Fifty of the Protestant Ballads :: :: University of Virginia Library

Claim for yourself, with most dogmatic force,
Direct Succession from the Twelve, of course;
In spirit? No! but by material touch,—
Whereat those simple Twelve would marvel much.

Then preach your “system;”—to the twain of yore
(Exaggerate them both) add sundry more;
The Sacraments? “two generally,”—true,
But, other five particularly too!
Orders,—vicegerency of God at least;
Marriage,—made valid only through the priest;
Penance,—not penitence—the word defiles—
But licking crosses on the chancel-tiles;
Next, Confirmation, as the door of heaven;
And Extreme Unction, filling up the seven;
These teach and preach: if any doubt your plan,
Refuse your absolution to that man,
And terrify the wretch's dying hour
With all the rancour of your priestly power!

Use Scripture terms: but shear them of such sense
As Anglicans must hate with hate intense.
“Regeneration?”—Certainly! make sure
That every babe's baptized, and so—secure:

108

Let methodists in pious zeal profess
Some Higher Spirit needed there to bless,—
You only need a priest, a name, a phrase,
A drop of water, and—all's safe, always!
So,—“Be converted:” by all means!—but then
“Become like little children,”—not like men;
Give up your wills to God, that is, your priest,
But dare not judge nor reason in the least;
Obey the Church; obedience is the bliss;
“Conversion?”—O, by all means,—such as this!

So, too, at times, all gainsaying to confuse,
Surprise your people with your low-church views,
Urge them to private prayer, Berean search,
But not one word, just then, about the Church:
The like, if brother parsons come to hear,
Or best a bishop, or some bigwig near,
Treat them with pious gospel for the nonce,
And make your hearers think you sound for once:
Wonderful gains are got by cheating thus
Protestant blockheads to believe in Us;
Such honest fools are taken in this gin,
They judge us by themselves, and so we win.

Well, English Bishops!—(not Archbishops too,
For happily we're safe in both of You,—
And, happier still, are safer in The Throne,
By Protestant Ascendancy our own,—
And, happiest yet, are safest in that Book
To which for all our liberties we look)—

109

Good English Bishops,—most at least are good,—
Must not such Jesuitism be withstood?
Should we not now, we laymen, on you call
To prove your faithfulness, and help us all?
For, if you fail us, congregations must
From such weak hands reclaim their sacred trust:
And as, three hundred years ago, our sires
Rescued the brand of truth from Smithfield fires,
Their sons now hold it forth; and bid you stand
Between the dead and living of this Land:
Purge out our plague-spots; prudently revise
Two or three words that taint our liturgies;
And leave no reason why The Common Prayer
Should seem unprotestant in some things there:
Drive from a thousand livings, as you may,
Those traitor priests who teach their flocks to stray;
And find us honest shepherds,—unlike those
Whom England hates and fears as Popish foes:
Thus only, are you safe upon your sees,
Thus only, are you proved not drones, but bees,
Thus only, English laymen still can own
Your bishoprics as props around The Throne,
Thus only, Bishops, can you consecrate
To God's true glory England's Church and State!