University of Virginia Library

As restless on my Bed one Night I lay,
Hoping with Sleep to ease the toyls of Day,
I thought, as graver Coxcombs us'd to doe,
On all the mischiefs we had late ran through,
And those which are now likely to ensue:
What 'tis that thus the frantick Nation dreads?
And from what Cause their Jealousie proceeds?
Whither at last, to what Event, and End,
These sad Presages probably might tend?
For as Physicians always chuse to know
Th'original Cause from whence Distempers flow,
And by their early Symptoms boldly guess,
Whether or no their Art shall have success;
So I, like a young bold State Emp'rick too,
Did the same methods, and same course pursue;
Till with variety of Thoughts opprest,
I turn'd about to sleep, and take my rest:
While Fancy like a Queen alone bore sway,
And did this Vision in a Dream convey.
Unknown, and unperceiv'd, I was me thought,
Into a close retiring Chamber brought;
And by my Guide behind the Hangings plac'd,
Where I cou'd hear and see whatever pass'd:
When in a corner of the Room there sate
Three fierce contenders in a hot Debate;
And on a Table lay before them there
The Directory, Masse, and Common-Pray'r.
This in a Cloak, That had a shaven Crown,
The other in a Surcingle and Gown;
Who by his Garb, Demeanour, and grave Look,
I for a Church of England Preacher took;
For howsoe'er they're drest they may be known
By a peculiar Carriage of their own.

At first I heard a strange confused sound,
Nor could the meaning, nor the sense expound;
Till he I mention'd last in rage up rose,
And partly through the mouth, and thro' the nose,
Did thus his whining Sentiments disclose.
And is this all the great Reward we must
Enjoy for being faithfull to our Trust?
Will all the Services we've done the King
No better recompence and profit bring?
And can our boasted Loyalty return
No other Payment but Contempt and Scorn?
Must we thus basely from our Hopes fall down,
And grow the publick scandal of the Town?
As our insulting Pride and Government
Has been the publick Grievance and Complaint,
Our Prebends, and our Bishops too, turn'd out,
Depriv'd, and scorn'd, in Querpo walk about;
And must a Transubstantiating Priest
Be with their goodly Lands and Lordships blest?
Did we for this the Popish Plot deride,
And all our Sense, and Nonsense too, apply'd
To blind the peoples Reason and their Eyes,
To take it for a Sham and meer Device:
Our best and learned'st of Divines employ
To foile the Scent, and to divert the Cry;
Set bawling P---ing up to talk it down,
And fill with canting Raillery the Town?
Did we for this, young Levites send about,
To charm the Rabble, and possess the Rout,
With feign'd Chymera's of a strange Design,
Against the Church, and State, and Royal Line?
And vilely Russel and the rest remov'd,
When neither Crime or Plot was ever prov'd?
Nay did we all for this the Church disown,
And coin a New Religion of our own,
Of a more spruce and fashionable make,
Than was the Old, and boldly undertake
By Scripture for to prove the Common Prayer,
When we well knew there's no such matter there:
Yet like the Calves at Bethel set it up,
And made them all before the Idol stoop;
And whosoe're the business would dispute,
We did by Fines and Pillory confute.
O precious Book! the dearest thing that's ours,
Except our Livings and our Sine-cures;
For which, might they but still with us abide,
Wee'd part with thee, or any thing beside:
As heretofore without reluctance we,
Have truck'd our forfeit Consciences for thee:
But those are going too—no more he cou'd,
Prevented by an overflowing Flood
Of Tears, which his lawn Band and Gown besmear'd,
As th'Ointment drench'd his Predecessor's Beard.
The subtle Priest who had resolv'd to stay,
Till he had spoken all he had to say;
Seeing the Wretch with too much Grief o'relaid,
Stood up, and thus the following Answer made.

'Tis true, you've done all this and ten times more,
As bad or worse than we have done before;
And if ye think ye have oblig'd the King,
Who were but under-Actors in the thing;
Then what do we deserve, whose Wit and Brain
Contriv'd the Plot and every private Scene?
For though a Conquest alwaies is obtain'd,
And by each Souldier's single valour gain'd;
Yet those who did Command and lead them on,
Share all the open Honour and Renown.
Ye were our Instruments, and Drudges too;
As Rumney, Keeling, Howard, were to you;
Who when they brought about your own design,
You left them to themselves to starve and pine:
So we the grand projectors of the Plot,
Who did to you your several Parts allot,
Having no farther Service to employ,
Think fit, as useless Tools, to lay you by.
Besides, what Title or, Pretence have you,
To any thing ye hold as right and due,
Since they were settled first on us alone,
And could no other Lords and Masters own;
Till ye by Rapine, Sacrilege and Force,
Discas'd us of our Rights and made them yours?
Nor can a Case more Legal e're appear,
At Court of Conscience, or at Chanc'ry Barr,
Than what ye did by violence obtain,
Should to their ancient Lords return again.
But that which you so much insist upon,
Your boasted Loyalty, and Service done,
From whence ye most erroneously inferr'd,
The justice of your Claim to a Reward,
Is a meer trifle and a weak defence,
With no validity of Consequence;
For there's no reason he should be repaid,
Who undesignedly a Kindness did;
When all the while his Thoughts were fix'd upon
His own Advancement and Increase alone;
And all the Profit that to me he brings,
Is by the bye and natural course of things:
'Twas rancour, envy, meer revenge and spight,
That made ye thus against Fanaticks fight;
And the dear dread of losing all ye had,
That first engag'd your malice on our side,
To plead the Royall Cause, and to promote
The King's Concern, and for Succession vote;
When could ye any other way have kept
The Saddle, and in ease and safety slept,
The King might have been banish'd, hang'd or drown'd
E're Succour or Relief from you have found.
But matters and affairs as yet are not
To such a difficult Conjuncture brought,
But that an handsome Fetch may bring ye off
With Honour and Security enough:
One gentle Turn will all the business doe,
Advance your Livings and secure them too;
Safe ye shall lie from all Phanatick harms,
Encircled in your Mother-Churches Arms,
From which ye've stray'd so long, and now to whom,
Ye ought in duty and respect to come.

The mournfull Levite straight prickt up his Ears,
As glad that things were better than his Fears,
And joyfull heard what means the Priest had found,
That might for his dear Benefice compound,
Compos'd his Band, and wip'd his blubber'd Cheeks,
Stood up again and thus demurely speaks:
The Proverb to my case I may apply,
Winners may justly laugh and Losers cry.
For when I thought my Livelihood was gone,
It was no wonder that I so took on;
As 'tis none now, Smiles should my gladness show,
For these good Tydings I receive from you;
Therefore, dear Sir, let us our Hearts combine,
And both in league against Dissenters joyn.
My self I under your Tuition place,
For Management and Method in the case,
How to proceed—The Cloak who all this while
Had unprovok'd and unconcern'd sate still,
And wisely what they'd both be at had guest,
Stood up to speak and to compleat the Jest:
But glowing Anger had so now prevail'd,
That in the first attempt he stopp'd and fail'd;
And when he found his Tongue to be confin'd,
He made his active Hands declare his Mind.
The one engag'd the Levite on the place,
And with the Directory smote his Face.
Confounded with the Stroke he stagger'd round,
And falling in his wrath tore up the Ground.
T'other he laid directly o're the Chest,
Sent Echoes from the hollow Breast of Priest,
Who stumbling as he went to take his flight,
Fell prostrate o're his new made Proselyte.
On both their Bodies mounts the nimble Cloke,
And this his Epicinium manly spoke:
Dejected Wretches, there together lye,
Unpitied, unbewail'd by every Eye;
May after-Ages your curst Names deride,
As we your damn'd Hypocrisies and Pride;
No Mark remain to know what ye have been,
But the remembrance of your Curse and Sin;
Which shall down Time's continual tide descend,
To propagate your fatal shame and end.
So may they fall, and all they that design,
Who e'er in league against the Truth combine,
By an unarm'd defenceless hand like mine.
Pleas'd with the Conquest of Victorious Cloke,
I laugh'd aloud methought, and so awoke.