The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore :: :: University of Virginia Library

“The moment any religion becomes national, or established, its purity must certainly be lost, because it is then impossible to keep it unconnected with men's interests; and, if connected, it must inevitably be perverted by them.” —Soame Jenyns.

Thus did Soame Jenyns—though a Tory,
A Lord of Trade and the Plantations;
Feel how Religion's simple glory
Is stain'd by State associations.

When Catherine, ere she crush'd the Poles,
Appeal'd to the benign Divinity;
Then cut them up in protocols,
Made fractions of their very souls —
All in the name of the bless'd Trinity;
Or when her grandson, Alexander,
That mighty Northern salamander ,

239

Whose icy touch, felt all about,
Puts every fire of Freedom out—
When he, too, winds up his Ukases
With God and the Panagia's praises—
When he, of royal Saints the type,
In holy water dips the spunge,
With which, at one imperial wipe,
He would all human rights expunge;
When Louis (whom as King, and eater,
Some name Dix-huit, and some Des-huitres,)
Calls down “St. Louis' God” to witness
The right, humanity, and fitness
Of sending eighty thousand Solons,
Sages, with muskets and lac'd coats,
To cram instruction, nolens volens,
Down the poor struggling Spaniards' throats—
I can't help thinking, (though to Kings
I must, of course, like other men, bow,)
That when a Christian monarch brings
Religion's name to gloss these things—
Such blasphemy out-Benbows Benbow!

240

Or—not so far for facts to roam,
Having a few much nearer home—
When we see Churchmen, who, if ask'd,
“Must Ireland's slaves be tith'd, and task'd,
“And driv'n, like Negroes or Croäts,
“That you may roll in wealth and bliss?”
Look from beneath their shovel hats
With all due pomp, and answer “Yes!”
But then, if question'd, “Shall the brand
“Intolerance flings throughout that land,—
“Shall the fierce strife now taught to grow
“Betwixt her palaces and hovels,
“Be ever quench'd?”—from the same shovels
Look grandly forth, and answer “No.”—
Alas, alas! have these a claim
To merciful Religion's name?
If more you seek, go see a bevy
Of bowing parsons at a levee—
(Choosing your time, when straw's before
Some apoplectic bishop's door,)
Then, if thou canst, with life, escape
That rush of lawn, that press of crape,
Just watch their rev'rences and graces,
As on each smirking suitor frisks,

241

And say, if those round shining faces
To heav'n or earth most turn their disks?

This, this it is—Religion, made,
'Twixt Church and State, a truck, a trade—
This most ill-match'd, unholy Co.,
From whence the ills we witness flow;
The war of many creeds with one—
Th' extremes of too much faith, and none—
Till, betwixt ancient trash and new,
'Twixt Cant and Blasphemy—the two
Rank ills with which this age is curst—
We can no more tell which is worst,
Than erst could Egypt, when so rich
In various plagues, determine which
She thought most pestilent and vile,
Her frogs, like Benbow and Carlisle,
Croaking their native mud-notes loud,
Or her fat locusts, like a cloud
Of pluralists, obesely lowering,
At once benighting and devouring!—

This—this it is—and here I pray
Those sapient wits of the Reviews,

242

Who make us poor, dull authors say,
Not what we mean, but what they choose;
Who to our most abundant shares
Of nonsense add still more of theirs,
And are to poets just such evils
As caterpillars find those flies,
Which, not content to sting like devils,
Lay eggs upon their backs likewise—
To guard against such foul deposits
Of other's meaning in my rhymes,
(A thing more needful here, because it's
A subject, ticklish in these times)—
I, here, to all such wits make known,
Monthly and Weekly, Whig and Tory,
'Tis this Religion—this alone—
I aim at in the following story:—

Ames, demi-ames, &c.

The salamander is supposed to have the power of extinguishing fire by its natural coldness and moisture.

A well-known publisher of irreligious books.

“The greatest number of the ichneumon tribe are seen settling upon the back of the caterpillar, and darting at different intervals their stings into its body—at every dart they depose an egg.” —Goldsmith

243

FABLE.

When Royalty was young and bold,
Ere, touch'd by Time, he had become—
If 'tisn't civil to say old,
At least, a ci-devant jeune homme;

One evening, on some wild pursuit,
Driving along, he chanc'd to see
Religion, passing by on foot,
And took him in his vis-à-vis.

This said Religion was a Friar,
The humblest and the best of men,
Who ne'er had notion or desire
Of riding in a coach till then.

“I say”—quoth Royalty, who rather
Enjoy'd a masquerading joke—
“I say, suppose, my good old father,
“You lend me, for a while, your cloak.”

244

The Friar consented—little knew
What tricks the youth had in his head;
Besides, was rather tempted too
By a lac'd coat he got in stead.

Away ran Royalty, slap-dash,
Scampering like mad about the town;
Broke windows, shiver'd lamps to smash,
And knock'd whole scores of watchmen down.

While nought could they, whose heads were broke,
Learn of the “why” or the “wherefore,”
Except that 'twas Religion's cloak
The gentleman, who crack'd them, wore.

Meanwhile, the Friar, whose head was turn'd
By the lac'd coat, grew frisky too;
Look'd big—his former habits spurn'd—
And storm'd about, as great men do:

Dealt much in pompous oaths and curses—
Said “d*mn you” often, or as bad—
Laid claim to other people's purses—
In short, grew either knave, or mad.

245

As work like this was unbefitting,
And flesh and blood no longer bore it,
The Court of Common Sense, then sitting,
Summon'd the culprits both before it.

Where, after hours in wrangling spent
(As Courts must wrangle to decide well),
Religion to St. Luke's was sent,
And Royalty pack'd off to Bridewell.

With this proviso—should they be
Restor'd, in due time, to their senses,
They both must give security,
In future, against such offences—

Religion ne'er to lend his cloak,
Seeing what dreadful work it leads to;
And Royalty to crack his joke,—
But not to crack poor people's heads too.