University of Virginia Library

Since Plagues were order'd for a Scourge to Men,
And Egypt sore was chastned with her Ten;
No greater Plague did any State molest,
Than the severe, the lasting Plague, a Priest.
Some Savage Beasts, by Laws of Nature bound,
Only in Woods and desert Lands are found;
No Land, no Climate, can this Monster bind,
But like some Hydra multiplies his Kind,
Through th'extended Orb directs his Course,
And is at best a Universal Curse.

Ah happy Albion, to the Gods most dear!
How bright thy Rocks and fertile Lands appear!
The Oceans glory, and its Nymphs delight,
The Nations Terror by thy Men of Might.
Thrice happy Albion! had there ne'er possest
Thy spacious Kingdoms, the consuming Priest!
Who Locust-like the Nations overspread,
In every place a Priest erects his Head.
These as the Fishes in the Water breed,
And on the Fat of all the Pastures feed.
Nor are they satisfy'd to have a Pow'r
To drain the Nation, and its Fat devour;
But like the Devil always bent on Ill,
They plot new Mischiefs and Devices still;
Their unknown Virtues do the Crowd deceive;
What priestly Knaves report, dull Fools believe.
Nor is a Prince (how great so e'er he be)
From their Deceit and studied Malice free;
Like Fiends ascending from the House of Smoke,
They all around the gilded Palace flock,
And in the Ears of Monarchy they sing,
That had they not been Priests he'ad ne'er been King.
Set off with Titles and a Specious Name,
They quickly set the wondring World on flame.
Methinks I hear its burden'd Axels break,
And of the Priests dead Weight distinctly speak;
The senseless Elements together moan,
And all around the vast Creation groan.
Ye juster Deities, true Friends to Men,
Assist my Muse and guide my fainting Pen;
A generous Passion raise within my Breast,
That may affect the vilest Monster, Priest;
Let my Muse lash, the Strokes be bold and good,
As if my Pen were Steel, my Ink were Blood.

Close by those Banks, the Banks where Silver Thames
Still glides along with unpolluted Streams,
A Fabrick stands, no Storm of Fate molests,
From its Foundation was possest by Priests;
Here Levi lives, o'ergrown with Sin and Years,
Good God, what Lewdness lurks in hoary Hairs!
As chief of Priests, Imperial Sway does bear,
For he alone is God's Vicegerent here;
His lesser Villains of the Church are Slaves,
For he that's chief of Priests is chief of Knaves.
'Twas this same Levi did our James enthrone,
And when h' had done, as basely pull'd him down:
The Levites first his Sovereign Will declar'd,
The Levites first his Sovereign Will debar'd.
And thus old Levi, through mistaken fame,
Had got a Patriot's and a Martyr's Name;
Him th'unstable Mob with Praises grac'd,
And thus his Humour for his Conscience past:
Morose and peevish, insolently proud,
Levi would stoop to none but to the Crowd,
Who, e'er the Rabble could his Blessings crave,
His Apostolick Benedictions gave.

Unhappy James! prepostrous was the Fate
That brought on thee the Clergys frown and hate.
Hadst thou our Civil Rights and Charters took,
Not half a word the Clergy then had spoke:
But to molest the Church, was to depose
God's holy Blockheads, and set up his Foes.
Now foreign Troops invited o'er the Main,
Come to disturb the Scenes of thy short Reign.
Grown mad with fear when thou hadst lost the Day,
And in inglorious haste didst run away,
Our pious Levi loyally came down
T'invite our future Monarch to the Town.
How beggarly's the Crown! how mean the State,
That does depend on Bishops love or hate!
Nor can Conventions now make him a King,
Till Levi does the Regal Vestments bring:
In vain's your Reasoning, in vain your Toil,
If Levi but keep back th'anointing Oil.
'Twas not for this the Hero was brought o'er,
No, but to settle Church as 'twas before,
To beat his Dad, and call his Mother Whore.
Should he be crown'd, Levi's Designs are crost,
The Juggle too of the Succession lost.
If James be reinthron'd, we must ascribe
His Restoration unto Levi's Tribe:
And thus the Hierarchy of course bears Rule,
And the weak Monarch is the Bishop's Tool;
None but the Church should keep their Civil Rights,
And all Dissenters be but Gibeonites.
So much these Arguments with Levi sway'd,
That he aside his Faith and Conscience laid;
At once the Sanhedrim and God forsook,
And to his own pernicious Counsels took;
Rather than have his Priests left in the lurch,
Would damn himself only to save the Church.
Thus in a fret he to his Cell retires,
To plot new Mischiefs, and blow up new Fires.
Had this Retirement been well design'd,
Only to ease the Plague of Human Kind,
Levi, thy Absence then we ne'er should mourn,
Nor been ambitious of thy loath'd Return.
But since thy Den's become the Lion's Court,
Whither in black the Beasts of Prey resort,
May'st thou from thence thy final Journey take,
And on some Gibbet thy just Exit make.

Nor shalt thou Corah, now my Hand is in,
Escape the justest Censure of my Pen;
Corah, in the lewd List must next take place,
To Man and to Religion a disgrace.

In him, when young, the Priestly Sign appears,
Did promise Mischief in his tender Years,
No cost was wanting to provide him Tools,
To pass the learned Drudgery of the Schools,
Where Youth is with the Laws Corruption fed,
Where Priests are form'd, and holy Cheats are bred.
Their slavish Tenents much our Corah lov'd,
And in the Tricks of Priesthood soon improv'd.
He from the Pulpit did his Doctrine breath,
And shed his Venom on the Crowd beneath:
He taught that Kings might govern by their Will,
And like the Gods themselves could ne'er do ill;
That Princes had an arbitrary Power,
And might their Subjects, when they pleas'd, devour;
That God all Reason gave to Kings and Priests,
And that all Men besides were only Beasts.
But when his Lion from the Throne was driven,
Disown'd by all good Men and juster Heaven,
A King set up the Nations all approv'd,
A King that God and all the People lov'd:
Our treacherous Corah had his Faith forgot,
And turn'd his fam'd Obedience to a Plot;
His scruplous Conscience would not let him swear,
Whilst Father liv'd, Obedience to the Heir;
But in the Head of a Rebellious Race,
As void of moral Vertues as of Grace,
Corah the new-made Monarch did disown,
And since the other went, each Action done;
Until King William's Fate resounds from far,
His great Success and Enterprize in War,
And Fame aloud does of his Fortunes tell,
How by his hand the Sons of Corah fell.
Now Corah is become a milder Priest,
And swears as well as any of the rest.
Priests are like Spaniels ne'er inclin'd to good,
No longer than they see or feel the Rod.
Ah William, had I but thy Scepter Royal!
By Heaven I'd beat the Dogs till they were Loyal.

Ungrateful Corah! I'll bid thee adieu;
Since God hath left thee, I will leave thee too:
Nor shall my Satyr e'er disturb thy Life,
Since thou hast got a Satyr in a Wife.

Dathan must next be from Oblivion freed,
Who in the Field obtain'd the Bishops Meed;
Was bred a Soldier, now by Trade a Priest,
Tho not so wise or learn'd as are the rest.
He seldom does to preaching make pretence,
But does excuse it by his want of Sense.
Yet Dathan never like his Tribe was mad,
Nor were his Crimes so great or half so bad;
Dathan did never question his Belief,
But pinn'd his Faith upon his Father's Sleeve;
Sometimes was in the right, but vary'd soon,
And chang'd his loose Opinion with the Moon.
Dathan did with King William's Interest close,
Yet like a Sot encourag'd all his Foes.
Who but wise Dathan would his Sense prefer,
And take the part of a Petitioner?
Favour the City Mob, so lately fam'd,
For Murderers and Evidences nam'd?
Yet Dathan, though thy Crimes too far exceed,
I'll pardon all thy Faults for one good Deed.

But damn'd Abiram must my Anger feel,
Whose Lewdness is as deep, as black as Hell,
Such as a Muse, scarce as Old Nick, can tell.
Abiram did late Jemmy's Will controul,
And made a Seventh in the famous Roll:
Abiram with 'em enter'd his Protest,
And grew as saucy as did all the rest;
But now his Conscience does by Levi's square,
And his leud Thoughts with Levi's Notes compare.
Levi to God nor to the Kingdom true,
The elder Brother of the factious Crew;
He chose Abiram out of all the Tribe,
To be his Secretary and his Scribe,
Who best to Mr. Redding might present
The Strength and Weakness of the Government;
How stiff the Levites to his Interest stood,
As true as Steel and firm as Oaken Wood.
But poor Abiram does the Toil endure,
Whilst Levi in his Cell does sit secure:
Levi of Freedom knew the worth and price,
And therefore sent the Fools to break the Ice.
Tho some in forming Plots may well agree,
Yet few think good to hang for Company:
But poor Abiram! it would vex a Stone,
To plot in Numbers, and to hang alone.
Yet never at thy Destiny repine,
Hanging's the fittest Death for a D---ne;
For who does ever at the Gallows swing,
But e'er he's turned off a Psalm does sing?
And tho thou art a dire Example made,
Thou'lt leave the World in thy own way of Trade.

Nor must Abiatbar be here forgot,
For he that well can write can make a Plot:
Of any Faith he never maketh doubt,
But like the Wind his Conscience veers about.
In lofty Strains he Tyrant Noll did praise,
And to his Fame a lasting Statue raise;
Who in Usurper's praise employ their Pens,
Have no Affection to their lawful Prince.
Whate'er pretence to Priesthood may belong,
Gold is their God, and Glory guides their Tongue;
These even Beelzebub have quite outdone,
In Priest thy Athens Plagues are cram'd in one.

But now my Muse another Story tells;
Pray hear the Sound of pious Aaron's Bells,
Whose Strength of Zeal suppresses that of Sense,
Where Flesh does fail, Devotion does commence:
Tir'd with Age, of youthful Vigor free,
He is devout of meer Necessity;
His great Austerity his Tribe does sute,
He sometimes rides, but oftner walks on foot:
Such pageant Zeal attendeth Bishopricks,
He well may walk, where follows Coach and Six.
Nor can he pray, but where his Pictures stand,
To fix his Zeal, and wandring Thoughts command.
These Images do pious Heats confer,
And raise Devotion up the Lord knows where;
He soars so high, and to the Clouds does grow,
He quite forgets all Loyalty below,
Can take no Oath nor swallow any Test,
But must be stubborn as are all the rest.

Let lasting Infamy curst Zadoc damn,
Who maketh all Religion but a Sham:
Zadoc who boasts of Fighting, Drinking, Roaring,
And above all his mighty Strength in Whoring;
Yet to debauch his Conscience now is loth,
And swears by God he cannot take the Oath:
Let Zadoc to his Sins stand firm and stiff,
Till Triple Tree shall take the Triple F---

Next in the List must Eleazar come,
A Foe to England, and a Friend to Rome.
Priests in Divinity take little Pains,
And with Religion seldom crack their Brains.
This want of Sense made Eleazar run
The first to worship the arising Sun.
When Brother Priests arrived here from Rome,
Good Eleazar did invite them home:
He took his Coach, and mighty Stir he made
To be assistant at the Cavalcade;
But yet thy Coachman, as the Act exprest,
By most was thought the better sort of Priest;
He would not drive, nor Rome's black Friends adore,
When thou were but Postilion to the Whore;
Whilst honest Slash did for his Freedom strive,
Thou like the Devil unto Rome didst drive:
Thy Brethren banish'd by the present Reign,
Thou long'st to view and welcome here again.
Not the lewd Levites which arrive from Rome,
Are greater Villains than our Priests at home:
The Church's Warriors of thy py-bald Band,
That plague the Natives of this wretched Land,
That blow the Coals and warmer Blood ferment,
To cause a Fever in the Government.

I'll mention but one more and then have done,
'Tis fighting Josuah the Son of Nun:
Though he to Men of Sense is a Buffoon,
He serves to make a Spiritual Dragoon.
What tho he cannot preach, or pray or write,
He 'gainst his Country and his King can fight.
He's strongly armed with a double Sword,
To fight God's Battels and to preach his Word.
What Wonders in the Field were lately done,
By fighting Josuah the Son of Nun?
He bravely Monmouth and his Force withstood,
And made the Western Land a Field of Blood;
There Josuah did his reaking Heat asswage,
On every Sign-post gibbet up his Rage;
Glutted with Blood like some most Christian Turk,
And scarce out-done by Jefferies or Kirk:
Yet now the Priest is grown a Rebel too,
And what Monmouthians did, himself can do.
Since thou like them art equally to blame,
Their Fate was to be hang'd, be thine the same.

Should I of all the lesser Villains tell,
It would a great, a bulky Volume fill,
Fit for the Devil's Library in Hell.
Should I their Lewdness and their Crimes relate,
Their Lusts, their Perjuries, their Envy, Hate,
Their filthy Drunkenness, their height of Pride,
Their Avarice, yet Luxury beside,
Their want of Goodness and their want of Sense,
And their Repentance in the future Tense,
Their new-coin'd Tenets which the Pulpits fill,
Would tire out Pelling's Passive Lungs to tell.
Hophnie of old laid down his rampant Whore,
And thump'd her Carcase at the Temple-Door:
But who can tell what Tricks our Priests do use
Behind the Altar and within the Pews?
The antient Levites (as the times then stood)
Were Men of Cruelty and Men of Blood;
The far more harmless Bulls they did surprize,
And near the Altar slew the Sacrifice.
Altho the Butcher now does not take place,
The Cruelty's entail'd upon the Race;
Our Priests are all descended from that Stem,
Nero and Aretine are Saints to them;
They oft the Blood of War in Peace have spill'd,
How many Prisons has their Malice fill'd?
How many Widows have they made a Prey?
What Goods the holy Guzmans stole away!
Well may they grieve now, having lost the Power
By which they Widows Houses did devour:
That Land's accurst, hath reason to lament,
Where Priests are made a piece of Government;
They damn our Souls and lead us weary Lives,
Mislead our Daughters and debauch our Wives:
Whatever shew of Zeal the Priesthood paints,
They are at best but cuckoldizing Saints,
The pious Vermin that molest a State,
The Source of all Disorder and Debate;
The Bane of Princes, a tumultuous Crew,
Not satisfy'd with what is old or new.
For James they underwent a wondrous Toil,
And greas'd his Head with their anointing Oil;
But when he to the Jesuits tack'd about.
They as the Devil with Pray'r cast him out.
Nor are they with their new-made Monarch glad,
(The Priests have still a Privilege to be mad)
Tho easy, gentle, and averse to Blood,
His only Crime, he's to his Foes too good;
Well may he have the Priests to be his Foes,
That even God Almighty would depose.