The Poems of John Byrom :: :: University of Virginia Library

Dear Sir,—I'm really sorry, that our Friend
So far th' ungrateful Subject should extend.
No Stranger He to Nature's tender Ties:
And fewer Words, he tells us, might suffice,
But that the Character of Martyrdom
Had been disgrac'd—poor Panic Dread! by whom?

This groundless Fancy swimming in his Head,
He neither spares the Living nor the Dead.

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Careless of Accuracy, Place, or Time,
He blackens All,—Life, Principle, or Crime;
Pursues th' Unfortunate beyond the Grave,
With low-plac'd Hints of Saving,—not to save.
Heav'n's lowest Place he argues to forbid,
Unless they died—not as he knew they did.
When he bestow'd this generous Adieu,
Their last and dying Sentiments he knew;
And making such as he embrac'd the Test
Of Happiness, all Hope of being blest,
By a new Priestly Pow'r to loose and bind,
To Penitence impossible confin'd.
Happy for them if so and so they died!
This was to mock Repentance, and deride.
May he repent—or whither must we trace
The saving Ifs that never could take Place?

What Obligation to the Public draws
His forward Zeal beyond the public Laws?
Ev'n rigid Laws, when they condemn, condole,
And pray to God for Mercy on the Soul.
Does then the Gospel, Sir, in his Account,
Or does the Saviour's Sermon on the Mount,
The Gospel's Gospel, does the chosen Bliss
Lead him to more Severity than this?

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O Divine Sermon! little understood,
If they who preach thee, not content with Blood,
Justly perhaps, perhaps ******** shed,
(Do Thou determine, Judge of Quick and Dead!)
By this devoted Earth's all transient Scene
Measure the Glories of eternal Reign;
Adjust its martyr'd Ranks, and seem to fear,
Lest Heav'n should err—and Jacobites be there!

I am surpris'd, that one of his good Sense
Should write so harshly on a mere Pretence;
Or think of banishing a Soul from Heav'n,
Because a Name had not been rightly giv'n.
Say, that the Living misapply the Word,—
To judge the Dead is shockingly absurd.
Martyr, 'tis granted, has a sacred Use;
And yet, sometimes, a Meaning more diffuse.
Preachers don't scruple (I could name the Page)
To talk of Martyrs to tyrannic Rage,
On dignified Improvements to insist,
And make Additions—to no Romish List.
What then? Must ev'ry Papist needs expel
The whole mistaken Calendar to Hell?
Or such unchristian Fury, if they did,

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Should not a preaching Protestant forbid?
Is he oblig'd to imitate the worst
That Rome can practise, and pronounce Men curst?
Can diff'rent Politics, or diff'rent Faith,
Afford a Plea for such enormous Wrath?

No; but against an Inference so hard
He did, it seems, particularly guard.
Pray, when his warm Invectives he dispens'd,
What Applications did he guard against,
Lest Parent, Child, or Widow's Heart should ache,
Such as no Mortal could forbear to make.
What Ground for griev'd Relations to resent?
Why understood they what the Preacher meant?
Why knew they not, that touching his Repute
Was the true Meaning of—to persecute?
That gave him Right to comment on the Text,
And claim the great Beatitude annext.

Ye Friends, who wish'd his Reputation safe,
Say, why advise him to this printed Chafe?

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If the Resentments of the meekest Men
Rise against those, according to his Pen,
Who through inhuman Prejudice divest
Of ev'ry tender Sentiment the Breast:
Why renew theirs, who felt in his Harangue
Of ev'ry height'ning Epithet the Pang?
Who heard the righteous Oratory stretch
To “Rebel”—“Traitor”—“Malefactor”—“Wretch,”—
To Phrases only accurate to stain
Dead Memory, and give the Living Pain?
Sure tender Sentiments forbid the Gust
Of “Executions”—“necessary”—“just”—
Yea, even “merciful”—for such, it seems,
Ours, as he calls them, the good Preacher deems.

Had one, who, nicely sensible of Fame,
Counts many Deaths a Trifle to his Name,
Whom the most natural Resentments grate,
With gentler Mention touch'd unhappy Fate;
Had that Regard, which he would seem to own,
To Bosoms big with recent Griefs been shown;

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On Dead, on Living, had he thrown less Dirt:
Nor Truth, nor Christian Charity, were hurt;
Nor would Intention's Honesty be spoil'd,
Though even Enemies were less revil'd.

But amongst them, who never wish'd him harm,
In his own Flock, to be so desp'rate warm;
In his own Flock, the Objects of his Love,
Where once he aim'd to please and to improve;
Nothing for native Pity to forbear,
To dwell relentless on the Theme severe,—
Alas! how Zeal of Knowlege gets the start,
When once the Head is warmer than the Heart!
Then is perceiv'd the Popery of those
Who are, in Tongue, the keenest of its Foes;
Rail at Ambition, Bigotry, and Rome,
And hate abroad what they caress at home.

Their Congregations legally are teaz'd,
And all is Clamour, if they are not pleas'd.
False, gross, indecent, ev'ry Thing they say;
Each Word iniquitous, but—print away!
Their Lessons, thus advisedly imprest,

341

Must lay the People's Prejudice to Rest:
Their Passions cool, they will be work'd upon,
To read with Pleasure, what they heard with none:
Praise or Rebellion, the Dilemma now;
Their Teacher's Reas'ning they must needs allow;
Be mov'd, when Things in their true Light are shown,
To take his Conscience, and give up their own;
To like, in Pulpits, Arbitrary Pow'r,
And Seats subdued to Tyrants of an Hour.

Had some State Holyday—Thanksgiving, Fast—
Put him in Mind of cooking such Repast,
He might have pleaded this Excuse, at least,
They need not come, who shall dislike the Feast.
But wherein lies of that Excuse the Force?
“The Sermon fell in with the common Course
Of Preaching,”—how fell in? What, of itself?
No; it had lain compos'd upon the Shelf,
Ready prepar'd for Numbers forc'd to hear
The Bar-like Sounds, and shed the helpless Tear.
'Twas not a sudden Fit of Complaisance;
It fell in—by premeditated Chance.
Free to have spar'd an Audience, wherein
Not to renew their Sorrow was no Sin,
He chose, as one to whom it did belong,
For social Peace to irritate the Throng.
Laymen might hide of Laity the Woes;

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The Clergy's Office is to interpose.
He acts in Character, while he confines
Both Heav'n and Earth to what himself opines;
Points the dire Stroke at Persons not alive,
And then, at all who pity and survive.

This kind of Conduct,—from Affairs of State,
And Temp'ral Laws, to fix eternal Fate,—
Did Christ and his Apostles, to apply
His own plain Question, ever justify?
“They never meddled with the Rights of Kings.”
How comes He then to meddle with such Things?
“Nor they nor any ancient Martyr died,
A Crown's disputed Title to decide.”
No;—nor to such a titular Dispute
The sacred Function did they prostitute.
For sceptred Rule they neither drew the Sword,
Nor of an earthly Kingdom preach'd the Word.
If the Religion of these Days persuade

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The Christian Priests to drive this worldly Trade,
In, with such Wrangling, if the Pulpit chimes,
How are we fall'n off from the ancient Times?
'Tis true, they preach,—but how? As Pleaders bawl;
Not as the Ancient Christians did, at all.
They preach, but what Religion? Of a Throne,
By Christ and His not meddled with, they own;
For such Attachment to a reigning Mode,
As Christ, Apostles, Martyrs, all explode.

How was it possible to think of them,
And raise such Wrath about a Diadem?
Of Christ the Love and Meekness to recall,
Who bore the Sins and Suff'rings of us all,
And then directly, with unbearing Zeal,
One half the Sermon with one half repeal?
Here Gospel-Pity and Compassion shines;
Law, Death, and Judgment, fill succeeding Lines.
First is display'd the Doctrine of the Cross;
That of the Gibbet then supplies its Loss.
How Heav'n alone Men's Consciences can try,
And He Himself condemns them by-and-by.
Here in one Page the Living Saints are priz'd,

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And in the next the Dead ones villainis'd.
One while Religion, to obtain its Ends,
On its own native Energy depends:
Worldly Dominion, and the Lust of Rule,
Reverse the Doctrine of the Christian School:
Our meek and holy Lord had no Intent
To found His Church on such Establishment;
The Force of Truth, persuasive of the Will,
Was, and must be, Religion's Armour still.
These Things the Preacher had no sooner spoke,
But thus his next immediate Words revoke:
“It is oblig'd, in order to enforce
It's own intrinsic Pow'rs, to have Recourse
To Civil Pow'r”—Adieu, then, Force Innate,
By which the Church did once convert the State;
By which blind Heathen, persecuting Jew,

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And the great Antichrist, it overthrew;
By Beauty, Truth, and passive Virtue then,
Self-recommended to the Hearts of Men,
With its Blest Founder's Spirit once endued,
Firmness of Soul, and Christian Fortitude;
Spite of the World, it conquer'd worldly Pow'rs:
—Now free, thank God, from Danger under Ours!

Yes, to be sure—look round about, and name
The Civil Pow'r, that does not say the same;
The Bigot Priest, that does not thus maintain
His Church of Rome, Geneva, France, or Spain:
In Times and Places though they differ quite,
Pulpit-Possession makes all Doctrines right.

'Twas this that kindled the religious Blaze
Of Heretics, so call'd, in Marian Days;
And here, by one of Wording false afraid,
Martyrs without the Church's Office made;
By one, whose Pages after that refer,
For real Martyrs and their Lives to her;

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Who bids us learn from her Injunctions too,
To whom the Honour of that Name is due.

Let Protestants attend then, as they ought,
To her Injunctions, and be better taught.
Whom has she so distinguish'd, and enjoin'd
Her Sons to call their Martyrdom to mind?
What canonisèd Villains, in the List
Of Romish Martyrs, has the Church dismist?
So often met with in a rambling Charge,
Brought against Martyrologies at large,—
Unprov'd—no matter!—'tis the taking Style:
Papists at random, right or wrong, revile!
Christianity itself in them is Fraud;
Bigots are pleas'd, and Infidels applaud.

347

For such rash Judgment, for such mean Abuse,
The Church affords her Children no Excuse.
She blames the Virulence of ev'ry Sect,
But pays all pious Characters Respect.
Whilst she endeavours, by all loving Arts,
To heal Divisions, and unite Men's Hearts,
They through the widen'd Breaches rush to storm,
And ruin what she labours to reform.
Her just Design their frantic Zeal supplants,
She left the Sinners, and they leave the Saints.

Of Saints so far from seeking the Disgrace,
'Twas their Example that she sought to trace.
She has, indeed, the Preacher might have shown,
Had he thought fit, a Martyr of her own,
A Royal Martyr—though his fatal Hour
Was fixt by those, who only could have Pow'r;
Though he, to use the Language of the Times,

348

By public Justice died for public Crimes,
When, bent against his Subjects to rebel,
On his own Head the just Resentment fell.
The Church, however, mov'd by other Laws,
Regarded not the Suff'ring, but the Cause;
Approv'd of his, unmindful of the Rights
Of all the Worthies whom our Author cites;
Of Marian Ancestors forgot to sing;
Her only Martyr was a Stuart King.

Had but our Friend, Sir, lent the Church his Voice,
And will'd, in earnest, to defend her Choice;
His Text had rather led him to expose
The real Falsehoods of Fanatic Foes;
Nor had he left her publicly defam'd
To talk of Claims that never had been claim'd.
With cool Formality, in gen'ral Terms,
The Church's Judgment feebly he affirms,
Waves her distinguish'd Act, and passes by
All those who give both Church and King the Lie;
Permits unnotic'd the Sectarian Crew
To urge her Falsehood, and her Martyrs too.

While for his own imagin'd Motto's sake,
What wild “Perhaps's” is he forc'd to make!
Of Honours that feign'd Advocates allot,
Of loading, gilding, colouring, and what not?

349

The Proof against these Nemo's, and their Traps,
And Reparations—is the poor “Perhaps.”

Had all been true, should a good-natur'd Man
Form of such posthumous Revenge the Plan?
And after Hangmen had perform'd their Parts,
Pronounce the Character, rip up the Hearts
Of those who suffer'd, guiltless they at least
Of what the Living say at the Deceas'd?

Admit, that “Martyrdom” is not the Case
Of them who suffer for a Martyr's Race;
For Prince and Country if they die, admit
“Hero” and “Patriot” to be Words more fit:
Must not a Clergyman be much at Ease
To ventilate such Niceties as these;
To play the Critic, when the poor Misled
—To answer all his Arguments—were dead?

But outward Rev'rence shewn to their Remains
Excites the Preacher's seasonable Pains.
Poor, weak Pretence, unworthy of the Gown!
The Fact is known to ev'ry Child in Town,
However cloak'd with disingenuous Hints,
The stupid Nonsense of the lying Prints.
Custom, that teaches how to treat dead Foes,

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India to scalp, and Europe to expose,
The mildest Strokes of Justice to pursue,
Fixt up deluded Suff'rers Heads to view.
Some tender Persons the Remains so fixt
Behold with Horror and Compassion mixt.
A Widow or an Orphan, passing by,
Paid them the Honours of the weeping Eye;—
A Father, to sum up the whole Affair,
Put off his Hat, perhaps preferr'd a Pray'r.

351

From hence, the wond'rous second-sighted Ken
Of late Rebellion rising up again:
Hence, the strange Fancies of our Friend who hears
Unutter'd Notions sounding in his Ears.
The public Danger, from Attempts all quash'd,
Requires the slain Offenders to be lash'd;
Haunted by Rebel Ghosts, the Common-weal
Still hangs upon th' Assistant-Curate's Zeal.

Important Task! The Pulpit of St. Anne's
Never so flourish'd under Hooles and Bannes.

352

Poor aged Rectors They, whose utmost Speed
Seldom out-ran the common Christian's Creed!
True to their Office, but unskill'd to broach
The Secret of Political Reproach,
They took th' old-fashion'd Methods to increase
Of Social Life the Welfare and the Peace.
They did not end the Church's Common Pray'rs
With fierce Dispute of secular Affairs;
Not first the Saviour's Life and Words relate,
And then go preach the Bigotries of State;
Of Gospel-Love submissive to the Yoke,
They never sought their Hearers to provoke;
Whoe'er aspers'd them, they could bear it still
Nor ask the Type to justify the Quill.

May Age, Experience, and impartial Truth,
To reach their Mildness prompt succeeding Youth!
May he, whose Honesty I question not,
Though other Mens, too hasty, he forgot,
And forc'd a Friend's expostulating Lines,
See his Mistake, and match those meek Divines;
Leave to the low-bred O---ns of the Age
Sense to belie, and Loyalty to rage,—

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Wit to make Treason of each Cry and Chat,
And Eyes to see false Worship in a Hat;
Wisdom and Love to construe Heart and Mien,
By the new Gospel of a Magazine!

To such Excess let wild Fanatics run,
And deeper Thought direct the Church's Son,—
Such as old Hammond, here before me, fir'd,
And pitying Love for Enemies inspir'd!
This learnèd Church-man, loyal and devout,
When told of Traitors that were put to Rout,

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Found in his Charity for them a Share:
“Poor Souls! May God forgive them!” was his Pray'r.
His Charity nor Laws nor Rights confin'd,
Nor Politics unchristianis'd his Mind.
The faithful Subject his Allegiance kept;
The Christian Priest for routed Rebels wept.

Many the Instances of such-like Love,—
One, that, perhaps, if any can, may move:
If outward Rev'rence to a Father's Name
From one united to the Child may claim,
He will forbear hereafter to out-brave
The known Example which that Father gave.

Two Men, condemnèd for the self-same Crime,
Have suffer'd Death, though at a diff'rent Time.

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Both their Remains distinguishèd alike,—
Father's and Son's—were stuck upon the Spike.
The first as guilty as the other, sure,
Whom filial Motives might perhaps allure!
Yet the good Rector, by whose pious Care
He was for Death instructed to prepare,
Pronounc'd him, though he never could repent
Of what he died for, a true Penitent;
Maintain'd his Credit, whom he saw refuse
The strong Temptation falsely to accuse,
To wrong his Neighbours by no Proffers brib'd.
His solemn Word who doubted, hear describ'd
“Of Christian Charity quite destitute:”—
Common Humanity disowns the Brute.

He thought, though Men as Malefactors died,
They might persist, where Conscience was the Guide;
The Marks of true Sincerity not want,
And unconvincèd safely not recant.
He did not see th' unpardonable Sin
Of that Opinion which the Man was in,—
Not held from obstinate perverse Despite,
But just Regard to what he thought was right.
Fruitless Attempts to change the constant Mind
Of one so full persuaded he declin'd;
All other Crimes right heartily confest,
He left that Point to God and his own Breast.

Great the Regard to Conscience, when sincere;
To this both Priest and Penitent adhere.
The Penitent, though in their Prince's Name

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They differ'd, hop'd their Saviour was the same;
Begg'd that the Sacrament of Christian Love
Might be his Passport to the Realms above.
The Priest, believing that a legal Death
Forbade not Blessing from the Living Breath,
Will'd a declarèd Rebel to partake
Of His Who died for ev'ry Sinner's sake.
See here by Friendship of a closer Band,
Than what the World's Distinctions could command,
The Clergy's Office dignified throughout,
Nor unabsolv'd a dying Man devout!

This unexceptionable Instance, Sir,
To some Respect a Son-in-Law may stir.
To what sage Rectors have maturely writ,
Novicial Warmth in Curates may submit.
Worthy indeed th' Example to prevail,
And teach, at least, our Teachers not to rail;
Too oft descending into Civil Prate,
To make the Church a Fact'ress for the State!

O that the gen'rous Temper may descend
Along with outward Blessings to our Friend!
The Father's Judgment may the Son revere,
Be to his Fortune, and his Virtues, Heir:
And, ev'ry Prejudice worn off, be brought
To teach the Gospel, as it first was taught;
To breathe the Spirit which His Martyrs breath'd,
Whose Kingdom wants no civil Sword unsheath'd;
Whose Church from killing Sentences of Law
Her mitred Chiefs still teaches to withdraw,—
Not, sure, in sacred Places to maintain

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That which forbade their Presence in profane!
They from the Prince of Peace should, sure, derive
The Meek, the Gentle, and the “Not to strive!”
From Him the Clergy's Mission and Employ,
Who came to save Men's Lives, not to destroy.

So may he learn, Sir, to possess entire
His hearty Wish, and his sincere Desire;
To be with Pleasure and Improvement heard,
When to rash Zeal true Candour is preferr'd,
And spread, without Exception or Offence,
Good Will to all, good Manners, and good Sense!