Poems on Affairs of State

We have of late been entertain'd with many pretty Whims in Divinity; but this is the finest of them all: A Religious Piece of Knight-Errantry, to which, if I said any thing at all, I thought it must be in Burlesque; for the Humour is comical enough. Pity it is this wondrous Man had not liv'd in the Infancy of Time, and taught poor Mortals this Lesson, e'er Death for so many Thousands of Years had ravaged the habitable parts of the World, and glutted it self with the Spoils of Mankind. The Scythe of Death had then a long time ago been rusty and useless, and the Sands in the Glass of Time had run to no purpose. But we of these latter Ages of the World must have the only Advantage of his Project, who will not go out of the World in the Common Road of his Neighbours, but in a manner peculiar to himself,
Hinc itur ad Astra.

Bootatus & Spurratus ire ad Cœlum; away mounts our Friend John, and leaves this declining World lessening out of sight.

399

These are the first Lines that ever I attempted in Doggrel, and according to their Reception in the World, perhaps may be the last. The Design will bear a great many more; and my Lines flow as the learned Dr. Bunyan says of his,

They came to mine own Heart, thence to my Head,
Thence to my Fingers ends they trickeled;
Thence to my Pen, and then immediately
On Paper I did dribble it daintily.

There are some things accounted Real,
In which we Mortals do agree all:
Things form'd by cunning Allegories,
We do account to be mere Stories.
Some write of Fights of Mice and Frogs,
And others prate of Mastiff Dogs:
One has the Fairy Queen espy'd,
And told the Tale, as if he ly'd,
Of Tib and Tom, and Mib and Mab,
Names ne'er attain'd by Poet Squab.
But while such Fools do please Mens Fancies
With idle Canto's of Romances,
I'll tell you of a greater Knight
Than e'er made Love, or mov'd in Fight.

He neither was a Priest nor Parson,
Or Warrior's Saddle laid his Arse on;
Yet in Divinity profound,
He could great Sophisters confound;
Knew difference 'twixt the Jews and Turks,
And had read Learned Bunyan's Works:

400

Had Brooks his Golden Pippins read,
And by the wiser Folk 'tis said,
He can as learnedly dispute
As Parson Keith, or fam'd Giles Shute.
He sagely in his Youth foresaw
That Truths Divine need Props of Law;
To study which he did adhere,
And in't became a Barister:
He something else at length became,
An Office got I must not name;
Ne Sutor ultra Crepidam.

He never bow'd his stubborn Knee
In any Feats of Chivalry,
Despising such Knight-Errantry,
Where People for the very nonce
Do fracture one another's Bones;
As Bullocks fight in Marshes fed,
To try which has the hardest Head.
He never lov'd the dismal Sounds
Of murd'ring Guns, of Blood and Wounds:
He still abhor'd the frightful Sight,
The sad Effect of cruel Fight.
He never got a broken Head,
Or for a Wound had Plaister spread;
Had no Mischance in any Points,
To dislocate his nimble Joints;
But such Disasters as befal
In Battels Metaphysical;
Which, tho securing Head and Snout,
Do craze the Brains, not beat 'em out.

By a deep Insight in Religion
He found how Mahomet, and his Pigeon,
Did fly from hence to blest Abodes,
Translated to the very Gods;
With ev'ry Pinion not unhing'd,
And not one Feather of 'em sing'd.

401

In Sacred Scripture he had read
How Enoch and Elijah fled
To Heav'n by Faith, and in their flying
Disdain'd the common way of dying;
Which does Mankind in Thraldom fetter,
Only because they know no better.
He and his Printer did agree
To set Men from this Bondage free;
And now Sir Knight has got a Squire,
As fit as e'er he could desire:
To preach this Doctrine would be vain,
Disturb the Head, and Lungs would strain.
Let Parsons preach, and Clerks go whistle,
They'll do the Business by Epistle,
Which has of late gain'd Proselytes
Of Tolandists and Asgilites,
Who form new Articles Divine,
Exceeding far our Thirty Nine.

In London Town there's scarcely found
One Corner of that fertile Ground,
Which does not to the Age afford
New Sects all founded on the Word;
Who like Logicians do dispute,
And one another still confute;
All of 'em Orthodox, and all
Alike are Apostolical.
But tho they make such zealous pother,
Some do thrive better than the other;
As Plants more generous are found
To flourish best in fattest Ground:
Some tall ones scatter do their Seed,
And new ones do as Maggots breed;
Whilst these to height are always shoving,
Some others only are improving.
St. Paul's scarce outdoes Salters-Hall,
Tho its high Roof be far more tall:

402

Octavo Band, and Cloak Divine,
As Folio Cassock is as fine:
The little Roundhead looks as big
As Bishop in his powder'd Wig.
And eke a wondrous Reformation
Is happen'd in this godly Nation.
After a many stubborn Greetings,
The King is pray'd for in the Meetings,
That he may live long in the Nation;
Of publick Funds a long Duration:
For these no King did e'er adore,
But what increas'd their private Store.
Pardon, good Reader, I digress,
'Tis common in Pindarick Verse,
And eke in this it must be too,
If I but please to make it so;
And I, without a Reason for't,
Will make 'em long, or cut 'em short.
Poets are Princes in their Station,
Altho they govern not the Nation;
No Man their Power did yet dispute,
But always held 'em absolute.

Now had Sir Knight his Brain imploy'd
How he might conquer, and avoid
Old Death, that cunning subtle Fox,
Who lays Mankind in earthly Stocks:
Says he, good Squire, it is but Folly
To sit thus pensive, melancholy;
Put but my Notions into print,
We'll conquer Death, or Devil's in't.
I am Robustick, tho I'm Civil,
And grown a Match e'en for the Devil.
The crooked Serpent, who by Lying
Entices Mankind into Dying,
So far does foolish Men deceive,
They cannot the dull Custom leave.

403

Had they but Faith, they need not die,
Like Enoch might ad Astra fly,
And view the Regions of the Sky.

But here the Squire to Knight reply'd,
You have not yet your Notion try'd:
Your mighty Faith your Sense enthrals,
'Tis Philosophically false;
For what is born must surely die,
Or else Philosophers do lye:
All that is nourish'd is unstable,
And is revera corruptible;
And Death, deciding of the Strife,
Is but Corruption of our Life.
You must not Notions, Sir, espouse
That do the Bonds of Nature loose;
And with such Vehemence dispute 'em,
When e'ery Church-yard does confute 'em.
Besides, Sir, where is your Protection
Against received Resurrection?
For it appears to all the Wise,
If we don't die we shall not rise.
You may for this be brought in Court,
And there be made to answer for't;
They'll use you there like any Dog,
When you're once seiz'd by Robin Hog:
For, Sir, the Liberty to scribble
Allows you not at Church to nibble;
And there I'll leave you in the lurch,
When you plant Cannons 'gainst the Church.
Such things as these would whilome tear yo,
In the late Reign of Great Rogero:
Not that Rogero of great Note,
Of whom Orlando justly wrote,
Who with Alcyna did discourse
By Assignations of Amours;
But that Rogero which did fill
The World with Observators ill;

404

Who such ill Tenents to redress,
Was made Oppressor of the Press;
Who tho he's outed of his Reign,
His Squire's Power does still remain.

To this reply'd the doughty Knight,
Thou shalt not me with Fancies fright.
Nought that's heroick, or that's rare-a,
But was atchiev'd by Great Don Zara,
Whose Actions gave his Name a Hogo,
He got the Title of Del Fogo;
And tho he was a Man of Valour,
He oft was squeez'd by Fortune's Squallor;
And Sancho too (his Fates be thanked)
Was sadly tossed in a Blanket:
Yet these did ne'er repine at Fate,
To keep off Blow would scarce guard Pate.
I will encounter Jews and Turks,
Defy the Devil and his Works,
Both thy Rogero, and his Squire,
And their Ecclesiastick Fire.
Roger belong'd unto that Priesthood,
Which never yet did do the least good:
He was a Light to the Dark-Lanthorns,
Which neither Sockets have, nor han't Horns.
If these my Notions do molest,
It's Persecution, Sir, at best;
Of modern Date a Law too saith,
No Man shall suffer for his Faith.

Here did the Squire long stand amaz'd;
And after on the Knight had gaz'd,
Quoth he, it is not Persecution,
When against you in Execution:
Our Laws do only favour weak
And infant Christians, who can't take
The stronger Meats; but you are strong,
Almost Omnipotent in Wrong.

405

Your self-applauding Vanity
Is mere downright Profanity:
You know a wondrous deal of Faith,
But not one word the Scripture saith.
'Tis true, good Enoch and Eliah
Alive to Saints above did fly-a;
And this was done by Faith and Prayer,
But neither of 'em was a Lawyer;
They of Canary took no Dose,
Nor tippl'd Claret at the Rose:
They in their Lives were exemplary,
Seldom or never did miscarry.
We can't in you like Faith believe,
Unless you like Example give.

Quoth Knight, my Friend, thou'rt very dull,
Good God! full fill thy empty Skull.
Those Tenents which from Faith arise,
To Mortal Men are Mysteries:
It is not likely they should know
The way translated Men do go;
They cannot see the upper Skies,
Because they look with dying Eyes;
They can no more such Truth unriddle,
Than Story of the Bear and Fiddle,
Was sung, but broke off in the middle.
As for my way of living, wou'd
It were as pious Enoch's good.
But here, my Friend, you do me banter,
For you do know I am no Ranter:
Altho for Grace I don't much stickle,
And sigh and groan at Conventicle;
With little Band am seldom found,
Or Locks are circumcised round.
Yet tho I do not cant and pray,
I am not half so leud as they:
And godly Looks do ne'er impart
The secret Treasure of the Heart;

406

Which, if it does once entertain
Vile Thoughts, Religion is but vain.
I in a Band could look as grave
As any Conventicle Knave,
Cou'd wring my Chaps into Grimaces,
And make a hundred godly Faces;
Cou'd sit as dull as any Log,
And grunt and groan like any Hog.
But these are odd sorts of Religions,
Contriv'd by Knaves for foolish Wigeons;
May be for them a godly Fashion,
But are not fitted for Translation.
All my Disciples must be airy,
And dance as nimble as a Fairy;
Must never think of sordid Dying,
But practise must the Art of Flying.

University of Virginia Library

The Way to Heaven in a String:

Or, Mr. Asgil's Argument Burlesqu'd.