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State Tracts

Containing Many Necessary Observations and Reflections on the State of our Affairs at Home and Abroad; With some Secret Memoirs. By the Author of the Examiner [i.e. William Oldisworth]

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The Burning of the Ch--- of En---d MEMORIAL.
  
  


337

The Burning of the Ch--- of En---d MEMORIAL.

I come; but come with trembling, lest I prove
The unequal Match of Semele and Jove.
As she was too obscure, and he too bright,
My Theme's too heavy, and my Muse too light.
And whilst, like Midas, I presume to sit
In wise Apollo's Chair, without his Wit,
Is it not just t'expect, that he who dares
Mount above Midas, shou'd wear longer Ears.
May I not fear Patroclus Fate, and feel
The dangerous Honour of Achilles Steel,
Just like that busy Youth, whose daring Pride
Found none but Titan, Titan's Coach to guide?

338

Oh for a Jeremy to sing our Woe!
From whom such Tragick Rhetorick might flow
As wou'd become our sinking Ch---, and dress
Our Sorrows with a dismal Gaudiness.
See hov'ring Judgments, which will surely fall
On Albion's State, and crush the Heads of all
Who sung our Holy Ch--- M---l.
Over her Ashes to lament her full
Wou'd gorge and overcome the greatest Soul.
The trivial Off'rings of our blubbering Eyes
Are but fair Libels at such Obsequies.
When Grief bleeds inward, not to Sense, 'tis deep,
We've lost so much, that 'twere a Sin to weep.
The wretched Bankrupt counts not up his Sums,
When his inevitable Ruin comes.
Our Loss, if finite, when we can compute,
But that strikes Speechless, which is past Recruit.
We're sunk to Sense, and on the Ruin gaze,
As on a curled Comet's fiery Blaze,
And Earthquakes fright us, when the Teeming Earth
Rends up her Bowels for a fatal Birth;

339

As Inundations seize our trembling Eyes,
Whose rouling Billows over Kingdoms rise,
Alas! Our Ruins are cast up, and all
Our Dooms are sign'd in a M---l:
The mangled Ch---on the sad Pile is laid,
And all her Beauties in the Flame display'd.
Hers now is Albion's Epidemick Tomb,
Her Sacrifice, a numerous Hecatomb;
November's Powder-Plot's outdone, and worse,
September now compleats the Nation's Curse:
Our Liberties, Laws, and Religion, all
Lie crush'd and moulding in this dismall Fall.
Such was the B---m J---y, such the C---,
That made the Church's Cause the Rabbles Sport,
While all the Mob, as the old Jews did cry
For Justice, which was nought but Crucify;
So that this martyr'd Book will henceforth be
The Ch--- of E---d's best Apology.
Sure no fond Story in Romance did treat
Of such a wild Eutopian Judgment-Seat;

340

At whose dire black Decrees we wondring stand,
As some pale Ghost's dimn Taper and cold Hand,
Did wast us thro' the Shades until we come
To see some strange fantastick fairy Doom,
While slumb'ring we invoke the Morning's Light,
To chase the Legend Vision from our Sight.
High in this Dream, in this Tribunal Seat,
S---l sits with Hydra's at his Feet;
One whom the Genuin Bar does seldom see,
Whose nauseous Tongue scarce boasts a Seven Years Fee;
Whose Conscience wears a Face for ev'ry Dress,
Religion justifies Ungodliness.
A sordid Wh---g's a Tyger without Faith,
Whose guilty Soul no Fence nor Safety hath:
But tho' stung Conscience press to be secure,
And wou'd be wary when she can't be sure.
Yet oft she most encounters what she flies,
And all her Ruin in her Refuge lies;
While Albion, naked to the weakest Eyes,
Resigns her ablest Guard, the Whigs Disguise;

341

Whose Pow'r, like Men in Ambush, still hath been
Not from their Strength, but 'cause their Strength's unseen:
Yet shall she from her Murd'rers Use and Reign,
Tho' burnt, from Phœnix Cinders bud again.
They whose thick Vows, exalted Hearts and Eyes,
Mount in the Air to meet the moving Skies,
Will now no longer forge their Hate and Spleen
Nor by Elusions steer their Course again:
Nor prize the Shame, rais'd from a former Sin,
At the sad rate of wading further in.
But Haste returns as vigorous as Mistake,
Which makes them hate the Dream the more they wake;
Like a dry Comet mounted in the Air,
Which on Mankind rains Plagues and mortal Care.
They find this hot Impatience of their own
Does by its Embers warm and light the Throne,
Like him who rais'd his God's adored Head,
To make his own Blaspheme it in the stead.

342

Hence Moderation Chains and Shackles throws,
As not what we agree, but they impose;
Gilding the piercing'st Flames with specious Smoke,
As if we did consent to wear their Yoke,
While they wou'd persecute, yet cry save,
Intomb the Nation in the Churches Grave.
Where shall they build their Plea, who at once do
Destroy the best of Churches at a Blow?
Who supple Laws, and gage them to their Wills,
Not to support their Rights, but strengthen Ills;
Whence poorly conscious of their ticklish Sway,
They sweat to husband and improve the Day;
Working to steer their base Designs about,
E'er the next Session strikes their Title out:
For who bids most buys Mercenary Throats,
And reaps a plenteous Harvest by their Votes.
Then share the Ch--- to bear the Fleece away,
Not as their Orphan-wards, but happier Prey.
Place and Preferment pass their Market Curse,
Not to the worthiest Men, but longest Purse.
Electors Vote, by a Politick Scale,
Make Patriots not their Choice, but their Entail:

343

Forsake or hold their Stations with the Tyde
Ruin, or Ruined, as Factions guide.
Yet these Encroachments they repay with Spite,
And cheat the Ch---men of their Native Right.
But shou'd this Sea, these Winds, conduct their Threats
To th'awful Palace where Great Neptune sits;
Shou'd their swel'd Surges make his Trident groan,
And dash their foaming Billows 'gainst his Throne,
Then might we all their wild Distractions see,
Nor Phrensy less than Hellish Anarchy;
But like that fatal inauspicious Day,
When all the less and larger Birds of Prey
Conspir'd to force the Eagle from her Throne,
Because her Eyes were clearer than their own.
The injur'd Eagle pent in this Distress,
When Reason nothing cou'd, and Force cou'd less,
Arms all her active Plumes with swiftest Spring,
Darts thro' their Ranks, and saves herself by Wing:
But Eagles they are well when freed from Rape,
And need no Satisfaction but th'Escape.

344

Review the Sun, with undishonour'd Eye,
And build again their Towering Nests as high.
But the afflicted Quill, whose Penance lies
Amidst the Flames, must Story's Martyr rise.
What hardy Plume dares register her Cares,
When Sov'raignity protects not her Affairs,
But lets her at the Bar of Faction stand
For some rash Korah's foul unhallow'd Hand,
Who burns her Virgin Truths, and raises Smoke,
Not to appease the Deity, but choke;
While the revolted Cassocks plume their Darts
With crooked Sophistry's perverted Arts,
To reason down Ch--- Faith with studied Pow'r,
And drown Old Truth in a Confederate Show'r.
To heighten these, when some whose nobler Name
In her declining Banners arms their Fame;
Whom yet ignoble Envy bent awry,
Or faint Devotion cool'd t'Indifferency;
Conspir'd the Ch---'s Ruin, while her Weights
Took Balance from their Cause, not from their Heats.

345

She pois'd their Calumny by ponderous Good,
Her sole, and yet unconquer'd, Reasons stood
When warmer Onsets, like the searching Plows,
Tills deeper Scars on Nature's yielding Brows;
Where what is sown a Cross springs up a Sheaf,
To Harvest Virtue thro' the Furrow Grief.
Her Glorious own Record gives this Presage,
Which next to hallow'd Writ and sacred Page
Shall busy pious Wonders, and abide
To Christian Pilgrimage, a second Guide;
Which shall then reconcile th'eternal Hate,
'Twixt simple Piety, and a divided State;
Shall fix a stable Ch---, whose secure Chance,
Shall steady sit, or by her Fall, advance.
Is not old Bell-Dame Nature truly said
T'advance her Heels, and stand upon her Head?
Does not the J---ge, and Law too, for a Need,
The Styrrup hold, while Faction mounts the Steed?
Is not Religion, Providence besides,
Us'd as a Lacquey while the Devil rides?

346

Sure all things thus into Confusion hurl'd,
Make, tho' an Universe, yet not a World.
Hence we've a Ch--- that's not our Choice, but Fate,
Since it is rul'd by Interest of State.
How to their Haven shall Ch--- Pilots steer,
'Twixt the Wh---g Statesman, and the P--- sb---t---r?
Plac'd in the Confines of two Shipwracks; Thus
The Greeks are seated 'twixt the Turks and us;
Whom did Byzantium free, Rome wou'd condemn;
And freed from Rome, they are enslav'd by them;
So plac'd betwixt a Precipice and Wolf,
There Pop'ry stands, here the Geneva Gulf;
What with the rising, and the setting Sun,
By those we're hated, and by these undone.
And what can we expect, our Lot being gone,
But that a Hell from Heaven shou'd tumble down
On this our sinful Sodom, unless we
Are damn'd, yet worse, to an Impunity;
How does our Delos, which so lately lay
Unmov'd, lie floating in a troubled Sea!

347

And can we hope to Anchor, who discern
Nought but wild Tempests ruling at the Stern,
Whilst Pluto's Rival, with his Saints by's side,
Drawn by the Spirit of Avarice and Pride;
Being fairly seated in the Chair of Scorn,
Sits Brewing Tears for Infants, yet unborn?
Vast Stocks of Mis'ry, which his Guardian Rage,
Does husband for them, 'till they come at Age.
When future Times shall look what Plagues befel
Ægypt, and us, by way of Parallel,
They'll find at once presented to their View,
The Frogs and Lice, we our D---ss---nt---rs too;
Only this signal Difference will be known,
'Twixt those Ægyptian Judgments, and our own:
Those were God's Armies; but th'Effect doth tell,
That these our Vermin are the Host of Hell.
Pausanias and Herostratus will look
Like Pigmy Swimmers writ in Time's Black Book.
The Spanish Fleet, and Powder-Plot, will lack
Their usual Mentions in our Almanack:

348

Nay, which is more, Alaricus his Name
Will scarce be read amidst the Works of Fame,
When this shall be remember'd to our Shame.
But what! can Israel find no other way
To their wish'd Land, than thro' this dang'rous Sea?
Must God have his dreading Fire and Cloud,
And be the Guide to this outragious Croud?
Shall the black Conclave counterfeit his Hand,
And superscribe their Guilt by a Command?
Doth th'ugly Fiend usurp a Saint-like Grace,
And Holy Water wash the Devil's Face?
Shall Dagon's Temple the mock'd Ark enclose?
Can Esau's Hands agree with Jacob's Voice?
Must Moloch's Fire now on the Altar burn,
And Abel's Blood to Expiation turn?
Is Righteousness so lewd a Bawd? And can
The Bible's Lover serve the Alcoran?
Thus when Hell's meant, Religion's bid to shine,
As Faux's Lanthorn lights him to his Mine:
Tho' the soft Hours a while in Pleasures fly,
And conq'ring Faction sings her Lull-a-bye.

349

The Guilt at length in Fury she'll enroll
With barbed Arrows on the Factious Soul.
For if just Providence reprieve the Fate,
The Judgment will be deeper, though 't be late:
And After-times shall feel the Curse enhanc'd,
By how much they've the Tyrant Sin advanc'd.
Mean time (Blest Ashes!) each Religious Eye
Shall pay their Tribute to thy Memory;
Thy Aromatick Name shall feast our Sense,
'Bove balmy Spikenard's fragrant Redolence.