The Works of Mr. Robert Gould In Two Volumes. Consisting of those Poems [and] Satyrs Which were formerly Printed, and Corrected since by the Author; As also of the many more which He Design'd for the Press. Publish'd from his Own Original Copies [by Robert Gould] |
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| 2. | The Second Part. |
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
2. The Second Part.
The bright Arch-Angel, chief of all that fell,
Yet Great, and still maintains his Port in Hell)
Lost not his Glory, and his Prime Degree,
For want of Knowledge, but Humility:
He first 'twas that did Politicks impart,
And, Clipper-like, was Ruin'd by his Art.
Achitophel, whose Name is famous yet,
Lost not his Credit for defect of Wit;
Had he been Loyal, he had long been Great.
Nor are our Politicians far behind
The Jew in Craft, and like Reward may find.
Sometimes into a turn of State they wedge
Themselves so close, they grind their Ax's Edge:
As Bride-well Slaves, with many a weary Bang,
Beat out that Hemp in which they after Hang.
Sometimes like Squirrels, (by their Hunters vex'd),
One Tree a felling, leap into the next;
Making that way their Sanctuary good,
Till not a Royal Oak is left to Grace the Wood.
False to their Prince, but faithful to his Gold:
No Revolution makes 'em quit that hold.
Old Machiavel is always in their Eye,
And Good King David's Politicks thrown by;
After GOD's Heart was why his Pow'r was giv'n,
Tyrants but by Permission hold of Heav'n;
In Anger made, they but the Scepter bear
To Scourge th'Inconstancy that plac'd it there.
What e'er the Government, these Turn-Coats still,
Like Æsops Fly, rise up with Fortunes Wheel.
Their Labours are not to enlarge our Bounds,
But how by Fraud to get th'Adjoyning Grounds,
And lay 'em to their own: Unhappy Fate
Is His, whose Vineyard bounds on their Estate:
Like Jacks on Gudgeons, to the Prey they rowl,
Swallow'd at once, and are digested whole.
Deficient Funds so little are their Care,
They're robb'd of many Thousands every Year;
No Wonder that the Wretch'd Subject's bare.
Why must the Caytiff (tho' we own him poor)
A Beggar be that Strowls from Door to Door,
And who of Subsidies their Master Cheat,
Tho' gather'd just alike, be Props of State?
Lewis himself shall o'er the Ocean reign,
And Publick Glory's chang'd for Private Gain:
As lately they were taught our shipping Trade,
With leave to Build, that they might next Invade:
Mean while our Monarchs were Supinely shown,
(Devested both of Reason and Renown,)
Sporting with Drabs and lolling on a Throne.
Thus not a Common Wealth is the Contest
Or, whether That or Monarchy is best,
But what does most advance their Interest.
So a late Politician, when that Trump
Had won the Game, got nimbly on the Rump,
And spurr'd it on, enamor'd of the Jest,
Till Oliver himself bestrid the Beast.
To a Protector then he tun'd his Tongue,
And gently sooth'd the Brutal Herd a long.
The Father lost, he sided with the Son;
And for no Government when he was gone,
Next, when he heard all Men do so beside,
(And working lustily to save his Tyde)
For a true King and Monarchy he cry'd.
Then when wild Factions noisy Stream ran high,
Heading their Chief, he did with that comply,
And strove to lay the true Succession by.
Yet all this while, blest with a Lucky Hit,
Or whether 'twere his Fate, his Art, or Wit,
Just like a Cat, he lighted on his Feet:
And last ev'n Destiny it self did mock,
And fairly dy'd without an Ax and Block.
But tho' these Wretches more than others know,
Sagacious in what Point the Wind will blow;
Veering for Safety what e'er way it Veers,
For he must find the Danger first that Steers,
Yet since their Wealth, as we too sadly see,
Derives it self from our Calamity;
Since they do all that's in their Pow'r to prove
Religion's not descended from above;
That 'tis but what the State-Wrights did invent
To blind us when they founded Government;
And since (which is of all our Proofs the Chief)
They've brought their Practice down to that Belief,
We must conclude, what ever God they Own,
They live as if there really were None.
Yet Great, and still maintains his Port in Hell)
Lost not his Glory, and his Prime Degree,
For want of Knowledge, but Humility:
He first 'twas that did Politicks impart,
And, Clipper-like, was Ruin'd by his Art.
347
Lost not his Credit for defect of Wit;
Had he been Loyal, he had long been Great.
Nor are our Politicians far behind
The Jew in Craft, and like Reward may find.
Sometimes into a turn of State they wedge
Themselves so close, they grind their Ax's Edge:
As Bride-well Slaves, with many a weary Bang,
Beat out that Hemp in which they after Hang.
Sometimes like Squirrels, (by their Hunters vex'd),
One Tree a felling, leap into the next;
Making that way their Sanctuary good,
Till not a Royal Oak is left to Grace the Wood.
False to their Prince, but faithful to his Gold:
No Revolution makes 'em quit that hold.
Old Machiavel is always in their Eye,
And Good King David's Politicks thrown by;
After GOD's Heart was why his Pow'r was giv'n,
Tyrants but by Permission hold of Heav'n;
In Anger made, they but the Scepter bear
To Scourge th'Inconstancy that plac'd it there.
What e'er the Government, these Turn-Coats still,
Like Æsops Fly, rise up with Fortunes Wheel.
Their Labours are not to enlarge our Bounds,
But how by Fraud to get th'Adjoyning Grounds,
And lay 'em to their own: Unhappy Fate
Is His, whose Vineyard bounds on their Estate:
Like Jacks on Gudgeons, to the Prey they rowl,
Swallow'd at once, and are digested whole.
Deficient Funds so little are their Care,
They're robb'd of many Thousands every Year;
No Wonder that the Wretch'd Subject's bare.
Why must the Caytiff (tho' we own him poor)
A Beggar be that Strowls from Door to Door,
And who of Subsidies their Master Cheat,
Tho' gather'd just alike, be Props of State?
348
And Publick Glory's chang'd for Private Gain:
As lately they were taught our shipping Trade,
With leave to Build, that they might next Invade:
Mean while our Monarchs were Supinely shown,
(Devested both of Reason and Renown,)
Sporting with Drabs and lolling on a Throne.
Thus not a Common Wealth is the Contest
Or, whether That or Monarchy is best,
But what does most advance their Interest.
So a late Politician, when that Trump
Had won the Game, got nimbly on the Rump,
And spurr'd it on, enamor'd of the Jest,
Till Oliver himself bestrid the Beast.
To a Protector then he tun'd his Tongue,
And gently sooth'd the Brutal Herd a long.
The Father lost, he sided with the Son;
And for no Government when he was gone,
Next, when he heard all Men do so beside,
(And working lustily to save his Tyde)
For a true King and Monarchy he cry'd.
Then when wild Factions noisy Stream ran high,
Heading their Chief, he did with that comply,
And strove to lay the true Succession by.
Yet all this while, blest with a Lucky Hit,
Or whether 'twere his Fate, his Art, or Wit,
Just like a Cat, he lighted on his Feet:
And last ev'n Destiny it self did mock,
And fairly dy'd without an Ax and Block.
But tho' these Wretches more than others know,
Sagacious in what Point the Wind will blow;
Veering for Safety what e'er way it Veers,
For he must find the Danger first that Steers,
Yet since their Wealth, as we too sadly see,
Derives it self from our Calamity;
349
Religion's not descended from above;
That 'tis but what the State-Wrights did invent
To blind us when they founded Government;
And since (which is of all our Proofs the Chief)
They've brought their Practice down to that Belief,
We must conclude, what ever God they Own,
They live as if there really were None.
Some Men to Little are but bred, and so
But Little can of God and Nature know:
If these in Judgment Err, (as most we find,)
Or darkly see (for Ignorance is blind,)
They shou'd not in Religious Points be sham'd,
Tho' plac'd awry, but Pity'd more than blam'd:
Stubborn in Zeal and hurrying swift along
The Uulgar run, and all their Notions wrong;
Yet find out Heav'n, tho' seemingly astray
They go, while Wiser Blockheads lose their Way.
But Little can of God and Nature know:
If these in Judgment Err, (as most we find,)
Or darkly see (for Ignorance is blind,)
They shou'd not in Religious Points be sham'd,
Tho' plac'd awry, but Pity'd more than blam'd:
Stubborn in Zeal and hurrying swift along
The Uulgar run, and all their Notions wrong;
Yet find out Heav'n, tho' seemingly astray
They go, while Wiser Blockheads lose their Way.
For when I see a Coxcomb bred with cost,
And Languages and Learning makes his boast;
That has twice Twenty Years been running thro'
His Books, and talks as he all Nature knew;
What e'er You offer He's for solving strait,
As if he were the End of all debate,
Th'unerring, and Decisive Voice of Fate:
When such a One becomes a Fool in Chief,
Doubtful of Truth, and Staggering in Belief;
False to the Holy Faith he first imbib'd,
By Atheists Courted, and by Popery brib'd;
Tho' Ill the Church and distant from Applause,
That hires a Turn-Coat to support her Cause,
Who knows, by Consequence, the Ills h'has done,
Knows that he goes, and long astray has gone,
Yet like a Devil, stubbornly keeps on.
When I see Christians take so large a Scope,
The Jew, methinks, has much the livelier Hope.
A Lutheran now, a Papist next, and then
A Calvinist, and back to Rome agen:
With Notions thus for ever on the Range,
No Weather e'er did oftner Chop and Change.
Nay, when they've all these Transformations past,
They Madlier set up for themselves at last:
By their own Standard they'll have Truth be try'd,
The very utmost Stretch of Human Pride!
And think ev'n Scripture an unsafer Guide:
But thus to make a Godhead of their Own,
(If I may Judge) is certainly all one
As if they really believ'd in None.
And Languages and Learning makes his boast;
That has twice Twenty Years been running thro'
His Books, and talks as he all Nature knew;
What e'er You offer He's for solving strait,
As if he were the End of all debate,
Th'unerring, and Decisive Voice of Fate:
When such a One becomes a Fool in Chief,
Doubtful of Truth, and Staggering in Belief;
False to the Holy Faith he first imbib'd,
By Atheists Courted, and by Popery brib'd;
Tho' Ill the Church and distant from Applause,
That hires a Turn-Coat to support her Cause,
Who knows, by Consequence, the Ills h'has done,
Knows that he goes, and long astray has gone,
Yet like a Devil, stubbornly keeps on.
350
The Jew, methinks, has much the livelier Hope.
A Lutheran now, a Papist next, and then
A Calvinist, and back to Rome agen:
With Notions thus for ever on the Range,
No Weather e'er did oftner Chop and Change.
Nay, when they've all these Transformations past,
They Madlier set up for themselves at last:
By their own Standard they'll have Truth be try'd,
The very utmost Stretch of Human Pride!
And think ev'n Scripture an unsafer Guide:
But thus to make a Godhead of their Own,
(If I may Judge) is certainly all one
As if they really believ'd in None.
Some Seminaries of our Youth (if Fame
May be at all believ'd) are much to blame:
'Tis there the Disputant acquires the Skill
To make that seem a Good he knows an Ill.
Reverse of Knowledge! O perverted Schools!
Scarce London more renown'd for Knaves and Fools.
How can there due Severity be shown
To Youth, there Crimes exceeded by our Own?
To Punish an Adulterer is but right,
But shou'd he do't that is a Sodomite?
A Vertuous Hand best Grafts the Temperate Fruit;
For first Impressions take the deepest Root:
Who ever saw (so soon will Vice instill)
The Tutor bad, and not the Pupil Ill?
For Youth, like Wax, (believing, fond and vain,
Takes then the Print it does to Age retain,
Lust, if 'tis Lust; and Pride, if Pride you grave
Ev'n Plato bred to Law had been a Knave.
Or Right or Wrong, there scarce is one but treads
True to his ply,) as Education leads.
Some with vain Theories amuse the Rout,
And add more Knots to those they'd Ravel out:
A Thousand Vari'ous Noti'ons they advance,
The Dreams of Fools, and the Produce of Chance.
Others, Demure, but lavish of their Ink,
Whole Pages Scribble, for one Line they think:
Mean while the Wits their Doubts and Scruples raise,
Nor care who Profits, so they gain but Praise.
Hence Scepticks some, and others Ideots grow;
Those will know all, and these will nothing know.
Thus Learning, tho' all Glaring to the View,
Can be adapted Justly but to few:
Like Wine, or like Prosperity it flies
Up to the Brain, and all below defies;
Reason and Truth disdaining for it's Guide,
And Tyrant-like wou'd rule by Pow'r and Pride.
The rest who to their senseless Pastimes cleave,
And spare not Time such Airy Webs to weave,
Are Likelier in the Peoples Crimes to share,
Than truely to discharge the Past'ral Care;
To which no Creature ought to make pretence,
Not tinctur'd thro' with Honesty and Sense.
So that, indeed, (and state the Matter fair,)
There does but very little Hope appear
Such Foppling Teachers, tho' a God they own,
Wou'd Live as if they did believe in One.
May be at all believ'd) are much to blame:
'Tis there the Disputant acquires the Skill
To make that seem a Good he knows an Ill.
Reverse of Knowledge! O perverted Schools!
Scarce London more renown'd for Knaves and Fools.
How can there due Severity be shown
To Youth, there Crimes exceeded by our Own?
To Punish an Adulterer is but right,
But shou'd he do't that is a Sodomite?
A Vertuous Hand best Grafts the Temperate Fruit;
For first Impressions take the deepest Root:
Who ever saw (so soon will Vice instill)
The Tutor bad, and not the Pupil Ill?
For Youth, like Wax, (believing, fond and vain,
Takes then the Print it does to Age retain,
Lust, if 'tis Lust; and Pride, if Pride you grave
Ev'n Plato bred to Law had been a Knave.
Or Right or Wrong, there scarce is one but treads
True to his ply,) as Education leads.
351
And add more Knots to those they'd Ravel out:
A Thousand Vari'ous Noti'ons they advance,
The Dreams of Fools, and the Produce of Chance.
Others, Demure, but lavish of their Ink,
Whole Pages Scribble, for one Line they think:
Mean while the Wits their Doubts and Scruples raise,
Nor care who Profits, so they gain but Praise.
Hence Scepticks some, and others Ideots grow;
Those will know all, and these will nothing know.
Thus Learning, tho' all Glaring to the View,
Can be adapted Justly but to few:
Like Wine, or like Prosperity it flies
Up to the Brain, and all below defies;
Reason and Truth disdaining for it's Guide,
And Tyrant-like wou'd rule by Pow'r and Pride.
The rest who to their senseless Pastimes cleave,
And spare not Time such Airy Webs to weave,
Are Likelier in the Peoples Crimes to share,
Than truely to discharge the Past'ral Care;
To which no Creature ought to make pretence,
Not tinctur'd thro' with Honesty and Sense.
So that, indeed, (and state the Matter fair,)
There does but very little Hope appear
Such Foppling Teachers, tho' a God they own,
Wou'd Live as if they did believe in One.
But here, Methinks, they break into a Flame:
How dare you, Slave, (they call me) Learning blame,
The path to Vertue, and th'Ascent to Fame.
I blame it not, I cry; of Heav'nly use
If well apply'd, but Devilish in th'Abuse:
For what has Arius and Socinus done
To'ward the degrading of th'Eternal Son?
His God-head not believ'd, on which depends
The Christian Hope, the Christian Doctrin ends.
To these we may their present Followers add,
With all our Modern Sects both Moap'd and Mad.
Tell me then you grave Masters of Debate,
That Wire-draw, Doubt, Assert, Equivocate,
With pleasing Sophistry misleading Youth,
Adorning Falshood, and disguising Truth;
While, with the Rents by Disputation made.
The patching up Religion grows a Trade.
Tell, when the Haughty Disputant's to show
How he has laid out all his Time below,
What will th'Impertinent and Senseless Tale
Either the Writer or his Cause avail,
To say 'twas spent in some Laborious Tome,
Confuting Sectaries, and Confounding Rome?
Or what the Roman Sophistry and Paint?
With the more frightful Bulk of Baxtrian Cant?
When it appears (more winding than a Maze)
Instead of saving Souls, the Teachers Praise,
They've fixt 'em in the Errors of their Ways;
And made a Thousand Paths, when there's but one
We ought to walk in, and no more to shun?
There's nothing plainer both to Sense and Sight,
Than that th'Exemplar Preacher need not Write:
One single Instance of a Holy Life,
Is of more Force than Endless Tomes of Strife:
By that w'are taught, by that we Vertuous grow,
For only He that's Good makes others so.
How dare you, Slave, (they call me) Learning blame,
The path to Vertue, and th'Ascent to Fame.
I blame it not, I cry; of Heav'nly use
If well apply'd, but Devilish in th'Abuse:
For what has Arius and Socinus done
To'ward the degrading of th'Eternal Son?
His God-head not believ'd, on which depends
The Christian Hope, the Christian Doctrin ends.
352
With all our Modern Sects both Moap'd and Mad.
Tell me then you grave Masters of Debate,
That Wire-draw, Doubt, Assert, Equivocate,
With pleasing Sophistry misleading Youth,
Adorning Falshood, and disguising Truth;
While, with the Rents by Disputation made.
The patching up Religion grows a Trade.
Tell, when the Haughty Disputant's to show
How he has laid out all his Time below,
What will th'Impertinent and Senseless Tale
Either the Writer or his Cause avail,
To say 'twas spent in some Laborious Tome,
Confuting Sectaries, and Confounding Rome?
Or what the Roman Sophistry and Paint?
With the more frightful Bulk of Baxtrian Cant?
When it appears (more winding than a Maze)
Instead of saving Souls, the Teachers Praise,
They've fixt 'em in the Errors of their Ways;
And made a Thousand Paths, when there's but one
We ought to walk in, and no more to shun?
There's nothing plainer both to Sense and Sight,
Than that th'Exemplar Preacher need not Write:
One single Instance of a Holy Life,
Is of more Force than Endless Tomes of Strife:
By that w'are taught, by that we Vertuous grow,
For only He that's Good makes others so.
On t'other side 'tis equally as clear
Pen's loose Discourse and Lobb's Extempore Prayer
(In Matters of more Moment unconcern'd)
Is only to be Gifted thought, or Learn'd;
A Pride of Spirit, Obstinately shown
In crying down all Worship but their Own;
To have vast Parties take from them their Name
And so in Schism found a Devilish Fame.
For Lucifer, who first at Truth did Strike,
By Consequence was the first Schismatick.
Hence ev'ry Centu'ry new Perswasions rise,
Wolves, as we are forewarn'd, in Sheeps Disguise,
Who making it their Gain to Disagree,
Dissolve the Bands of Christian Unity:
Vindictive, sullen, stupid, frontless grown
The Scripture-Sense perverted to their Own,
The tortur'd Bible on the Rack is Stretcht
And wrested Texts for Proofs of Nonsense fetcht:
Mean while the Crowd (in whom the Bane's instill'd)
With Envy, Rage, and Cruelty are fill'd:
That once incens'd ev'n Altars are not spar'd,
Youth has no Pity, nor grey Hairs regard.
In short all the Domestick Strife and Jar,
Rape, Plunder, Murder, Fire and Massacre,
Which the fresh bleeding Europe yet deplores,
Must all be laid at their accursed Doors.
How is our SAVIOUR's Meekness copy'd here?
And the Reproaches he unmov'd did bear?
Where is the Love he practis'd and enjoyn'd?
Extensive as the Race of humankind!
Thus tho' in their Disputes a GOD they own,
'Twere little odds (as the Event has shown)
If really they had believ'd in None.
Pen's loose Discourse and Lobb's Extempore Prayer
(In Matters of more Moment unconcern'd)
Is only to be Gifted thought, or Learn'd;
A Pride of Spirit, Obstinately shown
In crying down all Worship but their Own;
To have vast Parties take from them their Name
And so in Schism found a Devilish Fame.
353
By Consequence was the first Schismatick.
Hence ev'ry Centu'ry new Perswasions rise,
Wolves, as we are forewarn'd, in Sheeps Disguise,
Who making it their Gain to Disagree,
Dissolve the Bands of Christian Unity:
Vindictive, sullen, stupid, frontless grown
The Scripture-Sense perverted to their Own,
The tortur'd Bible on the Rack is Stretcht
And wrested Texts for Proofs of Nonsense fetcht:
Mean while the Crowd (in whom the Bane's instill'd)
With Envy, Rage, and Cruelty are fill'd:
That once incens'd ev'n Altars are not spar'd,
Youth has no Pity, nor grey Hairs regard.
In short all the Domestick Strife and Jar,
Rape, Plunder, Murder, Fire and Massacre,
Which the fresh bleeding Europe yet deplores,
Must all be laid at their accursed Doors.
How is our SAVIOUR's Meekness copy'd here?
And the Reproaches he unmov'd did bear?
Where is the Love he practis'd and enjoyn'd?
Extensive as the Race of humankind!
Thus tho' in their Disputes a GOD they own,
'Twere little odds (as the Event has shown)
If really they had believ'd in None.
Designing here to leave these Noble Piles,
Methinks at parting the Physician Smiles:
How can this Idle Satyrist, says he,
At Scepticks rail, and blindly leave out Me?
E'er since the Christian Faith possessed the Stage
We have been thought the Pest of ev'ry Age.
True, Doctor; you have prov'd your selves a more
Flagitious Race than those that liv'd before:
'Tis but of later Date the Notion came
That Atheist and Physician are the same.
What ever Prejudice you foist between,
The First is in the second Causes seen:
The most pernicious Plant's of sov'reign Use,
If well apply'd, and Wonders may produce.
But think not ev'ry casual Cure that's done
To Man occasion'd by your Skill alone;
The Work of saving Lives is not your own.
At best y'are but the Instruments to show
How much for Health we to our Maker owe,
And that, alas! but very seldom too:
His Rods of Vengeance you are oft'ner found,
To scourge the Earth, and deal his angry Vials round.
Ev'n your whole College oft we baffl'd find,
Prescriptions working contrary to kind.
One dies to whose Recov'ry you wou'd swear;
Another lives when you of Life despair:
This shews you GOD his Pleasure does impart,
And where he'll take, or spare, in vain your Art.
Not but we grant to shew his Servant's Force,
He lets the second Causes take their Course:
But what Advantage can you thence pretend,
So ignorant of their Natures and their End!
Some few perhaps into your Knowledge fall,
But what, that's finite, comprehends 'em all!
Methinks at parting the Physician Smiles:
How can this Idle Satyrist, says he,
At Scepticks rail, and blindly leave out Me?
E'er since the Christian Faith possessed the Stage
We have been thought the Pest of ev'ry Age.
True, Doctor; you have prov'd your selves a more
Flagitious Race than those that liv'd before:
'Tis but of later Date the Notion came
That Atheist and Physician are the same.
354
The First is in the second Causes seen:
The most pernicious Plant's of sov'reign Use,
If well apply'd, and Wonders may produce.
But think not ev'ry casual Cure that's done
To Man occasion'd by your Skill alone;
The Work of saving Lives is not your own.
At best y'are but the Instruments to show
How much for Health we to our Maker owe,
And that, alas! but very seldom too:
His Rods of Vengeance you are oft'ner found,
To scourge the Earth, and deal his angry Vials round.
Ev'n your whole College oft we baffl'd find,
Prescriptions working contrary to kind.
One dies to whose Recov'ry you wou'd swear;
Another lives when you of Life despair:
This shews you GOD his Pleasure does impart,
And where he'll take, or spare, in vain your Art.
Not but we grant to shew his Servant's Force,
He lets the second Causes take their Course:
But what Advantage can you thence pretend,
So ignorant of their Natures and their End!
Some few perhaps into your Knowledge fall,
But what, that's finite, comprehends 'em all!
Yet, wou'd you argue from the Truths you see,
You least of all shou'd doubt a DEITY:
You by Experience know (as David said)
W'are fearfully, and wonderfully made!
Can you, intent, on your Dissections look
And not read GOD in that prodigious Book?
Where ev'ry Fibre, Artery, Nerve and Vein,
Shew by a strange Dependance on the Brain,
No Chance cou'd link the admirable Chain!
Who, after such a View, cou'd so forget
Reason and Shame, as with Sarcastick Wit
The Great Creator's Pow'r to disesteem,
His Being question, and his Name blaspheme?
Yet this you do; the Pow'r of Life and Death
Mean while assuming, as you gave us Breath.
Proof we might bring to bind what we attest,
But let this Instance serve for all the rest.
You least of all shou'd doubt a DEITY:
You by Experience know (as David said)
W'are fearfully, and wonderfully made!
Can you, intent, on your Dissections look
And not read GOD in that prodigious Book?
Where ev'ry Fibre, Artery, Nerve and Vein,
Shew by a strange Dependance on the Brain,
No Chance cou'd link the admirable Chain!
Who, after such a View, cou'd so forget
Reason and Shame, as with Sarcastick Wit
355
His Being question, and his Name blaspheme?
Yet this you do; the Pow'r of Life and Death
Mean while assuming, as you gave us Breath.
Proof we might bring to bind what we attest,
But let this Instance serve for all the rest.
Some time ago (and much against his Will)
A certain Knight fell violently ill:
A dear old Friend, whose Residence was by,
(One that Prescrib'd to his own Family,
Nor wanted Skill) did Remedies apply:
And still (the way a Christian Temper leans)
What e'er he gave him cry'd God bless the Means.
At last, not mending, the Physician's brought,
Who chang'd the Phrase; and, when he gave him ought,
Did worse than Mariners in Tempests swear—
Here take it off, and, DAMN ME, never fear.
In short what with his Potion and his Pill,
The Doctor prov'd Successful in his Skill:
And smiling on his Patient, told him, now
You see the Proof, and will, I hope, allow
Your Friends God Bless you frivolous and Poor,
And that my Damn me did your Health Restore:
No more believe that ought above you hears,
When Oaths more efficacious are than Prayers.
Thus, tho' he in his Heart a GOD must own,
And trembling, Devil-like, acknowledge one,
Yet, Devil-like, he lives as there indeed were none.
A certain Knight fell violently ill:
A dear old Friend, whose Residence was by,
(One that Prescrib'd to his own Family,
Nor wanted Skill) did Remedies apply:
And still (the way a Christian Temper leans)
What e'er he gave him cry'd God bless the Means.
At last, not mending, the Physician's brought,
Who chang'd the Phrase; and, when he gave him ought,
Did worse than Mariners in Tempests swear—
Here take it off, and, DAMN ME, never fear.
In short what with his Potion and his Pill,
The Doctor prov'd Successful in his Skill:
And smiling on his Patient, told him, now
You see the Proof, and will, I hope, allow
Your Friends God Bless you frivolous and Poor,
And that my Damn me did your Health Restore:
No more believe that ought above you hears,
When Oaths more efficacious are than Prayers.
Thus, tho' he in his Heart a GOD must own,
And trembling, Devil-like, acknowledge one,
Yet, Devil-like, he lives as there indeed were none.
But from these Private Murder'ers next we'll go
To those that are by set Profession so:
Where cutting Throats is purchasing a Name,
To Ravish, Honour; and to Plunder, Fame:
These three away the Life of War is gone,
Ambition cou'd not do the Work alone;
There must be Baits to drill the vulgar on.
Ambition! the Reverse of ev'ry Good!
The Blessings by it on the World bestow'd
Invasion, Devastation, Rape and Blood.
The Gallick Tyrants in this Roll the first,
As well of Christians as of Princes worst;
And here shall stand eternally accurst.
What Glory can accrue to Treaties broke,
Christians enslav'd, and Towns by Treach'ry took?
Or if the doing this be real Fame,
Who has gone further for a deathless Name?
Defensive War is only lawful, all
The rest we can but force and Robb'ry call:
When you of War and hostile Rumor hear
Implies the Christian warn'd from acting there.
Good God! that Men who into Bodies get,
Shou'd fly so far from Justice, Truth and Wit,
To think it Glory when they Outrage do!
Crimes they wou'd hang for, if they were but few.
Suppose to Day two robb'd you, and no more,
And you were robb'd to Morrow by a Score,
Are not all Thieves?—supposing further yet,
In some poor Village six that wanted Wit,
And here a hundred thousand, more they're, true;
Are not all Fools? the many like the few?
Numbers no odds; did that from Censure save,
What Man wou'd dare to call a Tradesman Knave?
In brief, War's but th'Almighty's strecht-out Rod,
The o'erflowing Vial of a jealous GOD,
Who for our Lucre, Lust, Revenge and Pride,
With all our Crimes and Villanies beside,
Lets loose the Agents of his angry Will,
And bids th'avenging Weapon take its Fill.
In vain the Politician shews his Care,
And thinks 'tis as he pleases Peace or War,
A stronger Hand does move that vast Machine;
The Statesman does, at best, but draw the Scene,
And look the first; but equally is blind,
Like us, to the revolving Turns behind,
Did we alas! but one another Love
We shou'd agree; the Sword wou'd soon remove;
The Wars of Europe and of Asia cease,
And all be lasting Universal Peace.
A certain Proof that they who only Fight
T'enlarge their Bounds, not valuing Wrong or Right,
Are guilty Souls; yet they a GOD will own
And sing his Praise for Neighb'ring States undone,
Which is more mocking than believing One.
To see in Camps how impiously they dwell,
(As the Commander so the Centinel)
To hear the Oaths they mouth, and Lies they vent,
Poxt from the General's to the Suttler's Tent,
You'd think Rome Chast, and Sodom Innocent.
To those that are by set Profession so:
Where cutting Throats is purchasing a Name,
To Ravish, Honour; and to Plunder, Fame:
356
Ambition cou'd not do the Work alone;
There must be Baits to drill the vulgar on.
Ambition! the Reverse of ev'ry Good!
The Blessings by it on the World bestow'd
Invasion, Devastation, Rape and Blood.
The Gallick Tyrants in this Roll the first,
As well of Christians as of Princes worst;
And here shall stand eternally accurst.
What Glory can accrue to Treaties broke,
Christians enslav'd, and Towns by Treach'ry took?
Or if the doing this be real Fame,
Who has gone further for a deathless Name?
Defensive War is only lawful, all
The rest we can but force and Robb'ry call:
When you of War and hostile Rumor hear
Implies the Christian warn'd from acting there.
Good God! that Men who into Bodies get,
Shou'd fly so far from Justice, Truth and Wit,
To think it Glory when they Outrage do!
Crimes they wou'd hang for, if they were but few.
Suppose to Day two robb'd you, and no more,
And you were robb'd to Morrow by a Score,
Are not all Thieves?—supposing further yet,
In some poor Village six that wanted Wit,
And here a hundred thousand, more they're, true;
Are not all Fools? the many like the few?
Numbers no odds; did that from Censure save,
What Man wou'd dare to call a Tradesman Knave?
In brief, War's but th'Almighty's strecht-out Rod,
The o'erflowing Vial of a jealous GOD,
Who for our Lucre, Lust, Revenge and Pride,
With all our Crimes and Villanies beside,
Lets loose the Agents of his angry Will,
And bids th'avenging Weapon take its Fill.
357
And thinks 'tis as he pleases Peace or War,
A stronger Hand does move that vast Machine;
The Statesman does, at best, but draw the Scene,
And look the first; but equally is blind,
Like us, to the revolving Turns behind,
Did we alas! but one another Love
We shou'd agree; the Sword wou'd soon remove;
The Wars of Europe and of Asia cease,
And all be lasting Universal Peace.
A certain Proof that they who only Fight
T'enlarge their Bounds, not valuing Wrong or Right,
Are guilty Souls; yet they a GOD will own
And sing his Praise for Neighb'ring States undone,
Which is more mocking than believing One.
To see in Camps how impiously they dwell,
(As the Commander so the Centinel)
To hear the Oaths they mouth, and Lies they vent,
Poxt from the General's to the Suttler's Tent,
You'd think Rome Chast, and Sodom Innocent.
Well but, You'll say, that is no wonder here;
They do but Fight, perhaps one Day a Year,
So all the rest may Whore, and Drink, and Swear.
But wou'd you think there can a Creature be
Who breaths no other Air but Piety;
That holier does Discourse than others Pray,
Yet twenty times more Profligate than they.
On thee, O Hypocrite! these Censures fall,
Not only in one way a Knave, but all.
Secret to Sin he moves like Eel's in Mud,
Deceives Mankind, and palms the Cheat on GOD:
With specious seeming polishes his Deeds,
And let him deal with whom he will succeeds;
The mimick Saint no other Voucher needs:
We shun a Wolf, and we must know an Ape,
But who suspects a Fraud in such a Shape?
What a strange Sight must it hereafter be
When GOD dismantles all Hypocrisie!
'Twill then with dismal Aggravations joyn'd,
Be found that Man to Man ne'er speaks his Mind;
That the Plain-Dealer's mov'd so far away,
He's only to be met with in a Play!
Husband to Wife, and Wife to Husband here
Are fau'ty found, and Truth does ne'er appear;
And to be plain, 'tis well it does not there:
Marriage, as 'tis too often proves a Curse,
Shou'd Truth be known, the Plague wou'd then be worse.
Thus walks the Hypocrite in open Day,
And unsurvey'd, does all the World survey:
But does he walk, tho' he a GOD does own,
And blames those Men that argue there is none,
As if he did himself believe in One?
They do but Fight, perhaps one Day a Year,
So all the rest may Whore, and Drink, and Swear.
But wou'd you think there can a Creature be
Who breaths no other Air but Piety;
That holier does Discourse than others Pray,
Yet twenty times more Profligate than they.
On thee, O Hypocrite! these Censures fall,
Not only in one way a Knave, but all.
Secret to Sin he moves like Eel's in Mud,
Deceives Mankind, and palms the Cheat on GOD:
With specious seeming polishes his Deeds,
And let him deal with whom he will succeeds;
The mimick Saint no other Voucher needs:
358
But who suspects a Fraud in such a Shape?
What a strange Sight must it hereafter be
When GOD dismantles all Hypocrisie!
'Twill then with dismal Aggravations joyn'd,
Be found that Man to Man ne'er speaks his Mind;
That the Plain-Dealer's mov'd so far away,
He's only to be met with in a Play!
Husband to Wife, and Wife to Husband here
Are fau'ty found, and Truth does ne'er appear;
And to be plain, 'tis well it does not there:
Marriage, as 'tis too often proves a Curse,
Shou'd Truth be known, the Plague wou'd then be worse.
Thus walks the Hypocrite in open Day,
And unsurvey'd, does all the World survey:
But does he walk, tho' he a GOD does own,
And blames those Men that argue there is none,
As if he did himself believe in One?
Happy, you'll say, (since thus the most refin'd,
The Great, as well as Learn'd of Humankind,
To their own Lusts these Liberties allow;)
Happy, you'll say, the Country Swains that Plough!
The implicit Bumkins that in Gross believe,
Whom arguing don't Corrupt or Doubt deceive.
Astræa there, with Innocence adorn'd
Does dwell, whose Absence is in Cities mourn'd.
But tho' on Rural Shades so much you Doat,
Live but among 'em and you'll change your Note;
Nor barely fall of Expectation short,
But meet ev'n equal Innocence at Court.
Fool in Appearance, but in Dealing try
His Wit, you'll find him Wary, Crafty, Sly,
A thorow Knave, all Shift, and Cheat and Lye.
Tho' six Days are allow'd him and his Beast
To Work, he blends the Sabbath with the rest.
The Publick Fasts are not at all his Care,
So Covetous of Time he thinks it lost in Pray'r.
As to no Men there longer Life is giv'n,
So none spare less in the Pursuit of Heav'n:
Stock still they stand, tho' they have Pow'r to go,
Nor will pursue one useful thing they know:
A Resty, Sullen, Brutal, Downward Race,
And all for Gain;—the Antipodes to Grace.
Tythe is a Plague he never can digest,
A Duty that's the Bane of all the rest.
When the Tenth Cock is took by the Divine,
(Ungrateful for the Benefit of Nine!)
Tho' they their Right from GOD's Appointment draw,
He wonders who the Devil made the Law.
As Seamen in a Storm will curse and swear,
And likewise in a Calm for want of Air;
So does this sordid Creature mouth and fret,
The Season happ'ning over Dry, or Wet:
At want of Rain repines; if much does fall,
He thinks it, Deluge-like, will cover all:
Almost believing HE but told a Tale
That says, an Annual Harvest ne'er shall fail.
Yet tho' he does in Health and Plenty live,
Enjoying all a Peaceful Fate can give;
Tho' he does Providence's Care behold,
Th'Increase oft doubl'd on him Fifty-fold;
When such a Harvest comes and crowds his Store,
And calls aloud—be pitious of the Poor ;
Let some small Portion to the Needy fall
A Little, for his Sake that gave you All:
Ev'n then, tho' brib'd his Rigor to abate
He Sells at an Unconscionable Rate;
And Stingier growing for a Bounte'ous Year,
Keeps up his Stock to make the Plenty dear.
So close his Griping Temper to him cleaves,
Gleaning himself, the Gleaners he deceives,
And bans 'em if they look but on the Sheaves.
'Tis Strange they shou'd receive so bad a ply,
And have the God-head always in their Eye;
In ev'ry Change of Season he is shown:—
Mean while they with the former Crew must own,
They live as if they did believe in None.
The Great, as well as Learn'd of Humankind,
To their own Lusts these Liberties allow;)
Happy, you'll say, the Country Swains that Plough!
The implicit Bumkins that in Gross believe,
Whom arguing don't Corrupt or Doubt deceive.
Astræa there, with Innocence adorn'd
Does dwell, whose Absence is in Cities mourn'd.
But tho' on Rural Shades so much you Doat,
Live but among 'em and you'll change your Note;
Nor barely fall of Expectation short,
But meet ev'n equal Innocence at Court.
Fool in Appearance, but in Dealing try
His Wit, you'll find him Wary, Crafty, Sly,
A thorow Knave, all Shift, and Cheat and Lye.
Tho' six Days are allow'd him and his Beast
To Work, he blends the Sabbath with the rest.
359
So Covetous of Time he thinks it lost in Pray'r.
As to no Men there longer Life is giv'n,
So none spare less in the Pursuit of Heav'n:
Stock still they stand, tho' they have Pow'r to go,
Nor will pursue one useful thing they know:
A Resty, Sullen, Brutal, Downward Race,
And all for Gain;—the Antipodes to Grace.
Tythe is a Plague he never can digest,
A Duty that's the Bane of all the rest.
When the Tenth Cock is took by the Divine,
(Ungrateful for the Benefit of Nine!)
Tho' they their Right from GOD's Appointment draw,
He wonders who the Devil made the Law.
As Seamen in a Storm will curse and swear,
And likewise in a Calm for want of Air;
So does this sordid Creature mouth and fret,
The Season happ'ning over Dry, or Wet:
At want of Rain repines; if much does fall,
He thinks it, Deluge-like, will cover all:
Almost believing HE but told a Tale
That says, an Annual Harvest ne'er shall fail.
Yet tho' he does in Health and Plenty live,
Enjoying all a Peaceful Fate can give;
Tho' he does Providence's Care behold,
Th'Increase oft doubl'd on him Fifty-fold;
When such a Harvest comes and crowds his Store,
And calls aloud—be pitious of the Poor ;
Let some small Portion to the Needy fall
A Little, for his Sake that gave you All:
Ev'n then, tho' brib'd his Rigor to abate
He Sells at an Unconscionable Rate;
And Stingier growing for a Bounte'ous Year,
Keeps up his Stock to make the Plenty dear.
360
Gleaning himself, the Gleaners he deceives,
And bans 'em if they look but on the Sheaves.
'Tis Strange they shou'd receive so bad a ply,
And have the God-head always in their Eye;
In ev'ry Change of Season he is shown:—
Mean while they with the former Crew must own,
They live as if they did believe in None.
In short the Man that to himself propounds
The thinking how the World with Vice abounds;
How many Brutal Tempers He will see
That have no Tincture of Humanity:
How at their Betters constantly they rail,
And in their close Revenges never fail;
But load the Stranger, Poor and Innocent,
With all the Envenom'd Terms they can invent,
Minding no more the Blackning of a Name,
Than Carted Bawds, or Female Players, shame.
How ev'ry Great Man's Family (where Wealth
Wine and high Feeding keep 'em rank in Health)
Is an Establish'd Stews within it self.
How Parents Impiously Correction spare,
And in their Children's Hearing Curse and Swear;
Bad always, but unpardonable there:
And this ev'n from the Slave of low Degree,
A General Evil up to Quality.
How either Sex divert the Natu'ral Use
A Thousand Vari'ous ways into Abuse;
That ev'n in this Cold Clime old Sodom seems
Reviv'd anew, and calls for hotter Flames.
Add to all this the Envious and the Vain,
Th'Ungratefull, Perjur'd, Treach'rous, and Profane
The Publick Frauds, and Private Breach of Trust,
Detraction, Murder, Robbery, Pride and Lust,
With all th'Injustice to the Bar we draw,
T'employ the Devilish Cormorants of Law.
Did he but seriously on this Reflect,
What cou'd he say? but that we all Reject
Goodness alike, and tho' a GOD we own,
We live as if there really were None.
The thinking how the World with Vice abounds;
How many Brutal Tempers He will see
That have no Tincture of Humanity:
How at their Betters constantly they rail,
And in their close Revenges never fail;
But load the Stranger, Poor and Innocent,
With all the Envenom'd Terms they can invent,
Minding no more the Blackning of a Name,
Than Carted Bawds, or Female Players, shame.
How ev'ry Great Man's Family (where Wealth
Wine and high Feeding keep 'em rank in Health)
Is an Establish'd Stews within it self.
How Parents Impiously Correction spare,
And in their Children's Hearing Curse and Swear;
Bad always, but unpardonable there:
And this ev'n from the Slave of low Degree,
A General Evil up to Quality.
How either Sex divert the Natu'ral Use
A Thousand Vari'ous ways into Abuse;
That ev'n in this Cold Clime old Sodom seems
Reviv'd anew, and calls for hotter Flames.
Add to all this the Envious and the Vain,
Th'Ungratefull, Perjur'd, Treach'rous, and Profane
The Publick Frauds, and Private Breach of Trust,
Detraction, Murder, Robbery, Pride and Lust,
361
T'employ the Devilish Cormorants of Law.
Did he but seriously on this Reflect,
What cou'd he say? but that we all Reject
Goodness alike, and tho' a GOD we own,
We live as if there really were None.
A Thousand other Crimes the Lash deserve;
But for the Present this rude Sketch must serve:
No further on the fainting Fury calls;
My hand grows weary, and the Pencil falls—
But while the Fau'ts of others I've Pourtray'd,
And in their Native Colours Publick made,
Too Partial to my own I've cast 'em in a Shade.
But for the Present this rude Sketch must serve:
No further on the fainting Fury calls;
My hand grows weary, and the Pencil falls—
But while the Fau'ts of others I've Pourtray'd,
And in their Native Colours Publick made,
Too Partial to my own I've cast 'em in a Shade.
Yes, Gracious GOD! who dost all Secrets view,
I censure others, and am Guilty too;
Both foolishly and wittingly offend,
And still run on, as Life wou'd never end.
But Arm, O Arm me with thy Heav'nly Grace,
And such a Faith as Fortune can't efface.
Tho' Vice is Prosp'rous, and the Vertuous, here,
Seem of thy Gifts to have the Slende'rer share;
In Worldly Trouble, and Corpor'eal Pain,
Poor and despis'd, they all their Lives remain,
While Wealth and Pleasure wait on the Prophane;
Let me not doubt (tho' hid from Human Sight)
But that a Time will come to do 'em Right:
When Piety and Patience You'll repay
With Glorious Crowns, and everlasting Day;
And all thy Faithful, wrongfully Distrest,
Advance into the Bosom of thy Rest.
The Sceptick laughs, I grant, and does display
His Wit, to hear me set so long a Day.
Well, if it never come, the Answer's short;
He'll not be there to make our Loss his Sport:
But if it shou'd—He'll sadly be deceiv'd,
And mourn in Hell the Heav'n he disbeliev'd.
Ev'n tho' our Hope were vain, w'ave nought to fear
Let then the Vertuous fix their Anchor there;
And, Villany, take thou thy Portion here.
I censure others, and am Guilty too;
Both foolishly and wittingly offend,
And still run on, as Life wou'd never end.
But Arm, O Arm me with thy Heav'nly Grace,
And such a Faith as Fortune can't efface.
Tho' Vice is Prosp'rous, and the Vertuous, here,
Seem of thy Gifts to have the Slende'rer share;
In Worldly Trouble, and Corpor'eal Pain,
Poor and despis'd, they all their Lives remain,
While Wealth and Pleasure wait on the Prophane;
Let me not doubt (tho' hid from Human Sight)
But that a Time will come to do 'em Right:
When Piety and Patience You'll repay
With Glorious Crowns, and everlasting Day;
And all thy Faithful, wrongfully Distrest,
Advance into the Bosom of thy Rest.
The Sceptick laughs, I grant, and does display
His Wit, to hear me set so long a Day.
Well, if it never come, the Answer's short;
He'll not be there to make our Loss his Sport:
362
And mourn in Hell the Heav'n he disbeliev'd.
Ev'n tho' our Hope were vain, w'ave nought to fear
Let then the Vertuous fix their Anchor there;
And, Villany, take thou thy Portion here.
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |