The Mitre :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Mitre

A Poem [by Edward Perronet]

Perronet, Edward (1721-1792)

[section]

THE MITRE.

CANTO I.

II.

CANTO II.

III.

CANTO III.

IV.

CANTO IV.

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CANTO II.

Delectando, pariterque monendo.
Hor.

1

Awake, once more, my trembling plume,
The hateful task once more resume,
And lift aloft thine hand:
Explore the term, this “Right divine,”
The vaunt of traitors and their shrine:
Nor shun the bold demand.

2

This Sprite unseen, whence does it spring?
Is it a beggar or a king?
Or vile hermaphrodite?
To me this seems to be it's sex;
It sometimes asks, and sometimes takes,
Careless of Wrong or Right.

3

I think it's source is easy trac'd,
As are it's claims in order plac'd,
It's furniture and crests:
A blended spawn of church and state,
It's father—Constantine the Great,
It's dam,—the pride of priests.

4

Who fir'd with lust of rule and gain,
Spar'd neither lies, nor art, nor pain,
To turn the Fondling's head:
That all since urg'd of Right divine,
Is nothing more than Constantine,
Still speaking tho' he's dead.

5

Nor less the spirit still survives,
Where'er the Priest or Bigot lives:
It's quintessence and pow'r,
Like Proteus self to change it's shape;
Is lion, bear, or fox, or ape,
Or Lambkin or a boar.

6

Now, see it crawl a wriggling worm,
Is all vermicity of form,
And sheepish, scarcely dares
Or cringing ask, or e'en receive
What royal bounty deigns to give,
Or cold compassion spares.

7

Then rears a monster, swoln with pride,
That lifts her leg and mounts astride
An emp'ror and his throne:
Pretends her origin divine,
Her race the apostolic line,
Herself and heav'n but one.

8

Now hear her strike a loftier tune,
When fair occasion late or soon,
Assists the guileful plan:
No longer meek, nor honest now,
But with a bronze of thievish brow,
She harpies all she can.

9

In short, she's all or any thing,
Sometimes a slave, and oft a king,
Can thunder peal or chimes:
Can sneer or snivel, quake or quaff,
Can groan or growl, or weep or laugh;
For lo, she serves the times!

10

Thus, when complaints on every side
Arraign her avarice and pride;
Her knavery and wrong:
She pleads or storms, submits or fires,
Just as the times or state require,
And “ay” or “no”—the song.

11

For when nor just nor Reason plead,
There must be something in their stead,
And here you see the way:
'Tis but to join the strongest side,
Or calmly wait the moving tide,
Then arrogate the day.

12

By this, what has not been secur'd?
To what injustice Kings allur'd?
To yield or guard a claim,
Which neither Law nor Right before,
Had dar'd demand, nay, often more
Than e'en a Priest dar'd name.

13

And all for what? why this the cause,
Princes, once children fear'd the claws
Of fierce pontific zeal:
Dreaded their subjects foul revolt,
Or, for their negligence or fault,
For ever chain'd in hell.

14

Thus impuls'd, or imprest with Fear,
They saw, or dreamt they saw it clear,
That all the priest requir'd,
Was nothing more than just their due,
And such as they could easy shew,
Who but their own desir'd.

15

Their own forsooth! who made it so?
I know who quick to Moses go,
Better to Cain by half:
A Murderer now, as first a Priest,
And reason good, if may be guest,
One cause his brother's pelf.

16

If pelf the lore of priests was then,
Or all besides, were honest men,
(What pity these exclude!)
There need no other be assign'd,
Why Cain should feel a murderer's mind,
Or murdering bask in Blood!

17

And are there none who him succeed?
Base copyers of his mind and deed,
Nor ought have spar'd for gain?
But seiz'd or tortur'd, rack'd or kill'd,
Their land with violence have fill'd?
And yet unpurg'd their stain!

18

But to recall the Jewish plea,
Of tythes divine or equity,
Why not the painful rite
Of Circumcision once enjoin'd,
And somewhat satiate to the mind,
Of priestly stagyrite?

19

Besides—it might be so contriv'd,
(Were it of full extent reviv'd)
To raise a glorious sum:
If but the Law would once enjoin,
And make it now as still divine,
Her relicks are at Rome.

20

No care, you know, the vulgar howl,
If stubborn—easy to controul:
Or pleas'd or sad their mood:
Besides, whatever these might own,
There are with whom 'twould glib go down,
Tho' 'twere the Price of Blood.

21

My Plea—if tythes were equal pain,
And brought the Craftsmen no more gain,
Than this ungrateful rite:
Ye'd tythe no more than circumcise,
Nor this, than put out both your eyes,
As clearer seen the light.

22

But Circumcision nothing brings,
Therefore was never ask'd of kings,
Or laws, to make divine:
'Twas easier done another way,
And more adapted to their lay,
As more enhanc'd the shrine.

23

Besides, “'tis plain revok'd elsewhere,
“Saint Paul has set this matter clear,
“Cursed who this performs:”
And what are they who lye or swear,
That all the best—is but their share,
And fleece their fellow-worms!

24

In truth, my friends, were nothing more
Than Truth at heart, nor gain your lore,
It is not one but all,
Had long since render'd up your claims,
Nor ever dar'd belye the names,
Of Moses or Saint Paul.

25

For what say either these to you?
The first has nothing left your due,
The latter but your Hire:
And this dependant on your care,
To feed the flock, their sorrows bear,
Or else your wages—Fire.

26

What more their Master and his train
Of lively, apostolic men,
Who sought not theirs but them:
Made this their business here below,
Heav'n-ward with sacred hope to go,
Thro' poverty and shame?

27

“Pugh—they were poor unselfish things,
That neither car'd for courts or kings,
And only minded Souls:
Stuff of I know not what myself,
But senseless of the lore of pelf,
Evinc'd how mean their moulds!

28

“Or else, it may be what they did,
Was only just a cloak to hide
The Odium of their call:
So left, that they who boast their name,
In after-times might plead their claim,
And thus engross it all.”

29

And less has never serv'd their turn,
Who must have all, or lawless burn
The innocent or good:
Who yet would glad have born their part,
If nought beside, their upright heart,
As for their Lord their blood.

30

But this they could at any time
Let out—'twas scarce a venial crime,
For pontiff pride enflam'd:
And tho' nor pomp, applause or gain,
Yet still 'twas shed with little pain,
Nor ever after nam'd.

31

But still, it made a way for Rome,
With greater swiftness to assume
Whate'er her lust admir'd:
'Twas nothing but to say, “'Tis mine,”
And seize it with her paws divine,
For Rome was now inspir'd.

32

And so she was, but with the same
Infernal principle and flame
That fires the hosts of hell:
Who nor devise, nor think, nor do,
But what a universe must rue,
And Part for ever feel!

33

So has been felt her weighty hand,
In every coast, or soil, or land,
Where-e'er her wings have flown:
Not long since sigh'd sweet Albion's isle,
Beneath the darkness of her smile,
Or horror of her frown.

34

Scarce yet withdrawn from all her sons,
Preserv'd (as marrow in their bones)
The Spirit of the dame:
Refer to hers or Aaron's chair,
To make their dark succession clear:
All Hierarchy and flame!

35

As if was nothing right but Rome,
And all was wrong, as sent or come
For any where but her:
As God himself were fast confin'd
To tell her only all his mind,
Or, who her rights aver!

36

Thoughtless how many they condemn:
Unworthy or of scorn or blame:
Who yet detest her line:
Discard her maxims from their schools,
Her Orders banish and her Rules,
As dev'lish not divine.

37

Hating (as sacred writ enjoins)
Her spotted garments and her shrines,
Devote to pride and blood:
Worn as the badges of her priests,
Or Baal's—(both alike the Beast's)
And enemies of God!

38

Foremost in rank stands wise Geneve,
Grave school of Calvin and his Sleeve,
Plain, accurate and pure:
Full of religion's sternest sense,
Without or forc'd or vain pretence
To Dulness or Demure.

39

Where dwells sweet liberty and peace:
Conscience at large, reclin'd at ease,
Directs the gentle reins
Of wisdom's philosophic car,
Void of Dissension as of war,
Her Basis firm remains.

40

All hail the man, decent addrest!
Her native son, whose ample breast
Flames ardent with her fire:
Whom Albion warms with fervid zeal,
To serve her honours or her weal,
His sov'reign and her sire!

41

Long may he plead her injur'd cause,
With safety as with just applause:
Nor less his great reward,
When call'd from silence or the field,
He views the bright ethererl shield,
And meets the angelic guard.

42

Name not, my muse, who knows thee well,
Thy weakness and thy faults could tell,
But kind conceals thy shame:
Enough—thou know'st him brave or wise,
Nor base expose to vulgar eyes
His Virtues or his Name.

43

But wave we here a long record
Of princes, who by art, or sword,
Have each undaunted broke
From off their own, or subjects neck
(What ere long Rome herself will break)
The hard, pontific yoke.

44

And hail again thy native land,
Long may her fame on record stand,
As just, discreet and bold:
Long may her name her children warm,
And long a Brunswic's equal arm
Her diadem uphold.

45

O were her sons devout and wise!
Candid their mind as keen their eyes!
Discern'd their highest bliss!
What graceful ardor then should roll
Each British eye! replete his soul
With courtesy and peace.

46

O were her Ministers a flame,
Not such as burns the flagrant dame,
But pure ethereal fire:
Such as enwraps the Seraphim,
Or such as once glow'd warm in him,
First Brightness of his Sire!

47

O were his servants like their Lord!
Untaint their life, as keen their word,
Or caustic or the balm!
How soon should all thy praise return,
Whose wither'd laurels deep we mourn,
And re-assum'd thy palm!

48

For want of this how much is lost
Of real honour and it's boast!
Nor like to be procur'd:
Nay, thou hadst forfeited the whole,
E'en that which most enchants thy soul,
But Policy ensur'd.

49

Yet even this could not obtain
(What, O hadst thou preferr'd to Gain,
As far the nobler part)
The secret reverence of mankind,
(Alike in this, each differing mind)
The nation and it's Heart!

50

For, neither friends nor foes approve
That they who talk of things above,
Should only (as alone)
Seek little else, but things below,
As eager nought beyond to know,
Or, nothing less their own.

51

Who honour, ease, and wealth prefer,
To shame, and poverty, and care,
For what so dearly bought:
By that more precious far than gold,
Or ought that human tongues e'er told
Of angels or their thought!

52

Quit then thy claim to earthly things,
Leave them to courtesans and kings:
Be this thy one employ,
To see thy Children walk in Peace,
Thy Priests array'd in Righteousness,
Thy saints exult for joy!

53

Till then, what wonder thy disgrace!
Constru'd thy fairest form—grimace,
So near ally'd to guile:
That artifice so long reprov'd,
In her of old—so dearly lov'd,
So infamous for wile!

54

What wonder all the world should say,
And think thee still like boys at play,
As whole depriv'd of sight:
While from one corner of an eye
They seek the mark they'd seem to fly,
And court the follower's flight.

55

And this has oft been deem'd of thee,
By those, who boast they more than see
With only half an eye:
These tell—“Thou only feign'st to run,
“From her thou cou'dst not even shun,
“But for the standers by.”

56

“That were it not for human laws
“That gripe thee right between their paws,
“Thou soon would'st swift return,
“To all thy mother holds so dear,
“(And stately dictates from her chair)
“To rack, confine, or burn.”

57

And really, one would think it true,
And that the hubbub and ado
Which has so oft been made,
Is not, as say thy partial sons,
“For nothing more than empty sounds,”
As rumour were a trade.

58

In proof of this, they first alledge
(What, wert thou drawn upon a sledge,
All traitors just desert:
Would heavy weigh around thy neck,
And, with the first quassation break
The sinews of thy heart.)

59

“Thy sacred court”—(base imposition!)
That sister of the Inquisition;
So hardly known asunder:
Only, that thine is less severe;
Good reason—laws humane are near,
And qualify the thunder.

60

Next, “Bonds, imprisonments and fines,”
White sheets, and wide expensive lines,
Citations, bills and writs:
Enough to make e'en Chanc'ry stare,
And tugged Quakers quake for fear,
While others lose their wits!

61

And oft, perhaps, for little more,
Than only thinking her a Whore,
Some Sichem has defil'd:
But such thy decent, tender care,
Unwilling to defame the Fair,
In mercy to the child.

62

Or else, thy pontiff vengeance falls
On her, our subject now recalls,
A Penitent of thine:
Whom now thine act has harden'd more,
Than of her own an hundred score,
'Gainst shame or grace divine!

63

Only 'tis meet to do the best
Thou canst, to arm the gentle breast
With fear another time:
And by thy candid censure teach
(With more effect than thine e'er preach)
The Blackness of the crime!

64

Again, thy terrors half disjoint
(Where neither Law nor Reason point)
Some poor, unfriended crew:
Who, after all thy Hirelings treat,
Or greedy tything-men repeat,
See not the Tythe thy Due.

65

And pray, who does, that dares be bold,
And think aloud—that but for Gold,
All safe might might march their way—

To heav'n or hell?—no matter where,
He'd neither have thy curse or pray'r,
As nothing now to pay.

66

And this they draw from the conceit
“That, but amongst the Rich or Great,
“Thine scarce or ne'er discern'd:
“Unless, when once or twice a year,
“They roll in state, to seize their share
“Of wages never earn'd.”

67

Or, “if they are more frequent seen,
“'Tis at the race or bowling-green,
“The levee or the ball:
“As seldom known to watch or pray,
“But only for a hand at play,
“Or weather for Vaux-hall.”

68

Or, in their Conclave close and warm,
Like hornets buzzing—(what a swarm)
Loud humming—or reserve:
Oppress the fatherless and poor,
Exclude the widow from their door,
Or, usher'd in to—starve.

69

Double their incomes and their fines,
(Such the dire av'rice of Divines!)
Not satiate to receive
The common gains of other men,
They raise (or ruin) all they can,
Then bid them—“Go and live!”

70

Just like a thief that stops your horse,
To take your parcel or your purse,
At even' or the day:

Seizes your throat, half kills your breath,
Then leaves you (in the jaws of death)
(Like these) to walk your way!

71

Such the Inquisitors, their sires,
Whom Lucifer their lord inspires
With double lust of pain:
Shut by themselves (as these) alone,
They torture, till they crack the bone,
Or bursts the starting vein!

72

High Pandemonium of Divines!
Where each, or fair or fleshy shines,
(What plenitude of grace!)
Some plume their hair, or twist their hands,
Or daub their nose, or smooth their bands,
Or stroke their full-moon'd face.

73

Council of tyrants and cabal,
As e'er adorn'd Gehenna's hall,
In truth 'tis little more:
'Tis where the widow is opprest,
The orphan ruin'd unredrest;
The Shambles of the poor!

74

Where, what is heard but News, or tales?
Genius of Priests, and of their sales,
Of gracelessness and gain!
Where hopes and fear alternate flow,
From harpy'ing eyes, or hearts of woe,
And pale unpity'd pain!

75

All rank adjusted and degree:
Soft ope the door, return the key;
A crowd of shiv'rers stand:

None sure how yet may end the day:
Whether not more than all to pay;
But—all are cap in hand.

76

First see a gentleman walk in,
Dropping his hand, and turns his chin:
“Your pleasure, sir, we'd know;”
“I only come to pay my rent;”
(Rack gather'd to the last extent)
Then quits 'em with a bow.

77

Next, see a sturdy blade appears;
That neither cares for them nor theirs;
“Your pleasure, pray, be known?”
He answers (with as rough a mien)
“I come to see and to be seen.”
“Your Promise, sirs, be done.”

78

O how swell all the bursting line,
Of scarlet hue, or pale malign,
“No promise e'er was made:”

“You lie, sir,” and, “you lie again,”
“There that is he—the very man,
“The pattern of your head.”

79

“You lie again,”—the herd reply;
Return'd with furious, threat'ning eye,
“Is this your chosen text?”
“A pack of lurchers of you all!”
But what care these for Great or Small;
“Come, pray let in the next.”

80

Now see a tradesman—honest man!
He bows and hums—now see the clan
Suspicious as they're keen:
“Well, sir, what is it you would say?”
“Why gentlemen”—we can't to-day;
“Come, let him out again.”

81

Another late his house new-fac'd;
“You know improvements should be rais'd .”
“I paid it once before.”
“That was the glazier—by your leave:”
He pays—but growling in his sleeve,
Makes side-ways to the door.

82

Next view a sprightly widow'd Weed:
Blythe as if no body were dead;
Or sinking with distress:
Impartial deed! each rack'd their dues:
(Or more—they never more refuse
Nor ever yet took less.)

83

Now comes a smirking, airy spark,
Warm in his honey-moon—a Lark!
“'Twas thirty, sirs, before:”
“I think you've just set up a trade:
“Well, sir, 'tis meet you should have Bread:
“You only pay—threescore.”

84

Last see a sight would break a heart
Of stone (how deep the tragic part!)
The scene unequall'd trace:
An ancient tenant full of years:
Hoary his head,—his eyes with tears
Fast running down his face.

85

Long had he till'd the barren farm:
Long plow'd in vain his fruitless arm:
(Who can unweeping tell!)

Half starv'd—his rackless rent to pay
Their fathers long since swept away
To Happiness or—Hell!

86

Bending with age,—he crouches low:
Tott'ring scarce rises from his bow:
Begins his humble moan:
“Hopes that their worships will forbear,
“He lost his all and more t' year!”
The Conclave burst—a groan!

87

Not for his loss—pray don't mistake:
The news makes all their Sur-loins crack:
Down drops each stounded head:
But oh-how awful and how loud
The solemn groan!—out peal'd a cloud
Of thunder brought to bed!

88

Now silence yields—their looks revive:
Soft jostles each his neighbour's sleeve:
“Brothers—what shall we do?”
Not do with him they do not mean,
All that is easily foreseen:
How merciless a crew!

89

Strait rises up a reverend Beau,
Turns on his heel—and points his toe:
(Still echoing with his pain)
And half a novice at the trade,
Hints “some Abatement should be made:”
Then sits him down again.

90

He's not the man—here read the next:
A stately opener of his text:
What tenderness he feels!

Stares at the young proposer's face:
Then with a voice as harsh as brass,
Cries—“lay him by the heels.”

91

By these he lies—O what a scene,
For heav'n to see and hell to grin:
But cease all sad surprize:
The Wretch—you mourn—but mourn for them:
(Drying as fuel for the flame,)
While he is starv'd and dies!

92

What wonder this should be their end,
Unhelp'd by Justice or her Friend:
No matter—all's a trade!
And trades must live, tho' others want:
Smugglers and villains have their Rent:
The Clergy, or the Spade.

93

Besides, 'tis only for a time:
This is their breathing place and clime:
'Tis here they have their good:
Soon to repay with treble pain,
Their cruel insolence and gain:
Now sweeter than their blood!

94

But hark—“there are Divisions there,”
Nay more than partly, one might swear:
What news to fight or scold!
When this the reason we alledge,
To share the Garment or the Wedge
Of Achan's crime and gold!

95

And these are moved too no doubt:
They wou'dn't stir a hand without,
Or to receive or hoard:

But tempted more than they can bear,
With groans each luggs away his share:
The burden of his Lord!

96

“But hold, sir—you condemn the whole:
“One Body, as if but one Soul:”
Why—are their spirits two?
Meet they not all with one design?
In this at least one heart and mind:
What better then the few?

97

Sep'rate they may—(and 'tis but fair
To give the Fiend his proper share)
Incorporate—they turn:
Like concrete sulphur in a flame:
They're one and all, I fear, the same,
And hissing bounce, or burn.

98

And pray, what say I here or more,
Than what they tell who keep the door
Of Secresy and Sin?
Privy to all that passes there:
Whether they stoop or domineer:
Or gnashing growl, or grin.

99

But what from these expect to find,
Of just, or generous, or kind?
Howe'er polite or civil:
Who lost and plung'd in wealth's Immerse,
Esteem an empty, hollow purse,
Identic with the Devil?

100

Now hear my blame on every side,
From ignorance, envy, hate or pride,
Of others or the Trade:
Nor spare us more our warmest friends,
Who, oft for no less virtuous ends,
Have far severer said.

101

But what severe enough for them?
Their country's burden and it's shame:
A load so hardly born:
Who see a nation watchful stand:
Her Foes on tip-toe for the land:
Yet senseless sleep or scorn?

102

See all her children now in arms:
While Brunswic's flame their bosom warms,
Their Father to defend:
Brunswic, the mild, the brave, the just:
Religion's and his people's trust!
Their Sov'reign and their friend!

103

Yet what are these? or what they do
Worthy of record or to know?
What Virtues have they done?
Half threescore suns have warm'd my head,
Since first I chew'd their humble bread,
Yet never heard of one!

104

Whom have they serv'd, or whom reliev'd?
What wretch releas'd? what want retriev'd?
What mercy have they shown,
Or to their tenants, or their slaves,
Maintain'd, or ruin'd, as by halves,
Till exil'd or undone?

105

Yet these are they who claim as due,
High reverence grave from me and you:
While each their partners greet:
With lordly congé or farewel:
Just quit the Audit, or the Cell:
The Temple or the Street!

106

The Poor—the Rich—how justly serv'd!
The latter chous'd, the former starv'd;
Each asks it thro' the land:
Nay flatter with their mutual lie
The men whom they should curb or fly:
And beg or kiss their hand.

107

Yet turn'd their backs—how both despise!
Shrug up their necks and wink their eyes:
High blazing with disdain!
“D'ye see the Doctor whom we bow'd?
“Look there, he shoots thro' yonder croud,
“He just deserves a chain!”

108

See here the Villain and the Slave!
See each a Fool and each a Knave!
Who scorn and yet they bend:
Not from Civility or Grace,
But with the air of low grimace,
A loaf—or none—their end.

109

Despis'd by them they decent use:
By those belov'd they most abuse:
What contrast on their part!
But yet they have the better Gage,
Who maugre all their envious rage,
Are honour'd in their Heart!

110

But meet the man, whom all despise
For seeing clear with both his eyes;
How grave their fingers tell!
Yet take 'em by the lump or score,
Behind your own or neighbour's door,
“I hope, sir, you are well!”

111

“I'm pretty well, I thank you, sir;
“But come, don't let us make a stir,
“For you may be undone:
“For me—I'm unconcern'd and free,
“Nor care a fig-leaf from the tree,
“For all of them in one.”

112

They know it too—that's something more,
“I'm civil—but I'll ne'er adore
“A Bigot or a Knave:
“And such I ever would esteem
“Who others for their thoughts condemn:”
What fetters drags a Slave!

113

Fetters of jingling self-conceit!
Dull clogs of proud, contemptuous hate:
A Convict on his throne!
Your heels he binds—but half insane,
An Ideot raves—nor hears the chain
Loud rattling at his own!

114

Next scrapes a Tradesman at his door:
He bows perhaps for something more:
They want an ounce of thread:
Or send for something he has not,
Or never had—nor to be got:
But still—he must have Bread.

115

Thus mutual flattery and guile;
Tradesmen may work—the Doctors smile,
And grave their reverence claim:
But what regard from meanest slaves,
Unless where their example saves
From punishment or shame?

116

But to resume our former friends,
Whom neither time nor patience mends,
Who yet securely breathe:
While kindred nations are at jar,
Our own now in the midst of War:
If not the midst of Death!

117

Rise Albion rise—exert thy claim
On all who boast thy boon or name:
Bid them their off'rings bring:
Tell them “the kingdom wants their Mite:
“The army and the poor their Right:
“Their Uselessness the king.”

118

Tell them “how great the general charge!
“The nation and it's wants how large!”
Remember they are thine.
If largely—well—but if refuse:
Thine own distress and freedom use,
And seize the coffer'd shrine.

119

Seize all you find—'tis not their own;
Thy prince's and their country's boon;
Now thine, no longer theirs:
To hoard or rust within their walls,
Nor squander on the shameless calls
Of future spend-thrift heirs.

120

When this is done—if they submit,
And grateful fall beneath thy feet,
Forgive the former crime:
Remember not their saucy tone,
Against thy welfare or the throne,
Or dignity sublime.

121

But if they murmur or complain,
Resist or clamour for their gain,
As probably they will:
Shew them remains another mode,
To deal with them (as with their God)
Far more effectual still.

122

Shew them thy licence to demand
The service of at least their Hand:
Implant it with a Sword:
Place them full front their foes in sight,
And there resistless bid them fight,
The battles of their Lord.

123

I know their Meanness as their pride:
Their cowardice and all beside:
They'll pray Success thy scheme:
Yes, so they will—till Louis land:
Then cringing with their cap in hand,
They'll supplicate for him.

124

Believe them not—'twas so before:
Their Fathers did it heretofore,
Alive—the same again:
These are their sons—they boast their race:
All made of adamant and brass:
To keep out wind and rain.

125

Besides, if these were more sincere,
Would not their honesty appear,
As decent or discreet?
Would they permit a thousand souls,
To lie like hogs im-penn'd in folds?
Their infants in the Street!

126

Would they permit (I dare to say,
What heard an hundred times a day)
The very men to pine,
Who, for or less or little more,
Than what their minions keep the door,
May bleed to save their Shrine.

127

Suppose that half their useless Pile
(Where the indecent or defile?)
Had prov'd their friendly shade:
In times like these but more alert,
(How shocking to a Popish heart!)
Horses their Stable made.

128

And where the crime—when who made them,
And them who ride (how great this shame!)
A Stable made divine?

Much more adorn'd with such a Guest,
Than e'er debas'd a useful beast,
The temple of their shrine.

129

Suppose all this and far beyond;
What sinking of their fame or fund,
Who could afford still more?
Abate the nation her expence,
Far richer in their Bank than Sense:
High plunderers of the Poor!

130

“My God! what Briton can forbear?
“Nor breathe—but thunder in their ear,
“Their duty and their call?
“Lov'd they but thee, their Prince and thine,
“Wou'd they not cede their Right divine;
“The Manors of their Pall?”

131

O were they safe beneath the last!
Secure in heaven from all that's past,
Or present or to come!
Albion might welcome use their Gold:
Her rights no more for nonsense sold:
And Frenchmen meet their doom!

132

The Session ends—the game is play'd:
They smile and wish each other dead:
At least there's some do them:
For why?—what Evil have they done?
Why—for the same that many a one
Has wish'd—but would not name.

133

Waiting till Providence removes
A brother—whom he dearly loves,
(Reciprocally even!)

You smile perhaps—pray stand aloof:
For what of Love's a better proof,
Than to be wish'd in Heaven?

134

Each now returns—well fraught with Geer:
The service of the current year:
And Essence of his song:
But Life's full Lease is deeper sign'd,
Than any they have left behind,
Tho' haply—not so long.

135

Crave ye to know from whom these come?
From one who safely smiles the doom,
Or judgment of your schools:
From one who wishes you were wise:
And knew that all whom ye despise,
Are neither Knaves nor Fools.

136

Unless the latter—for her weal:
Albion distrest—whom wish'd ye well!
My heart for Albion mourns:
Long may my tears in secret flow,
My heart her joys and sorrows know,
Till all her peace returns.

137

Ye call us Enemies—'tis true:
We are—yet not to her—nor you;
But to your baleful Pride:
Who stately tread—or snoring nod,
While hangs o'er her the threat'ning rod:
Or bleeds her wounded side.

138

Wounded by you, and by your stains:
Who rob her of her hearts and gains,
Both sacred to your lay:

Alike your aim in peace or war:
Replete her heart with hope or fear:
However—ye can pray.

139

A long digression this—what cost!
Yet all our pains not surely lost:
Resume our first design:
Report again, thou gentle dame,
Some other articles, that fame
Objects to thee and thine.

140

Of these—“Thy visits once a year:”
Less fam'd for Discipline than Cheer:
As what imports the least:
Arch-deacons, Chancellors, and Deans,
Apparitors and go-betweens
The Conclave and the Feast.

141

Church-wardens perjur'd, old and new:
Who swear to what they cannot do:
Then swear—they've done the whole:
Accountable (it seems) to none,
But to themselves and these alone:
Bold sponsors for the soul.

142

Where all that's done is little else
Than telling lies or telling tales;
Like anarchy of School:
Where seldom more is heard than noise,
Of buxom Priests—like free-school Boys:
Nor decency nor rule.

143

What wonder then that these exclaim,
Who or despise or hate thy name?
And cordially deride

(What with amazement all the wise
Reprove and see with equal eyes)
Thy uselessness of pride?

144

Again object “thy triple Creeds:”
Long roll of Athanasian beads:
Which whosoe'er repeat,
Condemn themselves and all around:
While laughing scorners loud resound
“'Tis nothing but a Cheat!”

145

Amaz'd that any thinking mind,
Or wise, dispassionate or kind,
Should thus itself deceive!
When in their conscience (if it's true)
They can no better witness shew
Than this—that they believe.

146

Much less can relish how a man
Or not a Murderer or insane,
Can curse his mortal foe:
For not conceiving what he owns
Himself, so far exceeds the bounds
Of mortal skill to know!

147

From hence concluding shrewdly keen
(No other Medium between:
The Inferfnce of course:)
“That they who dare assert, deny,
“Only because—they know not why,
“Would say it of their Horse.”

148

And so far rightly they conceive,
That those who any thing believe,
From Custom or Command:

Would on occasion (and they do,
To all intents we mean it true;)
Call either Foot their Hand.

149

Not, but the meaning may be well,
As they who mild explain it tell:
And all but Deists own:
“There are in glory—three that bear
“Their record—and yet all these are
“In Essence only one.”

150

But How they are and can but be
Or three in one—or one, yet three:
Is only known above:
How this or why is not the case:
Nor to define a Mortal's place:
But to believe and love!

151

Not that we blame thy zeal for Truth:
But Terms so puzz'ling and uncouth:
Too jumbl'd to conceive:
But more—Thy double-damning clause,
On all who dare presume to pause,
Tho' sentenc'd to believe!

152

For true conception—or that Faith,
Sure witness in the soul that hath,
Confession should preceed:
Or else what lengths may not be run?
The Universe believ'd a Sun:
Or e'en the Atheist's creed!

153

Yet shun their proud Philosophy:
Pregnant with pride and sophistry:
Who with their broken line,

Affect that mystery to scan:
Or that of Deity made Man:
Incarnate and divine!

154

To what compare their vanity?
But to the fool's who fain would weigh
The mountains in a scale:
Or to the child that with it's arm
Extended, and his dirty worm,
“Stands bobbing for a Whale.”

155

Such children they who think to sound
The Godhead's wide or vast profound:
Unfathom'd and unweigh'd
By lines or scales of human art:
Or all that fancy can impart:
Or wisdom's deeper aid.

156

Not—as we scorn'd their pure design,
Who warm with zeal for ought divine,
Wish all the World believ'd:
But for their Systems to explain
Inexplicables—then—complain
“Their systems unconceiv'd.”

157

Suffice that both are plain reveal'd
As Truth—tho' still the how conceal'd
From deep or keenest ken:
Perhaps scarce known to saints above:
Who there may rather gaze and love,
Than dare the Mode explain.

158

Shall Man then dare that depth explore
Without it's bottom or it's shore?
Immensity divine!

Wider than space—it's blaze more bright
Than thousand suns—yet deep as night,
The Godhead's triune Shrine!

159

Detest we, on the other side,
Their forward insolence and pride:
Who with uplifted horn,
Deny what is, for aught they know,
Essential and eternal true:
Nor lessen'd by their scorn.

160

Define not these the great Supreme?
Is he not limited by them?
Confin'd within their sphere?
Set him a line he may not pass,
But so exist or else transgress,
At peril of their sneer?

161

'Tis true, they make him only one:
Yet kindly leave him not alone:
Fit company conjoin'd:
Place on his right a human god:
And with him in his bright abode,
Some Spirit or the Wind!

162

And what's the evidence that's given?
Not his that erst came down from heaven:
Then present with his Sire:
But the pale lamp of Nature's light:
Envelop'd with Ægyptian night:
Hell's Genius and her Fire!

163

I know their fond, absurd reply:
“Where found the Term of Trinity?”
We echo as they sing:

Why not Morality disown'd,
(Their god) because the Term unfound?
But—is not found the thing?

164

What are all words but simple terms?
Or terms complex of modal forms,
Invented to convey
What or we mean or would make known,
To millions or to only one?
Concise as clear the way.

165

What more the term now under view?
It's great idea fix'd nor new:
Design'd that truth t'impart:
And only stands among Divines,
As that which best their sense defines:
A sacred Term of Art.

166

How weakly then do they reflect,
Who for so weak a cause reject
What seems so plain reveal'd?
Written at large—it's truth divine
On leaves inspir'd of sacred line:
Tho' still the Mode conceal'd!

167

Return we now from whence we came:
Cover'd with awful fear and shame:
As had approach'd too near:
And bold resume our former clue:
Our purpose for thy good pursue:
Nor unobservant hear.

168

Another charge against thee brought,
(But which I trust will come to nought,
Or thou must come to shame)

Is—“that thy Rulers won't permit
“That any who have not their writ,
“Should preach the Saviour's name.”

169

Not seeming rightly to surmise
That 'tis not they whose wanton eyes
Survey thy ample state:
Who or for wealth, or want, or whim,
For pride, or ease, or more esteem,
Intrude the sacred gate.

170

Are either call'd or sent by him,
Who only hath the lawful claim
His ministers to chuse:
That even Bishops are no more
Than Porters waiting at the door,
To open,—not refuse.

171

At least not this or that to dare,
For int'rest, fame, or pique, or fear:
For prejudice or pride:
But with the utmost care to trace,
And cautious mark the lines of grace:
Not bluster nor deride.

172

When this is done—then they have done;
But not before,—nor e'er will one
Thus mission'd—be allow'd,
However learn'd, or grave, or wise,
Or in his own, or other's eyes,
The Priest or Friend of God!

173

That God who never will permit
Always to lie beneath their feet,
The honours of his name:

100

But on his own his spirit show'rs:
Nor needs the aid of human pow'rs,
To prove or guard his claim.

174

Not that we would distraction chuse;
Or decent rule or forms refuse;
But what we here contend,
Is this—that none who bare regard
The lore of ease or base reward:
Or human laws commend,

175

Should be permitted to intrude
The sacred dome, or on the crowd
His moral dreams impose:
With schemes of dullness and of pride,
As but himself and none beside
Were worthy of the Rose.

176

Guard against these—we care not who
Or mounts the Pulpit or the Pew:
If black, or fair, or brown:
We need no longer fear the line
Of bullies, rakes, or fops, or fine
White coxcombs of the town.

177

'Tis these, and such as these, has made
Thy ministry esteem'd a Trade:
Suspected, nay abhorr'd:
Woe to the men—(for woe their fate!)
By whom e'en Heathens scorn or hate
The Off'ring of the Lord!

178

All such are thieves and robbers own'd:
And long since by their Lord postpon'd:
As come some other way:

101

Come with a view to fleece or steal:
Come not of his, but their own will,
To carry off the prey.

179

Who scorn the men prepar'd by him,
As sent by knaves or madmen's dream:
Or wild distracted brain:
Who yet were impuls'd by his grace,
Without reward of fee or place,
Or filthy Lucre—gain.

180

Yet deem the labourer worthy hire:
As just infirmities require:
Or cloaths or daily food:
Unmindful of all else beside:
Or nature's life or nature's pride:
As known the life of God!

181

These then are they who touch'd within
With pungent sense of in-bred Sin,
Flee from the Wrath to come:
Then pierc'd with kind compassion's dart:
With lips of flame and fire of heart,
Invite a nation home!

182

No matter where or whom addrest:
With utterance as with ardor blest,
They lift their voice on high:
Bid kingdoms turn from sin to God:
And know redemption in that blood,
Which sprinkles all the sky!

183

These then are who their mission prove,
By fervent faith and equal love:
Best witness of their claim:

102

What need they any other test,
Than what now fills and fires their breast,
The glory of the Lamb?

184

I see the answer in thine eye,
And am as ready to reply,
As thou art to oppose:
“Why then if this may be the case,
“There's none but if his noddle please,
“Menders of Pots or Shoes,

185

“But may up perch upon a stand,
“With brazen face and dirty hand
“Talk Nonsense or blaspheme:
“Then cry—He's moved from within,
“To call his Brethren from their Sin,
“In the Redeemer's Name!”

186

In part you're right, in part you're wrong:
I'll prove 'em both before 'tis long:
Only beware thy heat:
We do not say “'tis all who dream
(None such) “are sent in his great name
“Or, either call'd or meet.”

187

And yet e'en these as much as some
Who think they merit all the room,
From dignity or sense:
Yet are but bunglers at their work,
And speak (from Book) what Jew or Turk
Might hear without offence.

188

Who boast indeed of Call and Power,
But wherein better than the hour
Of Darkness and Despair?

103

What coldness often in the face!
The tongue no more than sounding Brass,
The word—more light than air!

189

And if the Life be like his speech,
As soon may velvet-mouth'd horse-leech
Draw blood from iron bar:
As he draw water from that well:
Or make his senseless hearers feel,
Or hope or hopeless fear.

190

But he's a Priest or Deacon dubb'd:
(Tho' still at school, had still been drubb'd,
A Trifler or a Dunce)
And, were he not a sacred son,
Not one would hear him, no not one:
At least not more than once.

191

But only shew the papal sleeve:
What Contrasts will they not believe?
How 'chanting is the shrine!
What dark or dull will not go down!
Such Magic bears the robe or gown!
Nay—Blasphemy's—divine!

192

And more—what crimes of various dye,
Cannot their practice sanctify,
If not as great or good:
At least, as innocent or pure:
Their very wantonness, demure:
And mild—their frantic mood.

193

O what a group of careless souls,
Have drove these shepherds of their folds,
To misery and shame!

104

Who plead as reason or excuse,
(What all without distinction use)
“Our Pastor does the same.”

194

This then accounts for something more,
Unthought and unobserv'd before:
But awful as 'tis true:
Why Menders or of Shoes or Brass,
Ideots esteem'd—or boys or ass,
Are oft preferr'd to you.

195

Your call is human—theirs divine:
They seek the Soul, and you the Shrine,
They profit—you but please:
They toil and labour, watch and pray:
You trifle, lounge, or sleep, or play:
They suffer—you're at Ease.

196

Yet—“they are all, or proud or false:
“Tellers of lies and lying tales:”
Then how unguarded you!
Who by your malice and defame,
Affix on such (how wide your aim!)
The badges of the True!

197

Such were the marks their Fathers bare:
And such from you their offspring share:
But know to all your shame:
The wise and calm—bar all your spite,
Will e'er suspect there's something right,
Whenever you exclaim.

198

And this they do on reason just:
Not caring to take all on trust:
Your doctrines or your fears:

105

Conscious how apt we're all to speak
Our hopes or doubts—or blind, mistake
The finest Wheat for Tares.

199

Tares—such as ne'er by you were sown:
Nor once imagin'd could have grown
On your hard, barren soil:
But what cannot effect his hand,
Who sows his harvest thro' the land,
Without or seed or toil!

200

But put the case as you believe:
Alike unfit to preach or live:
Let Justice have her course:
If mad—then stretch their limbs on straw:
Or vile—their necks, where stakes the Law
Her lifeless, pye-bald horse.

201

But sure ye cannot be so blind!
(Tho' more than to discern the wind)
'Tis nothing but your Pride:
That thus alarm'd with envious scorn,
Reddens your eye, and gilds your Horn:
Too prominent to hide.

202

What—can ye not discern the Times?
No difference then 'twixt jingling Chimes
Of wild, uncertain sound:
Where all's confusion and dissent:
From where or rule or concord's meant:
All musically round!

203

Know ye not what their peal portends?
Rung in your ears for higher ends
Than parish-toll for prayers:

106

It rings your Larum or your Knell:
Arise, ye sluggards, start and feel
It's thunder at your ears!

204

It rings to wake the dead in Sin:
It rings to curse who die therein:
Cover'd with death's deep Pall!
It rings that all may hear the sound,
Who all are yet unhearing found:
God's great tremendous Call!

205

Arise, then, find yourselves undone:
Arise, and see the falling sun
Now blushing on your souls:
Arise, and flee yourselves from woe:
Nor farther with your followers go,
Your lost, misguided folds.

206

Awake and blow the gospel-blast:
Earnest of that to sound at last,
When all the dead shall rise:
The dead in Grace—the dead in Sin,
Invok'd no more—for good shut in,
In Tophet or the Skies!

207

For this, their trump now blown to you:
Your long forgotten strength renew;
Your jealousy resume:
Or they—whom here ye all contemn,
Will stand the witness of your shame,
And judges of your doom!

208

Till then, what further need to ask
Which of you bears the hardest task?
Or, likely most to prove

107

His ministry deriv'd from God:
His zeal for him, who spilt his blood:
Or, to Mankind his love?

209

Nor call this railing or untrue:
The world are witnesses and you:
Why then should they deny?
(Themselves from darkness late emerg'd,
For 'tis but meet and right when urg'd,
With meekness to reply.

210

By this—we therefore will abide,
All other arguments aside,
'Tis not who will or run,
For gain or pleasure fond to teach;
But such as God appoints to preach
The gospel of his son.

211

(In part already here defin'd)
Of fervent, unaffected mind,
From guile (as treason) clear:
Attach'd to none—but knit to all
Who on the same Redeemer call,
In meekness and in fear.

212

Such among you, we know there are:
The few—who like the morning-star,
Or comet blaze and burn:
Evinc'd their mission not from thee:
More real, full, confest and free:
Thro' all the earth they turn,

108

213

Cover'd with just reproach and shame,
They bear abroad the Saviour's name,
His equal godhead own:
Chusing to wait the praise divine,
(O were they less attach'd to thine)
“Ye faithful friends, well done!”

214

To these we add a serious train
Of holy, just and upright men,
Modest their faith—not clear:
Who, tho' now straiten'd and confin'd,
Shall e'er long feel a larger mind:
And shine on wider sphere!

215

O were but all thy sons like these!
Devout—(tho' partial) warm to please
The God whose cause they love!

109

What meet respect e'en here below,
With all who should their virtue know!
How bright their thrones above!

216

Nay e'en of those thy state and pride
Has grac'd with emblems on their Side:
The Crosier or the Pall:
Of these are found (at least—a few:
Give each—my thoughtful Muse, their due:
Nor base explode them all.)

217

The men of dignity and sense:
Void or of lightness or offence:
Impartial, fair and mild:
Unturn'd their heads by Style or Place:
Their hearts fair copy'd in their face:
Their manners as a child.

218

Unmov'd by all the pomp of pow'r:
Alike the seen or silent hour:
Such, Gloucester, late was thine!
If all were such—die Satyr all:
As prov'd if not divine their Call,
At least their Hearts divine.

219

Serious and modest, meek and calm,
More soft than oyl or healing balm,
Addressive and humane:
Generous, unprejudic'd and just:
True to their friend as to their trust:
Nor less their scorn of gain.

220

And yet to shew thy just esteem
Of such as boast their filial name,
And reverence thy pale:

110

No sooner shines a brighter ray,
That takes the gloominess away,
But thine reproach and rail.

221

All in a moment rise a cloud
Of adversaries, hot and loud,
Like bull-dogs deep or fierce:
Prelates and Doctors (sturdy band)
Rectors and Patrons (thro' the land)
Their danger now rehearse.

222

Church-Wardens, Overseers and Poor,
Sextons—with those who ope the door
For courtesy or Dram:
Mumpers, that ask or cut your purse:
All these with different mode of curse,
Cry out “O fy for shame!”

223

For shame of what—ye worthless crew?
Who preach or scandalize what's true?
The Church's own decree:
“Sin actual and original:
“Th' extensive curse of Adam's fall:
“By Grace alone set free.”

111

224

“That—not by Works of Righteousness,
Which we have done, or shall profess,
But by that faith alone,
Which must the sinner justify,
Acquit in God's severest eye,
His new adopted son.”

225

“That hence proceeds that ardent love
That fires the heart with things above,
Cancell'd the guilt of sin:
Shakes all it's base, destroys it's pow'r,
And in it's time shall raze the tow'r
Of pride erect within!”

226

“That hence the love we bear to God,
And hence that love as deep or broad,
As ocean's wide domain:
Borne in it's arms not one but all
Who on the name of Jesus call,
Or, groan the general stain.”

227

For this—what envy, spite and noise,
Of draggled saints and parish-boys,
Who beg or steal their bread!
What Writs and Calls to pontiff courts!
The Judge and Proctors gain and sports:
Who shrug and wag their heads!

228

How much like them, who once wagg'd theirs
At him who brightens all the spheres,
Bids comets warmer burn!
Transfix'd as helpless on his cross:
Meek pattern of their shame and loss,
Who suffer in their turn!

112

229

You here observe I wholly wave
(What from yourselves I well might crave)
The merits of the cause:
But say—you should the Church discard:
Or else in prudence own and guard
The men who preach her laws!

230

What else will Jew or Heathen tell?
Or say the keen-ey'd infidel?
But “that ye serve a Place”
As sign'd at first what few believe:
Then preach a system as ye live,
Devoid of truth or grace!

231

And this they have done long ago,
That what ye deal is but the blow
Return'd on harmless men:
Who if they're truly meek or wise,
Would sooner pluck out both their eyes,
Than e'er return again.

232

But only in their kind concern:
As warm their inmost bowels yearn
For your increase and love:
Hoping tho' now your hate or scorn,
They may with you (by angels borne)
Be ever join'd above.

233

I know the bottom of thy plea:
(Thy fond pretence of Heresy;
But this is all grimace!
The truth is this—thou knowest not,
With all thy pains, or depth of thought,
The Cause or End of grace.

113

234

Nor can thy envy well digest
The place they hold in every breast
Exempt from pride or spleen:
The crowds that hang upon their word:
Or Saints converted to their Lord:
Or Sinners from their sin.

235

If Heresy then break thy peace:
Know there is none so great as this,
Which all thy coast o'er-runs:
That may exclude from out thy pale:
But this includes and shuts in hell,
Both thee and half thy sons.

236

That half I mean—be't less or more
If more thou hast—ten million score,
Who while they boast thy name:
Like heathens live—like heathens die,
Without or hope or charity:
Thy glory and thy shame!

237

For know 'tis not who cleaves to thee,
Or any else—from bigotry,
From int'rest, whim, or pride:
Or born or perjur'd to thy pale,
That can escape or turn the scale,
Which shall his doom decide.

238

Nor they who hate or scorn thy fold,
From fear or favour, pique or gold,
Magnificent or small:
Who either live possest of grace:
Or die enwrapt in his embrace,
Whose eye disowns them all.

114

239

Who tho' dissenting wide in Mode,
Made each themselves their idol-god,
Their Party or their State:
But void alike their faith and love,
Equal with thine their hope above:
And equal now their Fate.

240

This constitutes another charge,
Which may in time be view'd at large:
At present this suffice:
That it is one of many score,
That makes thy friends thy fall deplore,
And enemies despise.

241

Here then thy partial pride they plead,
E'en in the burial of thy Dead:
Where without wit or fear,
E'en Atheists who a God deride,
The damn'd for Gin, or Lust, or Pride,
Are all—“Our brethren dear.”

242

And yours they may for ought we know,
Thy charity esteems them so:
While this aright none call:
But those at least who sought in fear,
The God whose name they worship'd here,
The Father of us all.

243

But chief of them who unconfin'd
In judgment—warm with love their mind
Know no reserve in grace:
But in the multitude of peace,
Where seen the fruits of righteousness,
A Universe embrace.

115

244

And yet in thee (except for Rome)
Whom once excludes thy papal doom
What sepulchre is meet?
But (such as where they dropt who dy'd,
For murder—or for Suicide,
Were stak'd) the Road or Street?

245

Nor this the lot of all of them:
Tho' curs'd their end—as life their shame,
Yet these can quarter find:
E'en Parricides have thine interr'd,
Of no funereal rites debarr'd:
A Fee makes Hangmen kind.

246

Nay on thy maxims 'tis but fair
They all who here thy bounty share,
Whatever be their End:
Should still be number'd of thy line,
(O what a length of cord is thine!)
Nor know thee less their friend!

247

And on the other—what more just
Who swerv'd from thee alive—their dust
When dead—(what dread restraints!)

116

Should not be suffer'd to defile
Thy Spit-deep consecrated soil;
Or rise among thy saints!

248

Not that thou needst be much afraid,
That such as are not of thy dead,
Will ever thine molest:
Rise when they will, I dare averr,
'Twill not be hard to know who share
Thy portion from the rest.

249

Again they urge a thousand things,
Which tho' confirm'd by Popes and Kings,
They cannot much commend:
A heap of ritual forms and modes,
Drawn out of old pontific codes:
A Finis without End.

250

“Thy temples of promiscuous fry:”
Of such as come to gaze or lye,
To God as well as Man:
Descend from chat to pray or sing:
Or smile, a simp'ring, thoughtless ring:
As glad to meet again.

251

“Thy altars unfrequented left:
“Or throng'd with men of bread bereft:
“Their conscience truck'd for Gain:
“Who come as if thy courts to grace,
“For pride, or salary, or place:”
What farther can remain?

117

252

Why next, “the Altar is ador'd:”
Where lies the body of the Lord,
Without or end or life:
The priest's Derision or his God:
Some typal deem, some, real blood:
What Necromance of strife!

253

Whence this but from the love of gain?
Ign'rance, or fopp'ry, or chicane!
(The Infidel's amaze!)
To see some bend before the shrine,
While others (tho' allow'd divine)
Neither adore nor gaze.

254

'Tis this the cause—one acts the Priest,
His prudence calls to do the best
His office to support:
For if no more than only Bread,
A Lay-man might supply his stead:
Nay, consecrate at Court!

255

O what unhallow'd thoughts are these!
What frenzy does some madmen seize,
When strolling from their sphere?
To dream that they may dare to come,
Or soil the platform of the dome:
Be stounded all that hear!

256

Others review with milder eyes:
They (not adore—but) not despise,
Esteem their Lord's request:
Take, as he gave, with awful hand,
Fulfil the Saviour's kind command:
As Priestcraft all the rest.

118

257

Regard it as an Ordinance,
A Means of grace—and in it's sense,
To celebrate his love:
Type of his body and his blood,
By faith receiv'd—they see their God,
Now prevalent above.

258

Believ'd and lov'd—ador'd unseen:
Faith the sole instrument or mean,
By which his grace is known:
Himself a spirit—too refine,
To be contain'd in bread or wine:
Unalter'd still and one.

259

Nay wider yet—they rightly judge
'Tis not the menial slave or drudge
For quarterage or hire:
Of Rome or from her kindred pale,
Has greater right her steps to scale,
Or light the sacred fire.

260

But more the men of hope and love,
Warm in themselves from fire above,
To blaze the sacred word:
To whom more just the office due,
To deal with holy hands and true
The supper of their Lord.

261

And what more rational or clear
Than who the Preacher's office bear,
By them alike be brought
The typal elements divine,
The broken bread and mingled wine?
How natural the thought!

119

262

Can any not insane suppose
That e'er in early days arose
A Heathen or a Jew,
Unturn'd from darkness or his sin,
Who dar'd or was admitted in
Or, Altar or the Pew?

263

And what are these of whom we treat,
But Jews—or Infidels compleat,
In knowledge or in life?
Why then this pother for no ends,
But to disgust or shame our friends,
A vain unholy strife!

264

Not that we would ourselves intrude:
Do aught unseemly, wild, or rude:
Sooner our form deface:
But only make his Word the Rule:
Great mode of practice in the school
Of Wisdom and of Grace.

265

From this we learn (what learn we not?)
Or of his will, or mind, or thought,
That needs our present state?
Knowledge divine, exact, and pure:
Void of deceit, or proud demure:
How lowly—yet how great!

266

From hence we learn the simple mode,
Of saints, first warm'd with fire from God,
All sons, and each an Heir!
No greater Mystery is found
In the prime courts of sacred ground,
Than—“breaking Bread and Prayer!”

120

267

How plain, how natural the term!
“Breaking of Bread”—what here to warm
The Bigot or the Priest?
Much less to agitate the soul
With thoughts that like a torrent roll,
And swell the lordly breast!

268

What here to hinder—but command
That all who join'd in heart and hand,
Meek hearers of his word:
Should with themselves—all brethren meet,
Convene, divide, partake and eat
The Supper of the Lord?

269

What need of Imposition here?
To make the Call or Manner clear,
Most simple, most divine:
The blind may see—the dumb may speak
In heart-felt silence, warm and meek:
No Altar, Priest, or Shrine!

270

And what necessity can be,
Where there's no Fraud or Mystery?
But all sincere and good:
Each takes (in faith) before him plac'd,
The tokens that his Lord has bless'd:
The Symbol of his blood.

271

Nay, if unguarded ask'd—will own
Some stately wise—“It may be done
“Of general intent:”
When this is (more than urg'd) perform'd,
Then all beware—the Priest is warm'd,
'Tis (now) a Sacrament!”

121

272

Allow'd—whose then the right or meet
To take and bless, commend and eat
The tokens of their Lord:
But theirs—the men of grace, prepar'd,
Sons of their labour and reward,
The preachers of his word?

273

One with themselves, by them receiv'd:
Faithful their trust, their call believ'd:
Why then should they divide
What God together has conjoin'd,
And if divine, alike design'd
Together should abide?

274

Too sacred this—for all but theirs,
Who read alike the News or prayers,
With eyes more blind than glass?
Know scarce the meaning of a word,
Much less the Spirit of the Lord:
More dumb than Balaam's ass!

275

These to their own should they prefer,
The children of their pains or pray'r:
Degraded or repell'd:
Yet would they curse both these and them:
Tho' firm their ground in their esteem:
In high devotion held!

276

But this is all suppos'd—a dream:
Or empty visionary gleam,
Where thousand Phantoms rise:
The whole existing in their mind,
To Int'rest—Self—or Sections join'd:
Hood-wink'd or sore their eyes!

122

277

But “'tis the Office, not the Men
“That they support—the rest is vain
“To that the rank is given:
“As coming in it's lineal race
“From the first preachers of his grace
“Direct the line from heaven.”

278

But hold a while till we repeat,
Without irreverence or heat:
“These were Irregular:”
Well said—your point elsewhere be fix'd,
Or all is quite confus'd and mix'd:
All Priestcraft and Despair!

279

If not from them—no right nor call:
For both as one must stand or fall:
“I am (alone) the Door!”
But these (their own) whom you resist:
Yourselves yet say—“are call'd at least
“As they were call'd before.”

280

Why then what contrast of the wise!
Who say—they see with both their eyes,
And we believe they do:
But more at bottom than we guess:
For fear or pride—it means no less
Than that they know it true.

281

But here the Canons come in play:
Their thunder now is play'd away:
Tho' 'twas not long ago,
When it was ask'd (nay more deny'd)
“By whom confirm'd or ratify'd?
“Do any of you know?

123

282

What law or of the Church or State,
Is not a matter of debate:
How then are they oblig'd
To rules which never were enjoin'd?
At least not legislative sign'd:
Of course then disengag'd.

283

Confirm'd as slender as they are,
Were they to wage their gentle war
Against their works or peace:
They'd find whatever were their End:
'Twere not so easy to defend
Their batteries of Grace.

284

They hear no Conscience—but the Law:
Like her extend their iron claw,
And gripe at great or good:
Let loose on these or on the first,
They thunder forth “abhorr'd—accurst”—
Then Penance—or your—Blood!

285

Besides, have they not sign'd these rules
(The mode of Tyrants and their Tools)
Themselves? then they are bound:
Nor ought in sentiment or deed,
Impeach their honesty or head,
As stubborn or unsound.

286

But, or they did not, or they did,
'Tis just the same—whate'er forbid,
The Articles or they:
All know, they both detest their scheme,
Condemn their Heresy to shame:
With all who disobey.

124

287

Their preaching and a thousand things,
Ne'er lik'd, nor ratify'd by Kings:
Nor by the church enroll'd:
“True—but here Conscience plays her part:”
What, has she found another heart?
Or mended up the old?

288

Or is she still the same as e'er,
But can a little portion spare
For bigotry or pride?
O what machinery of guile!
Well may our friends resentive smile,
Our enemies deride.

289

We wound her in the tenderest point;
Yet seem to boggle at a joint;
As tho' it were the whole:
Cautious to pain her any more
We only aggravate her sore,
And grieve her very soul.

290

'Tis true, we call her—“all divine!”
Cry “thou art ours and we are thine:”
The flummery of the Priest:
Yet while pursu'd the general scheme,
How should she otherwise esteem
The whole but as a Jest?

291

For what avails the pompous air
Of formal Liturgy and Pray'r?
Or bowing to her Host?
While well she knows that after all,
Tho' loud ourselves—her Sons we call:
'Tis really at her cost!

125

292

Well may she bid us fair dissent:
And honest own—what if not meant
Is both our guilt and shame:
For should herself the marks assign,
'Twixt those who serve or who disjoin,
What others would she name?

293

Would she not say—“Go preach abroad,
“Let Laymen teach the name of God:
“Let Women bear their rule:
“All act commission'd, or as mov'd,
Or, as or gifted, or approv'd,
A non-commission'd school.”

294

Now this and more she reads is true,
And shun we farther yet to go,
As if afraid to grieve
Her more than is already done?
As if ourselves—nay, all and one
Were fasten'd to her sleeve!

295

In short, we leave her just her cloathes:
Her Rags, her Rostrum, and her Rose:
Her Platters and her Bones:
But take away her chiefest joy:
Her fav'rite boast—then solemn cry,
“Mother—behold thy Sons!”

296

She does—but 'tis with plaintive scorn,
Her carcase on our shoulders borne,
Attended as if dead:
Yet oh! what agony she feels,
While conscious we support her Heels,
At peril of her Head!

126

297

Or, if we seem to raise on high,
Her languid top beneath the sky,
How added her disgrace!
Since pulling down, as we erect,
'Twill in the end, (ah dire effect!)
But undermine her Base.

298

But give her back her preaching plan,
Her doctrine, discipline, and then
You may take all the rest:
Meet oft or private as you please,
For profit, pleasure, or your ease:
Nay proclaimate your Fast.

299

Which now we dare not—or we won't:
The Canons roar their dread affront:
Nor louder sounds a cloud
Of thunder pealing in our ear?
While else—where or respect or fear?
Nay we resist aloud.

300

Resist again—and break thro' all:
Assert the Virtue of your call:
All Ceremony dead:
Boldly arraign her guilt and shame:
Your hands beneath her sinking fame:
And help erect her head!

301

Again “the Times the thing won't bear:”
The Times!—what Times? (what lighten'd air!)
Had they once sooth'd the Times,
Better they ne'er had known their birth,
As left their Talents in the earth:
A Nation—in her Crimes!

127

302

“The Times forsooth!” what times e'er wou'd
Bear ought that's right, or great, or good?
We never saw the day:
And never will—till we refuse
All of our necks to grace her noose:
Nor fast and looser play.

303

Had they then ask'd of Flesh and Blood,
Impuls'd of Man—instead of God,
What were the base reply?
“O still maintain your hallow'd ground,
“With us your heritage be found,
“And help support our Lye!”

304

Come—lay aside your former doubts:
Timid, severe, contracted thoughts:
Your Rights no longer hide:
Discard the noblest of her sex:
If bound your hands, or yok'd your necks,
By Quality or Pride!

305

Once more revive your former fires:
Seed of your parent, and her Sires:
Go call up all her sons:
A resurrection new and fair,
Frequent and full, and warm and clear,
And live their lifeless bones!

306

And them receive already given
Children of hope—the gift of heav'n:
The partners of your cares:

128

Who wait your hand,—attend your call,
With you resolv'd to stand or fall:
Your helpers and your heirs!

307

Who labour with you in the Word:
Why not the Table of our Lord?
Their Lord as well as ours:
Equal their call in things divine,
(If not their apostolic line)
And equal here their Pow'rs!

308

We speak not but for your regard:
For what is your or their reward,
But poverty and shame?
So shall ye raise a glorious seed:
To deal with you the living bread,
The Supper of the Lamb?

309

Till then what numbers want that food?
Life of the soul—and life of God,
Thro' Scarcity or Fear?
Must or frequent th' unhallow'd pale:
With scorners throng the sacred rail:
Or mourn the live long year.

129

310

Thro' or Necessity or Doubt,
How many constantly shut out,
As strangers in the land!
Or with the Heathen must approach:
Or such as on the shrine encroach:
A brib'd—but empty hand!

311

Have ye not seen—nor yet lament,
(Why then not wary to prevent)
The shrewd opposer's spleen?
Who cries—“if neither call'd nor mov'd
“By man receiv'd—nor Heav'n approv'd:
“Why then admitted seen,

312

“Or in the Market or the Field,
As under your command or shield:
“Your providence and care?
“Should not they move from whence they came?
“Nor plead, as standing in his name,
“Devoid of grace as fear?

313

“But if approv'd with you to teach,
“With you to suffer as to preach:
“Why then alone represt
“To nothing more than bare the Word,
“Or take the supper of the Lord:
“In common with the rest?”

314

Thus have they reason'd—clear as free:
What could be answer'd but a plea
We shall not causeless tell?
Tho' still it shews the weakest part
That bears your fervent upright heart,
For Zion's peaceful weal.

130

315

Surcease we then all farther charge,
But take one moment to enlarge
The Consequence of this:
Besides, that it has wounded some,
It has afforded others room,
To cavil or despise.

316

“What, take the Ordinance from them!
“O what a phrensy of a dream!
“Nor Deacon nor a Priest!
“Sooner renounce our Grace or Friends,
“Than take it from their fingers ends!
“Alay, unhallow'd beast!”

317

Call him a Layman—what a Fool!
A buzzard, beetle, or an owl:
Scarce fit to hoop or sing:
Dub him the last—or first—at least:
How large his head! how small his wrist!
A preacher for a King!

318

Dulness or Nonsense now the same:
Rabbi or Reverend is his name!
A noodle or a child:
'Tis thus these bigots of the Gown,
(The lore of Pulpits and their found)
Have reason'd—and revil'd.

319

In arms their pride! in arms their fear!
All move eccentric of their sphere:
To Wisdom what Pretence!
Each aims the critic-blow to strike:
The Rich and Poor shew each alike,
Their manners, grace, and sense!

131

320

Far better quiet in their roof:
From pride or idleness aloof:
Mending their Hearts or Hose:
Than slandering whisper as they meet:
Or house-row gad from street to street:
Outwearing Grace and Shoes!

321

Here ceas'd a while to thee we turn,
For whom we toil, or plead, or mourn:
And with all due respect
Add to the few already nam'd,
Some others, for which thou art blam'd:
Hear them at large object,

322

“Liturgy—manglingly compil'd:
“It looks just like a little child,
“Cut out of an old man:
“An ancient face with infant-limbs:
“An old suit mended with new seams:
“A dislocated plan.

323

“Where all as purpose or contrive,
“Seems as intended to deprive
“The evil or the good,
“Of all the benefits that spring,
“From or the Nature of the thing,
“Or, from the grace of God.”

132

324

Detach'd—dismember'd and confus'd:
The eye not shewn, or not well us'd,
Can never find it's part:
Only that some have ly'd so long,
It flows like butter from their tongue:
Whatever from their Heart.

325

A horrid mockery of lies,
Where each repeats, and each replies,
What never felt or seen:
Nay, not believ'd by most that say,
Or, just as much as night is day,
Or azur'd æther—green.

326

Where all confess—but who amend?
Sinning without or grief or end:
Still lost—yet always found,
But 'tis like Poachers—for their game,
(And some like preachers to their shame)
Upon forbidden ground.

327

Yet they confess—and babbling done,
Await the high absolving tone:
Now forg'd a voice from heav'n:
It may be out-absolve the Priest:
Perhaps not think—or as a beast,
Yet think—“they're all forgiv'n!”

328

Attend yet farther and you'll hear
A thousand voices break the air
Into ten thousand more:
Alike in one unmeaning strain:
They chatter, chant, and burst your brain
With their inhuman roar.

133

329

But were this all—one might forbear,
Their Nonsense or their bawling spare:
But this the smallest point:
To hear a Nation tell their God,
“How mourn'd their sin! how vast it's load!”
Would shake the stoutest joint!

330

Now comes the warm, prophetic song:
And now the huge, misguided throng
Lift up their voice on high:
All heav'n inform, that each one feels
What never yet with Heart or heels;
A universal Lye!

331

One thing perhaps—they say is true,
(Tho' would not you should think it so)
Each calls himself “a Beast,
“Foolish and ignorant—and a worm:”
Nay, and to shew it's more than Form,
Includes the very Priest.

332

This may be so—all here be mute,
We'd rather think it—than dispute
An axiom all must own:
But here's a point to be discust,
Part of the shrine's corrosive rust,
That eats her very Bone!

333

See first a man—of heart as proud
As Lucifer, and half as loud:
As wanton too his eye:
Believe his tale, he's meek and low:
So pure—His thoughts as silver flow:
His mind ne'er mounted high!

134

334

This last is true—now mind the next:
A careless reader of the text:
“Lord, thou hast searched me:”
'Tis true, he has—but where has found
A viler wretch—not under ground:
Or prostitute or free?

335

A third complains—“how vastly Lean!”
When swell'd with fatness, scarce is seen
His half extinguish'd sight:
But like an owl hood-wink'd by day:
He blinks as one who fain would say,
“Pray, sir, is it not Night?”

336

Why, sir, with you it is, and dark:
I think no glimm'ring yet or spark,
Seems ever to have shin'd
On you or yours—what wonder then
You ask'd of Posts—as well as Men
The question of the blind?

337

Another stands an “Olive-tree,”
Fair to himself—to you or me:
On him what fruit is found?
Why such—that (maugre all his lies)
The owner comes and gazing cries,
“Why cumbers it the Ground?”

338

The ground no more supports his weight,
But op'ning wide, secures his fate,
Where all such branches grow:
Whose roots were rooted in a soil,
False or unkind—impure or vile:
Transplanted safe below!

135

339

Another tells how “melts his heart,
“Like wax”—at what? bears he a part
In any stranger's care?
Did he do this—would he have tore
The Naked's garment? or his door
Have bolted on Despair?

340

Next hear a whining liar's tone,
Who tells to all—his “endless groan,”
Ne'er heard but from his Tongue:
“How that his crimes—so great have been,
“He cannot but”—go on in—Sin:
Fell pattern of the throng!

341

Again the crowd—“I lovethe Lord!”
Or, “will”—both lies—none keeps his word:
Then hear 'em thank him too:
For what?—“Why is not praise his right?”
Thus like the Heathens of the night,
They'd give the Moon her due!

342

Again—they “tremble”—well they may,
For fear the judgment's awful day,
Should sweep them to despair:
Yet but regard their lives or face:
You'll see where ends the grand grimace
They hate—defraud, or swear!

343

Next hear a lying band affirm
Their true intention to reform,
And clean eschew their sin:
Yet after all their promises,
They only told their Maker lies:
They live and die therein!

136

344

Others again appeal to God,
“How holy, just, and kind, and good:
“How ready to forgive
“Their greatest foes”—yet in the end,
Approve themselves as much their friend,
As he who fleas alive!

345

Then hear the general “delight,
“In all the saints that are upright:
“Or who in grace excel:”
But put their virtue to the test,
They mean themselves—and wish the rest
Beneath the lowest hell!

346

Again—they're all “thro' fasting weak,”
Their pillar'd limbs beneath 'em quake,
Like mill-posts large or sound:
But still they seem to bear their load—
And will—till falls the wrath of God—
Hard crush'd beneath the ground!

347

Now hear the Saints confess their crimes,
(It is the Custom of the times,
To say) “how bad we are!”
But tell them—“they were born in Sin,
“And chance but They may die therein:”
O what revenge they stare!

348

For well affur'd how vastly good,
They've try'd to make themselves and—God:
They see no cause to sear:
“That, be the balance e'er so just,
“They make no doubt—but humbly trust
“To suit him to a hair.”

137

349

Yet what are these(except a few
Sincere and bigots) but a crew
Of wanton or demure?
Full of themselves—all else despise:
Believe and whisper hate or lies:
In self and Sin secure!

350

But this is David—'tis not Them:
And chance 'twas only David's dream:
Why then not they repeat
Another's dream as if their own:
No harm, you know, 'tis all as one:
A winter-evening's chat.

351

Thus wisdom's judgment and her rules,
Are made the sacrifice of fools:
Nay, God himself is mock'd!
The Heathen scorn, the sceptics jeer:
Join All the universal sneer:
While vengeance is invok'd!

352

This the effect of every Form:
Whose force can neither melt nor warm:
All Random and at Will:
Where you must join the hue and cry,
Of nonsense, sound or foppery,
Or as a Mute be still.

353

Here is no medium in the case;
Unless where Wisdom or her grace
Averts the pois'nous bane:
That from hypocrisy or rant,
Infuses all it's deadly taint:
A source of future Pain!

138

354

You say—“Why, no one is compell'd
“By shame or modesty witheld:”
This not the thing secures:
For were all mute—but they who feel,
Or hope of heav'n, or fear of hell,
A silent meeting—yours!

355

You know 'tis equal—'live or dead:
Nay, hear their voice, who cannot read:
Yet these can chew the pray'r:
Howl like the hound, or squeaking mouse,
Blatter the magpye or the goose:
Or grumble as the bear.

356

And they Will too—without your leave:
They're at it now—come—pull their sleeve:
You cannot stop the brawl:
Their book—(the chart for all they do)
Is now before 'em—false or true,
And they'll repeat it all.

357

In vain you urge “there is no need
“They should repeat, as if their Creed,
“Or knowledge of their own:
“What only was another man's,
“And is but put into their hands
“As something that was done.”

358

So then—you give it as a Toy,
To keep 'em from some worse employ:
At least, while they are there:
Not mean a more mysterious use,
But to prevent the grand abuse
Of low unprinted pray'r!

139

359

Well—this is kind—we must allow:
But then we really know not how
To favour the intent:
So strong forbid by sacred writ,
A lesser evil to permit:
The greater to prevent.

360

However urge what cause you please:
Conceit, or pleasure, or for ease:
It all amounts to one:
'Tis only repetitive form:
Will ne'er enlighten, chear or warm
The heart of senseless stone.

361

But what care thine for cold or heat?
It serves to keep beneath their feet
The ignorant and rude:
A standard to evince their feet
Their loan secure—and scourge with shame
Who would their shrine intrude.

362

“A set of noisy, bawling men:
(Roaring like lions in their den)
“The nonsense of their Head:
“lgn'rant as chatt'ring Crow or Rook:
“And only lay aside their Book,
“Because they cannot read.”

363

Yes, but they can, and read you too:
Not as if this were hard to do:
Nothing more easy done:
But this they know—that take away
Your books—abrupt must end your lay,
E'er well your lay's Begun.

As I have taken the liberty of making pretty free remarks upon the church of England, and her source the church of Rome, I shall here take the same freedom with that of Geneva, and observe, that unless she does, or would tolerate liberty of conscience, and religion in it's different modes, (where it interferes not with the just policy or peace of the republick) she is so far from having any reason to boast of superiority with respect to others, that she does but evince her relish and approbation of that spirit her founder brought from Rome; and in which he so cruelly exercised his artillery on poor Cervetus, that, as some might be inclined to think, it requires no small degree of charitable confidence to believe John Calvin is gone to heaven; so it must necessarily reflect an equal dishonour and suspicion on that republick, if, while they reverence his memory, they do not most publickly and formally renounce his crime.

The Clergy are not censured here simply for taking tythes, but for pretending they are theirs by a divine right, as if their case was parallel with that of the Levites, who, besides that they received the tenth by express Command of God, (which I defy these to prove from scripture, directly or indirectly with regard to themselves) did that work for it, which I fancy few of these gentlemen would readily do for double, and what was still more (and herein consists the twofold equity of the division,) they were forbid all other possessions and inheritance whatever. Would their successors (as they are called) think you, give up their paternal or acquired estates upon these terms? Trust them in the experiment. Nor less avails their plea from the law; since it is nothing more than a courteous legislative continuance of those acts which were made in their behalf at a time when their forefathers trod upon the necks of princes, (robbed their subjects of their rights) and, when their own merits called rather for some proper corrections, than for any further emoluments, which they knew, and ought still to feel, the legislature can diminish or resume, whenever they judge proper.

The following instances are not designed as literally true, in every particular, but only intended to illustrate the general disposition, character and transactions, that are so flagrant at these times, to the scandal of their profession, the hardship and injury of those they deal with, and to the amazement and disgust of all humane and moderate men—and therefore fictitious as they may be deemed, or represented, in order to debilitate their force, I verily believe, they all of them fall most descriptively short of what they know in their own conscience to be true, and which so many hundreds have experienced at their hands all over the kingdom, to their sorrow and undoing, or why (unless driven to the last necessity) does no one upon earth chuse to hire, lease, or buy even a hog-sty, that they own?

This is a circumstance as much to be lamented and abhorred as it is true—In all other estates in England (except those of the church) tenants are encouraged to improve both houses and estates, by the owners either bearing a part of the expence, or at least, by permitting the possessor to enjoy it unraised and unmolested during his own time; a thing however generous, is no more than is just: but among the former, it is at a man's peril ever to white-wash the walls of his house, or to make even necessary, and oft-times expensive improvements, either in that, or his farm; for at his next renewal, which may be in a few years (or if a son succeed, in a few days) he is compelled to pay a considerable fine, or turn out.—So that really some of their houses, &c. are half ruined from this very circumstance; and when they are told of the unreasonableness and dishonesty of this, the usual reply, it seems, is, “We have “it only for our life.”—Your life!—why would you have it after your life? If this calls not for some legislative notice and amendment, what does?—And, what is not a little surprizing, some of those very gentlemen themselves have often made the very same complaint;—but then it is only at home. —The clergy want a Roman senate at their heels.

This was the meaning, and almost the very literal expression of a certain dignitary in the church of C. not long since; and is no great secret in the city where it was spoken.

As was (it seems) actually the case in the city of Canterbury, when two regiments of foot, and one of horse, were quartered there last winter: nor was the complaisance of the church, I am told, any more extended towards the officers than their charity was towards the private men: something strange too, one would think, that a body of men, both whose kingdom is most certainly of this world (tho' they both fight in their different way) should incorporate no better! but only this we know, that under some certain circumstances, even Satan may be divided against himself.

I cannot here sufficiently admire and recommend as a pattern to his brethren the clergy—the zeal of that sensible and useful preacher, Mr. Romaine—in vindicating that most important and fundamental article of the Christian religion, the divinity of the Son of God—tho' I must take the liberty of observing, that I think he carries his mark too high, since from the principles whereon he endeavours to prove that point, he may seem to make not only three distinct persons, but really three distinct Gods; for undoubtedly three necessarily self-existent, and independent beings, must be three necessarily, self-existent, and independent deities, so that even the Nicene creed, wherein Christ is styled God of God, Light of Light, &c. however orthodox it is esteemed, is really the reverse: and if so, this argument proves too much. —But this I hint with the utmost decency of deference and regard; as I do likewise my wish, that however severely he may judge it necessary to explode the tenets of the Arians, Socinians, &c. he would nevertheless treat those gentlemen with less clerical resentment and contempt; i. e. with more lay-politeness and humanity.

Of this we have lately had some very remarkable instances in the person of Mr Romaine in particular, and some others whose eyes God has opened to discern the truth as it is in Jesus, and their mouths as largely to declare it, tho' before they were either not known, or only regarded as learned or ingenious men:—but they are now called forth to pass thro' a different scene, viz of contempt, ridicule and opposition; a proof of their adversaries spirit, and no small evidence in favour of their own mission, and the success of that ministry, which, as it comes from heaven, entitles it's messengers to the reward there reserved for all such as turn many to righteousness, viz. to shine as the stars for ever and ever!

This is not designed to insinuate that all, no nor flatly to assert that any in particular, who die this death, are lost for ever—God forbid!—We both hope and believe that some (not to say many) who leave the world thus ignominiously, are saved; and make no doubt but (humanly speaking) many more might, had they but been attended at so important and awakening a period, by any besides drunkards, ignorants, or stupid bigots to a form or party.—And the term is here used allusively to the manner of their death, not the effect.

The reader will observe, that these are only a continuation of the objections made by the dissenters rather than the author.

And so it must be, and cannot be otherwise so long as this simple institution is deemed a sacrifice; for in this case, a priest (if he is to be had for love or money) must administer, and none else:—whereas, only reduce it to it's primitive and scriptural standard—and then, a handful of private individuals, or a single family, may communicate, as the Christians did of old—and the sacrament (so called) become once more literally a daily sacrifice of prayer and thanksgiving.— Strange, to hear wise and good people talk of, and pretend to pray for this, and yet at the same time most preposterousiy vindicate and adhere to that very method, which so unsurmountably contradicts and prevents it!

The reader will remember that this has been an old bolt shot at our church by the Dissenters; and is repeated here that every thing may have it's full scope—but the material objections of the author are chiefly levelled at the common and infamous abuse at that (in general) serious and valuable composition.