his Follw'ers by our Saviour shewn.
Hence even the learned Doctors they outdo,
Who wonder'd whence such wond'rous things they knew:
So those who here—But freer than the rest
Thus the Centurion his surprize exprest.
—That you're good men is easily discern'd,
But I confess I never thought you learn'd:
And are the Grecian Arts too hither spred?
191
For I perceive, Sir! you have Plato read!
Nay e'en our Virgil or I guess amiss,
For many strokes of yours resemble his.
Our Sybils too, who mingling false with true
I nought believ'd till 'twas confirm'd by you.
I find our Roman Writers, to be free,
Unjustly brand you with Barbarity.
Nay e'en our Virgil or I guess amiss,
For many strokes of yours resemble his.
Our Sybils too, who mingling false with true
I nought believ'd till 'twas confirm'd by you.
I find our Roman Writers, to be free,
Unjustly brand you with Barbarity.
To whom Gamaliel thus reply'd, and smil'd:
Learning which is at Greece and Rome a Child
Has been so long amongst the Hebrews known,
'Tis at full Age, if not decrepid grown.
Egypt from us, from us the Grecians drew
Their Arts, and as their own they lent 'em you,
Who borrow all you think of us you know
From fabling Greece, and falser Manetho,
Who by Abuses cunningly provide
Their ancient Thefts from all the World to hide.
What have they that 's not ours, had all their due,
'Twere easie to convince you this is true.
That who the Jews as barbarous contemn,
Have borrow'd all from us, we none from them,
Their very Gods, their ancient History,
Their Shipping, and their boasted Poetry.
Letters and Laws—Half this if you cou'd prove
Replies the Roman, you'd my wonder move,
Till then, excuse my Smiles, for Truth to tell
Yet, Doctor! I'm a very Infidel.
I ask no favour, no Opponent fear
Replies the Sage—Lend an impartial Ear
And first their Gods, with which when wand'ring wide
Phenicia all the Heathen World supply'd.
To us their Gods Phenice and Egypt owe,
We only their true Origin can show.
Their ancient mighty Jao was the same
With our conceal'd, unutterable Name,
Their false Jove from our true—Adonai came.
And he to whom you did a Temple rear,
Was only the Phenician Thunderer.
Tho' skulking in as many different shapes
As when employ'd below in Thefts and Rapes.
Now Hammon him from ancient Cham you call,
Now Belus name him from our injur'd Baal;
Your Juno has the same Original
Howe'er disguis'd as when she once did rove
O'er all the Earth in quest of wand'ring Jove.
Whether by Sydon nam'd, Baaltis she,
Belisama, or fair Astarte be:
Where is not great Astarte known? the same
Th' Egyptians Isis, you Diana name,
Whom when your Matrons fruitful pangs invade
They loud invoking cry, Lucina aid!
Now Berecynthia, Mother of the Gods,
A Huntress she in Ida's sacred Woods;
Rhea the same, the same with both the Moon,
Whose beauteous silver Rays make Nights pale noon.
Thus track 'em to the Spring and still you're poor,
Your Gods but few amidst your boasted store,
In vain you one poor Idol oft divide,
He's still the same however multiply'd;
The same in vain's in different figures thrown,
All our Three hundred Joves are scarcely one,
From Phenice first he round the World did rove,
Old Saturn, Moloch, Phæbus, all but Jove.
Learning which is at Greece and Rome a Child
Has been so long amongst the Hebrews known,
'Tis at full Age, if not decrepid grown.
Egypt from us, from us the Grecians drew
Their Arts, and as their own they lent 'em you,
Who borrow all you think of us you know
From fabling Greece, and falser Manetho,
Who by Abuses cunningly provide
Their ancient Thefts from all the World to hide.
What have they that 's not ours, had all their due,
'Twere easie to convince you this is true.
That who the Jews as barbarous contemn,
Have borrow'd all from us, we none from them,
Their very Gods, their ancient History,
Their Shipping, and their boasted Poetry.
Letters and Laws—Half this if you cou'd prove
Replies the Roman, you'd my wonder move,
Till then, excuse my Smiles, for Truth to tell
Yet, Doctor! I'm a very Infidel.
I ask no favour, no Opponent fear
Replies the Sage—Lend an impartial Ear
And first their Gods, with which when wand'ring wide
Phenicia all the Heathen World supply'd.
To us their Gods Phenice and Egypt owe,
We only their true Origin can show.
Their ancient mighty Jao was the same
With our conceal'd, unutterable Name,
Their false Jove from our true—Adonai came.
And he to whom you did a Temple rear,
Was only the Phenician Thunderer.
Tho' skulking in as many different shapes
As when employ'd below in Thefts and Rapes.
192
Now Belus name him from our injur'd Baal;
Your Juno has the same Original
Howe'er disguis'd as when she once did rove
O'er all the Earth in quest of wand'ring Jove.
Whether by Sydon nam'd, Baaltis she,
Belisama, or fair Astarte be:
Where is not great Astarte known? the same
Th' Egyptians Isis, you Diana name,
Whom when your Matrons fruitful pangs invade
They loud invoking cry, Lucina aid!
Now Berecynthia, Mother of the Gods,
A Huntress she in Ida's sacred Woods;
Rhea the same, the same with both the Moon,
Whose beauteous silver Rays make Nights pale noon.
Thus track 'em to the Spring and still you're poor,
Your Gods but few amidst your boasted store,
In vain you one poor Idol oft divide,
He's still the same however multiply'd;
The same in vain's in different figures thrown,
All our Three hundred Joves are scarcely one,
From Phenice first he round the World did rove,
Old Saturn, Moloch, Phæbus, all but Jove.
Roundly you all assert, but Sir, I fear
The Roman urg'd, we little proof shall hear.
Sol, Saturn, Jove—You young and old confound,
In Errors endless Circle wand'ring round.
Astarte, Isis, Juno—How the same?
What likeness in their Worship or their Name?
How from Phenicians we, and they from you
Derive their Gods? and if th' Assertion 's true
How you'll avoid the shame of Idols too.
The Roman urg'd, we little proof shall hear.
Sol, Saturn, Jove—You young and old confound,
In Errors endless Circle wand'ring round.
Astarte, Isis, Juno—How the same?
What likeness in their Worship or their Name?
How from Phenicians we, and they from you
Derive their Gods? and if th' Assertion 's true
How you'll avoid the shame of Idols too.
To your Objections freely I'll reply,
And doubt not but I them shall satisfie
Rejoyns Gamaliel—You must with me bear
While first the rise of Idols I declare.
When Man forgot his God, he soon began
Himself t'adore, and make a God of Man:
With Gods true Knowledge all good Arts beside
In a few Centuries decay'd and dy'd:
The wicked World grew barbarous agen,
As e'r the Flood, and monstrous Beasts and men
Rang'd o'er the Plains, the strong the weaker awe,
Love then was only Lust, and Force was Law:
Among the rest some few bright Spirits arose
Who shield the Weak, and Force with Force oppose;
Incense as well as Praise the Vulgar bring,
Nor was't enough to make a Heroe, King;
But of their Benefactors they devise
Prodigious Tales, and numerous grateful Lies:
A Centaur then who e'r a Horse bestrod,
And he that kill'd a Bear was made a God.
Of some departed Father, Friend, or Lord
They first an Image form'd, and then ador'd;
While others, who above the rest cou'd boast
Their skill and knowledge of the heavenly Host,
How all things by the Suns kind Influence grow,
And Seas, as Luna bids them, ebb and flow;
What friendly Influences fill the Skies,
When o'er th' Horizon the sweet Pleiads rise,
Or mighty Mazzeroth, thro' silent Night
Scatters profuse his Donatives of Light;
These scorn'd their Adoration there to give
From whence they cou'd no Benefits receive,
While to the glorious Bodies plac'd above
Which some thought living, for they saw 'em move;
Which chearful Heat and Light to all dispense,
And as they dream, some secret Influence,
Which as they pleas'd, unblest or happy make,
To these, by a too incident mistake
To humane Minds, they think they all things ow,
Which from the first Great Cause of Causes flow:
These they adore, not him did them create,
Their kindly properties they celebrate.
Hence came the ancient Mythologic Tribe,
Who secret venerable Names ascribe
To what they worship'd, tho' as Time roll'd on,
The Reason of the name perhaps unknown,
Yet Footsteps of our Language still remain
In spite of Time and Ign'rance so plain,
They their first Origin wou'd hide in vain.
Sometimes their Heroes they, and Stars wou'd join,
And both to' oblige, they make 'em both Divine:
At others, they import, afraid, and loth
To disoblige 'em, Gods of foreign growth:
Fish, Fowl and Beasts and Man their Gods they call,
Nay to make all things sure, the Fiends and all.
They'd need some kind of Pantheon now provide
So much at last the Race is multiply'd,
Which neither they nor we can marshal right,
For Truth is one, but Error infinite:
How e'r we've yet some glimm'ring Tracks of Light,
Some marks in most, which not unlikely show
From whence at first they came, where e'r they go.
Most of Phenician growth and Language be,
The same we not in fruitful Egypt see,
First founded on our Tongue, or History.
Of Jove, if more there need, I'll prov't agen,
Father by you esteem'd of Gods and Men,
Now him Baalsamen, the Phenicians call
Great Lord of Heav'n, now Eliun, Belus, Baal.
'Tis plain they only mean the Sun, by all.
Moloch and Belus is with them the same,
Saturn with both, the diff'rence but in name
These one Inscription oft together ties,
Alike their Form, alike their Sacrifice.
To both the Nations their Bœtylia raise,
And both far more for Fear, then Love they praise.
Agen, that Isis, Io, Juno, are
The same, your own best VVriters oft declare.
The same their way of Life, all giv'n to rove,
And all, (but one indeed,) the Wife of Jove.
All horn'd alike their Images we see,
Whence Jove himself too in the mode must be,
For Isis, e'er to Libyan Wasts he fled
With her own double Crown adorn'd his Head.
But what's more plain than that so odd a Dress
In Hieroglyphicks did the Moon express?
Tho' something further too was their intent,
Their sacred Oxe did Joseph represent;
Him then t'a Star they join'd, and long before
Your Rome was Rome, his Crest their Idols wore
E'en their Astronomy by us was taught,
By Father Abraham first from Chaldee brought,
Whether from Seth's eternal Pillars learn'd,
Or by Traditions glimm'ring Light discern'd.
To them the use of Letters long unknown,
Their boasted Hermes ours, and not their own,
Nay e'en the old Chaldeans sacred Fire,
Which Delphos, you, and all the World admire,
Your Vesta, Persia's Mitra, are but one,
The same with Moloch, Ammon, and the Sun.
With as much ease I shall convince you soon
Astarte's Juno, Isis, and the Moon:
Th' Egyptian Isis, Queen of Heav'n you name
Your Juno, our Astarte is the same,
And all the Moon, in Venus all agen
You find, great Mother she of Gods and Men.
And doubt not but I them shall satisfie
Rejoyns Gamaliel—You must with me bear
While first the rise of Idols I declare.
When Man forgot his God, he soon began
Himself t'adore, and make a God of Man:
With Gods true Knowledge all good Arts beside
In a few Centuries decay'd and dy'd:
193
As e'r the Flood, and monstrous Beasts and men
Rang'd o'er the Plains, the strong the weaker awe,
Love then was only Lust, and Force was Law:
Among the rest some few bright Spirits arose
Who shield the Weak, and Force with Force oppose;
Incense as well as Praise the Vulgar bring,
Nor was't enough to make a Heroe, King;
But of their Benefactors they devise
Prodigious Tales, and numerous grateful Lies:
A Centaur then who e'r a Horse bestrod,
And he that kill'd a Bear was made a God.
Of some departed Father, Friend, or Lord
They first an Image form'd, and then ador'd;
While others, who above the rest cou'd boast
Their skill and knowledge of the heavenly Host,
How all things by the Suns kind Influence grow,
And Seas, as Luna bids them, ebb and flow;
What friendly Influences fill the Skies,
When o'er th' Horizon the sweet Pleiads rise,
Or mighty Mazzeroth, thro' silent Night
Scatters profuse his Donatives of Light;
These scorn'd their Adoration there to give
From whence they cou'd no Benefits receive,
While to the glorious Bodies plac'd above
Which some thought living, for they saw 'em move;
Which chearful Heat and Light to all dispense,
And as they dream, some secret Influence,
Which as they pleas'd, unblest or happy make,
To these, by a too incident mistake
To humane Minds, they think they all things ow,
Which from the first Great Cause of Causes flow:
These they adore, not him did them create,
Their kindly properties they celebrate.
Hence came the ancient Mythologic Tribe,
Who secret venerable Names ascribe
To what they worship'd, tho' as Time roll'd on,
The Reason of the name perhaps unknown,
Yet Footsteps of our Language still remain
In spite of Time and Ign'rance so plain,
They their first Origin wou'd hide in vain.
194
And both to' oblige, they make 'em both Divine:
At others, they import, afraid, and loth
To disoblige 'em, Gods of foreign growth:
Fish, Fowl and Beasts and Man their Gods they call,
Nay to make all things sure, the Fiends and all.
They'd need some kind of Pantheon now provide
So much at last the Race is multiply'd,
Which neither they nor we can marshal right,
For Truth is one, but Error infinite:
How e'r we've yet some glimm'ring Tracks of Light,
Some marks in most, which not unlikely show
From whence at first they came, where e'r they go.
Most of Phenician growth and Language be,
The same we not in fruitful Egypt see,
First founded on our Tongue, or History.
Of Jove, if more there need, I'll prov't agen,
Father by you esteem'd of Gods and Men,
Now him Baalsamen, the Phenicians call
Great Lord of Heav'n, now Eliun, Belus, Baal.
'Tis plain they only mean the Sun, by all.
Moloch and Belus is with them the same,
Saturn with both, the diff'rence but in name
These one Inscription oft together ties,
Alike their Form, alike their Sacrifice.
To both the Nations their Bœtylia raise,
And both far more for Fear, then Love they praise.
Agen, that Isis, Io, Juno, are
The same, your own best VVriters oft declare.
The same their way of Life, all giv'n to rove,
And all, (but one indeed,) the Wife of Jove.
All horn'd alike their Images we see,
Whence Jove himself too in the mode must be,
For Isis, e'er to Libyan Wasts he fled
With her own double Crown adorn'd his Head.
But what's more plain than that so odd a Dress
In Hieroglyphicks did the Moon express?
Tho' something further too was their intent,
Their sacred Oxe did Joseph represent;
Him then t'a Star they join'd, and long before
195
E'en their Astronomy by us was taught,
By Father Abraham first from Chaldee brought,
Whether from Seth's eternal Pillars learn'd,
Or by Traditions glimm'ring Light discern'd.
To them the use of Letters long unknown,
Their boasted Hermes ours, and not their own,
Nay e'en the old Chaldeans sacred Fire,
Which Delphos, you, and all the World admire,
Your Vesta, Persia's Mitra, are but one,
The same with Moloch, Ammon, and the Sun.
With as much ease I shall convince you soon
Astarte's Juno, Isis, and the Moon:
Th' Egyptian Isis, Queen of Heav'n you name
Your Juno, our Astarte is the same,
And all the Moon, in Venus all agen
You find, great Mother she of Gods and Men.
See then whence your Divinities do flow!
Or Sun and Moon above, or Men below.
Your Vulgar e'en their Images implore,
And the less stupid sacred Blocks adore;
From place to place where e'er they trav'ling come
Officious, carry, or they'd stay'd at home;
For whatsoever their false Priests declare
That Gods meet Gods, fierce-justling in the Air,
Further than them their Votaries did bear,
They never stirr'd—Thus came Astarte o'er
To Cyprus first, from the Sidonian shore,
Cypria, and Paphia call'd, and thence went on
From Isle to Isle, and past Icaria gone
At Samos touch'd, where they her Temple rais'd,
And by the Grecian Name of Juno prais'd:
Whence Men the neighb'ring Land Ionia stile
And Samos bears the name of Juno's Isle:
Nor far remov'd other Erythians live,
To whom the neighb'ring Goddess Name did give,
Fair Erycina call'd, when wafted o'er
By Cytheron to rich Trinacria's shore,
Melita past, thence her the Tyrians bore.
By her old Name to those new Walls they found
Your Rival Carthage—West to utmost ground
They next proceed, where no more World is found;
To Gades, and the rich Tertessian strand
Arriv'd, and fierce Geryon's fertile Land
Whom their brave Captain slew in manful Fight,
And seizes his rich Isle by Conquest's right;
It's Name it changes, as it chang'd its Lord
Erythia call'd, from Venus there ador'd
Now Aphrodisia it the Ancient's stile,
Astarta now, now Juno's sacred Isle.
Nay, thro' Herculean straits ne'er past before
To that new World without their Gods they bore,
Whose fair white Rocks oppose the Celtic shore
Where Cesar late, for Life, not Honour fought,
And at so dear a price their Conquest bought,
Bel and Astarte known and worshipp'd there,
And Taramis, the dreaded Thunderer.
If back agen to East you turn your Eye
In the Red Sea a little Isle you'll spy
Which Erythra, the name pronouncing false
The Fabling Grecian for Erythia calls:
To Venus here a Fane the Tyrians found,
And gave her the whole Isle as sacred Ground.
From her Astarte term'd—Still further on
Past e'en the Ethiopian Floods they're gone,
There early and undrest surpriz'd the Sun:
Where he retir'd, least Mortals shou'd behold,
By Heav'nly Art turns the blest Earth to Gold.
Where Gomer's Land thrusts out its double head
To West of Ganges-Gulf, e'en there they spred
Their Idols praise, tho' by a different Name,
Colias, is Venus call'd, tho' still the same.
Next more to East, threat'ning the Seas and Skies,
Outstretch'd the Corean Promontory lies;
Near where a Town the Natives Cory stile,
In Taproban, that ancient Indian Isle;
Which easily, I think may be believ'd
From Chora, Juno's Name, their own receiv'd:
Nor more than her has Jove himself stood still,
First born to Crete, and then to Ida's Hill.
Now you at fam'd Olympus him might view;
Then wand'ring with the Corybantic Crew
The Thracian Samos him did entertain,
Where he did with the sad Cabiri reign
Or Sun and Moon above, or Men below.
Your Vulgar e'en their Images implore,
And the less stupid sacred Blocks adore;
From place to place where e'er they trav'ling come
Officious, carry, or they'd stay'd at home;
For whatsoever their false Priests declare
That Gods meet Gods, fierce-justling in the Air,
Further than them their Votaries did bear,
They never stirr'd—Thus came Astarte o'er
To Cyprus first, from the Sidonian shore,
Cypria, and Paphia call'd, and thence went on
From Isle to Isle, and past Icaria gone
At Samos touch'd, where they her Temple rais'd,
And by the Grecian Name of Juno prais'd:
Whence Men the neighb'ring Land Ionia stile
And Samos bears the name of Juno's Isle:
Nor far remov'd other Erythians live,
To whom the neighb'ring Goddess Name did give,
Fair Erycina call'd, when wafted o'er
By Cytheron to rich Trinacria's shore,
Melita past, thence her the Tyrians bore.
196
Your Rival Carthage—West to utmost ground
They next proceed, where no more World is found;
To Gades, and the rich Tertessian strand
Arriv'd, and fierce Geryon's fertile Land
Whom their brave Captain slew in manful Fight,
And seizes his rich Isle by Conquest's right;
It's Name it changes, as it chang'd its Lord
Erythia call'd, from Venus there ador'd
Now Aphrodisia it the Ancient's stile,
Astarta now, now Juno's sacred Isle.
Nay, thro' Herculean straits ne'er past before
To that new World without their Gods they bore,
Whose fair white Rocks oppose the Celtic shore
Where Cesar late, for Life, not Honour fought,
And at so dear a price their Conquest bought,
Bel and Astarte known and worshipp'd there,
And Taramis, the dreaded Thunderer.
If back agen to East you turn your Eye
In the Red Sea a little Isle you'll spy
Which Erythra, the name pronouncing false
The Fabling Grecian for Erythia calls:
To Venus here a Fane the Tyrians found,
And gave her the whole Isle as sacred Ground.
From her Astarte term'd—Still further on
Past e'en the Ethiopian Floods they're gone,
There early and undrest surpriz'd the Sun:
Where he retir'd, least Mortals shou'd behold,
By Heav'nly Art turns the blest Earth to Gold.
Where Gomer's Land thrusts out its double head
To West of Ganges-Gulf, e'en there they spred
Their Idols praise, tho' by a different Name,
Colias, is Venus call'd, tho' still the same.
Next more to East, threat'ning the Seas and Skies,
Outstretch'd the Corean Promontory lies;
Near where a Town the Natives Cory stile,
In Taproban, that ancient Indian Isle;
Which easily, I think may be believ'd
From Chora, Juno's Name, their own receiv'd:
Nor more than her has Jove himself stood still,
197
Now you at fam'd Olympus him might view;
Then wand'ring with the Corybantic Crew
The Thracian Samos him did entertain,
Where he did with the sad Cabiri reign
Thus far we're then advanc'd, and you I've shown
That Isis, Juno, Venus are but one;
As Moloch, Saturn, Hammon, and the Sun,
That those choice Gods were from Phenicia born
From utmost West, to utmost rising-morn:
What yet remains as easie 'tis to clear,
That they'd their very Names and Language here
As Greece and you from them, and yet that we
Cannot be blam'd for their Idolatry,
Beelsamen, Ashteroth, Baaltis, Baal
Howe'er since chang'd from their Original,
Must at the first be own'd pure Hebrew all.
Some Names of God, which the vain Mimic Tribe
Of Idol-slaves to their false Gods ascribe;
(Those which so high an Honour cannot boast
At least claim Kindred with the Heav'nly Host:)
If hard enough, they well contented be,
For then there's something in't of mystery:
Like our unutterable Name 'twill show,
Tho' not their Priests themselves the meaning know.
From Hebrew Histories ill-understood,
They sometimes borrow; hence with humane Blood
Barbarous, Heav'ns angry King they strive t'attone,
With Virtue and with Mercy pleas'd alone.
Hence Moloch's cruel Food at ancient Tyre
Where precious Victims fed their sacred Fire,
Thence did the Savage Rites to Carthage come,
And thence, if I'm not missinform'd, to Rome;
Where oft your bravest Youth devoted dies,
Or them, to save the Herd you sacrifice.
The same curst Offerings are in Albion made
When of their dreadful Painted Foes affraid.
From Isaac all, whose Fathers Faith to try
His Friend his Son requir'd, but wou'd not let him dye.
Ill Apes of what they think from us they learn,
Or by Traditions glimm'ring Beams discern
Those two great Lights our Books describe, which sway
By their successive motion night and day;
Hence to those Lights the stupid Gentiles pray,
Now several Hero's they in one comprize,
To ancient Truths new Dreams and Tales devise,
And oft they know not whom they Idolize;
Now mighty Nimrod they their Bacchus make,
Then our great Moses for the same mistake;
Who sometimes must the fam'd Taautes be,
The German and Egyptian Mercury.
That Isis, Juno, Venus are but one;
As Moloch, Saturn, Hammon, and the Sun,
That those choice Gods were from Phenicia born
From utmost West, to utmost rising-morn:
What yet remains as easie 'tis to clear,
That they'd their very Names and Language here
As Greece and you from them, and yet that we
Cannot be blam'd for their Idolatry,
Beelsamen, Ashteroth, Baaltis, Baal
Howe'er since chang'd from their Original,
Must at the first be own'd pure Hebrew all.
Some Names of God, which the vain Mimic Tribe
Of Idol-slaves to their false Gods ascribe;
(Those which so high an Honour cannot boast
At least claim Kindred with the Heav'nly Host:)
If hard enough, they well contented be,
For then there's something in't of mystery:
Like our unutterable Name 'twill show,
Tho' not their Priests themselves the meaning know.
From Hebrew Histories ill-understood,
They sometimes borrow; hence with humane Blood
Barbarous, Heav'ns angry King they strive t'attone,
With Virtue and with Mercy pleas'd alone.
Hence Moloch's cruel Food at ancient Tyre
Where precious Victims fed their sacred Fire,
Thence did the Savage Rites to Carthage come,
And thence, if I'm not missinform'd, to Rome;
Where oft your bravest Youth devoted dies,
Or them, to save the Herd you sacrifice.
The same curst Offerings are in Albion made
When of their dreadful Painted Foes affraid.
From Isaac all, whose Fathers Faith to try
His Friend his Son requir'd, but wou'd not let him dye.
Ill Apes of what they think from us they learn,
198
Those two great Lights our Books describe, which sway
By their successive motion night and day;
Hence to those Lights the stupid Gentiles pray,
Now several Hero's they in one comprize,
To ancient Truths new Dreams and Tales devise,
And oft they know not whom they Idolize;
Now mighty Nimrod they their Bacchus make,
Then our great Moses for the same mistake;
Who sometimes must the fam'd Taautes be,
The German and Egyptian Mercury.
That Letters did from us, and Learning flow
The Elements themselves, consulted, show.
From us—Had yours their Order, Names, and Pow'rs,
Their very Form not much estrang'd from ours.
Cadmus who taught the Grecians first to write,
What was he but a Coward Cadmonite?
Who long in Rocks and Holes was skulking laid,
Of God's and Joshua's vengeful Sword afraid,
Whence their old stories, mingling false with true,
Make him at last a Serpent's Form indue:
Nor only this, the Letters Colour too
Where large and great, their Origin confess,
Their rise in glorious Tyrian stains express.
Those Letters first to the Phenicians came
From Grandsire Sem, and Father Abraham,
Whose mighty Pray'rs, nor less prevailing Hand
Incredible! with his small faithful Band
From four invading Kings set free their grateful Land:
Then, Arts and Piety amongst 'em brought,
Which Abraham Sem, Sem holy Noah taught;
Whose story learnt, like his they Vessels wrought,
And coasting, travers'd many a distant shore,
E'er Rome was Rome, or Grecia handled Oar.
This he whose Birth-place Samos boasts well knew,
Whom Fame of Hebrew Knowledge hither drew,
Nor thought his Blood too dear a price, to learn
Those sacred Truths which only we discern;
These once obtain'd, the precious Treasure bore
To Croton's Walls, and your Calabrian shore,
This learn'd Hermippus owns, who with delight
And diligence his Masters Life did write;
This Plato's self had done, whose piercing Eyes
Unveil'd beheld our deepest mysteries,
Had that great man but been as just as wise.
His One and Many he from us receiv'd,
And our mysterious Triad he believ'd:
His Psyche, Logos, En, what can they be
But Elohims great undivided Three?
Who e'er his Works with curious Eyes survey'd,
Wou'd there perceive a VVorld of Nothing made,
By the first Cause; the Angels, and the Fall,
And strokes of our great Moses in them all.
Whom the first Legislator you must own,
The Founder he of written Laws alone.
Nor was this useful Art by him conceal'd,
By God to him, by him to us reveal'd,
Before Troy's VVar, as from our Books appears,
By many rolling Centuries of years.
Hence Grecian Lawgivers their Pandects drew,
Who when they of so rich a Treasure knew
Did to our neighb'ring Isles from Greece retire,
And steal some sparks of our Celestial Fire.
To us the Attic Laws, esteem'd so wise,
To them your old Twelve Tables owe their Rise.
The Elements themselves, consulted, show.
From us—Had yours their Order, Names, and Pow'rs,
Their very Form not much estrang'd from ours.
Cadmus who taught the Grecians first to write,
What was he but a Coward Cadmonite?
Who long in Rocks and Holes was skulking laid,
Of God's and Joshua's vengeful Sword afraid,
Whence their old stories, mingling false with true,
Make him at last a Serpent's Form indue:
Nor only this, the Letters Colour too
Where large and great, their Origin confess,
Their rise in glorious Tyrian stains express.
Those Letters first to the Phenicians came
From Grandsire Sem, and Father Abraham,
Whose mighty Pray'rs, nor less prevailing Hand
Incredible! with his small faithful Band
From four invading Kings set free their grateful Land:
Then, Arts and Piety amongst 'em brought,
Which Abraham Sem, Sem holy Noah taught;
Whose story learnt, like his they Vessels wrought,
And coasting, travers'd many a distant shore,
E'er Rome was Rome, or Grecia handled Oar.
This he whose Birth-place Samos boasts well knew,
Whom Fame of Hebrew Knowledge hither drew,
Nor thought his Blood too dear a price, to learn
Those sacred Truths which only we discern;
These once obtain'd, the precious Treasure bore
To Croton's Walls, and your Calabrian shore,
199
And diligence his Masters Life did write;
This Plato's self had done, whose piercing Eyes
Unveil'd beheld our deepest mysteries,
Had that great man but been as just as wise.
His One and Many he from us receiv'd,
And our mysterious Triad he believ'd:
His Psyche, Logos, En, what can they be
But Elohims great undivided Three?
Who e'er his Works with curious Eyes survey'd,
Wou'd there perceive a VVorld of Nothing made,
By the first Cause; the Angels, and the Fall,
And strokes of our great Moses in them all.
Whom the first Legislator you must own,
The Founder he of written Laws alone.
Nor was this useful Art by him conceal'd,
By God to him, by him to us reveal'd,
Before Troy's VVar, as from our Books appears,
By many rolling Centuries of years.
Hence Grecian Lawgivers their Pandects drew,
Who when they of so rich a Treasure knew
Did to our neighb'ring Isles from Greece retire,
And steal some sparks of our Celestial Fire.
To us the Attic Laws, esteem'd so wise,
To them your old Twelve Tables owe their Rise.
For Poetry, which you your selves confess
An Heav'nly Art, and we believe no less;
Long e'er 'twas ape'd in Greece, we had it here,
And can assign the Century, the Year,
When our best Authors flourish'd, yet we show
Their VVorks, which true and genuine all we know,
Within our sacred Archives kept with care,
Each Line, each Word, each Letter number'd there.
Then Poetry was pure, a Vestal then,
The Acts of God she sung, and Godlike men;
By the Great sacred Spirit himself inspir'd,
And not by Wine, or Gain, or Passion fir'd:
Poet and Prophet then indeed the same,
Their Inspiration, not an empty Name.
Past, future, present at one glance they see,
Fathers their Children blest in Poetry.
When righteous Heav'n some monstrous Tyrants crimes
Aveng'd, his Fall they sung in sacred Rhimes;
How on the Clouds great El'him conq'ring rod,
And all the ancient glorious VVars of God;
Nor did such Godlike men forget to praise
Whom for those arduous Works he pleas'd to raise;
Good Princes, which by suffering bad, we know
The best good thing Heav'n can on man bestow;
For Love they praise, not sordid Hopes of gain,
Reward enough to share their peaceful reign.
To wicked Nations they just Plagues foretel,
But promise to the virtuous All things well;
And Heav'n with Signs attests their Oracle.
This saw th' Arch-Fiend, and better to beguile
The Nations, strove to ape the sacred Style.
But ill at first succeeded the design,
His Priests invoking him, and all the nine
With much of pain wrung out one doggrel Line.
Rough and deform'd with ease their Author known
Ev'n Envies self wou'd think 'em Satan's own.
Ah! had he such a Poet still remain'd
He ne'r had thus the cheated World enchain'd:
Some Renegadoes to his side he drew,
Who something of our sacred Learning knew;
Old Linus, first enticing cross the Seas
The Master of the Tyrian Hercules;
Fam'd Orpheus next, whose hot unnat'ral blood
Stain'd the wild Thracian Fields, and Hebrus flood;
His Priests and Poets they, his rites attend,
File his rough Verse, his frightful Style they mend;
And that they might not him ungrateful call
He to requite 'em, made 'em Laureats all.
Aided by them his Idol-worship spred,
And all the World ador'd the Stars or Dead:
Yet all by Rote they sung, the Prince of Night
Yet had not taught his Votaries to write:
Nor he himself, who next succeeded these
The Grecian Bard, old Melesigenes
His Works e'er saw to written Rolls consign'd
Worse than the Sibyls, wand'ring in the Wind,
But leaning on a Staff, (the Bard was blind)
T'his Harp he sung, his Follow'rs do the same,
Thence Rhapsodies his scatter'd fragments name.
But to whatever distant Fields they've gone
Our Siloam first supply'd their Helicon.
Something of the first Tast there still remains
Tho' ting'd with passing thro' such various Veins.
Hence his fam'd Chaos, drew th' Ascræan Sage,
And many a God that fills his antic Page.
Hence ev'n your Ovid his, and if y'admire
Whence we our Learning; we more justly' enquire,
Whence he the Old World's Flood, the New's last fated Fire.
An Heav'nly Art, and we believe no less;
Long e'er 'twas ape'd in Greece, we had it here,
And can assign the Century, the Year,
When our best Authors flourish'd, yet we show
Their VVorks, which true and genuine all we know,
Within our sacred Archives kept with care,
Each Line, each Word, each Letter number'd there.
Then Poetry was pure, a Vestal then,
The Acts of God she sung, and Godlike men;
By the Great sacred Spirit himself inspir'd,
And not by Wine, or Gain, or Passion fir'd:
Poet and Prophet then indeed the same,
Their Inspiration, not an empty Name.
200
Fathers their Children blest in Poetry.
When righteous Heav'n some monstrous Tyrants crimes
Aveng'd, his Fall they sung in sacred Rhimes;
How on the Clouds great El'him conq'ring rod,
And all the ancient glorious VVars of God;
Nor did such Godlike men forget to praise
Whom for those arduous Works he pleas'd to raise;
Good Princes, which by suffering bad, we know
The best good thing Heav'n can on man bestow;
For Love they praise, not sordid Hopes of gain,
Reward enough to share their peaceful reign.
To wicked Nations they just Plagues foretel,
But promise to the virtuous All things well;
And Heav'n with Signs attests their Oracle.
This saw th' Arch-Fiend, and better to beguile
The Nations, strove to ape the sacred Style.
But ill at first succeeded the design,
His Priests invoking him, and all the nine
With much of pain wrung out one doggrel Line.
Rough and deform'd with ease their Author known
Ev'n Envies self wou'd think 'em Satan's own.
Ah! had he such a Poet still remain'd
He ne'r had thus the cheated World enchain'd:
Some Renegadoes to his side he drew,
Who something of our sacred Learning knew;
Old Linus, first enticing cross the Seas
The Master of the Tyrian Hercules;
Fam'd Orpheus next, whose hot unnat'ral blood
Stain'd the wild Thracian Fields, and Hebrus flood;
His Priests and Poets they, his rites attend,
File his rough Verse, his frightful Style they mend;
And that they might not him ungrateful call
He to requite 'em, made 'em Laureats all.
Aided by them his Idol-worship spred,
And all the World ador'd the Stars or Dead:
Yet all by Rote they sung, the Prince of Night
Yet had not taught his Votaries to write:
Nor he himself, who next succeeded these
The Grecian Bard, old Melesigenes
201
Worse than the Sibyls, wand'ring in the Wind,
But leaning on a Staff, (the Bard was blind)
T'his Harp he sung, his Follow'rs do the same,
Thence Rhapsodies his scatter'd fragments name.
But to whatever distant Fields they've gone
Our Siloam first supply'd their Helicon.
Something of the first Tast there still remains
Tho' ting'd with passing thro' such various Veins.
Hence his fam'd Chaos, drew th' Ascræan Sage,
And many a God that fills his antic Page.
Hence ev'n your Ovid his, and if y'admire
Whence we our Learning; we more justly' enquire,
Whence he the Old World's Flood, the New's last fated Fire.
He said, and paus'd—The Roman,—I must own
Far more than I cou'd e'er believe you've shown,
Evincing clear to an impartial View
That all the VVorld has been at School with you;
And there's some Reason for the Nations Pride,
Whom we unjust, as barbarous deride,
Far more our selves—But might I Sir, be free,
For those Iv'e left, I've yet some Charity;
And in my Judgment, you Idolatry
Unjustly on 'em charge; for Images
They only make the Properties t'express
Of that Great Jove who fills the Thund'rers Throne,
Whom King of Heav'n and Earth we all must own.
Nor scarce the stupid Vulgars selves believe
Those Images relief or aid can give,
Only design'd to fix the Thoughts and Eye,
And since at once we scarce can mount so high
Or apprehend Heav'ns boundless Majesty,
What fits frail Mortals shorter steps they take,
The Mediums these of their Devotions make:
This better still t'attain, for this beside
They all their Train of lesser Joves provide;
In these their weakness, and their Maker's State
Consult, betwixt 'em both they mediate,
For since when here, they Mortals ne'r did fail,
Much more the Heroes will, when Gods, prevail,
If this the Vulgar Gods, much rather then
The mighty Mother both of Gods and men,
The glorious Queen of Heav'n that reigns above,
The pow'rful Mother of our mortal Jove.
Isis her self, who may her Son command,
And stop the Thunder in his lifted Hand.
Far more than I cou'd e'er believe you've shown,
Evincing clear to an impartial View
That all the VVorld has been at School with you;
And there's some Reason for the Nations Pride,
Whom we unjust, as barbarous deride,
Far more our selves—But might I Sir, be free,
For those Iv'e left, I've yet some Charity;
And in my Judgment, you Idolatry
Unjustly on 'em charge; for Images
They only make the Properties t'express
Of that Great Jove who fills the Thund'rers Throne,
Whom King of Heav'n and Earth we all must own.
Nor scarce the stupid Vulgars selves believe
Those Images relief or aid can give,
Only design'd to fix the Thoughts and Eye,
And since at once we scarce can mount so high
Or apprehend Heav'ns boundless Majesty,
What fits frail Mortals shorter steps they take,
The Mediums these of their Devotions make:
This better still t'attain, for this beside
They all their Train of lesser Joves provide;
In these their weakness, and their Maker's State
Consult, betwixt 'em both they mediate,
For since when here, they Mortals ne'r did fail,
Much more the Heroes will, when Gods, prevail,
202
The mighty Mother both of Gods and men,
The glorious Queen of Heav'n that reigns above,
The pow'rful Mother of our mortal Jove.
Isis her self, who may her Son command,
And stop the Thunder in his lifted Hand.
The fairest Plea that is, or e'er can be
Reply'd the Sage, for their Idolatry
You've now produc'd, and if I that confute
I've then for ever silenc'd this Dispute.
For what you've urg'd, and oft has been before,
That they the very Image don't adore,
I must dissent, since evident we see
In numerous Instances the contrary.
From these all good they ask, all bad they fear,
These they from conquer'd Cities with them bear;
They to the very Image lift their Eyes,
To that pay Incense, Pray'rs and Sacrifice,
If then their Incense, Vows, and Trust, and Pray'r
Not proper Acts of Adoration are,
We fain wou'd know what 'tis they such believe?
What have they more to Jove himself to give?
Besides, if them they Mediums only made,
Why should not all alike Devotion aid?
Why glutted this with Pray'r and Sacrifice,
While that forsaken and neglected lies?
Where foul and old he's sour and wayward grown,
Half starv'd to Death sits gloomy on his Throne.
Whilst o'er his mouth their Nets the Spiders spred,
And Owls and Bats perch on his Godships head.
Why they the great Diana magnifie
That dropt from Heav'n—Unless her Priests do lye?
To all her Sister Idols her prefer,
Tho' as well made substantial Blocks as her?
Those whom they chuse for greater Ease and State
Betwixt their Jove and them to mediate,
Whom they their Demy-Gods or Heroes call
Were now the worst of men, now none at all,
Meer fabled Names; now Death's and Hell's sad Lord
In Satyr's or in humane Form ador'd.
But grant 'em Good, yet wou'd it, think you, be
A Testimony of your Loyalty
To snatch your Prince's Scepter from his Hand,
And contrary to his express Command
That and his Crown to some great Courtier bring,
And seated on his Throne, salute him King?
Agen, if we this baffled Plea shou'd take
That Stocks and Men they only Mediums make;
E'en this, if God himself a Judge may be,
Reason or God, is still Idolatry.
For Reason's self declares, the Deity
A Spirit unbodied, boundless, simple, pure,
And thence can no base Mimic Form endure.
This e'en your ancient Law-givers confess,
Old Numa's Temples knew no Images.
Our sacred Books in every Page declare
God's Glory he with others scorns to share.
All Images forbid in that Command
Spoke by th' Almighty's Voice, writ by th' Almighty's Hand,
So plain exprest, 'twill no excuse admit,
No vain perverse Essay of humane Wit.
Reply'd the Sage, for their Idolatry
You've now produc'd, and if I that confute
I've then for ever silenc'd this Dispute.
For what you've urg'd, and oft has been before,
That they the very Image don't adore,
I must dissent, since evident we see
In numerous Instances the contrary.
From these all good they ask, all bad they fear,
These they from conquer'd Cities with them bear;
They to the very Image lift their Eyes,
To that pay Incense, Pray'rs and Sacrifice,
If then their Incense, Vows, and Trust, and Pray'r
Not proper Acts of Adoration are,
We fain wou'd know what 'tis they such believe?
What have they more to Jove himself to give?
Besides, if them they Mediums only made,
Why should not all alike Devotion aid?
Why glutted this with Pray'r and Sacrifice,
While that forsaken and neglected lies?
Where foul and old he's sour and wayward grown,
Half starv'd to Death sits gloomy on his Throne.
Whilst o'er his mouth their Nets the Spiders spred,
And Owls and Bats perch on his Godships head.
Why they the great Diana magnifie
That dropt from Heav'n—Unless her Priests do lye?
To all her Sister Idols her prefer,
Tho' as well made substantial Blocks as her?
Those whom they chuse for greater Ease and State
Betwixt their Jove and them to mediate,
Whom they their Demy-Gods or Heroes call
Were now the worst of men, now none at all,
Meer fabled Names; now Death's and Hell's sad Lord
In Satyr's or in humane Form ador'd.
203
A Testimony of your Loyalty
To snatch your Prince's Scepter from his Hand,
And contrary to his express Command
That and his Crown to some great Courtier bring,
And seated on his Throne, salute him King?
Agen, if we this baffled Plea shou'd take
That Stocks and Men they only Mediums make;
E'en this, if God himself a Judge may be,
Reason or God, is still Idolatry.
For Reason's self declares, the Deity
A Spirit unbodied, boundless, simple, pure,
And thence can no base Mimic Form endure.
This e'en your ancient Law-givers confess,
Old Numa's Temples knew no Images.
Our sacred Books in every Page declare
God's Glory he with others scorns to share.
All Images forbid in that Command
Spoke by th' Almighty's Voice, writ by th' Almighty's Hand,
So plain exprest, 'twill no excuse admit,
No vain perverse Essay of humane Wit.
Nor yet, replies the Roman, must I yield,
Once more I'll charge before I quit the Field.
Once more I'll charge before I quit the Field.
No solid Reason e'er I yet cou'd see
Why that Command you urge confin'd must be
To such a Sense, since God by whom 'twas writ
More largely seems himself t'Interpret it:
Did not that Moses whom you all admire
When God he met in Sinai's smoak and fire,
Observe his Laws, and his Direction take,
By that, exact, your moving Temple make.
And did not he, as your own Books declare,
Place glorious Forms with Wings extended there?
Besides, if you a final end of strife,
A Rule exact and sure, of Faith and Life,
Those sacred Books affirm, the World contemn,
How comes it you your selves appeal from them!
Your Corban you'd unwillingly decide
By that, but take Tradition as your Guide.
Why that Command you urge confin'd must be
To such a Sense, since God by whom 'twas writ
More largely seems himself t'Interpret it:
Did not that Moses whom you all admire
When God he met in Sinai's smoak and fire,
Observe his Laws, and his Direction take,
By that, exact, your moving Temple make.
And did not he, as your own Books declare,
Place glorious Forms with Wings extended there?
Besides, if you a final end of strife,
A Rule exact and sure, of Faith and Life,
Those sacred Books affirm, the World contemn,
How comes it you your selves appeal from them!
Your Corban you'd unwillingly decide
By that, but take Tradition as your Guide.
204
The Rabbi thus—The Cherubin we own,
By which the Form of God was never shown,
But of those bright Attendants round his Throne,
These there by his express Command were wrought,
Tho' of their Worship yet we never thought.
Not visible, how can they Idols be,
Or Images ador'd we never see?
None e'en o'th' Priests themselves might enter there
None but great Aaron's Mitred Successor,
And he himself no more but once a year.
By which the Form of God was never shown,
But of those bright Attendants round his Throne,
These there by his express Command were wrought,
Tho' of their Worship yet we never thought.
Not visible, how can they Idols be,
Or Images ador'd we never see?
None e'en o'th' Priests themselves might enter there
None but great Aaron's Mitred Successor,
And he himself no more but once a year.
For what you further argue, to be free,
Other Opponents you must seek than me:
Corban for Corban's self must plead, I fear,
But if their usual Arguments you'd hear,
A Youth there is at ancient Tarsus bred,
Of Hebrew Race, whose Father lately dead
Him to my Charge committed, deeply read
In all that Rome or Athens yet have known,
In boasted Grecian Learning, and our own;
Deeply in all our Principles imbu'd,
Altho' too hot his Zeal, too warm his Blood:
In him, or I mistake, if you're inclin'd
His Force to try—
You'll no contemptible Opponent find.
Other Opponents you must seek than me:
Corban for Corban's self must plead, I fear,
But if their usual Arguments you'd hear,
A Youth there is at ancient Tarsus bred,
Of Hebrew Race, whose Father lately dead
Him to my Charge committed, deeply read
In all that Rome or Athens yet have known,
In boasted Grecian Learning, and our own;
Deeply in all our Principles imbu'd,
Altho' too hot his Zeal, too warm his Blood:
In him, or I mistake, if you're inclin'd
His Force to try—
You'll no contemptible Opponent find.
Gladly, rejoyns the Roman, wou'd I hear
Their utmost strength, but since my own I fear,
Least a good Cause, and this I'm sure is so
Disgrace by an ill Champion undergo,
The Argument I gladly wou'd transmit
To these good men, who oft have handl'd it:
Oft have they heard, with Eloquence Divine
This Topic manag'd by their Lord and mine:
(For since for me such mighty Works h'has shown,
'Twere base, if I his Service shou'd disown:)
Whom both at Feasts, and Synagogues I've heard
As of Traditions he his Sense declar'd,
And e'en your Sect who teach 'em, nothing spar'd.
The fair Proposal, James, desir'd by all
Accepts, when speedy, at Gamaliel's call
His Pupil enters, who no sooner knows
The Cause, but glad his Art and Zeal he shows;
Thus, eager, all Opponents did prevent,
Full of himself, and the lov'd Argument.
Their utmost strength, but since my own I fear,
Least a good Cause, and this I'm sure is so
Disgrace by an ill Champion undergo,
The Argument I gladly wou'd transmit
To these good men, who oft have handl'd it:
Oft have they heard, with Eloquence Divine
This Topic manag'd by their Lord and mine:
(For since for me such mighty Works h'has shown,
'Twere base, if I his Service shou'd disown:)
Whom both at Feasts, and Synagogues I've heard
As of Traditions he his Sense declar'd,
And e'en your Sect who teach 'em, nothing spar'd.
The fair Proposal, James, desir'd by all
Accepts, when speedy, at Gamaliel's call
His Pupil enters, who no sooner knows
205
Thus, eager, all Opponents did prevent,
Full of himself, and the lov'd Argument.
Still were those wholsom Laws our Fathers made
In force, nor thus despis'd, and disobey'd;
Who their Traditions break, condemn'd, t'expire
'Midst show'rs of stones, or sheets of deadly fire,
That wou'd the curst Transgressors best confute,
For ever silence the abhorr'd Dispute:
But since our ancient Discipline is broke,
Our shoulders worn beneath the Conqu'rers yoke,
With Reason's Sword we now content must be;
With that alone extirpate Heresie:
Whose Patrons, sacred Oral Truths deny,
And to the Scriptures still for shelter fly:
“For Heresies have all the same pretence,
“And quote the Scripture in their own defence:
Thus I demonstrate then from Reason's School
The Word is neither clear, nor perfect Rule.
Not clear—It can't the doubtful Sense declare
“When Piles meet Piles, contending in the Air,
“Squadrons of Texts drawn out on either side,
How shall the controverted Truth be try'd,
Without a last Appeal to some unfailing Guide?
And where shou'd that, search all the World around,
But in th' High Priest and Sanhedrim be found?
In force, nor thus despis'd, and disobey'd;
Who their Traditions break, condemn'd, t'expire
'Midst show'rs of stones, or sheets of deadly fire,
That wou'd the curst Transgressors best confute,
For ever silence the abhorr'd Dispute:
But since our ancient Discipline is broke,
Our shoulders worn beneath the Conqu'rers yoke,
With Reason's Sword we now content must be;
With that alone extirpate Heresie:
Whose Patrons, sacred Oral Truths deny,
And to the Scriptures still for shelter fly:
“For Heresies have all the same pretence,
“And quote the Scripture in their own defence:
Thus I demonstrate then from Reason's School
The Word is neither clear, nor perfect Rule.
Not clear—It can't the doubtful Sense declare
“When Piles meet Piles, contending in the Air,
“Squadrons of Texts drawn out on either side,
How shall the controverted Truth be try'd,
Without a last Appeal to some unfailing Guide?
And where shou'd that, search all the World around,
But in th' High Priest and Sanhedrim be found?
Nor perfect is the Word, since much is lost
Of what the ancient Hebrew Church cou'd boast;
And Moses self did to the Guides commit
Many a sacred Truth that ne'er was writ:
Those Cabala, the Fathers did receive,
To the great Synagogue and Ezra leave,
As they to us, these all Disputes decide,
By these the doubtful Word it self is try'd,
They our unerring Rule, the Church our Guide.
“Thus ev'ry Age do's on another move,
“And trusts no farther than the next above.
“Our good old Doctors always took this way,
“Each asks but what he heard his Father say,
All doom'd to Death who dar'd their Sentence disobey.
Of what the ancient Hebrew Church cou'd boast;
And Moses self did to the Guides commit
Many a sacred Truth that ne'er was writ:
Those Cabala, the Fathers did receive,
To the great Synagogue and Ezra leave,
As they to us, these all Disputes decide,
By these the doubtful Word it self is try'd,
They our unerring Rule, the Church our Guide.
“Thus ev'ry Age do's on another move,
“And trusts no farther than the next above.
“Our good old Doctors always took this way,
“Each asks but what he heard his Father say,
All doom'd to Death who dar'd their Sentence disobey.
206
Thus he, with zealous Fury in his eyes,
To whom thus, temperate, the Saint replies.
To whom thus, temperate, the Saint replies.
With those who are to your sage Sect inclin'd,
Beyond gross Sense and Reason too refin'd,
The surest way to see is to be blind;
That thus, their eyes subdu'd, and mortify'd,
They, with Tradition's broken Reed supply'd,
May grope about for some unerring Guide.
That Criminal must have a desperate Cause
Whose only Plea's t'object against the Laws:
The Statute's clear, but those it won't acquit
May well use all their skill to darken it.
Cast by plain Texts, you to your selves appeal,
By your own Votes declar'd infallible.
Reason and Scripture both alike cry down,
Since they defend not you, you them disown.
You urge not Reason, you, but its pretence,
Not Scripture, but false Glosses drawn from thence,
Reject—But is it not the same if you,
Must the sole Judges be of false and true?
Reason you plead, if you it seems t'acquit,
But if condemn'd, its Vote you won't admit.
But still, if private Reason you pretend
Must be the Judge, Disputes will never end:
Were this suppos'd, you cou'd but thence infer
That men must still be men, and still may err.
Nor shall they that, if they with Minds prepar'd
A higher Guide than Reason's self regard,
Attending, free from Prejudice and Sin
The Word without, th' unfailing Spirit within.
Still you complain the Scriptures are not clear,
And you the Spirits must try before you hear:
Your meaning is, you fairly both reject,
For both Tradition and the Church erect:
But what can easier be to understand
Than Gods own Word, his own express Command?
Or what's more plain than that on no pretence
You ought must add, or ought diminish thence?
That his blest Law all perfect is, and pure,
Nor can Tradition's base Alloy endure.
Perfect as well as clear, approv'd and try'd,
In every part of Life a Rule and Guide.
In Faith and Life the Scriptures both avail,
Nor can you give one Instance where they fail.
The justest Notions they, of God, impart,
And teach to serve him with a humble heart,
Describe the terms of Happiness, and more
That wond'rous Prince who shall the World restore,
That Christ, that true Messia we adore:
By whom, if ought from Ages past conceal'd,
The Fathers Will's entirely now reveal'd.
If then some Books are lost, (which if they are,
Where's the High Priests and Elders boasted Care?)
This not affects the rest, since still we find
A clear and perfect Rule is left behind.
Much of the Cabala, so highly priz'd
Are Trifles by the Learned World despis'd;
Your Sephiroth are Truths i'th' Scriptures plain,
But darken'd whilst you them unfold in vain.
Ezra and the great Synagogue you boast,
Whose Doctrine both and Piety you've lost:
Much younger those Traditions you embrace
Beside the Word; for them in vain you'd trace
One step beyond the Hasmonæan race.
Fallacious all those Arguments you use,
And for Infallibility produce:
Tho' manag'd they with all your Art and Care
They still against plain Fact expresly bear;
For tho' High Priest and Sanhedrim you say
Can without Error shew to Heav'n the way,
'Tis plain to Sense, you this unjustly boast,
Themselves in Error oft, or Vices lost,
Sometimes th' High Priests, as you must own, embrace
Th' abhorr'd Opinions of curst Sadoc's Race;
The Elders too, as sacred Writ averrs
Have Israel's God deny'd, and turn'd Idolaters:
And can two crooked Lines compose one right?
Two Finites ever make an Infinite?
Beyond gross Sense and Reason too refin'd,
The surest way to see is to be blind;
That thus, their eyes subdu'd, and mortify'd,
They, with Tradition's broken Reed supply'd,
May grope about for some unerring Guide.
That Criminal must have a desperate Cause
Whose only Plea's t'object against the Laws:
The Statute's clear, but those it won't acquit
May well use all their skill to darken it.
Cast by plain Texts, you to your selves appeal,
By your own Votes declar'd infallible.
Reason and Scripture both alike cry down,
Since they defend not you, you them disown.
You urge not Reason, you, but its pretence,
Not Scripture, but false Glosses drawn from thence,
Reject—But is it not the same if you,
Must the sole Judges be of false and true?
Reason you plead, if you it seems t'acquit,
But if condemn'd, its Vote you won't admit.
But still, if private Reason you pretend
Must be the Judge, Disputes will never end:
Were this suppos'd, you cou'd but thence infer
That men must still be men, and still may err.
Nor shall they that, if they with Minds prepar'd
A higher Guide than Reason's self regard,
Attending, free from Prejudice and Sin
The Word without, th' unfailing Spirit within.
Still you complain the Scriptures are not clear,
And you the Spirits must try before you hear:
Your meaning is, you fairly both reject,
For both Tradition and the Church erect:
But what can easier be to understand
Than Gods own Word, his own express Command?
Or what's more plain than that on no pretence
You ought must add, or ought diminish thence?
That his blest Law all perfect is, and pure,
Nor can Tradition's base Alloy endure.
207
In every part of Life a Rule and Guide.
In Faith and Life the Scriptures both avail,
Nor can you give one Instance where they fail.
The justest Notions they, of God, impart,
And teach to serve him with a humble heart,
Describe the terms of Happiness, and more
That wond'rous Prince who shall the World restore,
That Christ, that true Messia we adore:
By whom, if ought from Ages past conceal'd,
The Fathers Will's entirely now reveal'd.
If then some Books are lost, (which if they are,
Where's the High Priests and Elders boasted Care?)
This not affects the rest, since still we find
A clear and perfect Rule is left behind.
Much of the Cabala, so highly priz'd
Are Trifles by the Learned World despis'd;
Your Sephiroth are Truths i'th' Scriptures plain,
But darken'd whilst you them unfold in vain.
Ezra and the great Synagogue you boast,
Whose Doctrine both and Piety you've lost:
Much younger those Traditions you embrace
Beside the Word; for them in vain you'd trace
One step beyond the Hasmonæan race.
Fallacious all those Arguments you use,
And for Infallibility produce:
Tho' manag'd they with all your Art and Care
They still against plain Fact expresly bear;
For tho' High Priest and Sanhedrim you say
Can without Error shew to Heav'n the way,
'Tis plain to Sense, you this unjustly boast,
Themselves in Error oft, or Vices lost,
Sometimes th' High Priests, as you must own, embrace
Th' abhorr'd Opinions of curst Sadoc's Race;
The Elders too, as sacred Writ averrs
Have Israel's God deny'd, and turn'd Idolaters:
And can two crooked Lines compose one right?
Two Finites ever make an Infinite?
But what the Fathers told, you must believe,
Since such good men nor cou'd, nor wou'd deceive,
Since every Age do's on the other move,
“And trusts no farther than the next above:
—But the blind Heathen take the self same way,
“Each asks but what he heard his Father say,
He errs, they follow, and stupidly obey.
While those no false or dangerous steps shall make
Who Reason's and the Words safe conduct take;
Which them, if from their paths they never stray,
To our great Prophet will at last convey,
Whose Divine Spirit shall with resistless might
Soon fill the dazled World with Heav'nly Light:
Gentile and Jew shall his blest Law receive,
Vain Idols, and as vain Traditions leave;
E'en you your self—Unless amiss I see
In the unerring Glass of Prophesie,
You, who so fiercely now our Law oppose,
And think us Gods at once, and Cesar's Foes,
Struck to the Earth by a kind dazling flame,
Your Conqueror shall to Gentile Worlds proclaim,
And round the spacious Globe shall spread the Christian Name.
He said, th' young Disputant shot furious thence
Too weak, and much enrag'd to make defence.
When Chuza thus—You so successful prove
In this, my doubts I hope you'll too remove:
From a loose Court to Sadok's Sect inclin'd,
Some Notions I imbib'd which yet disturb my mind,
These in their usual Words I'll urge, nor fear
To find a just and candid Answer here.
You know that Sect all future Life decry,
All Immaterial Substances deny:
A Spirit they'll not believe, unless they see,
What they've no Notion of can never be,
No pains for th' ill, or joys for those live well;
They laugh, as idle Tales, at Heav'n and Hell.
Those distant hopes and fears alike despise,
Impossible to them the dead shou'd rise;
Much less, shou'd they an after-state receive,
Cou'd ought therein of endless pains believe,
Since finite Sin is disproportion'd quite,
They think to Punishment that's infinite
And hard, for Thoughts or wand'ring or impure,
We shou'd t'eternal Ages, pains endure.
This is the sum of what they Reas'ning call,
The rest Scurrility, and Nonsense all:
Since such good men nor cou'd, nor wou'd deceive,
208
“And trusts no farther than the next above:
—But the blind Heathen take the self same way,
“Each asks but what he heard his Father say,
He errs, they follow, and stupidly obey.
While those no false or dangerous steps shall make
Who Reason's and the Words safe conduct take;
Which them, if from their paths they never stray,
To our great Prophet will at last convey,
Whose Divine Spirit shall with resistless might
Soon fill the dazled World with Heav'nly Light:
Gentile and Jew shall his blest Law receive,
Vain Idols, and as vain Traditions leave;
E'en you your self—Unless amiss I see
In the unerring Glass of Prophesie,
You, who so fiercely now our Law oppose,
And think us Gods at once, and Cesar's Foes,
Struck to the Earth by a kind dazling flame,
Your Conqueror shall to Gentile Worlds proclaim,
And round the spacious Globe shall spread the Christian Name.
He said, th' young Disputant shot furious thence
Too weak, and much enrag'd to make defence.
When Chuza thus—You so successful prove
In this, my doubts I hope you'll too remove:
From a loose Court to Sadok's Sect inclin'd,
Some Notions I imbib'd which yet disturb my mind,
These in their usual Words I'll urge, nor fear
To find a just and candid Answer here.
You know that Sect all future Life decry,
All Immaterial Substances deny:
A Spirit they'll not believe, unless they see,
What they've no Notion of can never be,
No pains for th' ill, or joys for those live well;
They laugh, as idle Tales, at Heav'n and Hell.
Those distant hopes and fears alike despise,
Impossible to them the dead shou'd rise;
Much less, shou'd they an after-state receive,
Cou'd ought therein of endless pains believe,
Since finite Sin is disproportion'd quite,
They think to Punishment that's infinite
209
We shou'd t'eternal Ages, pains endure.
This is the sum of what they Reas'ning call,
The rest Scurrility, and Nonsense all:
Thus, modest he objects, thus calm and wise,
He who of antient Rama nam'd, replies.
He who of antient Rama nam'd, replies.
That immaterial Substance cannot be,
Because some can't conceive't, and none can see,
VVith ease is answer'd—Brutish Atheists own
They can't conceive a God, but is there none?
Ask the received Sense of all Mankind!
Is there no Sun because the Beetle's blind?
Their Breath, the Air, their Thoughts they cannot see,
Yet still they Breathing, Thinking Creatures be.
That God's a Substance 'tis confess'd by all,
VVhom, but Blasphemers, none material call:
Matter's extended, passive, finite own'd;
If God be such, he's from his Heav'n dethron'd,
Equal with that vile Man of Dust he made,
Nay lower yet, and nearer Nothing laid.
He must have Parts, Mutation must prevail
O'er his weak Frame, “and what may change may fail.
Angelic minds who ever reign above,
Ay hymning the Great Spring of Joy and Love;
These are all Spirits, for they, tho' young and fair
They seem to Men, drest in light robes of Air;
Their business done their short-liv'd Bodies leave,
Their elemented Form the Winds receive.
Loose from dull matters Laws no longer stay,
But the next moment think themselves away;
Preventing ev'n th' amaz'd Spectators Eyes,
From East to VVest, from Earth to Paradise;
And from the Altar oft to Heav'n aspire
In Clouds of curling Smoak, and Globes of Fire.
Can you such Pow'rs as these in Matter find?
Can ought do this, unless 'tis perfect Mind?
Because some can't conceive't, and none can see,
VVith ease is answer'd—Brutish Atheists own
They can't conceive a God, but is there none?
Ask the received Sense of all Mankind!
Is there no Sun because the Beetle's blind?
Their Breath, the Air, their Thoughts they cannot see,
Yet still they Breathing, Thinking Creatures be.
That God's a Substance 'tis confess'd by all,
VVhom, but Blasphemers, none material call:
Matter's extended, passive, finite own'd;
If God be such, he's from his Heav'n dethron'd,
Equal with that vile Man of Dust he made,
Nay lower yet, and nearer Nothing laid.
He must have Parts, Mutation must prevail
O'er his weak Frame, “and what may change may fail.
Angelic minds who ever reign above,
Ay hymning the Great Spring of Joy and Love;
These are all Spirits, for they, tho' young and fair
They seem to Men, drest in light robes of Air;
Their business done their short-liv'd Bodies leave,
Their elemented Form the Winds receive.
Loose from dull matters Laws no longer stay,
But the next moment think themselves away;
Preventing ev'n th' amaz'd Spectators Eyes,
From East to VVest, from Earth to Paradise;
And from the Altar oft to Heav'n aspire
In Clouds of curling Smoak, and Globes of Fire.
Can you such Pow'rs as these in Matter find?
Can ought do this, unless 'tis perfect Mind?
There is a Spirit in Man, th' Almighty's Breath;
Something Divine, that must survive his Death.
Who can with patience think he all must die,
And in dark Nothing's Chaos floating lie,
Who wou'd not rather wish a blest Eternity?
If Man, as Sadoc dreams, all matter were,
How cou'd he apprehend, compound, infer?
How Universals form, Reflect, or Will,
And on those Acts make new Reflections still?
How Sciences invent, or Arts devise,
And ev'n by Folly and Mistakes grow wise?
How everlasting Poems, Works divine,
Which to compose both Earth and Heav'n must join;
How these produce, how weave each Notion there,
And give each stubborn Thought its Turn and Air?
As soon wild Atoms into Whirlpools hurld
Might make this beauteous Poem of the VVorld.
A heap of Letters in a Mirror seen
As soon might form great Maro's Works therein.
If all were Matter, Sadoc argues well,
Wou'd no Hereafter be, no Heav'n or Hell?
All wou'd be Fate, and Man as justly then
Might punish Stones, as God cou'd punish Men.
But shan't the Judge of all Men justly do?
Shall not eternal Truth it self be true?
That here things equally he don't dispense,
Ev'n Sadoc's Sons must own, who argue thence
Against his Justice and his Providence:
Tho' we more fairly a future World conclude
To plague th' Unjust, and recompence the Good;
Which by th' inspir'd of old in every Age
Was fair inscrib'd on many a sacred Page;
Tho' far more legibly than all the rest,
By him of Heav'n and Earth belov'd, exprest.
Nor this last Refuge to th' unjust remains,
This glimm'ring Hope, that Time shall end their pains:
As soon the Fiends may break their Iron Chains,
As wretched Souls from their sad Prisons rise,
From those eternal Shades, regain the lightsom Skies.
Habits of Vice are Hell, that World of Woe,
They needs must with 'em bear, where e'er they go:
The loss of Heav'n is Hell, who banish'd thence,
Their pain of Loss equals their pain of Sense;
And cou'd they to that blissful Place repair,
Yet what, ah! what cou'd vicious Souls do there?
Who Life and Death propos'd, the latter chuse,
And a fair Option granted, Heav'n refuse.
Something Divine, that must survive his Death.
Who can with patience think he all must die,
And in dark Nothing's Chaos floating lie,
Who wou'd not rather wish a blest Eternity?
210
How cou'd he apprehend, compound, infer?
How Universals form, Reflect, or Will,
And on those Acts make new Reflections still?
How Sciences invent, or Arts devise,
And ev'n by Folly and Mistakes grow wise?
How everlasting Poems, Works divine,
Which to compose both Earth and Heav'n must join;
How these produce, how weave each Notion there,
And give each stubborn Thought its Turn and Air?
As soon wild Atoms into Whirlpools hurld
Might make this beauteous Poem of the VVorld.
A heap of Letters in a Mirror seen
As soon might form great Maro's Works therein.
If all were Matter, Sadoc argues well,
Wou'd no Hereafter be, no Heav'n or Hell?
All wou'd be Fate, and Man as justly then
Might punish Stones, as God cou'd punish Men.
But shan't the Judge of all Men justly do?
Shall not eternal Truth it self be true?
That here things equally he don't dispense,
Ev'n Sadoc's Sons must own, who argue thence
Against his Justice and his Providence:
Tho' we more fairly a future World conclude
To plague th' Unjust, and recompence the Good;
Which by th' inspir'd of old in every Age
Was fair inscrib'd on many a sacred Page;
Tho' far more legibly than all the rest,
By him of Heav'n and Earth belov'd, exprest.
Nor this last Refuge to th' unjust remains,
This glimm'ring Hope, that Time shall end their pains:
As soon the Fiends may break their Iron Chains,
As wretched Souls from their sad Prisons rise,
From those eternal Shades, regain the lightsom Skies.
Habits of Vice are Hell, that World of Woe,
They needs must with 'em bear, where e'er they go:
The loss of Heav'n is Hell, who banish'd thence,
Their pain of Loss equals their pain of Sense;
And cou'd they to that blissful Place repair,
Yet what, ah! what cou'd vicious Souls do there?
211
And a fair Option granted, Heav'n refuse.
Thus he—When Chuza—Easily we learn
Those Truths we might from Natures self discern,
And you my Faith with small reluctance, gain
T'unmatter'd Minds, and endless Joy and Pain:
But that which shocks Philosophy and Sense,
And crosses all our Notions drawn from thence,
Is your assertion that the dead shall rise,
Our mouldring dust agen enjoy the Skies;
Those Seeds of things thro' Air and Water tost,
Thro' Earth and Fire, Bodies in Bodies lost;
That these shall be in their old Form rejoyn'd,
Each Atom shall its brother Atom find:
If then there's ought your sacred Books contain,
If ought in Reasons School can this explain,
The useful Knowledge candidly impart,
And ever more command a grateful Heart.
Those Truths we might from Natures self discern,
And you my Faith with small reluctance, gain
T'unmatter'd Minds, and endless Joy and Pain:
But that which shocks Philosophy and Sense,
And crosses all our Notions drawn from thence,
Is your assertion that the dead shall rise,
Our mouldring dust agen enjoy the Skies;
Those Seeds of things thro' Air and Water tost,
Thro' Earth and Fire, Bodies in Bodies lost;
That these shall be in their old Form rejoyn'd,
Each Atom shall its brother Atom find:
If then there's ought your sacred Books contain,
If ought in Reasons School can this explain,
The useful Knowledge candidly impart,
And ever more command a grateful Heart.
Gamaliel thus—Who erring minds regain,
Their Pleasure richly do's reward their Pain;
And Reasons self no worse success secures
In those so well prepar'd for Truth as yours.
Not that from Nature you clear proofs can see
Of what's a supernat'ral Mystery.
But first we'll prove 't, tho' from the World conceal'd,
By Gods unerring Spirit to us reveal'd,
Then to our Faith the aid of Reason bring,
And prove no Contradiction in the Thing.
The Law, the Prophets, and the Psalms contain,
This Truth the Sadducee denies in vain.
When Fate the Souls and Body's link unties
The Spirit says, Man rather sleeps then dies.
Express great Esay writes the Dead shall rise;
When the last Trump the joyous news shall bring,
That those who dwell in Dust shall rise and sing.
Tho' this seems strange to our short sights who dwell
In mortal Clay, with God 'tis possible.
His Pow'r can do what Nature's never can,
And reproduce the same numeric Man;
From various things that Body can restore
Which his dread Word from Nothing made before.
Those Seeds of things too fine for humane Sight,
Tho' granted numerous, can't be infinite;
But were they, the Almighty is the same,
And knows 'em all who calls the Stars by Name;
Each Atom can t'his proper place return,
And raise a Phænix from a dusty Urn.
Tho' shou'd he different parts of matter take,
With the same Soul he the same Man wou'd make:
The Soul's the Form, by this dull matter lives,
And th' individuating Seal it gives;
That still survives, for what can that destroy?
The Bodies Harbinger in Pain or Joy.
While Body's still in Flux, still loose it flies,
Ev'n join'd to Soul, each Day 'tis born and dies,
And when Fate calls, it thence divided, must
Scatter in Air or moulder into Dust.
Their Pleasure richly do's reward their Pain;
And Reasons self no worse success secures
In those so well prepar'd for Truth as yours.
Not that from Nature you clear proofs can see
Of what's a supernat'ral Mystery.
But first we'll prove 't, tho' from the World conceal'd,
By Gods unerring Spirit to us reveal'd,
Then to our Faith the aid of Reason bring,
And prove no Contradiction in the Thing.
The Law, the Prophets, and the Psalms contain,
This Truth the Sadducee denies in vain.
When Fate the Souls and Body's link unties
The Spirit says, Man rather sleeps then dies.
Express great Esay writes the Dead shall rise;
When the last Trump the joyous news shall bring,
That those who dwell in Dust shall rise and sing.
Tho' this seems strange to our short sights who dwell
In mortal Clay, with God 'tis possible.
His Pow'r can do what Nature's never can,
And reproduce the same numeric Man;
From various things that Body can restore
212
Those Seeds of things too fine for humane Sight,
Tho' granted numerous, can't be infinite;
But were they, the Almighty is the same,
And knows 'em all who calls the Stars by Name;
Each Atom can t'his proper place return,
And raise a Phænix from a dusty Urn.
Tho' shou'd he different parts of matter take,
With the same Soul he the same Man wou'd make:
The Soul's the Form, by this dull matter lives,
And th' individuating Seal it gives;
That still survives, for what can that destroy?
The Bodies Harbinger in Pain or Joy.
While Body's still in Flux, still loose it flies,
Ev'n join'd to Soul, each Day 'tis born and dies,
And when Fate calls, it thence divided, must
Scatter in Air or moulder into Dust.
He said and paus'd, all pleas'd with what he spoke,
When zealous Cephas thus his silence broke.
When zealous Cephas thus his silence broke.
Well have you reason'd, Fathers! and as well
For Truth have urg'd Truths sacred Oracle;
Yet Reason some evade by Sophistry,
Some Scriptures wrest, but none can Sense deny.
To this our Lord by Miracles appeals,
In all those Truths which he from Heav'n reveals
By Miracles him his Great Father seals;
Which thousands can as well as we attest,
By Friends admir'd, by Enemies confest:
Who can by his own Pow'r both Worlds command,
And raise the Dead by his dread Voice or Hand;
Whom Heav'n and Earth obey, all must believe,
His Testimony all the World receive.
But never Man like him these Truths e'er taught,
He Immortality to Light has brought;
That Heav'n the Good with endless Joy shall gain,
The wicked mourn in Hell with endless Pain.
As little, immaterial Substance, we
Can doubt, so much we've heard, so much we see.
Legions of Fiends we see our Lord obey,
VVho spightful him confess, and hast away;
Whether to their own dark Abyss confin'd,
Or them he in the howling Desart bind;
Whether before they haunt some lonely Tomb,
Or bolder into Towns and Cities come,
And strike afflicted Mortals blind or dumb.
This have Capernaum's VValls with wonder seen,
This from his Hills th' affrighted Gadarene,
Where to their Saviour they their Swine preferr'd,
Where Beasts and Fiends obscene in Legions herd.
Were our Eyes false, we've stronger Evidence,
And proof ev'n more infallible than Sense.
These Truths did Truth it self to us reveal,
Or plain, or in some lively Parable:
One I among the rest remember yet,
And think I hardly ever can forget;
Still are, methinks the Scene's before my Eyes
The pains of Hell, the joys of Paradise;
And were not Day well wasted—Wast no more
Gamaliel says, more earnest than before
To hear the whole: while Nicodemus cries,
Those only wast the Day who, lost in Vice,
The sliding Hours profusely misemploy
In shortliv'd Pleasures and voluptuous Joy,
VVho while the sliding Hours fly swift away,
Fondly themselves beguile, and not the Day:
But who like us their happy Sands have past,
'Tis they, and they alone, Life truly tast,
They use their Time which others only wast.
But pray proceed, slip not one passage o'er,
Believe we long to hear it all and more.
He thus—I'll every circumstance relate;
Thus was the Poor-Rich-Mans tremendous Fate,
—See his luxurious Body cover'd o'er
With Royal Purple, fetch'd from Tyre's proud shore.
The softest Linnen next his tender skin
Richly perfum'd, (and need) to hide within
A lothsom Load of Vanity and Sin:
Arabia's choicest Odors, purchas'd thence
With the exactest Care and vast Expence
Rich Nard, Amomum, sacred Frankincense:
All these profusely smoaking fill'd the Air,
As if the Land of Spices had been there,
Where nothing else they burn; the choisest Fare
His Tables load, the panting Servants come
Half crush'd with their pil'd weight into the room:
Those Birds with which wise Heav'n our Fathers fed,
And thought the fittest meat with Angels bread,
As coarser Fare, despis'd, he'd scarce afford
A room at th' end of his luxurious Board:
The beauteous Fowl by distant Phasis bred,
Almost as richly as their Master fed;
Both fatted for destruction, scarce he'd deign
To tast, almost untouch'd born off again;
And cou'd the fancy'd Phenix self been caught,
The Dish he at a Kingdom's price had bought.
While in a stately Gallery hard by,
Adorn'd with Babylonian Tapistry
His Honours Musick sate, and as they bring
Each Course, anew they sweep the sounding string;
At once to charm his Conscience and his Cares,
Lull his loose Soul with melting Lydian Airs,
Or soft Anacreon's Words from Greece they bring,
Which Eunuchs bought from Rome or Egypt sing;
No Words e'er better chosen to excite
His sated, yet his furious Appetite,
And urge to lawless Loves, and vain Delight;
Thus on his yielding Couch reclin'd he lay,
Thus he, Luxurious, past the scorching Day
Till cooler Evening come, he bids prepare
His stately Chariot—He must take the Air:
At his broad Gates arriv'd he casts his Eye
And sees a miserable Object lie
With sores all cover'd—Strait with cruel Pride
He turns his Head and haughty Eyes aside,
Then frowning, thus t'his crouching Servants near
Take hence this Dirt he cries, what makes he here?
Drag him to th' Dunghil, that's the fittest place;
Let him rot there, and not these Walks disgrace:
Too soon they obey, and spurning bid him rise
And get him thence—He lifts his fainting eyes,
With much of Pain he lifts his heavy head,
Which soon fell down agen, and sighing said
With a low Voice—What hurt or injury
Will't be, if here you let me faint and die;
Tho' while I might have liv'd, you'd not afford,
'Twas all I ask'd, the Fragments of your Board
Which e'en the Dogs had left—The Wretch dares prate,
Replies the Lord—Here trail him from the Gate!
They did, across the more relenting Stones,
Scarce cou'd he speak, but just expiring groans;
The kinder Hounds, who as it chanc'd were there,
Soon scented him, where half expos'd and bare,
His fest'ring nauseous Sores infect the Air;
Scarcely one part from head to foot was sound,
One frightful Ulcer he, all o'er a Wound:
Around him the poor Curs with pity wait,
And as they cou'd seem'd to bemoan his Fate;
They of their Masters cruelty complain;
With heads thrown up they deeply howl—In vain
The Huntsman rates 'em off, they ne'er the more
Will from him stir, but gently lick'd his Sore.
Some Ease he found e'en in the pangs of death,
Tho' whence he knew not; with his parting Breath,
Too late's your Aid, who e'er you be, he cry'd,
Requite you Heav'n!—With all his strength he try'd,
A little rais'd his Head, then sunk and dy'd!
—His active Spirit no sooner wing'd away
From her untenantable house of Clay,
But strait fair Angels from the Clouds descend,
And thitherward their Course directly bend;
His shiv'ring Soul wide wand'ring in the Air,
On their warm Purple Wings to bliss they bear;
Safe to the Realms of endless Peace convey'd,
And in great Abraham's bosom softly laid;
There all the glorious Orders round him shine,
“And calm the Relicks of his Grief with Hymns Divine.
For Truth have urg'd Truths sacred Oracle;
Yet Reason some evade by Sophistry,
Some Scriptures wrest, but none can Sense deny.
To this our Lord by Miracles appeals,
In all those Truths which he from Heav'n reveals
By Miracles him his Great Father seals;
Which thousands can as well as we attest,
By Friends admir'd, by Enemies confest:
Who can by his own Pow'r both Worlds command,
And raise the Dead by his dread Voice or Hand;
Whom Heav'n and Earth obey, all must believe,
His Testimony all the World receive.
But never Man like him these Truths e'er taught,
He Immortality to Light has brought;
That Heav'n the Good with endless Joy shall gain,
The wicked mourn in Hell with endless Pain.
As little, immaterial Substance, we
Can doubt, so much we've heard, so much we see.
Legions of Fiends we see our Lord obey,
VVho spightful him confess, and hast away;
213
Or them he in the howling Desart bind;
Whether before they haunt some lonely Tomb,
Or bolder into Towns and Cities come,
And strike afflicted Mortals blind or dumb.
This have Capernaum's VValls with wonder seen,
This from his Hills th' affrighted Gadarene,
Where to their Saviour they their Swine preferr'd,
Where Beasts and Fiends obscene in Legions herd.
Were our Eyes false, we've stronger Evidence,
And proof ev'n more infallible than Sense.
These Truths did Truth it self to us reveal,
Or plain, or in some lively Parable:
One I among the rest remember yet,
And think I hardly ever can forget;
Still are, methinks the Scene's before my Eyes
The pains of Hell, the joys of Paradise;
And were not Day well wasted—Wast no more
Gamaliel says, more earnest than before
To hear the whole: while Nicodemus cries,
Those only wast the Day who, lost in Vice,
The sliding Hours profusely misemploy
In shortliv'd Pleasures and voluptuous Joy,
VVho while the sliding Hours fly swift away,
Fondly themselves beguile, and not the Day:
But who like us their happy Sands have past,
'Tis they, and they alone, Life truly tast,
They use their Time which others only wast.
But pray proceed, slip not one passage o'er,
Believe we long to hear it all and more.
He thus—I'll every circumstance relate;
Thus was the Poor-Rich-Mans tremendous Fate,
—See his luxurious Body cover'd o'er
With Royal Purple, fetch'd from Tyre's proud shore.
The softest Linnen next his tender skin
Richly perfum'd, (and need) to hide within
A lothsom Load of Vanity and Sin:
Arabia's choicest Odors, purchas'd thence
With the exactest Care and vast Expence
Rich Nard, Amomum, sacred Frankincense:
214
As if the Land of Spices had been there,
Where nothing else they burn; the choisest Fare
His Tables load, the panting Servants come
Half crush'd with their pil'd weight into the room:
Those Birds with which wise Heav'n our Fathers fed,
And thought the fittest meat with Angels bread,
As coarser Fare, despis'd, he'd scarce afford
A room at th' end of his luxurious Board:
The beauteous Fowl by distant Phasis bred,
Almost as richly as their Master fed;
Both fatted for destruction, scarce he'd deign
To tast, almost untouch'd born off again;
And cou'd the fancy'd Phenix self been caught,
The Dish he at a Kingdom's price had bought.
While in a stately Gallery hard by,
Adorn'd with Babylonian Tapistry
His Honours Musick sate, and as they bring
Each Course, anew they sweep the sounding string;
At once to charm his Conscience and his Cares,
Lull his loose Soul with melting Lydian Airs,
Or soft Anacreon's Words from Greece they bring,
Which Eunuchs bought from Rome or Egypt sing;
No Words e'er better chosen to excite
His sated, yet his furious Appetite,
And urge to lawless Loves, and vain Delight;
Thus on his yielding Couch reclin'd he lay,
Thus he, Luxurious, past the scorching Day
Till cooler Evening come, he bids prepare
His stately Chariot—He must take the Air:
At his broad Gates arriv'd he casts his Eye
And sees a miserable Object lie
With sores all cover'd—Strait with cruel Pride
He turns his Head and haughty Eyes aside,
Then frowning, thus t'his crouching Servants near
Take hence this Dirt he cries, what makes he here?
Drag him to th' Dunghil, that's the fittest place;
Let him rot there, and not these Walks disgrace:
Too soon they obey, and spurning bid him rise
And get him thence—He lifts his fainting eyes,
215
Which soon fell down agen, and sighing said
With a low Voice—What hurt or injury
Will't be, if here you let me faint and die;
Tho' while I might have liv'd, you'd not afford,
'Twas all I ask'd, the Fragments of your Board
Which e'en the Dogs had left—The Wretch dares prate,
Replies the Lord—Here trail him from the Gate!
They did, across the more relenting Stones,
Scarce cou'd he speak, but just expiring groans;
The kinder Hounds, who as it chanc'd were there,
Soon scented him, where half expos'd and bare,
His fest'ring nauseous Sores infect the Air;
Scarcely one part from head to foot was sound,
One frightful Ulcer he, all o'er a Wound:
Around him the poor Curs with pity wait,
And as they cou'd seem'd to bemoan his Fate;
They of their Masters cruelty complain;
With heads thrown up they deeply howl—In vain
The Huntsman rates 'em off, they ne'er the more
Will from him stir, but gently lick'd his Sore.
Some Ease he found e'en in the pangs of death,
Tho' whence he knew not; with his parting Breath,
Too late's your Aid, who e'er you be, he cry'd,
Requite you Heav'n!—With all his strength he try'd,
A little rais'd his Head, then sunk and dy'd!
—His active Spirit no sooner wing'd away
From her untenantable house of Clay,
But strait fair Angels from the Clouds descend,
And thitherward their Course directly bend;
His shiv'ring Soul wide wand'ring in the Air,
On their warm Purple Wings to bliss they bear;
Safe to the Realms of endless Peace convey'd,
And in great Abraham's bosom softly laid;
There all the glorious Orders round him shine,
“And calm the Relicks of his Grief with Hymns Divine.
When now Sol's Beams almost had left the Air,
Back did the Miserably-rich repair;
Who near his house, the lifeless Carcass there
Did at first glance a little startled see,
But soon himself recalls—What is't to me,
If he be dead, he did insulting cry?
That Wretch had nothing else to do but die.
For me, I better can my time employ,
And many an unexhausted Year of Joy:
Shou'd Fate and Death be sawcy and pretend
To rush into my presence e'er I for 'em send;
Rich Cordials soon shou'd make 'em quit their hold,
I'd bribe 'em thence with show'rs of liquid Gold,
—Now let 'em keep their distance—When I'm old,
With Virtue and the Palsey bedrid lie,
Return, I may have leisure then to die.
—He said, and a new Banquet bids prepare,
Rich Syrian Unguents crown his flowing Hair;
Resolv'd that Night in all the Joys to live
That Wit or Wine, or flatt'ring Vice cou'd give;
A few choice Friends, as great, as lewd as he,
Sate round, t'augment and share his Jollity;
At length the Tables clear'd, the Banquet o'er,
Profusely plentiful as that before,
He a huge golden Goblet rais'd on high,
And swears to all their Healths he'd drink it dry,
Then brought t'his head, when on the sudden, fall,
His lips scarce touch'd, he, Goblet, Wine and all;
The Servants shreeking overturn the Board,
And run to th' aid of their expiring Lord;
Rich Cordials fetch'd, they force 'em down in vain,
His hand upon his heart, there, there his Pain;
Death-struck, he fell, hard comes his rattling breath,
His jolly Face now pale and cold as Death;
Atheist no more, believes a God too late,
Trembling with Horror of approaching Fate:
All Arts in vain, with wild distorted eyes
He desp'rate in their arms reluctant dies;
So soon his Carcass, black and horrid grown
Corrupts, it longer cou'd be born by none;
But as the time permitted, they Inter
With State, in his Parental Sepulchre;
Proud Hatchments o'er, perhaps some praise him too
For twenty Virtues that he never knew;
Their Flatt'ries help him not, nor reach him, where
His Soul, by th' ugly Dæmons of the Air
Is seiz'd their own, their Mark they on him found,
Which in firm Adamantine Fetters bound,
To Ætna's Gulf, or further on, they bear
To the sad Northern World thro' mirksom Air,
O'er utmost Thule, thence thro' Hecla steep,
Sink with him down headlong to the boundless Deep.
Back did the Miserably-rich repair;
Who near his house, the lifeless Carcass there
Did at first glance a little startled see,
216
If he be dead, he did insulting cry?
That Wretch had nothing else to do but die.
For me, I better can my time employ,
And many an unexhausted Year of Joy:
Shou'd Fate and Death be sawcy and pretend
To rush into my presence e'er I for 'em send;
Rich Cordials soon shou'd make 'em quit their hold,
I'd bribe 'em thence with show'rs of liquid Gold,
—Now let 'em keep their distance—When I'm old,
With Virtue and the Palsey bedrid lie,
Return, I may have leisure then to die.
—He said, and a new Banquet bids prepare,
Rich Syrian Unguents crown his flowing Hair;
Resolv'd that Night in all the Joys to live
That Wit or Wine, or flatt'ring Vice cou'd give;
A few choice Friends, as great, as lewd as he,
Sate round, t'augment and share his Jollity;
At length the Tables clear'd, the Banquet o'er,
Profusely plentiful as that before,
He a huge golden Goblet rais'd on high,
And swears to all their Healths he'd drink it dry,
Then brought t'his head, when on the sudden, fall,
His lips scarce touch'd, he, Goblet, Wine and all;
The Servants shreeking overturn the Board,
And run to th' aid of their expiring Lord;
Rich Cordials fetch'd, they force 'em down in vain,
His hand upon his heart, there, there his Pain;
Death-struck, he fell, hard comes his rattling breath,
His jolly Face now pale and cold as Death;
Atheist no more, believes a God too late,
Trembling with Horror of approaching Fate:
All Arts in vain, with wild distorted eyes
He desp'rate in their arms reluctant dies;
So soon his Carcass, black and horrid grown
Corrupts, it longer cou'd be born by none;
But as the time permitted, they Inter
With State, in his Parental Sepulchre;
Proud Hatchments o'er, perhaps some praise him too
For twenty Virtues that he never knew;
217
His Soul, by th' ugly Dæmons of the Air
Is seiz'd their own, their Mark they on him found,
Which in firm Adamantine Fetters bound,
To Ætna's Gulf, or further on, they bear
To the sad Northern World thro' mirksom Air,
O'er utmost Thule, thence thro' Hecla steep,
Sink with him down headlong to the boundless Deep.
Amidst the dreadful Pains of that sad State,
Which for all those who now despise 'em, wait;
Where long he Tortur'd lay, he lifts his Eyes
Unto the now almost forgotten Skies;
The Earth to him, Diaphanous as Air,
With ease look'd thro', for Souls see every where;
Beyond Heav'ns mighty Gulf he saw as well,
Tho' vast as that, from th' under-World to Hell;
Within whose shining Borders soon he found
Sweet Paradise, that blest, that happy Ground
Where Father Abraham sits, the Patriarchs round,
And holy Souls, ay reign in boundless Light,
Expecting greater Bliss than Infinite;
Among the rest when Lazarus he spy'd,
With a loud lamentable Voice he cry'd,
O Father Abraham! Tho' so far from thee
Remov'd, O Father hear, and pity me!
To live in yon blest Realms I must despair,
What wou'd, alas! my guilty Soul do there?
All the small Boon I ask, O that I might
Obtain 't! Is but less Pain than infinite;
Since I in this dire Place must ever dwell,
O give but a more tolerable Hell!
If this too much, one Moments respite give,
What's that t'a Wretch must here for ever live?
Still less than that, yet let me, let me gain
Some small alleviation of my Pain:
The happy Lazarus!—O what a Change,
(But sure the Blest above knew no Revenge,)
Betwixt his Fate and mine! Let him descend,
And with one drop of Water me befriend,
Tortur'd in quenchless Flames e'er since I fell,
And Thirst, next Guilt, the greatest Plague of Hell.
Which for all those who now despise 'em, wait;
Where long he Tortur'd lay, he lifts his Eyes
Unto the now almost forgotten Skies;
The Earth to him, Diaphanous as Air,
With ease look'd thro', for Souls see every where;
Beyond Heav'ns mighty Gulf he saw as well,
Tho' vast as that, from th' under-World to Hell;
Within whose shining Borders soon he found
Sweet Paradise, that blest, that happy Ground
Where Father Abraham sits, the Patriarchs round,
And holy Souls, ay reign in boundless Light,
Expecting greater Bliss than Infinite;
Among the rest when Lazarus he spy'd,
With a loud lamentable Voice he cry'd,
O Father Abraham! Tho' so far from thee
Remov'd, O Father hear, and pity me!
To live in yon blest Realms I must despair,
What wou'd, alas! my guilty Soul do there?
All the small Boon I ask, O that I might
Obtain 't! Is but less Pain than infinite;
Since I in this dire Place must ever dwell,
O give but a more tolerable Hell!
If this too much, one Moments respite give,
What's that t'a Wretch must here for ever live?
Still less than that, yet let me, let me gain
Some small alleviation of my Pain:
The happy Lazarus!—O what a Change,
(But sure the Blest above knew no Revenge,)
Betwixt his Fate and mine! Let him descend,
And with one drop of Water me befriend,
Tortur'd in quenchless Flames e'er since I fell,
218
Ah miscall'd Son, Abraham severe replies,
With unrelenting Justice in his Eyes,
The time of Mercy's now for ever o'er,
No more thy Friend, thy Father now no more:
Then, then thou shou'dst have su'd, when long in vain
God did a Pardon offer, you disdain;
Nay dar'd, ungrate, his Providence arraign:
E'en from his Goodness, wou'd no God believe,
Because he suffer'd such a Wretch to live:
Then thou in Wealth and Opulence didst flow;
Two are too much, thou hadst one Heav'n below,
Where Lazarus his Hell; now all things weigh'd
In his just Ballance, Retribution's made;
He lives in endless Joy, who then did mourn;
Thou in unpity'd Flames must ever burn.
Besides, th' interminable Gulf's so wide,
That do's 'twixt your sad Realms and ours divide;
Yours cannot hope a Change, nor ours can fear,
You must be ever there, we always here.
With unrelenting Justice in his Eyes,
The time of Mercy's now for ever o'er,
No more thy Friend, thy Father now no more:
Then, then thou shou'dst have su'd, when long in vain
God did a Pardon offer, you disdain;
Nay dar'd, ungrate, his Providence arraign:
E'en from his Goodness, wou'd no God believe,
Because he suffer'd such a Wretch to live:
Then thou in Wealth and Opulence didst flow;
Two are too much, thou hadst one Heav'n below,
Where Lazarus his Hell; now all things weigh'd
In his just Ballance, Retribution's made;
He lives in endless Joy, who then did mourn;
Thou in unpity'd Flames must ever burn.
Besides, th' interminable Gulf's so wide,
That do's 'twixt your sad Realms and ours divide;
Yours cannot hope a Change, nor ours can fear,
You must be ever there, we always here.
If then my Pain I must uneas'd deplore,
O let it not (but can it?) e'er be more,
The hopeless Wretch returns; for even here
In Hell it self I've something worse to fear:
I'th' lightsom World above I call to mind,
I yet have Five dear Brethren left behind;
Them my false Rhet'ric did too oft entice,
My bad Example them inclin'd to Vice:
I fear lest their Damnation mine enchance,
Their added Sums my vast Account advance:
If he so long a Journey must not go,
Or make a Visit to our Worlds of Woe;
At least half-way let Lazarus descend,
Rowze 'em from Vice, and warn of my sad End;
This, this wou'd strike their Souls with pious Fear,
Sure they'd the Dead, tho' not the Living hear.
O let it not (but can it?) e'er be more,
The hopeless Wretch returns; for even here
In Hell it self I've something worse to fear:
I'th' lightsom World above I call to mind,
I yet have Five dear Brethren left behind;
Them my false Rhet'ric did too oft entice,
My bad Example them inclin'd to Vice:
I fear lest their Damnation mine enchance,
Their added Sums my vast Account advance:
If he so long a Journey must not go,
Or make a Visit to our Worlds of Woe;
At least half-way let Lazarus descend,
Rowze 'em from Vice, and warn of my sad End;
This, this wou'd strike their Souls with pious Fear,
Sure they'd the Dead, tho' not the Living hear.
Nor e'en can that be granted, Abraham says,
If they neglect Lifes fix'd and stated ways,
What the great Moses their Forefathers told,
Thunder'd from Heav'n, what all th' Inspir'd of old;
If they the Law and Prophets not receive,
Nor wou'd they the returning Dead believe.
—He said, the Fiends about their Pris'ner came,
And sink him deep in liquid Worlds of Flame;
While Lazarus forgets those Miseries,
By which he thinks too cheap his Crown he buys,
And learns triumphant Hymns in Paradise.
If they neglect Lifes fix'd and stated ways,
What the great Moses their Forefathers told,
Thunder'd from Heav'n, what all th' Inspir'd of old;
219
Nor wou'd they the returning Dead believe.
—He said, the Fiends about their Pris'ner came,
And sink him deep in liquid Worlds of Flame;
While Lazarus forgets those Miseries,
By which he thinks too cheap his Crown he buys,
And learns triumphant Hymns in Paradise.
The Apostle breaths, the Story all commend;
Hence Fathers! See, reply'd our Saviour's Friend,
Our Master came not, as the envious say,
The Sanction of our Laws to take away,
Or mighty Moses teach to disobey;
Perpetual Doctor of the Churches, where
His Truths of moral Obligation are,
Nay even those who sit in Mose's Chair,
He bids obey in all that's just and right,
Suffer or do, nor must his Servants fight.
Hence Fathers! See, reply'd our Saviour's Friend,
Our Master came not, as the envious say,
The Sanction of our Laws to take away,
Or mighty Moses teach to disobey;
Perpetual Doctor of the Churches, where
His Truths of moral Obligation are,
Nay even those who sit in Mose's Chair,
He bids obey in all that's just and right,
Suffer or do, nor must his Servants fight.
Gamaliel thus—Since you so much have shown,
I've now far other Thoughts, I frankly own,
Of your great Masters Doctrine, than before,
And must th' Iniquity o'th' Age deplore
That him rejects, our Rulers Spite and Hate
The Cause, he worthy a far better Fate.
But chance what may, avert my boding Fear,
Kind Heav'n! You ever shall be welcom here.
I've now far other Thoughts, I frankly own,
Of your great Masters Doctrine, than before,
And must th' Iniquity o'th' Age deplore
That him rejects, our Rulers Spite and Hate
The Cause, he worthy a far better Fate.
But chance what may, avert my boding Fear,
Kind Heav'n! You ever shall be welcom here.
And now the Sun behind the Mountains fell,
Gilding, with parting Beams, fair Siloam's Well;
The Guests arise, Gamaliel with 'em rose,
Since they'll no longer stay, he forward goes,
Conducts 'em to the Gate, and parting there,
Back the Disciples to our Lord repair.
Gilding, with parting Beams, fair Siloam's Well;
The Guests arise, Gamaliel with 'em rose,
Since they'll no longer stay, he forward goes,
Conducts 'em to the Gate, and parting there,
Back the Disciples to our Lord repair.
| The Life of Our Blessed Lord & Saviour Jesus Christ | |