 | The Mitre |  |
1
THE MITRE.
A POEM.
CANTO I.
—Hæ nugæ
Seria
ducent.
Hor.
Hor.
1
Exert, my Muse, thy gentle aim,Light, as unaw'd by fear or shame,
Who censure thee or thine:
Plead thou but truth's eternal cause;
Speak her's and Albion's generous laws,
Nor dread the Sheet or Shrine.
2
Speak what ten thousand have before,In time permissive to say more;
Till then let this suffice:
Alike the fool's chagrin or smile:
Thy sole design to please a-while
The honest and the wise.
2
3
Abhor the bigot and the knave;To Rome or England's fold a slave,
For nonsense or for gain:
Too like the spirit of them both;
Their scarlet mind and scarlet cloth;
And numberless their train.
4
I know thou can'st say nothing new;Too much if not the tythe were true;
Too much the shame and sin:
Come then, thy native freedom use,
Without or preface or excuse,
Thou vent'rous bard begin.
5
While Roman priests their heads adornWith Mitres, as their Lord's with thorn,
His meekness, but their pride:
More modest ours (yet loth to part
With what still lies so near their heart)
They fix it on their Side.
6
But break the slight partition-wall,(Disguise of gauze pontifical)
And look behind the skreen;
You'll find 'tis nothing but parade,
The first impression Rome had made,
As fresh as e'er within.
7
Nor marvel this as something strange,That real priests should seem to change;
'Tis only in pretence:
The present state of things won't bear,
They should be seen but only where
It gives the least offence.
3
8
Besides in them who might recalTheir honours, dignity and pall,
To tolerate's, discreet:
Since if lopt off the cloven crown,
In falling it might chance be sown,
And come up cloven Feet.
9
O what a clamour would be heard!What dire effects might not be fear'd!
What mutiny of claim!
See multitudes of priests arise!
See mobs of rebels in disguise!
The nation in a flame!
10
And yet, offence it can but giveTo all who fain would see them live,
As might their charge become:
The honest, artless, and the plain,
Who (maugre all their fond chicane)
Discern the stamp of Rome.
11
But what mind these the gloomy cantOf cropt or Oliverian saint,
Or horizontal brim?
Themselves enwrapt in down and lawn,
As plump as Lamies fed with fawn,
Or Guinea-pigs with cream.
12
Besides these blessings would arise,(Which owls may see with half-shut eyes,
As doctors take their fee:)
If change of time should urge their fadge,
'Tis only to produce their Badge,
And so retain their See.
4
13
Or ask'd, “Why only on their Side?”(As if dispos'd their claim to hide,
For probity or fear:)
They need not from the truth depart,
But with their hand upon their heart,
Affirm “We wear it here.”
14
And who can scorn or envious blame,Or in their case would not the same,
But cast that Coat away,
Which, tho' too sultry now to wear,
Their valets or their Arms may bear,
Against a rainy day?
15
Nor is this all that would ensue,But Deans and Chapters (rev'rence due!)
Might safely sleep or sing;
Nor ever give one farthing more
To widow, fatherless, or poor,
The army, or their king.
16
All these might set their hearts at rest;Each croaking snug within his nest,
Well-feather'd, warm, and even:
Ev'n he who loves and haunts his Grove,
Need never fear a sad remove
To banishment or heav'n.
17
As eke a troop of hanging sleeves,Vergers, and choristers, and thieves,
A grinning, greedy band:
Paid (as are hirelings) for nought,
But chaunting, rioting, or ought
Their keepers shall command.
5
18
Nor less the tribe of ghostly forms:Like lions some, and some like worms;
Or high-bred, generous sparks:
Rectors and Vicars fair and red,
With Curates starv'd for want of bread,
And saucy Parish-clerks.
19
Chaplains that bless the royal board,Or curse their patron's tardy word;
(Warm brethren of the Cork!)
Who wait till patience out at heels
The lordly Sees or humble Cells
Of London and of York.
20
With these, a group (what raree-shows!)Half priests, half deacons, and half beaus;
Who lollop, cringe, or while:
What pity so robust a train,
Were not inur'd to plow the main,
Or cultivate the soil!
21
To these succeed the useful men,Ragged, or patch'd, or darn'd in grain,
Who read, or write, or think;
Or any thing within their pow'r,
E'en trudge from Knightsbridge to the Tow'r
For little thanks or drink.
22
O what an army would appear,If but a tythe brought up the rear!
How full and deep intrench!
What mighty feats would not be done,
Might these but point or load the gun
'Gainst Satan or the French!
6
23
All these beneath thy shadow sit,And lounge or worship at thy feet,
Their patroness and guide!
Not doubting, but if times should turn,
To be, or in thy bosom borne,
Or dandled at thy side.
24
Thy Name now mention (tho' not hardTo guess the meaning of the bard)
“The Church” thy children call;
Like Rome, as if or only she,
Or thou, her twin were fit to be
“The Mother of us all.”
25
And truth for such a numerous train,As, or thy ale or rights maintain,
Nought less could well suffice:
Half countless as the sand marine,
Or spangling stars that shine between
Th' extremest polar skies.
26
For scarce could Xerxes with his host,A tribe more large or loyal boast,
Than what thy muster rolls:
A link that might girt half the globe,
Of raggs, of trowzers, or the robe,
Brave, bellowing, hardy souls!
27
Some lift their stately voice and swear,By all that's dark or deep or clear,
(Such gasconade of whim!)
“No—they will ne'er resign the Church,
“Tho' flea'd alive with steel or birch,
“Or pendant on a beam!”
7
28
A second blinks and wowls his dread,Declares alike to 'live or dead,
The danger hard at hand:
Bids all beware the thieves that come
(But or of England or from Rome)
And firm,—rebellious, stand.
29
A third (kind shepherd of his care,)Roars out aloud his pond' rous fear,
(Deep muddiness of storm!)
Lest grievous wolves (or Pastors-lay)
Should rise and trail whole herds away
From foppery and form.
30
Gape all the list'ning, winking souls;Struck how divine his dulness rolls!
Now threatn'd, now advis'd:
Now on his right in thunder deals,
Then to the left as fiercely reels:
Indecent as despis'd.
31
What ungain postures of defence,As void of manliness as sense!
Now smother, now all flame!
Each bellows, squalls, or stamps, or flies,
Blusters and spits or truth or lies;
And all for England's dame.
32
'Tis well they're fill'd with nought but words;Or sounds as safe as acid curds;
Else thoughtless as they're brave,
If ramm'd with forc'd or iron ball,
They might (in haste) demolish all,
They otherwise would save.
8
33
Some stupid stand, (a mule's amaze!)Nor feel the universal blaze,
That fires each kindred breast:
But dull as drones or highway-post,
Scarce see enough to count the cost,
Or break their gentle rest.
34
Not so the howl or shrug of all,Who stanch resolve to stand or fall,
Like platters on their shelves:
Stedfast they cleave like salve or lime,
Till clos'd again the wound in time,
First open'd by themselves.
35
In short, each tribe of various hue,Or cord or whipping-post their due,
(Converts to various crimes:)
Some prowling still at home for prey,
Or, with a vengeance sent away,
To visit foreign climes.
36
All these compleat thy pregnant list,Preserv'd in strong parochial-chest,
Thy record sure as free:
Were but their bodies with their names,
(As doubtless all their merit claims,)
Safe under lock and key.
9
37
As many are, who court thy grace,With pinion'd hands and ghastly face;
Now deem'd the bait of hell:
For scarce a wight at Tyburn swings,
But e'er the closing psalm he sings,
He hangs within thy Pale.
38
And so he should—for 'twas in thine,He broke the laws of truth divine,
And (as it happen'd) ours:
What pity then when all is done,
To leave the wretch distrest, alone,
In any hands but yours!
39
For yours he liv'd, or yours he dies,And yours 'tis fear'd he's like to rise,
At that decisive day:
When many a fierce and doughty son,
Whom here thou boastedst as thine own,
Will swift be doom'd away.
40
As will the rest on Packs or post,Who nothing better have to boast,
Than that thou wast their Dam;
Where grapes will never pass for thorns,
(As here) or sheep's for dragon's horns,
Or stinking goats for lamb.
41
Record we now ten thousand more,Of strumpets many a flagrant score,
Pick-pockets and physicians:
10
With bailiffs, ketches, scribes and sh'riffs,
Kidnappers and musicians.
42
Pawn-brokers, agents, auctioneers,Tide-waiters, painters, sonnetteers,
A sniv'ling, snarling crew:
Turnkeys and critics, hungry, keen,
As full of emptiness as spleen,
Me, W*rb*rt*n, and you.
43
Courtiers and merchants—trading band,With all who pad or haunt the Strand,
The opera or the masque:
House-breakers, horse-jockies, and cits,
Thief-takers, Jews, and jilts, and wits,
That smell the tap or flask.
11
44
Bakers, an allom'd, earless race;Farmers, a rude, unthankful, base,
And discontented train:
Maintain a God, yet blame his pow'r,
First ask, then deprecate the show'r,
And curse th' impending rain.
45
Lawyers, and highwaymen, and thieves;O what a contrast she receives,
If contrast can be found
'Twixt thieves who rob you here or there,
Or thieves who rob you only where
Both laws and thieves abound!
46
Church-wardens, sides-men, overseers,Who starve the poor, then mock their tears:
Yet guardians of their wealth!
A knot of villains—who combine
T'embezzle, cheat, carouse, and dine;
Then drink the parish health.
47
Envoys, and messengers, and spies,With mails that fetch and carry lies,
From change, the camp, or court:
Returning-officers and cryers,
Gamblers and looby-country 'squires,
Each others bait and sport.
48
All the blasphemers in the land;Foremost of whom and high shall stand,
Foul Nor wich-blasphemy:
12
Cats represent the Lamb of God;
As they themselves do thee.
49
A seat of riot, lust, and pride!Scarce one so much as aims to hide
His insolence or shame:
Where perjur'd juries villains clear:
Villains, who honest at the bar,
Plead guilty to their name.
50
Distillers, panders, parasites,Gin-drinkers, bawds, and catamites;
Gossips at cards or pray'r:
Tories, and jacobites, (half knaves)
With fierce Creolians and their slaves;
All triumph as thy care!
51
Prudes and coquets—a mottled band,Who knit their brows, or beck the hand,
And boast a coxcomb's smile:
13
Alike devout at church or ring,
All decorate thine isle.
52
Next see two huge Academies:School of disloyalty and lies,
Where wit and treason shines:
Her rival, trustier of the two;
But stain'd (if blown the trumpet true)
With atheists and divines.
53
With these conjoin a thousand more,Of vaulted roof, or humble floor;
With pedagogues—their Dames:
Where swish the rods or whirl the toys;
With packs of saucy, free-school boys,
Who call their betters names.
54
Guardians of orphans, and trustees;(Publick or private charities:)
A miser leaves an heir;
Or else, a sum to save his soul,
The Ward—or Chanc'ry—ask the whole,
'Tis vanish'd—none knows where!
55
Pilots, a surly, brutish band;Boatswains, sea-tyrants, blust'ring stand,
All hail the Church's worth!
Wake with a roar the starting crew,
Wou'd stun e'en Boreas, tho' he blew
A tempest from the North.
56
Disturbers of your private peace;For pride, or hate, or wantonness;
All heroes of mis-rule!
14
Of Marg'ret's round-house, or her pale,
The gate-house and the school.
57
Keepers of Bedlams—cursed crew!Would make e'en tortur'd spirits rue
That ever they were born:
Where starve, or howl the friendless poor,
Chain'd to the sacking or the floor,
Unpity'd and forlorn.
58
Colliers and miners, ghastly race!With horny hands and grimy face,
Enflam'd with vice and zeal:
Their throats (more hoarse than ravens) sing
(Tho' in their hearts they curse the king)
Thy dignity and ale.
59
All villains yet unhang'd: L---Their horror, he who crowns the top
Of Justice' portly train:
Equal to hear, discern, decide,
Untaint or by a world bely'd:
Jew-biters and R---n.
15
60
Palmers of others books or notes,Decyph'rers of another's thoughts,
For knavery or ease:
Take words or vowels as they want,
Turn it to treason or to rant,
As, or unbrib'd, or pleas'd.
16
61
Dutch-priests, that broil like toasted cheese:With meagre upstart Refugees,
Their origin their shame:
And why? because of foreign blood?
No—but their ancestors were good:
Half lost or chang'd their name.
62
But who need wonder at their pride?(The beggar's proverb on their side:)
Who if they once can mount,
(Like windmills) fly with hands and heels,
Bound o'er the lawn or Spittal-fields,
A weaver—or a count!
63
No censure on their call or trade;If any 'tis themselves have made;
Such burlesque and grimace!
Who not long since wore naked toes,
At best conceal'd by wooden shoes;
Now lacquer'd o'er with lace.
17
64
Another trips a fribbled fop:His father now keeps on that shop:
But if believ'd his word,
Or saucy mien, ye ne'er would guess
Him or his sire could well be less
Than sheriff, knight, or lord.
65
Another strides a long leg'd fool,A citizen's or villain's tool:
A daughter to dispose:
No fear of making up the match,
Each lie incog. upon the catch:
The Thistle and the Rose.
66
Now mend the breed—one more removeFrom all they hate to all they love:
Now sprout the gilded horn:
They drum, they masque, they play, they dance,
Their children's Sire ne'er came from France:
(One ancestor ne'er born.)
67
Or if abroad—'twas only once,And then to heal him as a Dunce:
Paternal, kind intent!
But like the Fondlings of the day,
Took with a spitting came away,
A greater than he went.
68
Another (more oblique his line)Or coins himself, or springs a mine:
(What have not ideots found!)
Compels his son to tend a Mule,
Or keeps his daughter for a fool,
With twenty thousand pound.
18
69
Thus mean, they'd hide their former state,Yet prove it all by looking great;
(As Wild-air ne'er were Wilks:)
“Why, yes, we're Weavers, that is true,
“But then the difference, Sir, you know,
“We only weave your Silks.”
70
“Nor this ourselves—we all keep men,“And only step in now and then;
“For fellows left at will,
“Are mighty apt to run astray,
“Or idle, lownge the time away,
“While stands our engine still.”
71
Your servant, Sirs, ye then do weave,But do not work, yet, by your leave,
You still are but a Trade:
And, to your shame, with hearts as stones,
Ye starve your brethren or their sons,
Whose fathers gave you bread!
72
A double meaning here interr'd,To them, or to the State referr'd;
Ye rule with hard command:
Or threat, or chain (as slaves) to work,
Then pay with more regret than Turk,
The labour of their hand.
73
What wonder then no more your boast,Whose refuge here your fathers cost
Their heritage or blood!
Ye must have more than common brass,
To own yourselves the lineal race
Of martyrs for their God.
19
74
We own they fled from Priests and war,From sword, from violence, and fear,
This then their broken song:
Yet after all their deaths or pain,
Would none of you return again,
Si s'offriroit l'Argent?
75
If then contemn'd your Names or Trade,The alteration's easy made;
A gentle, satin'd tone:
You know—to chouse an Englih ear;
Soit il “merchands des Poux,” mes freres,
Et—“Messieurs les Fripons.”
76
Blame then not Louis, nor his guards,The unmeant source of your rewards,
Now glitt'ring at your side:
But blame yourselves, ye fallen race,
For rising from your dread disgrace,
By cruelty or pride.
77
Ye cannot blush a deeper hue,Than would your Ancestors for you,
Were they to rise once more:
Tho' chance if you would own alive,
But bid the parish-beadles drive
Your Parents from their door.
78
To close our reasons why you're here,Because in many points so near
Our Liturgy and Text:
This then the reason just, as plain,
Why, after all this length of pain,
You're coupled with the next.
20
79
Tag-rag and bob-tail, small and great;Who die in barns or lie in State;
Informers and Directors:
With all the fortune telling crew
Of Canning's foes or Ashley's Jew,
Rat-catchers and Inspectors.
80
Hoymen and beadles, Whigs and pimps,Custom-house officers and crimps,
(All brethren of thy lath!)
Commanders, mariners, and clerks,
Pursers and knights (as keen as sharks)
Of Post, or of the Bath.
81
Sharpers, and sodomites, and beaux,Masters of bagnios, stage, and shows;
Haunters of pits or pews:
The saint and sinner, plump or thin,
With fasting fat, with feeding lean,
All members of thy house.
82
Next, bloods and bucks, and dancing-masters,With poet-laureats, poetasters,
A rhyming, scribbling band:
Brandish their bludgeon, plume, or toe;
Play on your violin or you,
As nearest at command.
83
Watchmen, who reel their midnight round,And stern or feeble, hoarse resound,
“The sky—how dark or bright!”
21
Her sons attend—alarm'd their fear:
“Past twelve o'clock at night!”
84
The night of senselessness and sin;The time thy lawless sons begin
The riot of their Day:
The day, unblest by light or sun;
Nay, struck with fear, the trembling moon
Withdraws her beams away.
85
Surgeons, soft butchers of mankind,In all the arts of pain refin'd;
But—“Knowledge must be had:”
They slash, they wound, ampute, divide,
Then curse the patient or deride,
Nay damn him—for he's dead.
86
Tinners, a hardy savage brood,Thirsty alike of ale or blood;
A subterraneous herd:
Monsters of brutishness and noise,
Whose mobs (like waves) lift up their voice:
What horrible regard
87
For thee the Mother of them all!Nay, thine ev'n greater monsters call,
The cursed, lawless line
Of Cornish plunderers, whose hands
Imbru'd in blood, a witness stands
They must be Rome's or Thine.
88
Nurses and searchers of the dead;Fell terrors of a dying bed,
E'er ends the senseless groan!
22
Or drunken bear their prize away,
The mortmain of their loan.
89
Mayors, and aldermen, and cooks,Recorders, chamberlains, and Rooks
Grim serjeants of the mace:
Hoppers, and justices, and scolds;
With pilferers of silk or coals;
And draw-boys, shoeless race!
90
Smugglers, with who abet or buy;With all the wanton flimsy fry,
Of fribbles and of belles;
Who only sit in thee to stare,
At painted glass or painted Fair,
But neither pray nor kneel.
91
Sweep-chimneys, link-boys, night-men run,(How vastly like each kindred-son!)
Desert their jakes or lurch:
And drunken reel, or dead drunk fall,
To help support the tott'ring wall,
Of feeble Mother-Church.
23
92
Writers and printers of obscene;Who vend, or buy, or read, or mean;
Alike impure and vile:
Rakers of kennels, or debauch,
Who beat their trulls, or beat the watch;
All glory in thy smile.
93
Traitors and rebels—cursed band!Foes of their sov'reign and the land;
Supporters of thy shrine!
Whate'er profest, wherever found,
Above, beneath, or under ground,
Are either Rome's or Thine.
94
Monopolizers of our trade:“But Dives has his fortune made.”
Dives! Pray who is he?
Why, ev'ry villain you can name,
That (to his country's hurt or shame)
Wou'd sell the State for Tea.
95
Fishmongers—scaly, water'd fry,Who drink, and sweat, and stink, and lye,
“How bounteous Providence!”
True—but his bounty is your Bane;
'Tis Scarcity that brings you gain;
“How lawful Self-defence!”
96
Free-Masons—strange, promiscuous brood,Of vulgar-great and low-bred lewd:
The Peer and peerless one:
Sworn to conceal—what, if proclaim'd,
Were or too filthy to be nam'd,
Or worthless to be known.
24
97
Juries and jurymen—a crew!Yet all twelve honest men and true,
“Here, gentlemen, you swear,
“A legal verdict ye will bring
“Between our sov'reign lord the king,
“And pris'ner at the bar.”
98
The cause is heard—perplex'd the case;But ev'ry thing you know gives place:
“We've waited here from nine.”
Thus “wretches hang (as sings the bard,
But pray, my lords, is it not hard?)
“That jurymen may dine.”
99
Court-martials—how august a train!All gracious military men:
How charming the parade!
'Tis no great crime “come—thirty score,
“'Tis for the honour of the corps,
“And judgment is our trade.”
100
See there a trembling coward stand,The Ensign totters from his hand,
His knees disjointed smite:
Out steps a hero from the line,
“Here, take it, Sir, again, 'tis thine;
“And see you hold it tight.”
101
Trembling, he touches it once more;Then drops it as 'twas dropt before,
“For shame! a second time!”
But, miss'd the hazard of the day,
Unshot himself he bears away,
The Standard of his crime!
25
102
And what is more than this—Revenge,This and insult—to pimp or cringe,
Is all a Coward can.
A health is drank—not at the State—
“The court—I hope will vindicate
“My honour and it's stain.”
103
They do—and what's the consequence?Why, you have neither grace nor sense,
And they as void of thought:
The brave is punish'd in your room,
Tho' hanging was by right your doom,
Or else to have been shot.
104
Recruiting officers—a line,How tall, how manly, or how fine!
But hark, the martial strife;
The king wants men—“come, beat away,
“Here, who's for blood and present pay?”
While—Thraso steals a wife!
105
Millers—a thievish, dusty race,How like the grinders of thy grace!
Who starve or feed the soul:
Not as they ought, but as they're paid,
Each has his grist (so much per head)
These Tythe, as they their Toll.
106
Keepers of taverns and of inns,Drivers of stages and machines,
A drinking, surly crew;
“You want a cast, an outside seat;
“Well, sir, you'll walk before and wait,
“We'll easy make it do.”
26
107
'Tis done, he mounts, as if by chance,The gentleman's just come from France,
A barber or a 'Squire;
No matter which, within, if room,
'Tis but a Surgeon or a groom:
While Jehu steals the hire.
108
Smithies, a black, besmeared band,With goggled eyes precinctive stand,
And strike the tortur'd bar:
Burning themselves with drink and zeal,
They mob or plunder for thy weal:
A hot, infernal war!
109
Writers of Epitaphs and Lives,Where each his character derives
Not from his own desert:
But from his modesty or pride,
Who pays an architect to hide
The baseness of his Heart.
110
But here's a rule will never fail,('Tis plain as if the bard should tell)
A Fool is always wise:
In ev'ry page the Contrast read,
That is the portrait of the dead:
The statue stands and lies.
111
Writers and readers of romance,Where virtue's nothing but a trance,
And vice the real flame:
E'en Pamela with all her grace.
Wears nothing but an angel's Face:
A jilt, her end and aim.
27
112
Thus is corruption sent abroad,In hers and in the name of God:
What poison of the pen!
But such the taste, and such the age!
That cry the wanton and the sage,
“Pray won't he write again?”
113
Coroners Inquests and their head:You see that felon lately dead,
They swear “He dy'd insane:
He might, but not as means the Law,
Who by her threats would keep in awe
The Felo-de-se-an Train.
114
She holds no other lunacy,Than what may come from family,
Or loss of something here:
But his was quite another thing,
It strikes a beggar or a king:
'Twas Conscience and despair.
115
Conscience of guilt and various sin;The loss of happiness within,
Nor hope of future weal:
Cover'd with infidel-distress,
Of God forsaken and his peace,
He seeks for rest in Hell.
116
Where else can plunge the horrid ghost,Of souls to grace and virtue lost?
Perhaps deny'd a God:
Can any such behold his face?
For ever number'd with the race
Of Erebus' abode!
28
117
Deal-men and duellers, fell pair!Drown'd drunk, or stabb'd, thy blessing share,
And boast their filial line:
Ruffians and murderers for pride,
Their guilt beneath thy banner hide,
And help pollute the shrine!
118
Milliners, (Virtue's hate and bane)A forward, wanton, flimsy train,
Designing, shrewd, and sly:
Upstarts from nothing, or from worse:
The Templar's idol and his curse:
Now paint a kindred fry.
119
Upholsterers, a saucy race,With clumsy hands, and brazen face,
Assure you “all is clean.”
They've taken more than they could find,
That is, a few are left behind,
To breed and bite again.
120
Black undertakers, who'd interrThe dead or living:—what their care,
But to secure their aim?
Like vultures watch your dying breath,
Then nail you in the case of death,
Less dreadful than their name.
121
Pirates and pages of the stairs;Butchers, and hell-born privateers;
A furious, sanguine crew!
Plunder or scrape, blaspheme or roar,
Infest the main, the court, or shore;
Unchangeable, true blue!
29
122
What trusty friends thy Body guard!But what of most the sole reward?
Why orthodox', and Gin.
Give them but these, they'll give thee all,
Or fair or foul, or great or small;
And thy reward their Sin.
123
These, with the laws thy fathers made,(For making laws was once their trade,
As since it has been thine)
Will safe defend thy lawless claims,
A proof beyond what Scripture names,
Of Tythes or Rights divine.
124
Yet some of them not always pleas'd,Oft grumble that they are not eas'd
Of what they feel a yoke:
And which, but for more cogent ties,
Than all thy menaces or lies,
Had long ago been broke.
125
Nor could they justly have been blam'd,If dubious ought thy pride had claim'd,
Had been reclaim'd again;
Till better prov'd than only said,
And so have made thee earn thy bread,
Like other honest men.
126
Nor can we still the injury see,That would accrue to them or thee,
If this was now the case:
For should'st thou all thy claims disown,
The prince and poor would but their own,
And thou resume thy place.
30
127
And what less righteous be desir'd,Than that thy sons with virtue fir'd,
Should seek not theirs but them?
Not to oppress but save the souls,
Who long have wander'd from the folds
Of thy Jerusalem.
128
However this was not thy task,But theirs who might do more than ask
A favour from thy call?
Might have compell'd thee full and large,
To feed thy flock and keep thy charge,
For less than Tythe of all.
129
But they were dull and thou wast keen,As full of guile as they of spleen;
E'er watchful o'er thine ends:
But leaving these tho' not unblam'd,
Recount (with dignity) unnam'd,
Thy more conspicuous friends.
130
High in the front, and foremost stand,K---g, L---s, and C---s of the land:
But be not over vain,
For wary of thy craft and pride,
Reserv'd they curb, or slack' ning guide
Thy legislative rein.
131
These are the pillars of thy state:Base of thy vast, unwieldy weight;
Yet, while they seem to crown
The Dome of thine aspiring head,
Let fall the talent of their lead,
To keep thy Genius down.
31
132
Well knowing, that if left at large,The sole dominion and the charge
Of either them or theirs,
In time there's nothing would remain,
But, or the galley or the chain,
For them and for their Heirs!
133
Next view some monsters, horrid N---h!P---m, P---n and A---h!
With Nuda flagrant lass!
All bare of honesty or shame,
As e'er was northern ice of flame,
Or, Barrister of grace.
134
Base Reneg adoes, who desertTheir native cast, untouch'd in Heart,
Tho' circumcis'd their skin:
And with the blasphemy of pride,
Insult of wealth, embronz'd deride
The base-born Nazarene.
135
Yet these are thine; egregious boast!Thy converts, converts to thy cost,
And converts to their own:
Replete with infamy of Fame,
Enhanc'd your mutual guilt and shame,
Till mutually undone!
136
Long-Acre ruffians and their noise,Coachmakers, Papists, Bridewell-boys,
Puffs, Cl---d---n, W---t, and R---k:
32
With all the red hot high church foes
Of Cromwell, Boyle, and Locke
137
Old wives that sit on stalls or Benches,Bear-garden heroes, orange wenches,
Or Billingsgate's loud glee:
Scullions and turn-spits, chamber-maids,
'Prentices bound, or free from trades,
Decide or scream for thee.
138
Opposers of the publick good:See there a nusance long has stood:
A Bridge to ferry Mules!
“It should be taken down no doubt.”
Why then, content with giving out,
Your Ancestors were Fools?
139
And what are you, whose lust of gain,Oppones the just concerted plan
For Safety or for Use?
Read here your name at length, a Knave,
To thieves or bacchanals a slave,
The Target of the Muse.
33
140
Nay more, a Murderer esteem'd:Nor let the vengeful bard be blam'd,
While with resentive eye,
He draws the huge, compressive crowd,
Squeezing to dangers, deaths, or blood:
Unheard their helpless cry.
141
Where age, or impotence infirm,Extend their unsupported arm;
No refuge here is found:
While clattering wheels absorp their voice
Suffus'd amidst the direful noise
Of hurry and it's sound.
142
Where furious drivers fierce contend:Where next is seen on either hand,
A drove of madden'd herd:
Gor'd by the arms of brutes humane,
Tortur'd they roar or turn again,
Unsane and undeterr'd.
143
Who then obstructs, his Genius shows;Shares in the guilt of present woes,
And vindicates the past:
Murders the nations that have been,
Adopts his rude forefather's sin,
And struts a civic beast!
144
Nor less their memory abhor,Their taste accurst, nor mean, adore
Their Grandeur or their Fame:
34
In Size or Substance overgrown:
Our patterns to our shame!
145
Whose muddy'd steps their offspring trace;A stupid, earthy-minded race,
Of Citizens or swine!
Like these emplung'd in filth, they thrive,
While cleanlier souls are doom'd to live
In darkness, dirt and sin.
146
With these a more pernicious clan,Their City's and the Nation's bane;
Tho' now extinct their breath:
Who bore the sword of Justice' law:
Yet justice but Injustice saw,
Herself adjudg'd to Death.
147
Brow-beat the fervent and the good,Revil'd the jealous for his God,
From pride, despite, or gain:
Favour'd the profligate and base;
Their Office and it's End's disgrace:
They bore the sword in vain.
148
The sword of subalternate rule;Lean, puisné judges in the school
Of Albion's sire supreme;
But how unlike his equal hand,
Who waves his sceptre o'er the land;
Her benefit his aim.
35
149
Nor them forget, if yet are foundTheir like unlifted from the ground,
The many or the few:
Who with the air of Mercy's friend,
An Exon's furious imps desend,
Or, Denbigh's lawless crew!
150
Chemists, apothecaries, brewers,Who cleanse or foul the common sewers
Of all thy sickly sons:
Poison'd with ale or oil, or drug,
They die—the sharpers mimp or shrug;
Then canonize their bones!
151
Next, see a group of formal sons,Solemn as owls, or Spanish Dons;
Half sober, half devout:
36
With hiccup shake their heads—“No Law!
“She's ruin'd, there's no doubt!”
152
Ruin'd by whom? ye tippling tribe!Her ale and tenets ye imbibe;
What has she more to lose?
Unless yourselves, or any worse,
'Gainst whom the law sues her divorce:
And these bequeath their shoes!
153
With them enroll a kindred-clan,All true-blue church-men to a man,
Who wave their rags or birch:
But never sigh, or care, or think,
Save when conven'd, athirst they drink,
“Come, brother, here's the Church!”
154
Stock-jobbers, bankers, keen as steel,Who'd eat the gold their fingers feel,
But gold will Freedoms buy:
Born, or to mend, or lacker shoes;
How black their heels! how white their hose!
How arrogant their Tye!
155
Draymen and us'rers court thy door,Who fleece their cattle or the poor,
Cruel, severe, and fierce:
Coachmen and porters, drinking band!
Who drive or carry half the land,
On shoulders or their hearse.
156
Domestic-servants, hellish brood.Idle, lascivious, bold, and proud,
A base, purloining fry:
37
Their Lords their Patterns, and their Sport,
Like whom they live, or die.
157
Footmen and valets, above all,That trip the salon or the hall;
These too revere thy dome:
Who cry (their lady half in view,
Leering at them, herself, and you,)
“Her Grace is not at home.”
158
Quack-doctors, midwives, and buffoons;With conjurers who wax by moons,
And fools that wane by them:
Stewards, and wood-reeves, pilf'ring fry;
Who steal their coach, or ride and tye:
With poachers wild and tame.
159
Arians, socinians, and deists,Gluttons and drunkards, (human beasts!)
Time servers, palm'd or vext:
'Tis well, thy limits are confin'd
To proselytes of human kind,
Or whom might we have next?
160
To close, we add a fearful crew,Bigots and hypocrites, (thy due)
Who growl or whine thy praise:
With malice cry, “O what a shame
“T' abuse our Mother's sacred name,
“In these harmonious days!”
161
“Days of such harmony and peace,“(O might they ne'er grow short or cease!)
“When all without or in,
38
“The Church and Schism, all one soul,
“And love and live in—Sin.”
162
Infidels, sceptics, calvinists,And half-reforming Methodists,
Are at thine altars seen:
Nay these have (arch enough) in Song
Late prov'd thee neither right nor wrong,
Or worst half way between.
163
Just as they'd set their wits to work,To prove thee neither Jew nor Turk,
As if unknown before,
That take away the bad from all,
E'en foul mouth'd L*v---g---n's a Paul,
Nor Rome herself a Whore!
164
These know that take away their pride,Homil's and Articles aside,
Scarce one poor reed so vile,
But tho' 'tis now esteem'd our own,
Yet did, or might at least have grown,
On her prolific soil.
165
To such, thou'rt equally oblig'd,As citadels when close besieg'd,
By foes encompass'd round:
Are to their friends who make a rout,
T' annoy the enemy without,
Yet undermine the ground.
166
For were their Tenets to take place,(Alike for once both theirs and Grace)
Which still were meetly just:
39
As ramparts batter'd from their wall,
Low levell'd with the dust.
167
And yet they aim thy tow'rs to raise,Attend thy courts, affect thy praise,
Reciprocally given:
Allow there may be more than one,
But still persuaded thine alone,
The safest way to heaven.
168
Indeed all know there is but one;Yet not restrain'd to thine alone,
E'en where thou bear'st the sway:
There's many that ne'er saw thy face,
At least ne'er saw thy fund of grace,
And yet they find their way.
169
Nay this perhaps with small ado,As naked of thy farce and show,
Their hindrance so much less:
Pursue the crown reserv'd on high,
Mount easier to their native sky,
Compleat as sure their bliss.
170
But here we must a moment stop,To pick up what thou would'st not drop,
Tho' not of Right divine:
“Not found Dissenter here—not one;”
Yet O that among them were none
Who too resemble thine!
171
Who, tho' they may not make thy noise,Yet slander with low, whisp'ring voice,
Poison'd as hemlock-tree:
40
As frighted at thy mobs, deny,
“They differ much from thee.”
172
And truly in the sense they mean,Who well know how to trim between
Religion and the Times:
They differ mighty little more
Than does the cold Norwegian shore
From Hyperborean climes.
173
Alike your zeal, alike your love,For those who stand the least remove
From you or from your Mode:
Alike in gen'ral both your aims,
For each divine protection claims,
And Forms and Gain your god!
174
Now thine, from out whose dew-lap'd mouthAre bellow'd round from North to South
Thy honours all abroad!
Who drunk, or sober, sane, or mad,
Or blind, or lame, or brisk, or sad,
All wait thy pow'rful Nod.
175
Sure ne'er magician with his wand,In Egypt or Chaldean land,
Could e'er so just divine:
Or raise such swarms of frogs or mice,
As in a moment for thee rise,
With but a cast of thine!
176
For wave but this, O what a shoutOf noise, confusion, and of rout
From ev'ry quarter flows!
41
With fame and furniture all fall:
Fell slaughter of thy foes!
177
Or sound the trump's pontific clang,Or pulpit drum, parochial bang,
What squadrons soon are seen!
(As vultures flying from afar)
Around thy standard they repair,
Quadrangle, street, or green!
178
Some like a lion roar, or howlLike dogs, or stand aloof and growl;
Like apes their brethren grin:
All well employ'd in one design,
To save thy corps and Rights divine,
Without or sly within.
179
O what a group of high and low!Who stick at nothing they can do
To keep out Heresy!
But stamp or squeak, and swear or lye,
Nay steal, and murder, hang and die,
Or any thing for thee.
180
All these of different sorts and size,Or small, or great, or fool, or wise,
The frisking old or young:
With male and female, bond and free,
Adorn a staff or grace a tree,
Or bribe or bore the tongue.
181
These all are thine, as theirs thou art,Alike their hand, their head, and heart;
Who thy protection share:
42
As soon might wizard-Moore recount
The atoms of the air!
182
To what compare thy fertile womb?A den, a cavern, or the tomb?
Why not compare to all?
Dark, hollow, teeming, large and deep;
Or wild, or dead, or fast asleep;
And stubborn as a wall.
183
Or like a Mart, high vending place;Open for every age and face,
Who loiter, steal, or range:
Or, like the common road or street,
Where knaves, as honest, walk or meet;
As Albion's grand Exchange.
184
In short, thou'rt like a common shore,Filling and emptying, never pure
From pride, or pomp, or sin:
That (speak they truth who say they know)
With all thy Scavengers can do,
They cannot keep thee clean.
185
Sure 'tis thy Courtesy receivesThem all; who ought beside believes,
Without the least dispute,
He must conclude thee false as kind;
Free as a haven or the wind,
A common Prostitute.
186
And yet exceeds thy Charity!To dandle all upon thy knee,
And never once repine:
43
Whene'er she's drunk, be thou her toast,
And she again be thine!
187
For such indulgence sure and care,Is hardly seen in wedded pair,
As long discern'd in you:
For me, I scarce can think you twain,
So like your tempers and your mien,
As mickle that ye do!
188
But now thine answer to the whole;(I know it speaks thy very soul)
“Pray how shall we prevent?
“They all were born within our fence,
“And if we seem to drive them thence,
“They then will all dissent.”
189
Dissent from what? from thee or Sin?If both before, pray where had been
The infamy or wrong?
Thou might'st perhaps some credit lost,
Satan a smaller number boast,
And heav'n a brighter throng!
190
Well, and suppose who do should comeAnd supplicate your porch or dome:
How large your own disgrace!
The very thing that some would want,
Your Posts and Offices supplant;
And ye yourselves give place.
191
A thing your pride would burst to find,And yet how just! the same their mind,
The same neglect or care:
44
Of tythes and ranks, and dues and names,
Equal their pains and share.
192
But now they stand so far aloof;There's none dare stir, no not a hoof,
A mite receive or straw:
So far from this, compell'd to bear,
Their burden but of Loss or Care;
So bids the Church's law.
193
“They have their own,” why that is true,And do they not help nourish you,
Who else care not a shell,
Whether they sink, or whether swim,
Whether they wake, or whether dream,
And sudden start in hell?
194
Suffice it then that all's secur'd,Your pride, and pomp, and rights immur'd,
Ye call the land your own:
Leave them unenvy'd to enjoy
Without or censure or annoy,
Their legislative boon.
195
No thanks to you or yours the leave,They now possess to think or live,
As native right might claim:
Or even worship as they wou'd,
Whom once their fathers serv'd with blood;
Their present offspring's shame!
196
Time was when these their rights could boast;Time now when these and more is lost,
Than ever Racks could move:
45
Their flame for heav'n, their scorn of hell;
Their meekness and their love.
197
Now lost and swallow'd up in sin!Demure without, how proud within!
How quench'd the former flame!
Extinct and wither'd by the world,
Their order to confusion hurl'd,
And all their boast a name!
198
A name to live, but oh how dead!Slaves to their own or thine for bread,
Their whole pretence a form:
Full of themselves with thee deride,
And e'en Dissenters swell'd with pride,
Can emulate a storm.
199
Laugh in their sleeves at all the fears,The sufferings, sorrows, and the tears
That lav'd their fathers eyes:
To see a nation sunk in sin,
Their children now emplung'd therein,
And hunting after flies.
200
How chang'd their manners and the times!The Church establish'd and her crimes,
Adopted for their own:
So much alike their mien and air,
Why not their stock as well as care,
Incorporate in one?
46
201
What harmony of thought subsistsBetween their Pastors and thy Priests?
How like their aim and ends!
Alike their prejudice and pride,
And both unite in all (beside
The House of God) are Friends.
202
No wonder censur'd their Dissent!What pity ought should e'er prevent
The junction of your hands?
So much alike your mutual state,
Neither can find a meeter mate;
What can forbid the Banns?
203
These scorn and hate (what can ye more?)The men who would their life restore,
And call them up from death:
From dulness, emptiness, or form;
Their heart with ancient ardor warm;
Resin'd their baleful breath.
204
Stop the loud clamour of the day,To peace and honour pave their way,
Regardless of their own:
Take all the burden of their shame,
Patient, expect a better name,
To Martyrs yet unknown.
205
But ah! what hopes the least return!Who all reproof or caution scorn;
The madman's voice despise:
Keep at a distance as from fear,
Listen a lie or pausing leer,
And turn away their eyes.
47
206
Mean, narrow, dull, constricted souls,Pinion'd (like geese) within their folds,
Scarce justify the pen
Drawn in their cause, unask'd as kind,
But if they knew, (so base their mind!)
Would vilify the Man.
207
And from a heart of pride malign,Of envy, spite, and low design,
The kind regard would wound:
Or with an air of insolence,
Devoid of candour as of sense,
Exclaim “They are not sound.”
208
“Not sound!” ye hypocrites, why so?Who taught you Sound or Sense to know?
Is orthodox' your trade?
Go tell your own to blush and learn,
To wound, reprove, invite, or warn,
Unfearful and unpaid.
209
Here then we leave you and your crimes,For better hopes and better times,
When ye may be restor'd:
Or wait with trembling fear the doom
Pronounc'd alike on more than Rome,
For calling Jesus “Lord”
210
But to resume our talk with thee,Who scarce can'st with thine own agree;
But highly discompos'd,
If any e'en within thy pale,
Are wrested not from thee, but hell;
As if thy shame expos'd.
48
211
But put the worst, they shou'd dissent,Pray what by all this rout is meant,
Unless the horrid aim
(Tremble my heart as on the brink
Of deepest hell) that none may think
Diversive of thy Scheme?
212
Was ever found so hard or vain?So opposite to God or Man?
Say why the mind it's own?
But to discern, accept, refuse,
Or form to any other use,
By many or by one.
213
Why not then theirs as well as ours,To use or light or native pow'rs
Of God or reason giv'n?
Was it not this? that these might judge
(Freely from all the dupe or drudge)
Their claim or path to heav'n?
214
Come don't oppose your sacred call,To point or pave the way for all,
Or ideot or wise:
Go find yourselves the paths of bliss,
Or never prophesy of peace;
Ye blind of heart and eyes!
215
Nor false pretend thy love to them,While yet (how base neglect and shame!)
Thine own are dead in sleep!
Hard seeking death amidst their life,
In pride, or wantonness, or strife;
Fast hurrying to the deep!
49
216
For know, 'tis not who swerves from thee,In point of Mode or Theory,
That risks his future weal:
But who dissents from truth and peace,
Who breaks the laws of righteousness,
He seeks the path to hell.
217
Besides what is it ye would have?Wish ye a universe to save,
Against or law or right?
What can ye more than now possess?
Except that purity and peace
So far beyond your sight!
218
What have ye not that ye esteem?May ye not range, or sink, or swim
For ought that these impede?
Did not we know your constant lay,
One should but deem you as in play,
Or lunatic your Head.
219
Nay—if the failure prov'd no worse,A cure might chance be found in course
Of providence and time:
But now what can be said or done?
For plain from what yourselves must own,
'Tis not Defect but Crime.
220
Sure ye forget the hardy day,When first your fathers brake their way
From Rome, now turn'd behind:
You do not think they only came
Half naked from the sanguine dame,
And brought away her Mind!
50
221
Was it not this they just abhorr'd?(Her pride of thought and pomp of word!)
To speak or think forbid:
'Till first obtain'd her Papal nod,
High sitting in the place of God,
His Church's lordly head?
222
Whence sprang the darkness of her night?Whence the remove of all her light?
Whence all her matchless crimes?
Whence inquisitions, racks, and caves?
Whence broken hearts and howling slaves?
Feel ye not yet the times?
223
Whence sprang the whole, and myriads more?Some broil'd in flames, or bath'd in gore,
Or stretch'd beneath their pain?
Whence all their sorrows and distress?
The loss of property or peace?
Whence Rome's infernal reign?
224
Sprang it not hence (bleed thou my heart,At those who wish re-plung'd her dart,
In Albion's fairest breast:)
Sprang it not hence, the pride of men,
Drunk with the lore of lust and gain?
Rise hell and speak the rest!
225
And would ye then be thought like these?Long ye again to break our peace?
Our very thoughts confine?
Away then all your plaint of Rome,
Awake your rant—now reeking come,
From her successive line.
51
226
But can ye this succession boast?What lies, what lives, what livres cost
Her lineal descent!
Yclep'd the apostolic line,
Yet wove at Rome—pontific twine;
How strong and permanent!
227
Made of that scourge—the Saviour's pain,Now drawn at length—a lineal chain,
Of Prelates and their Laws:
Extended line of pomp and lies,
Of blood, of torture, and of vice:
The sweet-meats of her jaws!
228
Broken and knotted like a cord,That hangs a traitor to his lord,
His country or his king:
Snapt in ten thousand pieces—ty'd,
To stretch their neck or lash the hide;
How worn the sacred string!
229
A rope of villains and of Priests,Fierce as the tyger or the beasts,
Of Afric's wild domain:
Yet they and all their claims divine!
All of a piece, the same their line,
The same their future pain.
230
Enough now seen, on what depend?Patient await till seen their end,
What double torment feel!
When justice cuts the long-stretch'd cord,
And priests now pendant with their lord,
For ever plung'd in hell!
52
231
O what a plunge of guilty weight!(Ne'er yet so plung'd a falling state)
All hell the splash resounds!
Her nations flee the dread surprize,
While floods of liquid sulphur rise,
And overflow their bounds!
232
Such are the crimes, and such the doom,Of all who follow her and Rome,
For just alike their aim:
Each seeks his own and nothing more,
Each serves alike the Scarlet Whore,
And justifies her claim.
233
Alike the scornful empty smileOf saucy flirts, or the revile
Of saints invective breath:
The beau, the rake, the sot, the 'squire,
'Tis all a spark of the same fire,
Emitted from beneath!
234
Who laughs your conscience—soon would frown!Fair the occasion change his tone,
Condemn you to the flame:
Nor here confine the curst decree,
But lost to all humanity,
Would stand, and see you damn.
235
'Tis all revenge, and spite, and scorn:You think and they would see you burn,
Alike devout and civil:
'Tis by them all or spoke or meant;
In judgment or in vengeance sent,
To prison or the devil.
53
236
Who then in thought, or word, or deed,Would see us pine, would see us bleed,
For sentiment or mode:
Shews that he feels a Murderer's mind,
Approves her slaughters unconfin'd,
A monster in his brood!
237
Beside, if Liberty's destroy'd,All reason, grace, and nature void,
All or of place or times:
All soon to dire confusion hurl'd,
Nor God himself repays the world,
The vengeance of their crimes.
238
Plead not of Rome the dire mistake,(She pleads it something else to make,
All her designs are one)
“That all are not enough endu'd,
“With light of evil or of good,
“To chuse or leave alone.”
239
This reason hers, she proves it good,But such her zeal, 'tis prov'd by blood;
Her charity how kind!
Seizes a wretch, (what fair Intent!)
Tortures him thoughts he never meant,
And screws him to her mind.
240
From hence what base deceit and fraud?The priest and loaf are both a God;
Half worship'd, half devour'd!
And yet within, are both despis'd,
As nothing more when just revis'd,
Than priest-crast and it's gourd.
54
241
Despis'd by all, constrain'd to cry,From fear or pay, or truth or lye,
As they themselves have done:
By this evinc'd their call a trade,
Who by their force or guile have made
Another's crimes their own.
242
For who another's mind directs,Answers his sins or his defects,
In reason or in grace:
Nor less shall answer in that day,
When God with recompence shall pay
Each tyrant to his face.
243
Then rather dread the horrid thought,A stranger to thy sentence brought,
By violence or fraud:
If found at length thyself a knave,
Or pupil, an extorted slave;
How answers each his God?
244
Who then but for some base reward(Conscience asleep or disregard)
Would of himself assume
As meet or just, or fair or wife,
To claim or close a stranger's eyes?
For ever felt his doom!
245
Reply'd, “But is it not enjoin'd,“That all should bear one heart, one mind,
“And think and speak the same?
“That all should seek the common weal,
“Another's joy or torture feel,
“His glory or his shame?”
55
246
Speaks this thy candour or thy pride?Thy love for Union, or to hide
The secret of thy hate
At those who chuse to think from thee,
And deem thy fractur'd unity,
A creature of the State?
247
If but the former were the case,With ease and with a milder grace,
Thy meekness would submit:
No more thy wrath as thunders roll,
Disclos'd the meanness of thy soul;
Or weakness of thy feet!
248
Great minds are like the stately oak;Unmov'd, at least are mov'd unbroke,
Nor heed the tempest's roar:
While little souls, like whiffling trees,
Are ruffled by a common breeze,
As from their surface tore!
249
Yet just the reas'ning, nay divine:But what an angle draws their line?
Deviate the point from Love:
Drawn from the centre of their pride,
Themselves eccentric, base deride
The needful, just remove.
250
Love is the centre of the soul!Magnetic sun, that draws the whole,
Enflames the mind humane
With all the virtues of her Sire,
Primeval, uncreated Fire,
That warms the Cherubin!
56
251
Angels but love, what can they more?Cause why they burn, rejoice, adore,
Yet see not all the same:
To these more heighten'd scenes reveal'd,
On those yet larger raptures seal'd;
But who dare angels blame?
252
Why then to blame, another's sightMore than thine own—a dimner light?
What each that is not given?
Hast thou the clearer of the two?
Or, not the blind, more clear than you?
The gracious boon of heav'n!
253
To move the matter from dispute,Much to the general Fall impute,
To Nature much or Age:
Much to the Nurture of the mind,
In all to error most inclin'd:
The infant or the sage.
254
Much to the Genius of the times,Much to the bane of foreign climes,
Much to thyself ascribe:
Another place in thy own stead,
Or, on his shoulders fix thy head;
His principles imbibe.
255
Or, if thou canst a horn-book read,Hear this (O were it in thy creed!)
The argument is strong:
“'Tis plain as just—(why look so small?)
“Who licence has to think at all,
“Has licence to think wrong.”
57
256
Not this to harden or excuseOr nature's errors or abuse
Of freedom or of grace:
But to abate thy vast surprize,
That others see with other's eyes,
Or wear another's face.
257
To move thy pity, and to warmThy frozen heart, to teach, inform,
Reprove, or fervid raise
The smallest sparks of weak desire,
Till kindled the ethereal fire
To an ethereal blaze.
258
Lastly, to move thy grateful boon,If greater light on thee has shone,
Or ardor warm'd thy mind:
Not to exaggerate thy pride,
Much less to punish or deride,
Unmanly as unkind.
259
Again, if all in all agree,All might appear as harmony,
Thro' just distinction void:
Like octav'd chords, of equal tone,
Monotic notes, alike, alone,
The list'ning hearer cloy'd.
260
But finish'd harmony is form'd,And music's graceful soul is warm'd,
By Difference of sound:
Well-mingled tones, of flats or sharp,
While softest lute, or sprightly harp,
Or echoing stops rebound.
58
261
Where different parts and different chordsEach in their place it's aid affords,
Nay, Discords help the choir:
Chromatic sounds, of jarring strains,
While all the rumbling bass maintains:
All harmony and fire!
262
So in the Band of charity,Where differ all, yet all agree,
As Seraphim above!
Scarce one so vile, or lost, or base,
But must or kind compassion raise,
Or, meet demand our love.
263
And this the part to us assign'd;Not to bring all to think our mind,
But to regard our own:
Whether to tune the pipe or string,
Or to the lute more mildly sing,
Or swell the bursting tone.
264
Or, like a building large and fair,Whose parts their diff'rent burdens bear,
Invisible or seen:
Some form the solid, nervous base,
Others the cone or cornish grace,
Or graceful shine between.
265
All yet cement by nicest art,Adorns or strengthens each his part,
Unpolish'd as polite:
E'en Rubbish helps the load support,
Or smoothly spreads the path or court,
Or garden trimly dight.
59
266
Where in their diff'rent orders stand,Tall, sprightly Pines, on either hand
The Myrtles gravely smile:
With flow'ry Shrubs (low sited plants,)
Of various forms and various scents;
As best befits the soil.
267
Where view the harsh, rough-coated Elm;Or trembling Asp, while Briars embalm
The warm, high-scented air:
Where cypress'd Groves erect their heads,
Dilate their emblematic shades,
Asylums of despair.
268
Where mix the Lily and the Rose,Diverse in hue, yet fair compose
The garland or the crown:
While Daisies, meek, neglected race,
Or, parterr'd Box, the borders grace,
And deck the genial ground.
269
Where of unnumber'd kinds are seenOr annual or ever-green,
Laurel or Daffodil:
Where all is sweet, serene, or gay,
And with united force display
Their verdure, shape, or smell.
270
Nor here omit the empoison'd root,The dead'ning leaf, or baleful fruit,
A dark, tremendous train:
Taught to imbibe each noxious juice,
They speak their just, specific use,
And vindicate their Bane.
60
271
So all their part in the machine,Of Grace, of Nature, or of Sin,
Each fills his own abode:
And in his sphere, his lot, or line,
Compleats the Harmony divine,
Of Providence and God.
272
But “these for Trifles swerve you know:”And can't you let a Trifle go?
A trifle of a thought!
Have patience, they may all in time
Obey thy lore, attend thy chime;
Triflers are easy bought.
273
Is not this thy complaint of Rome,Condemn'd a universe to come
For Sentiment or Mode?
Art thou then guilty of the same,
And blushless deem'd unworthy blame,
Nor tremblest at her Rod?
274
“But, we are right, and she is wrong;”Know this is thine, and not her song,
She sings another lay:
With her, thou'rt wrong and she is right,
She calls thick darkness all thy light,
And heresy thy way.
275
So say all parties and all sects,Each only right, the wrong rejects,
Why then this fruitless stir?
On this, thy jaunt might be to Rome,
For she's not farther off from home,
Than home is far from her.
61
276
Here then you differ, yet agree;What discord, yet what harmony!
She thunders and you roar:
And such her charity to you,
As ye esteem to others due;
Blush both and speak no more.
277
I'll tell thee what I've often thought,And here for thy regard is wrote,
Had'st thou been more employ'd
About the welfare of mankind,
Than bringing all to think thy mind,
Thy aim had not been void.
278
For if thy view had only beenThe wretch to save, the injur'd screen,
From hard despair or wrong,
Thou ne'er hadst lost or rich or poor,
Crowded thy straitn'd courts or door
The universal throng.
279
Instead of this thy constant pain,Has been not Hearts but Heads to gain,
In order to prevent
(What ne'er has been prevented yet,
Nor will,) thy foes contemptuous hate,
Or children's discontent.
280
Just like a prince prepar'd for war,Whose sole ambition, pride, or care
His numbers to encrease:
Not deeming 'tis not force or might,
But arms undaunted and unite,
That prophesies success.
62
281
So thou, more militant than wise,For fear the scorner should despise
Thy despicable few:
Has sooth'd, or menac'd, seiz'd, or brib'd
The myriads just before describ'd;
A huge, unhealthy crew!
282
And all this from the dire mistake(What blunders wizzards often make!)
It would thy fame approve:
Unweeting, 'twas not names or votes,
That proves the truth, or ends disputes,
But purity and love.
283
This then seek thou, and let them seek,With hearts benevolent and meek,
Who glory in thy line:
Or else with all thy tricks of state,
Thou'lt ne'er support thy falling weight,
Or prove thy right divine.
284
A moment then we here shall cease,A moment part on terms of peace,
Yet unextinct our zeal
For thee and thine—this still my pen
Unsheath'd records—a moment then,
Thou mitr'd dame, farewel!
The authority and censure of the Spiritual Courts; that bane and blast of English liberty, and an indelible blemish and clog upon the Protestant Reformation.
This refers Ist to such members of the Church of England, as, either in principle or practice, imitate too closely the bad example of their ancient mother the Church of Rome: And 2dly to such of the Dissenters, or other Reformers, whose primitive zeal and love being waxed cold, are, from their bigoted attachment to forms, modes, habits, &c. just ripe for a connection with either; and, with a proper degree of variation, may become very creditable members of them both.
It cannot be too soon or too seriously observed, 1. That what follows is no more than one amongst many very reasonable objections made by the Dissenters to the established Church, viz. “That she receives all, how bad or scandalous soever either in principle or life.—That she admits even avowed Atheists into the most high and important offices of herself or the State, while (at her instigation) the most exemplary for doctrine or manners, if not of her communion, are branded as hereticks, &c.” 2. That, besides it subjects her to many other inconveniencies, and renders both her honour and authority very contemptible, it is certainly an indubitable evidence and effect of her total loss of purity and scriptural discipline: and is, in the last place, one of those malignant and offensive evils, that, as it calls aloud for the efficacious interposition of the legislature, must necessarily, in due season, bring down the most searching judgments of God upon her, and upon all who by their superstition or flattery both countenance and aggravate her sins.
An instance of this happened not a great while since, when a grand little Jew walked in the publick procession to Bow Church with the members of a certain religious society —for propagating the gospel, or something else—who admitted him as an humble attendant (perhaps a brother) for the sake of his money—when he pretended to be most hugely affronted with the preacher, for speaking too much about Jesus Christ.—Was not the whole of this, think you, something most uncommonly new?
This business (as now managed) is totally unlawful. It enriches an handful at the expence of millions: and where is the difference between poisoning a man slowly or at once? What pity ratsbane is not authorized! I dare say, there are many that would vend it for the publick good—and the man who sells the one, would, on the same principle, sell the other. I know their plea, “But how “are we to live?” Pray how are highway-men to live? (Their way is as lawful though not so legal) as yours. Why change hands—go you on the highway, and let them turn distillers.—Is it any wonder that both human vengeance and divine, should fall upon such miscreants? Nay even Quakers can stab their fellow creatures with their liquid sword.—They had better draw one of steel, in defence of their tottering liberties, or else cut their own throats with it, and then every murderer would have his deserts.
The uncommonly bitter and uncharitable spirit of this writer, at a time when the government were granting that body of people very little more than the natural privileges of every human creature, (especially as it has never been publickly recanted,) calls for a far severer censure, than any that can drop from this pen. The utmost I can express is, that he seemed actuated by the self-same spirit of malevolence and contempt towards them, with which they are recorded (and I believe very justly) to have crucified the Messiah; tho' perhaps this gentleman would not have done amiss to reflect, that (as a people) They are still beloved for the fathers sake. And that, as one grand visible cause of their present disbelief and abhorrence of the Christian religion, is the wicked lives and tempers of it's preachers and professors, he should rather have lamented, and endeavoured to have removed that prejudice, by his own sweetness and purity of behaviour; than to have made one of the number of their inveterate stumblingblocks and foes. Besides, that upon a principle of respect to the legislature, it not only became him to have been a little more mild and temperate, but as a theologist, he might have considered such a step in the view of divine Providence, (who brings to pass the greatest of events by the most trivial and unthought of means; That the power may be of him and not of man,) as an occurrence symptomatic of their further admittance into his favour, if not (in due season) a token of their return (if it is ever to be literal) under the auspicies of the present house and government, into their own land. I know the objections that may be started upon this head, but this is not a place to consider them in: my business is with the unexemplary spirit of bigotry and pride, which nothing could exceed, but the most inimitable absurdity of supposing “it would bring to nought the prophecies of the Old and New Testament.” As if the truth or completion of these were to depend upon any privileges that could be granted the Jews by all the legislatures in Europe, any more than by some of them being burnt alive every year at Lisbon. To all which we may farther add, the ever memorable and droll addresses of several corporations in England (for that cause assembled) “That (among other perils and afflictions then and there hanging over their heads) their most holy religion (truly) was in danger.”—Of what? Why, of being devoured by the Jews: never once dreaming, that their own most antichristian spirit of avarice, debauchery, dishonesty and pride, was infinitely more scandalous and destructive, both to the nation, the King, God's glory, and their own interest, than the highest priviledges the Jews could ever have desired or obtained.
A plain evidence this, that their terrors were not for the sake of religion, (if it had, they would mend their own manners) but for fear of their idol mammon, the great Diana of Great-Britain, (whom in common with the Heathens of Ephesus,) her merchants worship.
No—nor on any other—(one or two infamous ones excepted) but only on those who follow them in such a manner, as to become the scandal of their profession, and a nusance to the publick: a remark, I must beg the reader will be so just as to bear in mind from the beginning to the end.
The reader will naturally observe the Contrast in this, and many other similar places; otherwise a similitude of Sound may lead him into a very unfortunate mistake, and make him apprehend there is a similitude of Manners.
This term (and more especially in this place) needs some distinct explanation. In general, it stands for knaves or sharpers of any kind. But here, in particular, for all such as embezzle or squander away the monies extorted for fines, &c. in any city or corporation, either on their own private uses, or in publick entertainments. It stands here likewise as a contrast with the first word in the same line; as it does likewise for a kind of commentative term upon the second, whenever that office happens to be executed by a person of a peculiar genius and address; and then it serves (as in logic) to connect the two extremes: as that post, from it's natural conveniency of situation, may be so dextrously served, as to render the possessor somewhat amphibious, i. e. a something between them both.
For many years I was at a loss to guess what could be the reason why no Papist, Jacobite, Rebel, High- Church-man, or true Oxonian could ever bear the name of this great man, but my wonder was soon at an end, when, about two years since, I read (with the utmost extasy of surprize) that most invaluable piece of his upon Toleration; that third magna charta of this kingdom, as the Bible is the first.
Those who from stupidity, or brutishness of avarice, opposed the plan of Sir Christopher Wren for rebuilding the city of London after the great fire in the year 1666.
The magistrates, ministers, &c. who opposed and prevented the Reformation of Manners begun by Dr. Woodward, some years since, to their own shame, and the nation's irreparable loss.
These are a set of gentry, that, in general, we must not let go unreprehended. They are not mentioned here as if their business was unlawful, or as if all of them made it so; but that many of them do, is most certain, by adulterating their commodities; and thereby, with their brethren the wine-coopers, vitiating them oft-times very injuriously, for which the two former are perpetually calling one another names, and I dare say with very good reason.
The latter incur some censure on the same account, and above all, for promoting their private interest at the publick expence; I mean the health and happiness of their countrymen, who drink away soul and body; are tempted to idleness, gaming, &c. distress their families, and at last are brought to the parish and a morsel of bread. And yet these gentlemen, with their customers the publicans, truly, think themselves most highly aggrieved, when the necessities of the times call for a little of that income they would amass or squander, at the ruin of thousands, both here and hereafter!
If any dissenter, especially of the presbyterian or independent party, cast their eye upon this page, let him not censure the author as uncharitable; but blush, and remember it is no more, no, nor half so much, as some of their own most valuable writers (especially the late learned Dr. Watts) have affirmed, with the utmost degree of certainty and concern.
63
CANTO II.
Delectando, pariterque
monendo.
Hor.
Hor.
1
Awake, once more, my trembling plume,The hateful task once more resume,
And lift aloft thine hand:
Explore the term, this “Right divine,”
The vaunt of traitors and their shrine:
Nor shun the bold demand.
2
This Sprite unseen, whence does it spring?Is it a beggar or a king?
Or vile hermaphrodite?
To me this seems to be it's sex;
It sometimes asks, and sometimes takes,
Careless of Wrong or Right.
3
I think it's source is easy trac'd,As are it's claims in order plac'd,
It's furniture and crests:
A blended spawn of church and state,
It's father—Constantine the Great,
It's dam,—the pride of priests.
4
Who fir'd with lust of rule and gain,Spar'd neither lies, nor art, nor pain,
To turn the Fondling's head:
That all since urg'd of Right divine,
Is nothing more than Constantine,
Still speaking tho' he's dead.
64
5
Nor less the spirit still survives,Where'er the Priest or Bigot lives:
It's quintessence and pow'r,
Like Proteus self to change it's shape;
Is lion, bear, or fox, or ape,
Or Lambkin or a boar.
6
Now, see it crawl a wriggling worm,Is all vermicity of form,
And sheepish, scarcely dares
Or cringing ask, or e'en receive
What royal bounty deigns to give,
Or cold compassion spares.
7
Then rears a monster, swoln with pride,That lifts her leg and mounts astride
An emp'ror and his throne:
Pretends her origin divine,
Her race the apostolic line,
Herself and heav'n but one.
8
Now hear her strike a loftier tune,When fair occasion late or soon,
Assists the guileful plan:
No longer meek, nor honest now,
But with a bronze of thievish brow,
She harpies all she can.
9
In short, she's all or any thing,Sometimes a slave, and oft a king,
Can thunder peal or chimes:
Can sneer or snivel, quake or quaff,
Can groan or growl, or weep or laugh;
For lo, she serves the times!
65
10
Thus, when complaints on every sideArraign her avarice and pride;
Her knavery and wrong:
She pleads or storms, submits or fires,
Just as the times or state require,
And “ay” or “no”—the song.
11
For when nor just nor Reason plead,There must be something in their stead,
And here you see the way:
'Tis but to join the strongest side,
Or calmly wait the moving tide,
Then arrogate the day.
12
By this, what has not been secur'd?To what injustice Kings allur'd?
To yield or guard a claim,
Which neither Law nor Right before,
Had dar'd demand, nay, often more
Than e'en a Priest dar'd name.
13
And all for what? why this the cause,Princes, once children fear'd the claws
Of fierce pontific zeal:
Dreaded their subjects foul revolt,
Or, for their negligence or fault,
For ever chain'd in hell.
14
Thus impuls'd, or imprest with Fear,They saw, or dreamt they saw it clear,
That all the priest requir'd,
Was nothing more than just their due,
And such as they could easy shew,
Who but their own desir'd.
66
15
Their own forsooth! who made it so?I know who quick to Moses go,
Better to Cain by half:
A Murderer now, as first a Priest,
And reason good, if may be guest,
One cause his brother's pelf.
16
If pelf the lore of priests was then,Or all besides, were honest men,
(What pity these exclude!)
There need no other be assign'd,
Why Cain should feel a murderer's mind,
Or murdering bask in Blood!
17
And are there none who him succeed?Base copyers of his mind and deed,
Nor ought have spar'd for gain?
But seiz'd or tortur'd, rack'd or kill'd,
Their land with violence have fill'd?
And yet unpurg'd their stain!
18
But to recall the Jewish plea,Of tythes divine or equity,
Why not the painful rite
Of Circumcision once enjoin'd,
And somewhat satiate to the mind,
Of priestly stagyrite?
19
Besides—it might be so contriv'd,(Were it of full extent reviv'd)
To raise a glorious sum:
If but the Law would once enjoin,
And make it now as still divine,
Her relicks are at Rome.
67
20
No care, you know, the vulgar howl,If stubborn—easy to controul:
Or pleas'd or sad their mood:
Besides, whatever these might own,
There are with whom 'twould glib go down,
Tho' 'twere the Price of Blood.
21
My Plea—if tythes were equal pain,And brought the Craftsmen no more gain,
Than this ungrateful rite:
Ye'd tythe no more than circumcise,
Nor this, than put out both your eyes,
As clearer seen the light.
22
But Circumcision nothing brings,Therefore was never ask'd of kings,
Or laws, to make divine:
'Twas easier done another way,
And more adapted to their lay,
As more enhanc'd the shrine.
23
Besides, “'tis plain revok'd elsewhere,“Saint Paul has set this matter clear,
“Cursed who this performs:”
And what are they who lye or swear,
That all the best—is but their share,
And fleece their fellow-worms!
24
In truth, my friends, were nothing moreThan Truth at heart, nor gain your lore,
It is not one but all,
Had long since render'd up your claims,
Nor ever dar'd belye the names,
Of Moses or Saint Paul.
68
25
For what say either these to you?The first has nothing left your due,
The latter but your Hire:
And this dependant on your care,
To feed the flock, their sorrows bear,
Or else your wages—Fire.
26
What more their Master and his trainOf lively, apostolic men,
Who sought not theirs but them:
Made this their business here below,
Heav'n-ward with sacred hope to go,
Thro' poverty and shame?
27
“Pugh—they were poor unselfish things,That neither car'd for courts or kings,
And only minded Souls:
Stuff of I know not what myself,
But senseless of the lore of pelf,
Evinc'd how mean their moulds!
28
“Or else, it may be what they did,Was only just a cloak to hide
The Odium of their call:
So left, that they who boast their name,
In after-times might plead their claim,
And thus engross it all.”
29
And less has never serv'd their turn,Who must have all, or lawless burn
The innocent or good:
Who yet would glad have born their part,
If nought beside, their upright heart,
As for their Lord their blood.
69
30
But this they could at any timeLet out—'twas scarce a venial crime,
For pontiff pride enflam'd:
And tho' nor pomp, applause or gain,
Yet still 'twas shed with little pain,
Nor ever after nam'd.
31
But still, it made a way for Rome,With greater swiftness to assume
Whate'er her lust admir'd:
'Twas nothing but to say, “'Tis mine,”
And seize it with her paws divine,
For Rome was now inspir'd.
32
And so she was, but with the sameInfernal principle and flame
That fires the hosts of hell:
Who nor devise, nor think, nor do,
But what a universe must rue,
And Part for ever feel!
33
So has been felt her weighty hand,In every coast, or soil, or land,
Where-e'er her wings have flown:
Not long since sigh'd sweet Albion's isle,
Beneath the darkness of her smile,
Or horror of her frown.
34
Scarce yet withdrawn from all her sons,Preserv'd (as marrow in their bones)
The Spirit of the dame:
Refer to hers or Aaron's chair,
To make their dark succession clear:
All Hierarchy and flame!
70
35
As if was nothing right but Rome,And all was wrong, as sent or come
For any where but her:
As God himself were fast confin'd
To tell her only all his mind,
Or, who her rights aver!
36
Thoughtless how many they condemn:Unworthy or of scorn or blame:
Who yet detest her line:
Discard her maxims from their schools,
Her Orders banish and her Rules,
As dev'lish not divine.
37
Hating (as sacred writ enjoins)Her spotted garments and her shrines,
Devote to pride and blood:
Worn as the badges of her priests,
Or Baal's—(both alike the Beast's)
And enemies of God!
38
Foremost in rank stands wise Geneve,Grave school of Calvin and his Sleeve,
Plain, accurate and pure:
Full of religion's sternest sense,
Without or forc'd or vain pretence
To Dulness or Demure.
71
39
Where dwells sweet liberty and peace:Conscience at large, reclin'd at ease,
Directs the gentle reins
Of wisdom's philosophic car,
Void of Dissension as of war,
Her Basis firm remains.
40
All hail the man, decent addrest!Her native son, whose ample breast
Flames ardent with her fire:
Whom Albion warms with fervid zeal,
To serve her honours or her weal,
His sov'reign and her sire!
41
Long may he plead her injur'd cause,With safety as with just applause:
Nor less his great reward,
When call'd from silence or the field,
He views the bright ethererl shield,
And meets the angelic guard.
42
Name not, my muse, who knows thee well,Thy weakness and thy faults could tell,
But kind conceals thy shame:
Enough—thou know'st him brave or wise,
Nor base expose to vulgar eyes
His Virtues or his Name.
72
43
But wave we here a long recordOf princes, who by art, or sword,
Have each undaunted broke
From off their own, or subjects neck
(What ere long Rome herself will break)
The hard, pontific yoke.
44
And hail again thy native land,Long may her fame on record stand,
As just, discreet and bold:
Long may her name her children warm,
And long a Brunswic's equal arm
Her diadem uphold.
45
O were her sons devout and wise!Candid their mind as keen their eyes!
Discern'd their highest bliss!
What graceful ardor then should roll
Each British eye! replete his soul
With courtesy and peace.
46
O were her Ministers a flame,Not such as burns the flagrant dame,
But pure ethereal fire:
Such as enwraps the Seraphim,
Or such as once glow'd warm in him,
First Brightness of his Sire!
47
O were his servants like their Lord!Untaint their life, as keen their word,
Or caustic or the balm!
How soon should all thy praise return,
Whose wither'd laurels deep we mourn,
And re-assum'd thy palm!
73
48
For want of this how much is lostOf real honour and it's boast!
Nor like to be procur'd:
Nay, thou hadst forfeited the whole,
E'en that which most enchants thy soul,
But Policy ensur'd.
49
Yet even this could not obtain(What, O hadst thou preferr'd to Gain,
As far the nobler part)
The secret reverence of mankind,
(Alike in this, each differing mind)
The nation and it's Heart!
50
For, neither friends nor foes approveThat they who talk of things above,
Should only (as alone)
Seek little else, but things below,
As eager nought beyond to know,
Or, nothing less their own.
51
Who honour, ease, and wealth prefer,To shame, and poverty, and care,
For what so dearly bought:
By that more precious far than gold,
Or ought that human tongues e'er told
Of angels or their thought!
52
Quit then thy claim to earthly things,Leave them to courtesans and kings:
Be this thy one employ,
To see thy Children walk in Peace,
Thy Priests array'd in Righteousness,
Thy saints exult for joy!
74
53
Till then, what wonder thy disgrace!Constru'd thy fairest form—grimace,
So near ally'd to guile:
That artifice so long reprov'd,
In her of old—so dearly lov'd,
So infamous for wile!
54
What wonder all the world should say,And think thee still like boys at play,
As whole depriv'd of sight:
While from one corner of an eye
They seek the mark they'd seem to fly,
And court the follower's flight.
55
And this has oft been deem'd of thee,By those, who boast they more than see
With only half an eye:
These tell—“Thou only feign'st to run,
“From her thou cou'dst not even shun,
“But for the standers by.”
56
“That were it not for human laws“That gripe thee right between their paws,
“Thou soon would'st swift return,
“To all thy mother holds so dear,
“(And stately dictates from her chair)
“To rack, confine, or burn.”
57
And really, one would think it true,And that the hubbub and ado
Which has so oft been made,
Is not, as say thy partial sons,
“For nothing more than empty sounds,”
As rumour were a trade.
75
58
In proof of this, they first alledge(What, wert thou drawn upon a sledge,
All traitors just desert:
Would heavy weigh around thy neck,
And, with the first quassation break
The sinews of thy heart.)
59
“Thy sacred court”—(base imposition!)That sister of the Inquisition;
So hardly known asunder:
Only, that thine is less severe;
Good reason—laws humane are near,
And qualify the thunder.
60
Next, “Bonds, imprisonments and fines,”White sheets, and wide expensive lines,
Citations, bills and writs:
Enough to make e'en Chanc'ry stare,
And tugged Quakers quake for fear,
While others lose their wits!
61
And oft, perhaps, for little more,Than only thinking her a Whore,
Some Sichem has defil'd:
But such thy decent, tender care,
Unwilling to defame the Fair,
In mercy to the child.
62
Or else, thy pontiff vengeance fallsOn her, our subject now recalls,
A Penitent of thine:
Whom now thine act has harden'd more,
Than of her own an hundred score,
'Gainst shame or grace divine!
76
63
Only 'tis meet to do the bestThou canst, to arm the gentle breast
With fear another time:
And by thy candid censure teach
(With more effect than thine e'er preach)
The Blackness of the crime!
64
Again, thy terrors half disjoint(Where neither Law nor Reason point)
Some poor, unfriended crew:
Who, after all thy Hirelings treat,
Or greedy tything-men repeat,
See not the Tythe thy Due.
65
And pray, who does, that dares be bold,And think aloud—that but for Gold,
All safe might might march their way—
77
He'd neither have thy curse or pray'r,
As nothing now to pay.
66
And this they draw from the conceit“That, but amongst the Rich or Great,
“Thine scarce or ne'er discern'd:
“Unless, when once or twice a year,
“They roll in state, to seize their share
“Of wages never earn'd.”
67
Or, “if they are more frequent seen,“'Tis at the race or bowling-green,
“The levee or the ball:
“As seldom known to watch or pray,
“But only for a hand at play,
“Or weather for Vaux-hall.”
68
Or, in their Conclave close and warm,Like hornets buzzing—(what a swarm)
Loud humming—or reserve:
Oppress the fatherless and poor,
Exclude the widow from their door,
Or, usher'd in to—starve.
69
Double their incomes and their fines,(Such the dire av'rice of Divines!)
Not satiate to receive
The common gains of other men,
They raise (or ruin) all they can,
Then bid them—“Go and live!”
70
Just like a thief that stops your horse,To take your parcel or your purse,
At even' or the day:
78
Then leaves you (in the jaws of death)
(Like these) to walk your way!
71
Such the Inquisitors, their sires,Whom Lucifer their lord inspires
With double lust of pain:
Shut by themselves (as these) alone,
They torture, till they crack the bone,
Or bursts the starting vein!
72
High Pandemonium of Divines!Where each, or fair or fleshy shines,
(What plenitude of grace!)
Some plume their hair, or twist their hands,
Or daub their nose, or smooth their bands,
Or stroke their full-moon'd face.
73
Council of tyrants and cabal,As e'er adorn'd Gehenna's hall,
In truth 'tis little more:
'Tis where the widow is opprest,
The orphan ruin'd unredrest;
The Shambles of the poor!
74
Where, what is heard but News, or tales?Genius of Priests, and of their sales,
Of gracelessness and gain!
Where hopes and fear alternate flow,
From harpy'ing eyes, or hearts of woe,
And pale unpity'd pain!
75
All rank adjusted and degree:Soft ope the door, return the key;
A crowd of shiv'rers stand:
79
Whether not more than all to pay;
But—all are cap in hand.
76
First see a gentleman walk in,Dropping his hand, and turns his chin:
“Your pleasure, sir, we'd know;”
“I only come to pay my rent;”
(Rack gather'd to the last extent)
Then quits 'em with a bow.
77
Next, see a sturdy blade appears;That neither cares for them nor theirs;
“Your pleasure, pray, be known?”
He answers (with as rough a mien)
“I come to see and to be seen.”
“Your Promise, sirs, be done.”
78
O how swell all the bursting line,Of scarlet hue, or pale malign,
“No promise e'er was made:”
80
“There that is he—the very man,
“The pattern of your head.”
79
“You lie again,”—the herd reply;Return'd with furious, threat'ning eye,
“Is this your chosen text?”
“A pack of lurchers of you all!”
But what care these for Great or Small;
“Come, pray let in the next.”
80
Now see a tradesman—honest man!He bows and hums—now see the clan
Suspicious as they're keen:
“Well, sir, what is it you would say?”
“Why gentlemen”—we can't to-day;
“Come, let him out again.”
81
Another late his house new-fac'd;“You know improvements should be rais'd .”
“I paid it once before.”
“That was the glazier—by your leave:”
He pays—but growling in his sleeve,
Makes side-ways to the door.
81
82
Next view a sprightly widow'd Weed:Blythe as if no body were dead;
Or sinking with distress:
Impartial deed! each rack'd their dues:
(Or more—they never more refuse
Nor ever yet took less.)
83
Now comes a smirking, airy spark,Warm in his honey-moon—a Lark!
“'Twas thirty, sirs, before:”
“I think you've just set up a trade:
“Well, sir, 'tis meet you should have Bread:
“You only pay—threescore.”
84
Last see a sight would break a heartOf stone (how deep the tragic part!)
The scene unequall'd trace:
An ancient tenant full of years:
Hoary his head,—his eyes with tears
Fast running down his face.
85
Long had he till'd the barren farm:Long plow'd in vain his fruitless arm:
(Who can unweeping tell!)
82
Their fathers long since swept away
To Happiness or—Hell!
86
Bending with age,—he crouches low:Tott'ring scarce rises from his bow:
Begins his humble moan:
“Hopes that their worships will forbear,
“He lost his all and more t' year!”
The Conclave burst—a groan!
87
Not for his loss—pray don't mistake:The news makes all their Sur-loins crack:
Down drops each stounded head:
But oh-how awful and how loud
The solemn groan!—out peal'd a cloud
Of thunder brought to bed!
88
Now silence yields—their looks revive:Soft jostles each his neighbour's sleeve:
“Brothers—what shall we do?”
Not do with him they do not mean,
All that is easily foreseen:
How merciless a crew!
89
Strait rises up a reverend Beau,Turns on his heel—and points his toe:
(Still echoing with his pain)
And half a novice at the trade,
Hints “some Abatement should be made:”
Then sits him down again.
90
He's not the man—here read the next:A stately opener of his text:
What tenderness he feels!
83
Then with a voice as harsh as brass,
Cries—“lay him by the heels.”
91
By these he lies—O what a scene,For heav'n to see and hell to grin:
But cease all sad surprize:
The Wretch—you mourn—but mourn for them:
(Drying as fuel for the flame,)
While he is starv'd and dies!
92
What wonder this should be their end,Unhelp'd by Justice or her Friend:
No matter—all's a trade!
And trades must live, tho' others want:
Smugglers and villains have their Rent:
The Clergy, or the Spade.
93
Besides, 'tis only for a time:This is their breathing place and clime:
'Tis here they have their good:
Soon to repay with treble pain,
Their cruel insolence and gain:
Now sweeter than their blood!
94
But hark—“there are Divisions there,”Nay more than partly, one might swear:
What news to fight or scold!
When this the reason we alledge,
To share the Garment or the Wedge
Of Achan's crime and gold!
95
And these are moved too no doubt:They wou'dn't stir a hand without,
Or to receive or hoard:
84
With groans each luggs away his share:
The burden of his Lord!
96
“But hold, sir—you condemn the whole:“One Body, as if but one Soul:”
Why—are their spirits two?
Meet they not all with one design?
In this at least one heart and mind:
What better then the few?
97
Sep'rate they may—(and 'tis but fairTo give the Fiend his proper share)
Incorporate—they turn:
Like concrete sulphur in a flame:
They're one and all, I fear, the same,
And hissing bounce, or burn.
98
And pray, what say I here or more,Than what they tell who keep the door
Of Secresy and Sin?
Privy to all that passes there:
Whether they stoop or domineer:
Or gnashing growl, or grin.
99
But what from these expect to find,Of just, or generous, or kind?
Howe'er polite or civil:
Who lost and plung'd in wealth's Immerse,
Esteem an empty, hollow purse,
Identic with the Devil?
85
100
Now hear my blame on every side,From ignorance, envy, hate or pride,
Of others or the Trade:
Nor spare us more our warmest friends,
Who, oft for no less virtuous ends,
Have far severer said.
101
But what severe enough for them?Their country's burden and it's shame:
A load so hardly born:
Who see a nation watchful stand:
Her Foes on tip-toe for the land:
Yet senseless sleep or scorn?
102
See all her children now in arms:While Brunswic's flame their bosom warms,
Their Father to defend:
Brunswic, the mild, the brave, the just:
Religion's and his people's trust!
Their Sov'reign and their friend!
103
Yet what are these? or what they doWorthy of record or to know?
What Virtues have they done?
Half threescore suns have warm'd my head,
Since first I chew'd their humble bread,
Yet never heard of one!
104
Whom have they serv'd, or whom reliev'd?What wretch releas'd? what want retriev'd?
What mercy have they shown,
Or to their tenants, or their slaves,
Maintain'd, or ruin'd, as by halves,
Till exil'd or undone?
86
105
Yet these are they who claim as due,High reverence grave from me and you:
While each their partners greet:
With lordly congé or farewel:
Just quit the Audit, or the Cell:
The Temple or the Street!
106
The Poor—the Rich—how justly serv'd!The latter chous'd, the former starv'd;
Each asks it thro' the land:
Nay flatter with their mutual lie
The men whom they should curb or fly:
And beg or kiss their hand.
107
Yet turn'd their backs—how both despise!Shrug up their necks and wink their eyes:
High blazing with disdain!
“D'ye see the Doctor whom we bow'd?
“Look there, he shoots thro' yonder croud,
“He just deserves a chain!”
108
See here the Villain and the Slave!See each a Fool and each a Knave!
Who scorn and yet they bend:
Not from Civility or Grace,
But with the air of low grimace,
A loaf—or none—their end.
109
Despis'd by them they decent use:By those belov'd they most abuse:
What contrast on their part!
But yet they have the better Gage,
Who maugre all their envious rage,
Are honour'd in their Heart!
87
110
But meet the man, whom all despiseFor seeing clear with both his eyes;
How grave their fingers tell!
Yet take 'em by the lump or score,
Behind your own or neighbour's door,
“I hope, sir, you are well!”
111
“I'm pretty well, I thank you, sir;“But come, don't let us make a stir,
“For you may be undone:
“For me—I'm unconcern'd and free,
“Nor care a fig-leaf from the tree,
“For all of them in one.”
112
They know it too—that's something more,“I'm civil—but I'll ne'er adore
“A Bigot or a Knave:
“And such I ever would esteem
“Who others for their thoughts condemn:”
What fetters drags a Slave!
113
Fetters of jingling self-conceit!Dull clogs of proud, contemptuous hate:
A Convict on his throne!
Your heels he binds—but half insane,
An Ideot raves—nor hears the chain
Loud rattling at his own!
114
Next scrapes a Tradesman at his door:He bows perhaps for something more:
They want an ounce of thread:
Or send for something he has not,
Or never had—nor to be got:
But still—he must have Bread.
88
115
Thus mutual flattery and guile;Tradesmen may work—the Doctors smile,
And grave their reverence claim:
But what regard from meanest slaves,
Unless where their example saves
From punishment or shame?
116
But to resume our former friends,Whom neither time nor patience mends,
Who yet securely breathe:
While kindred nations are at jar,
Our own now in the midst of War:
If not the midst of Death!
117
Rise Albion rise—exert thy claimOn all who boast thy boon or name:
Bid them their off'rings bring:
Tell them “the kingdom wants their Mite:
“The army and the poor their Right:
“Their Uselessness the king.”
118
Tell them “how great the general charge!“The nation and it's wants how large!”
Remember they are thine.
If largely—well—but if refuse:
Thine own distress and freedom use,
And seize the coffer'd shrine.
119
Seize all you find—'tis not their own;Thy prince's and their country's boon;
Now thine, no longer theirs:
To hoard or rust within their walls,
Nor squander on the shameless calls
Of future spend-thrift heirs.
89
120
When this is done—if they submit,And grateful fall beneath thy feet,
Forgive the former crime:
Remember not their saucy tone,
Against thy welfare or the throne,
Or dignity sublime.
121
But if they murmur or complain,Resist or clamour for their gain,
As probably they will:
Shew them remains another mode,
To deal with them (as with their God)
Far more effectual still.
122
Shew them thy licence to demandThe service of at least their Hand:
Implant it with a Sword:
Place them full front their foes in sight,
And there resistless bid them fight,
The battles of their Lord.
123
I know their Meanness as their pride:Their cowardice and all beside:
They'll pray Success thy scheme:
Yes, so they will—till Louis land:
Then cringing with their cap in hand,
They'll supplicate for him.
124
Believe them not—'twas so before:Their Fathers did it heretofore,
Alive—the same again:
These are their sons—they boast their race:
All made of adamant and brass:
To keep out wind and rain.
90
125
Besides, if these were more sincere,Would not their honesty appear,
As decent or discreet?
Would they permit a thousand souls,
To lie like hogs im-penn'd in folds?
Their infants in the Street!
126
Would they permit (I dare to say,What heard an hundred times a day)
The very men to pine,
Who, for or less or little more,
Than what their minions keep the door,
May bleed to save their Shrine.
127
Suppose that half their useless Pile(Where the indecent or defile?)
Had prov'd their friendly shade:
In times like these but more alert,
(How shocking to a Popish heart!)
Horses their Stable made.
128
And where the crime—when who made them,And them who ride (how great this shame!)
A Stable made divine?
91
Than e'er debas'd a useful beast,
The temple of their shrine.
129
Suppose all this and far beyond;What sinking of their fame or fund,
Who could afford still more?
Abate the nation her expence,
Far richer in their Bank than Sense:
High plunderers of the Poor!
130
“My God! what Briton can forbear?“Nor breathe—but thunder in their ear,
“Their duty and their call?
“Lov'd they but thee, their Prince and thine,
“Wou'd they not cede their Right divine;
“The Manors of their Pall?”
131
O were they safe beneath the last!Secure in heaven from all that's past,
Or present or to come!
Albion might welcome use their Gold:
Her rights no more for nonsense sold:
And Frenchmen meet their doom!
132
The Session ends—the game is play'd:They smile and wish each other dead:
At least there's some do them:
For why?—what Evil have they done?
Why—for the same that many a one
Has wish'd—but would not name.
133
Waiting till Providence removesA brother—whom he dearly loves,
(Reciprocally even!)
92
For what of Love's a better proof,
Than to be wish'd in Heaven?
134
Each now returns—well fraught with Geer:The service of the current year:
And Essence of his song:
But Life's full Lease is deeper sign'd,
Than any they have left behind,
Tho' haply—not so long.
135
Crave ye to know from whom these come?From one who safely smiles the doom,
Or judgment of your schools:
From one who wishes you were wise:
And knew that all whom ye despise,
Are neither Knaves nor Fools.
136
Unless the latter—for her weal:Albion distrest—whom wish'd ye well!
My heart for Albion mourns:
Long may my tears in secret flow,
My heart her joys and sorrows know,
Till all her peace returns.
137
Ye call us Enemies—'tis true:We are—yet not to her—nor you;
But to your baleful Pride:
Who stately tread—or snoring nod,
While hangs o'er her the threat'ning rod:
Or bleeds her wounded side.
138
Wounded by you, and by your stains:Who rob her of her hearts and gains,
Both sacred to your lay:
93
Replete her heart with hope or fear:
However—ye can pray.
139
A long digression this—what cost!Yet all our pains not surely lost:
Resume our first design:
Report again, thou gentle dame,
Some other articles, that fame
Objects to thee and thine.
140
Of these—“Thy visits once a year:”Less fam'd for Discipline than Cheer:
As what imports the least:
Arch-deacons, Chancellors, and Deans,
Apparitors and go-betweens
The Conclave and the Feast.
141
Church-wardens perjur'd, old and new:Who swear to what they cannot do:
Then swear—they've done the whole:
Accountable (it seems) to none,
But to themselves and these alone:
Bold sponsors for the soul.
142
Where all that's done is little elseThan telling lies or telling tales;
Like anarchy of School:
Where seldom more is heard than noise,
Of buxom Priests—like free-school Boys:
Nor decency nor rule.
143
What wonder then that these exclaim,Who or despise or hate thy name?
And cordially deride
94
Reprove and see with equal eyes)
Thy uselessness of pride?
144
Again object “thy triple Creeds:”Long roll of Athanasian beads:
Which whosoe'er repeat,
Condemn themselves and all around:
While laughing scorners loud resound
“'Tis nothing but a Cheat!”
145
Amaz'd that any thinking mind,Or wise, dispassionate or kind,
Should thus itself deceive!
When in their conscience (if it's true)
They can no better witness shew
Than this—that they believe.
146
Much less can relish how a manOr not a Murderer or insane,
Can curse his mortal foe:
For not conceiving what he owns
Himself, so far exceeds the bounds
Of mortal skill to know!
147
From hence concluding shrewdly keen(No other Medium between:
The Inferfnce of course:)
“That they who dare assert, deny,
“Only because—they know not why,
“Would say it of their Horse.”
148
And so far rightly they conceive,That those who any thing believe,
From Custom or Command:
95
To all intents we mean it true;)
Call either Foot their Hand.
149
Not, but the meaning may be well,As they who mild explain it tell:
And all but Deists own:
“There are in glory—three that bear
“Their record—and yet all these are
“In Essence only one.”
150
But How they are and can but beOr three in one—or one, yet three:
Is only known above:
How this or why is not the case:
Nor to define a Mortal's place:
But to believe and love!
151
Not that we blame thy zeal for Truth:But Terms so puzz'ling and uncouth:
Too jumbl'd to conceive:
But more—Thy double-damning clause,
On all who dare presume to pause,
Tho' sentenc'd to believe!
152
For true conception—or that Faith,Sure witness in the soul that hath,
Confession should preceed:
Or else what lengths may not be run?
The Universe believ'd a Sun:
Or e'en the Atheist's creed!
153
Yet shun their proud Philosophy:Pregnant with pride and sophistry:
Who with their broken line,
96
Or that of Deity made Man:
Incarnate and divine!
154
To what compare their vanity?But to the fool's who fain would weigh
The mountains in a scale:
Or to the child that with it's arm
Extended, and his dirty worm,
“Stands bobbing for a Whale.”
155
Such children they who think to soundThe Godhead's wide or vast profound:
Unfathom'd and unweigh'd
By lines or scales of human art:
Or all that fancy can impart:
Or wisdom's deeper aid.
156
Not—as we scorn'd their pure design,Who warm with zeal for ought divine,
Wish all the World believ'd:
But for their Systems to explain
Inexplicables—then—complain
“Their systems unconceiv'd.”
157
Suffice that both are plain reveal'dAs Truth—tho' still the how conceal'd
From deep or keenest ken:
Perhaps scarce known to saints above:
Who there may rather gaze and love,
Than dare the Mode explain.
158
Shall Man then dare that depth exploreWithout it's bottom or it's shore?
Immensity divine!
97
Than thousand suns—yet deep as night,
The Godhead's triune Shrine!
159
Detest we, on the other side,Their forward insolence and pride:
Who with uplifted horn,
Deny what is, for aught they know,
Essential and eternal true:
Nor lessen'd by their scorn.
160
Define not these the great Supreme?Is he not limited by them?
Confin'd within their sphere?
Set him a line he may not pass,
But so exist or else transgress,
At peril of their sneer?
161
'Tis true, they make him only one:Yet kindly leave him not alone:
Fit company conjoin'd:
Place on his right a human god:
And with him in his bright abode,
Some Spirit or the Wind!
162
And what's the evidence that's given?Not his that erst came down from heaven:
Then present with his Sire:
But the pale lamp of Nature's light:
Envelop'd with Ægyptian night:
Hell's Genius and her Fire!
163
I know their fond, absurd reply:“Where found the Term of Trinity?”
We echo as they sing:
98
(Their god) because the Term unfound?
But—is not found the thing?
164
What are all words but simple terms?Or terms complex of modal forms,
Invented to convey
What or we mean or would make known,
To millions or to only one?
Concise as clear the way.
165
What more the term now under view?It's great idea fix'd nor new:
Design'd that truth t'impart:
And only stands among Divines,
As that which best their sense defines:
A sacred Term of Art.
166
How weakly then do they reflect,Who for so weak a cause reject
What seems so plain reveal'd?
Written at large—it's truth divine
On leaves inspir'd of sacred line:
Tho' still the Mode conceal'd!
167
Return we now from whence we came:Cover'd with awful fear and shame:
As had approach'd too near:
And bold resume our former clue:
Our purpose for thy good pursue:
Nor unobservant hear.
168
Another charge against thee brought,(But which I trust will come to nought,
Or thou must come to shame)
99
“That any who have not their writ,
“Should preach the Saviour's name.”
169
Not seeming rightly to surmiseThat 'tis not they whose wanton eyes
Survey thy ample state:
Who or for wealth, or want, or whim,
For pride, or ease, or more esteem,
Intrude the sacred gate.
170
Are either call'd or sent by him,Who only hath the lawful claim
His ministers to chuse:
That even Bishops are no more
Than Porters waiting at the door,
To open,—not refuse.
171
At least not this or that to dare,For int'rest, fame, or pique, or fear:
For prejudice or pride:
But with the utmost care to trace,
And cautious mark the lines of grace:
Not bluster nor deride.
172
When this is done—then they have done;But not before,—nor e'er will one
Thus mission'd—be allow'd,
However learn'd, or grave, or wise,
Or in his own, or other's eyes,
The Priest or Friend of God!
173
That God who never will permitAlways to lie beneath their feet,
The honours of his name:
100
Nor needs the aid of human pow'rs,
To prove or guard his claim.
174
Not that we would distraction chuse;Or decent rule or forms refuse;
But what we here contend,
Is this—that none who bare regard
The lore of ease or base reward:
Or human laws commend,
175
Should be permitted to intrudeThe sacred dome, or on the crowd
His moral dreams impose:
With schemes of dullness and of pride,
As but himself and none beside
Were worthy of the Rose.
176
Guard against these—we care not whoOr mounts the Pulpit or the Pew:
If black, or fair, or brown:
We need no longer fear the line
Of bullies, rakes, or fops, or fine
White coxcombs of the town.
177
'Tis these, and such as these, has madeThy ministry esteem'd a Trade:
Suspected, nay abhorr'd:
Woe to the men—(for woe their fate!)
By whom e'en Heathens scorn or hate
The Off'ring of the Lord!
178
All such are thieves and robbers own'd:And long since by their Lord postpon'd:
As come some other way:
101
Come not of his, but their own will,
To carry off the prey.
179
Who scorn the men prepar'd by him,As sent by knaves or madmen's dream:
Or wild distracted brain:
Who yet were impuls'd by his grace,
Without reward of fee or place,
Or filthy Lucre—gain.
180
Yet deem the labourer worthy hire:As just infirmities require:
Or cloaths or daily food:
Unmindful of all else beside:
Or nature's life or nature's pride:
As known the life of God!
181
These then are they who touch'd withinWith pungent sense of in-bred Sin,
Flee from the Wrath to come:
Then pierc'd with kind compassion's dart:
With lips of flame and fire of heart,
Invite a nation home!
182
No matter where or whom addrest:With utterance as with ardor blest,
They lift their voice on high:
Bid kingdoms turn from sin to God:
And know redemption in that blood,
Which sprinkles all the sky!
183
These then are who their mission prove,By fervent faith and equal love:
Best witness of their claim:
102
Than what now fills and fires their breast,
The glory of the Lamb?
184
I see the answer in thine eye,And am as ready to reply,
As thou art to oppose:
“Why then if this may be the case,
“There's none but if his noddle please,
“Menders of Pots or Shoes,
185
“But may up perch upon a stand,“With brazen face and dirty hand
“Talk Nonsense or blaspheme:
“Then cry—He's moved from within,
“To call his Brethren from their Sin,
“In the Redeemer's Name!”
186
In part you're right, in part you're wrong:I'll prove 'em both before 'tis long:
Only beware thy heat:
We do not say “'tis all who dream
(None such) “are sent in his great name
“Or, either call'd or meet.”
187
And yet e'en these as much as someWho think they merit all the room,
From dignity or sense:
Yet are but bunglers at their work,
And speak (from Book) what Jew or Turk
Might hear without offence.
188
Who boast indeed of Call and Power,But wherein better than the hour
Of Darkness and Despair?
103
The tongue no more than sounding Brass,
The word—more light than air!
189
And if the Life be like his speech,As soon may velvet-mouth'd horse-leech
Draw blood from iron bar:
As he draw water from that well:
Or make his senseless hearers feel,
Or hope or hopeless fear.
190
But he's a Priest or Deacon dubb'd:(Tho' still at school, had still been drubb'd,
A Trifler or a Dunce)
And, were he not a sacred son,
Not one would hear him, no not one:
At least not more than once.
191
But only shew the papal sleeve:What Contrasts will they not believe?
How 'chanting is the shrine!
What dark or dull will not go down!
Such Magic bears the robe or gown!
Nay—Blasphemy's—divine!
192
And more—what crimes of various dye,Cannot their practice sanctify,
If not as great or good:
At least, as innocent or pure:
Their very wantonness, demure:
And mild—their frantic mood.
193
O what a group of careless souls,Have drove these shepherds of their folds,
To misery and shame!
104
(What all without distinction use)
“Our Pastor does the same.”
194
This then accounts for something more,Unthought and unobserv'd before:
But awful as 'tis true:
Why Menders or of Shoes or Brass,
Ideots esteem'd—or boys or ass,
Are oft preferr'd to you.
195
Your call is human—theirs divine:They seek the Soul, and you the Shrine,
They profit—you but please:
They toil and labour, watch and pray:
You trifle, lounge, or sleep, or play:
They suffer—you're at Ease.
196
Yet—“they are all, or proud or false:“Tellers of lies and lying tales:”
Then how unguarded you!
Who by your malice and defame,
Affix on such (how wide your aim!)
The badges of the True!
197
Such were the marks their Fathers bare:And such from you their offspring share:
But know to all your shame:
The wise and calm—bar all your spite,
Will e'er suspect there's something right,
Whenever you exclaim.
198
And this they do on reason just:Not caring to take all on trust:
Your doctrines or your fears:
105
Our hopes or doubts—or blind, mistake
The finest Wheat for Tares.
199
Tares—such as ne'er by you were sown:Nor once imagin'd could have grown
On your hard, barren soil:
But what cannot effect his hand,
Who sows his harvest thro' the land,
Without or seed or toil!
200
But put the case as you believe:Alike unfit to preach or live:
Let Justice have her course:
If mad—then stretch their limbs on straw:
Or vile—their necks, where stakes the Law
Her lifeless, pye-bald horse.
201
But sure ye cannot be so blind!(Tho' more than to discern the wind)
'Tis nothing but your Pride:
That thus alarm'd with envious scorn,
Reddens your eye, and gilds your Horn:
Too prominent to hide.
202
What—can ye not discern the Times?No difference then 'twixt jingling Chimes
Of wild, uncertain sound:
Where all's confusion and dissent:
From where or rule or concord's meant:
All musically round!
203
Know ye not what their peal portends?Rung in your ears for higher ends
Than parish-toll for prayers:
106
Arise, ye sluggards, start and feel
It's thunder at your ears!
204
It rings to wake the dead in Sin:It rings to curse who die therein:
Cover'd with death's deep Pall!
It rings that all may hear the sound,
Who all are yet unhearing found:
God's great tremendous Call!
205
Arise, then, find yourselves undone:Arise, and see the falling sun
Now blushing on your souls:
Arise, and flee yourselves from woe:
Nor farther with your followers go,
Your lost, misguided folds.
206
Awake and blow the gospel-blast:Earnest of that to sound at last,
When all the dead shall rise:
The dead in Grace—the dead in Sin,
Invok'd no more—for good shut in,
In Tophet or the Skies!
207
For this, their trump now blown to you:Your long forgotten strength renew;
Your jealousy resume:
Or they—whom here ye all contemn,
Will stand the witness of your shame,
And judges of your doom!
208
Till then, what further need to askWhich of you bears the hardest task?
Or, likely most to prove
107
His zeal for him, who spilt his blood:
Or, to Mankind his love?
209
Nor call this railing or untrue:The world are witnesses and you:
Why then should they deny?
(Themselves from darkness late emerg'd,
For 'tis but meet and right when urg'd,
With meekness to reply.
210
By this—we therefore will abide,All other arguments aside,
'Tis not who will or run,
For gain or pleasure fond to teach;
But such as God appoints to preach
The gospel of his son.
211
(In part already here defin'd)Of fervent, unaffected mind,
From guile (as treason) clear:
Attach'd to none—but knit to all
Who on the same Redeemer call,
In meekness and in fear.
212
Such among you, we know there are:The few—who like the morning-star,
Or comet blaze and burn:
Evinc'd their mission not from thee:
More real, full, confest and free:
Thro' all the earth they turn,
108
213
Cover'd with just reproach and shame,They bear abroad the Saviour's name,
His equal godhead own:
Chusing to wait the praise divine,
(O were they less attach'd to thine)
“Ye faithful friends, well done!”
214
To these we add a serious trainOf holy, just and upright men,
Modest their faith—not clear:
Who, tho' now straiten'd and confin'd,
Shall e'er long feel a larger mind:
And shine on wider sphere!
215
O were but all thy sons like these!Devout—(tho' partial) warm to please
The God whose cause they love!
109
With all who should their virtue know!
How bright their thrones above!
216
Nay e'en of those thy state and prideHas grac'd with emblems on their Side:
The Crosier or the Pall:
Of these are found (at least—a few:
Give each—my thoughtful Muse, their due:
Nor base explode them all.)
217
The men of dignity and sense:Void or of lightness or offence:
Impartial, fair and mild:
Unturn'd their heads by Style or Place:
Their hearts fair copy'd in their face:
Their manners as a child.
218
Unmov'd by all the pomp of pow'r:Alike the seen or silent hour:
Such, Gloucester, late was thine!
If all were such—die Satyr all:
As prov'd if not divine their Call,
At least their Hearts divine.
219
Serious and modest, meek and calm,More soft than oyl or healing balm,
Addressive and humane:
Generous, unprejudic'd and just:
True to their friend as to their trust:
Nor less their scorn of gain.
220
And yet to shew thy just esteemOf such as boast their filial name,
And reverence thy pale:
110
That takes the gloominess away,
But thine reproach and rail.
221
All in a moment rise a cloudOf adversaries, hot and loud,
Like bull-dogs deep or fierce:
Prelates and Doctors (sturdy band)
Rectors and Patrons (thro' the land)
Their danger now rehearse.
222
Church-Wardens, Overseers and Poor,Sextons—with those who ope the door
For courtesy or Dram:
Mumpers, that ask or cut your purse:
All these with different mode of curse,
Cry out “O fy for shame!”
223
For shame of what—ye worthless crew?Who preach or scandalize what's true?
The Church's own decree:
“Sin actual and original:
“Th' extensive curse of Adam's fall:
“By Grace alone set free.”
111
224
“That—not by Works of Righteousness,Which we have done, or shall profess,
But by that faith alone,
Which must the sinner justify,
Acquit in God's severest eye,
His new adopted son.”
225
“That hence proceeds that ardent loveThat fires the heart with things above,
Cancell'd the guilt of sin:
Shakes all it's base, destroys it's pow'r,
And in it's time shall raze the tow'r
Of pride erect within!”
226
“That hence the love we bear to God,And hence that love as deep or broad,
As ocean's wide domain:
Borne in it's arms not one but all
Who on the name of Jesus call,
Or, groan the general stain.”
227
For this—what envy, spite and noise,Of draggled saints and parish-boys,
Who beg or steal their bread!
What Writs and Calls to pontiff courts!
The Judge and Proctors gain and sports:
Who shrug and wag their heads!
228
How much like them, who once wagg'd theirsAt him who brightens all the spheres,
Bids comets warmer burn!
Transfix'd as helpless on his cross:
Meek pattern of their shame and loss,
Who suffer in their turn!
112
229
You here observe I wholly wave(What from yourselves I well might crave)
The merits of the cause:
But say—you should the Church discard:
Or else in prudence own and guard
The men who preach her laws!
230
What else will Jew or Heathen tell?Or say the keen-ey'd infidel?
But “that ye serve a Place”
As sign'd at first what few believe:
Then preach a system as ye live,
Devoid of truth or grace!
231
And this they have done long ago,That what ye deal is but the blow
Return'd on harmless men:
Who if they're truly meek or wise,
Would sooner pluck out both their eyes,
Than e'er return again.
232
But only in their kind concern:As warm their inmost bowels yearn
For your increase and love:
Hoping tho' now your hate or scorn,
They may with you (by angels borne)
Be ever join'd above.
233
I know the bottom of thy plea:(Thy fond pretence of Heresy;
But this is all grimace!
The truth is this—thou knowest not,
With all thy pains, or depth of thought,
The Cause or End of grace.
113
234
Nor can thy envy well digestThe place they hold in every breast
Exempt from pride or spleen:
The crowds that hang upon their word:
Or Saints converted to their Lord:
Or Sinners from their sin.
235
If Heresy then break thy peace:Know there is none so great as this,
Which all thy coast o'er-runs:
That may exclude from out thy pale:
But this includes and shuts in hell,
Both thee and half thy sons.
236
That half I mean—be't less or moreIf more thou hast—ten million score,
Who while they boast thy name:
Like heathens live—like heathens die,
Without or hope or charity:
Thy glory and thy shame!
237
For know 'tis not who cleaves to thee,Or any else—from bigotry,
From int'rest, whim, or pride:
Or born or perjur'd to thy pale,
That can escape or turn the scale,
Which shall his doom decide.
238
Nor they who hate or scorn thy fold,From fear or favour, pique or gold,
Magnificent or small:
Who either live possest of grace:
Or die enwrapt in his embrace,
Whose eye disowns them all.
114
239
Who tho' dissenting wide in Mode,Made each themselves their idol-god,
Their Party or their State:
But void alike their faith and love,
Equal with thine their hope above:
And equal now their Fate.
240
This constitutes another charge,Which may in time be view'd at large:
At present this suffice:
That it is one of many score,
That makes thy friends thy fall deplore,
And enemies despise.
241
Here then thy partial pride they plead,E'en in the burial of thy Dead:
Where without wit or fear,
E'en Atheists who a God deride,
The damn'd for Gin, or Lust, or Pride,
Are all—“Our brethren dear.”
242
And yours they may for ought we know,Thy charity esteems them so:
While this aright none call:
But those at least who sought in fear,
The God whose name they worship'd here,
The Father of us all.
243
But chief of them who unconfin'dIn judgment—warm with love their mind
Know no reserve in grace:
But in the multitude of peace,
Where seen the fruits of righteousness,
A Universe embrace.
115
244
And yet in thee (except for Rome)Whom once excludes thy papal doom
What sepulchre is meet?
But (such as where they dropt who dy'd,
For murder—or for Suicide,
Were stak'd) the Road or Street?
245
Nor this the lot of all of them:Tho' curs'd their end—as life their shame,
Yet these can quarter find:
E'en Parricides have thine interr'd,
Of no funereal rites debarr'd:
A Fee makes Hangmen kind.
246
Nay on thy maxims 'tis but fairThey all who here thy bounty share,
Whatever be their End:
Should still be number'd of thy line,
(O what a length of cord is thine!)
Nor know thee less their friend!
247
And on the other—what more justWho swerv'd from thee alive—their dust
When dead—(what dread restraints!)
116
Thy Spit-deep consecrated soil;
Or rise among thy saints!
248
Not that thou needst be much afraid,That such as are not of thy dead,
Will ever thine molest:
Rise when they will, I dare averr,
'Twill not be hard to know who share
Thy portion from the rest.
249
Again they urge a thousand things,Which tho' confirm'd by Popes and Kings,
They cannot much commend:
A heap of ritual forms and modes,
Drawn out of old pontific codes:
A Finis without End.
250
“Thy temples of promiscuous fry:”Of such as come to gaze or lye,
To God as well as Man:
Descend from chat to pray or sing:
Or smile, a simp'ring, thoughtless ring:
As glad to meet again.
251
“Thy altars unfrequented left:“Or throng'd with men of bread bereft:
“Their conscience truck'd for Gain:
“Who come as if thy courts to grace,
“For pride, or salary, or place:”
What farther can remain?
117
252
Why next, “the Altar is ador'd:”Where lies the body of the Lord,
Without or end or life:
The priest's Derision or his God:
Some typal deem, some, real blood:
What Necromance of strife!
253
Whence this but from the love of gain?Ign'rance, or fopp'ry, or chicane!
(The Infidel's amaze!)
To see some bend before the shrine,
While others (tho' allow'd divine)
Neither adore nor gaze.
254
'Tis this the cause—one acts the Priest,His prudence calls to do the best
His office to support:
For if no more than only Bread,
A Lay-man might supply his stead:
Nay, consecrate at Court!
255
O what unhallow'd thoughts are these!What frenzy does some madmen seize,
When strolling from their sphere?
To dream that they may dare to come,
Or soil the platform of the dome:
Be stounded all that hear!
256
Others review with milder eyes:They (not adore—but) not despise,
Esteem their Lord's request:
Take, as he gave, with awful hand,
Fulfil the Saviour's kind command:
As Priestcraft all the rest.
118
257
Regard it as an Ordinance,A Means of grace—and in it's sense,
To celebrate his love:
Type of his body and his blood,
By faith receiv'd—they see their God,
Now prevalent above.
258
Believ'd and lov'd—ador'd unseen:Faith the sole instrument or mean,
By which his grace is known:
Himself a spirit—too refine,
To be contain'd in bread or wine:
Unalter'd still and one.
259
Nay wider yet—they rightly judge'Tis not the menial slave or drudge
For quarterage or hire:
Of Rome or from her kindred pale,
Has greater right her steps to scale,
Or light the sacred fire.
260
But more the men of hope and love,Warm in themselves from fire above,
To blaze the sacred word:
To whom more just the office due,
To deal with holy hands and true
The supper of their Lord.
261
And what more rational or clearThan who the Preacher's office bear,
By them alike be brought
The typal elements divine,
The broken bread and mingled wine?
How natural the thought!
119
262
Can any not insane supposeThat e'er in early days arose
A Heathen or a Jew,
Unturn'd from darkness or his sin,
Who dar'd or was admitted in
Or, Altar or the Pew?
263
And what are these of whom we treat,But Jews—or Infidels compleat,
In knowledge or in life?
Why then this pother for no ends,
But to disgust or shame our friends,
A vain unholy strife!
264
Not that we would ourselves intrude:Do aught unseemly, wild, or rude:
Sooner our form deface:
But only make his Word the Rule:
Great mode of practice in the school
Of Wisdom and of Grace.
265
From this we learn (what learn we not?)Or of his will, or mind, or thought,
That needs our present state?
Knowledge divine, exact, and pure:
Void of deceit, or proud demure:
How lowly—yet how great!
266
From hence we learn the simple mode,Of saints, first warm'd with fire from God,
All sons, and each an Heir!
No greater Mystery is found
In the prime courts of sacred ground,
Than—“breaking Bread and Prayer!”
120
267
How plain, how natural the term!“Breaking of Bread”—what here to warm
The Bigot or the Priest?
Much less to agitate the soul
With thoughts that like a torrent roll,
And swell the lordly breast!
268
What here to hinder—but commandThat all who join'd in heart and hand,
Meek hearers of his word:
Should with themselves—all brethren meet,
Convene, divide, partake and eat
The Supper of the Lord?
269
What need of Imposition here?To make the Call or Manner clear,
Most simple, most divine:
The blind may see—the dumb may speak
In heart-felt silence, warm and meek:
No Altar, Priest, or Shrine!
270
And what necessity can be,Where there's no Fraud or Mystery?
But all sincere and good:
Each takes (in faith) before him plac'd,
The tokens that his Lord has bless'd:
The Symbol of his blood.
271
Nay, if unguarded ask'd—will ownSome stately wise—“It may be done
“Of general intent:”
When this is (more than urg'd) perform'd,
Then all beware—the Priest is warm'd,
'Tis (now) a Sacrament!”
121
272
Allow'd—whose then the right or meetTo take and bless, commend and eat
The tokens of their Lord:
But theirs—the men of grace, prepar'd,
Sons of their labour and reward,
The preachers of his word?
273
One with themselves, by them receiv'd:Faithful their trust, their call believ'd:
Why then should they divide
What God together has conjoin'd,
And if divine, alike design'd
Together should abide?
274
Too sacred this—for all but theirs,Who read alike the News or prayers,
With eyes more blind than glass?
Know scarce the meaning of a word,
Much less the Spirit of the Lord:
More dumb than Balaam's ass!
275
These to their own should they prefer,The children of their pains or pray'r:
Degraded or repell'd:
Yet would they curse both these and them:
Tho' firm their ground in their esteem:
In high devotion held!
276
But this is all suppos'd—a dream:Or empty visionary gleam,
Where thousand Phantoms rise:
The whole existing in their mind,
To Int'rest—Self—or Sections join'd:
Hood-wink'd or sore their eyes!
122
277
But “'tis the Office, not the Men“That they support—the rest is vain
“To that the rank is given:
“As coming in it's lineal race
“From the first preachers of his grace
“Direct the line from heaven.”
278
But hold a while till we repeat,Without irreverence or heat:
“These were Irregular:”
Well said—your point elsewhere be fix'd,
Or all is quite confus'd and mix'd:
All Priestcraft and Despair!
279
If not from them—no right nor call:For both as one must stand or fall:
“I am (alone) the Door!”
But these (their own) whom you resist:
Yourselves yet say—“are call'd at least
“As they were call'd before.”
280
Why then what contrast of the wise!Who say—they see with both their eyes,
And we believe they do:
But more at bottom than we guess:
For fear or pride—it means no less
Than that they know it true.
281
But here the Canons come in play:Their thunder now is play'd away:
Tho' 'twas not long ago,
When it was ask'd (nay more deny'd)
“By whom confirm'd or ratify'd?
“Do any of you know?
123
282
What law or of the Church or State,Is not a matter of debate:
How then are they oblig'd
To rules which never were enjoin'd?
At least not legislative sign'd:
Of course then disengag'd.
283
Confirm'd as slender as they are,Were they to wage their gentle war
Against their works or peace:
They'd find whatever were their End:
'Twere not so easy to defend
Their batteries of Grace.
284
They hear no Conscience—but the Law:Like her extend their iron claw,
And gripe at great or good:
Let loose on these or on the first,
They thunder forth “abhorr'd—accurst”—
Then Penance—or your—Blood!
285
Besides, have they not sign'd these rules(The mode of Tyrants and their Tools)
Themselves? then they are bound:
Nor ought in sentiment or deed,
Impeach their honesty or head,
As stubborn or unsound.
286
But, or they did not, or they did,'Tis just the same—whate'er forbid,
The Articles or they:
All know, they both detest their scheme,
Condemn their Heresy to shame:
With all who disobey.
124
287
Their preaching and a thousand things,Ne'er lik'd, nor ratify'd by Kings:
Nor by the church enroll'd:
“True—but here Conscience plays her part:”
What, has she found another heart?
Or mended up the old?
288
Or is she still the same as e'er,But can a little portion spare
For bigotry or pride?
O what machinery of guile!
Well may our friends resentive smile,
Our enemies deride.
289
We wound her in the tenderest point;Yet seem to boggle at a joint;
As tho' it were the whole:
Cautious to pain her any more
We only aggravate her sore,
And grieve her very soul.
290
'Tis true, we call her—“all divine!”Cry “thou art ours and we are thine:”
The flummery of the Priest:
Yet while pursu'd the general scheme,
How should she otherwise esteem
The whole but as a Jest?
291
For what avails the pompous airOf formal Liturgy and Pray'r?
Or bowing to her Host?
While well she knows that after all,
Tho' loud ourselves—her Sons we call:
'Tis really at her cost!
125
292
Well may she bid us fair dissent:And honest own—what if not meant
Is both our guilt and shame:
For should herself the marks assign,
'Twixt those who serve or who disjoin,
What others would she name?
293
Would she not say—“Go preach abroad,“Let Laymen teach the name of God:
“Let Women bear their rule:
“All act commission'd, or as mov'd,
Or, as or gifted, or approv'd,
A non-commission'd school.”
294
Now this and more she reads is true,And shun we farther yet to go,
As if afraid to grieve
Her more than is already done?
As if ourselves—nay, all and one
Were fasten'd to her sleeve!
295
In short, we leave her just her cloathes:Her Rags, her Rostrum, and her Rose:
Her Platters and her Bones:
But take away her chiefest joy:
Her fav'rite boast—then solemn cry,
“Mother—behold thy Sons!”
296
She does—but 'tis with plaintive scorn,Her carcase on our shoulders borne,
Attended as if dead:
Yet oh! what agony she feels,
While conscious we support her Heels,
At peril of her Head!
126
297
Or, if we seem to raise on high,Her languid top beneath the sky,
How added her disgrace!
Since pulling down, as we erect,
'Twill in the end, (ah dire effect!)
But undermine her Base.
298
But give her back her preaching plan,Her doctrine, discipline, and then
You may take all the rest:
Meet oft or private as you please,
For profit, pleasure, or your ease:
Nay proclaimate your Fast.
299
Which now we dare not—or we won't:The Canons roar their dread affront:
Nor louder sounds a cloud
Of thunder pealing in our ear?
While else—where or respect or fear?
Nay we resist aloud.
300
Resist again—and break thro' all:Assert the Virtue of your call:
All Ceremony dead:
Boldly arraign her guilt and shame:
Your hands beneath her sinking fame:
And help erect her head!
301
Again “the Times the thing won't bear:”The Times!—what Times? (what lighten'd air!)
Had they once sooth'd the Times,
Better they ne'er had known their birth,
As left their Talents in the earth:
A Nation—in her Crimes!
127
302
“The Times forsooth!” what times e'er wou'dBear ought that's right, or great, or good?
We never saw the day:
And never will—till we refuse
All of our necks to grace her noose:
Nor fast and looser play.
303
Had they then ask'd of Flesh and Blood,Impuls'd of Man—instead of God,
What were the base reply?
“O still maintain your hallow'd ground,
“With us your heritage be found,
“And help support our Lye!”
304
Come—lay aside your former doubts:Timid, severe, contracted thoughts:
Your Rights no longer hide:
Discard the noblest of her sex:
If bound your hands, or yok'd your necks,
By Quality or Pride!
305
Once more revive your former fires:Seed of your parent, and her Sires:
Go call up all her sons:
A resurrection new and fair,
Frequent and full, and warm and clear,
And live their lifeless bones!
306
And them receive already givenChildren of hope—the gift of heav'n:
The partners of your cares:
128
With you resolv'd to stand or fall:
Your helpers and your heirs!
307
Who labour with you in the Word:Why not the Table of our Lord?
Their Lord as well as ours:
Equal their call in things divine,
(If not their apostolic line)
And equal here their Pow'rs!
308
We speak not but for your regard:For what is your or their reward,
But poverty and shame?
So shall ye raise a glorious seed:
To deal with you the living bread,
The Supper of the Lamb?
309
Till then what numbers want that food?Life of the soul—and life of God,
Thro' Scarcity or Fear?
Must or frequent th' unhallow'd pale:
With scorners throng the sacred rail:
Or mourn the live long year.
129
310
Thro' or Necessity or Doubt,How many constantly shut out,
As strangers in the land!
Or with the Heathen must approach:
Or such as on the shrine encroach:
A brib'd—but empty hand!
311
Have ye not seen—nor yet lament,(Why then not wary to prevent)
The shrewd opposer's spleen?
Who cries—“if neither call'd nor mov'd
“By man receiv'd—nor Heav'n approv'd:
“Why then admitted seen,
312
“Or in the Market or the Field,As under your command or shield:
“Your providence and care?
“Should not they move from whence they came?
“Nor plead, as standing in his name,
“Devoid of grace as fear?
313
“But if approv'd with you to teach,“With you to suffer as to preach:
“Why then alone represt
“To nothing more than bare the Word,
“Or take the supper of the Lord:
“In common with the rest?”
314
Thus have they reason'd—clear as free:What could be answer'd but a plea
We shall not causeless tell?
Tho' still it shews the weakest part
That bears your fervent upright heart,
For Zion's peaceful weal.
130
315
Surcease we then all farther charge,But take one moment to enlarge
The Consequence of this:
Besides, that it has wounded some,
It has afforded others room,
To cavil or despise.
316
“What, take the Ordinance from them!“O what a phrensy of a dream!
“Nor Deacon nor a Priest!
“Sooner renounce our Grace or Friends,
“Than take it from their fingers ends!
“Alay, unhallow'd beast!”
317
Call him a Layman—what a Fool!A buzzard, beetle, or an owl:
Scarce fit to hoop or sing:
Dub him the last—or first—at least:
How large his head! how small his wrist!
A preacher for a King!
318
Dulness or Nonsense now the same:Rabbi or Reverend is his name!
A noodle or a child:
'Tis thus these bigots of the Gown,
(The lore of Pulpits and their found)
Have reason'd—and revil'd.
319
In arms their pride! in arms their fear!All move eccentric of their sphere:
To Wisdom what Pretence!
Each aims the critic-blow to strike:
The Rich and Poor shew each alike,
Their manners, grace, and sense!
131
320
Far better quiet in their roof:From pride or idleness aloof:
Mending their Hearts or Hose:
Than slandering whisper as they meet:
Or house-row gad from street to street:
Outwearing Grace and Shoes!
321
Here ceas'd a while to thee we turn,For whom we toil, or plead, or mourn:
And with all due respect
Add to the few already nam'd,
Some others, for which thou art blam'd:
Hear them at large object,
322
“Liturgy—manglingly compil'd:“It looks just like a little child,
“Cut out of an old man:
“An ancient face with infant-limbs:
“An old suit mended with new seams:
“A dislocated plan.
323
“Where all as purpose or contrive,“Seems as intended to deprive
“The evil or the good,
“Of all the benefits that spring,
“From or the Nature of the thing,
“Or, from the grace of God.”
132
324
Detach'd—dismember'd and confus'd:The eye not shewn, or not well us'd,
Can never find it's part:
Only that some have ly'd so long,
It flows like butter from their tongue:
Whatever from their Heart.
325
A horrid mockery of lies,Where each repeats, and each replies,
What never felt or seen:
Nay, not believ'd by most that say,
Or, just as much as night is day,
Or azur'd æther—green.
326
Where all confess—but who amend?Sinning without or grief or end:
Still lost—yet always found,
But 'tis like Poachers—for their game,
(And some like preachers to their shame)
Upon forbidden ground.
327
Yet they confess—and babbling done,Await the high absolving tone:
Now forg'd a voice from heav'n:
It may be out-absolve the Priest:
Perhaps not think—or as a beast,
Yet think—“they're all forgiv'n!”
328
Attend yet farther and you'll hearA thousand voices break the air
Into ten thousand more:
Alike in one unmeaning strain:
They chatter, chant, and burst your brain
With their inhuman roar.
133
329
But were this all—one might forbear,Their Nonsense or their bawling spare:
But this the smallest point:
To hear a Nation tell their God,
“How mourn'd their sin! how vast it's load!”
Would shake the stoutest joint!
330
Now comes the warm, prophetic song:And now the huge, misguided throng
Lift up their voice on high:
All heav'n inform, that each one feels
What never yet with Heart or heels;
A universal Lye!
331
One thing perhaps—they say is true,(Tho' would not you should think it so)
Each calls himself “a Beast,
“Foolish and ignorant—and a worm:”
Nay, and to shew it's more than Form,
Includes the very Priest.
332
This may be so—all here be mute,We'd rather think it—than dispute
An axiom all must own:
But here's a point to be discust,
Part of the shrine's corrosive rust,
That eats her very Bone!
333
See first a man—of heart as proudAs Lucifer, and half as loud:
As wanton too his eye:
Believe his tale, he's meek and low:
So pure—His thoughts as silver flow:
His mind ne'er mounted high!
134
334
This last is true—now mind the next:A careless reader of the text:
“Lord, thou hast searched me:”
'Tis true, he has—but where has found
A viler wretch—not under ground:
Or prostitute or free?
335
A third complains—“how vastly Lean!”When swell'd with fatness, scarce is seen
His half extinguish'd sight:
But like an owl hood-wink'd by day:
He blinks as one who fain would say,
“Pray, sir, is it not Night?”
336
Why, sir, with you it is, and dark:I think no glimm'ring yet or spark,
Seems ever to have shin'd
On you or yours—what wonder then
You ask'd of Posts—as well as Men
The question of the blind?
337
Another stands an “Olive-tree,”Fair to himself—to you or me:
On him what fruit is found?
Why such—that (maugre all his lies)
The owner comes and gazing cries,
“Why cumbers it the Ground?”
338
The ground no more supports his weight,But op'ning wide, secures his fate,
Where all such branches grow:
Whose roots were rooted in a soil,
False or unkind—impure or vile:
Transplanted safe below!
135
339
Another tells how “melts his heart,“Like wax”—at what? bears he a part
In any stranger's care?
Did he do this—would he have tore
The Naked's garment? or his door
Have bolted on Despair?
340
Next hear a whining liar's tone,Who tells to all—his “endless groan,”
Ne'er heard but from his Tongue:
“How that his crimes—so great have been,
“He cannot but”—go on in—Sin:
Fell pattern of the throng!
341
Again the crowd—“I lovethe Lord!”Or, “will”—both lies—none keeps his word:
Then hear 'em thank him too:
For what?—“Why is not praise his right?”
Thus like the Heathens of the night,
They'd give the Moon her due!
342
Again—they “tremble”—well they may,For fear the judgment's awful day,
Should sweep them to despair:
Yet but regard their lives or face:
You'll see where ends the grand grimace
They hate—defraud, or swear!
343
Next hear a lying band affirmTheir true intention to reform,
And clean eschew their sin:
Yet after all their promises,
They only told their Maker lies:
They live and die therein!
136
344
Others again appeal to God,“How holy, just, and kind, and good:
“How ready to forgive
“Their greatest foes”—yet in the end,
Approve themselves as much their friend,
As he who fleas alive!
345
Then hear the general “delight,“In all the saints that are upright:
“Or who in grace excel:”
But put their virtue to the test,
They mean themselves—and wish the rest
Beneath the lowest hell!
346
Again—they're all “thro' fasting weak,”Their pillar'd limbs beneath 'em quake,
Like mill-posts large or sound:
But still they seem to bear their load—
And will—till falls the wrath of God—
Hard crush'd beneath the ground!
347
Now hear the Saints confess their crimes,(It is the Custom of the times,
To say) “how bad we are!”
But tell them—“they were born in Sin,
“And chance but They may die therein:”
O what revenge they stare!
348
For well affur'd how vastly good,They've try'd to make themselves and—God:
They see no cause to sear:
“That, be the balance e'er so just,
“They make no doubt—but humbly trust
“To suit him to a hair.”
137
349
Yet what are these(except a fewSincere and bigots) but a crew
Of wanton or demure?
Full of themselves—all else despise:
Believe and whisper hate or lies:
In self and Sin secure!
350
But this is David—'tis not Them:And chance 'twas only David's dream:
Why then not they repeat
Another's dream as if their own:
No harm, you know, 'tis all as one:
A winter-evening's chat.
351
Thus wisdom's judgment and her rules,Are made the sacrifice of fools:
Nay, God himself is mock'd!
The Heathen scorn, the sceptics jeer:
Join All the universal sneer:
While vengeance is invok'd!
352
This the effect of every Form:Whose force can neither melt nor warm:
All Random and at Will:
Where you must join the hue and cry,
Of nonsense, sound or foppery,
Or as a Mute be still.
353
Here is no medium in the case;Unless where Wisdom or her grace
Averts the pois'nous bane:
That from hypocrisy or rant,
Infuses all it's deadly taint:
A source of future Pain!
138
354
You say—“Why, no one is compell'd“By shame or modesty witheld:”
This not the thing secures:
For were all mute—but they who feel,
Or hope of heav'n, or fear of hell,
A silent meeting—yours!
355
You know 'tis equal—'live or dead:Nay, hear their voice, who cannot read:
Yet these can chew the pray'r:
Howl like the hound, or squeaking mouse,
Blatter the magpye or the goose:
Or grumble as the bear.
356
And they Will too—without your leave:They're at it now—come—pull their sleeve:
You cannot stop the brawl:
Their book—(the chart for all they do)
Is now before 'em—false or true,
And they'll repeat it all.
357
In vain you urge “there is no need“They should repeat, as if their Creed,
“Or knowledge of their own:
“What only was another man's,
“And is but put into their hands
“As something that was done.”
358
So then—you give it as a Toy,To keep 'em from some worse employ:
At least, while they are there:
Not mean a more mysterious use,
But to prevent the grand abuse
Of low unprinted pray'r!
139
359
Well—this is kind—we must allow:But then we really know not how
To favour the intent:
So strong forbid by sacred writ,
A lesser evil to permit:
The greater to prevent.
360
However urge what cause you please:Conceit, or pleasure, or for ease:
It all amounts to one:
'Tis only repetitive form:
Will ne'er enlighten, chear or warm
The heart of senseless stone.
361
But what care thine for cold or heat?It serves to keep beneath their feet
The ignorant and rude:
A standard to evince their feet
Their loan secure—and scourge with shame
Who would their shrine intrude.
362
“A set of noisy, bawling men:(Roaring like lions in their den)
“The nonsense of their Head:
“lgn'rant as chatt'ring Crow or Rook:
“And only lay aside their Book,
“Because they cannot read.”
363
Yes, but they can, and read you too:Not as if this were hard to do:
Nothing more easy done:
But this they know—that take away
Your books—abrupt must end your lay,
E'er well your lay's Begun.
As I have taken the liberty of making pretty free remarks upon the church of England, and her source the church of Rome, I shall here take the same freedom with that of Geneva, and observe, that unless she does, or would tolerate liberty of conscience, and religion in it's different modes, (where it interferes not with the just policy or peace of the republick) she is so far from having any reason to boast of superiority with respect to others, that she does but evince her relish and approbation of that spirit her founder brought from Rome; and in which he so cruelly exercised his artillery on poor Cervetus, that, as some might be inclined to think, it requires no small degree of charitable confidence to believe John Calvin is gone to heaven; so it must necessarily reflect an equal dishonour and suspicion on that republick, if, while they reverence his memory, they do not most publickly and formally renounce his crime.
The Clergy are not censured here simply for taking tythes, but for pretending they are theirs by a divine right, as if their case was parallel with that of the Levites, who, besides that they received the tenth by express Command of God, (which I defy these to prove from scripture, directly or indirectly with regard to themselves) did that work for it, which I fancy few of these gentlemen would readily do for double, and what was still more (and herein consists the twofold equity of the division,) they were forbid all other possessions and inheritance whatever. Would their successors (as they are called) think you, give up their paternal or acquired estates upon these terms? Trust them in the experiment. Nor less avails their plea from the law; since it is nothing more than a courteous legislative continuance of those acts which were made in their behalf at a time when their forefathers trod upon the necks of princes, (robbed their subjects of their rights) and, when their own merits called rather for some proper corrections, than for any further emoluments, which they knew, and ought still to feel, the legislature can diminish or resume, whenever they judge proper.
The following instances are not designed as literally true, in every particular, but only intended to illustrate the general disposition, character and transactions, that are so flagrant at these times, to the scandal of their profession, the hardship and injury of those they deal with, and to the amazement and disgust of all humane and moderate men—and therefore fictitious as they may be deemed, or represented, in order to debilitate their force, I verily believe, they all of them fall most descriptively short of what they know in their own conscience to be true, and which so many hundreds have experienced at their hands all over the kingdom, to their sorrow and undoing, or why (unless driven to the last necessity) does no one upon earth chuse to hire, lease, or buy even a hog-sty, that they own?
This is a circumstance as much to be lamented and abhorred as it is true—In all other estates in England (except those of the church) tenants are encouraged to improve both houses and estates, by the owners either bearing a part of the expence, or at least, by permitting the possessor to enjoy it unraised and unmolested during his own time; a thing however generous, is no more than is just: but among the former, it is at a man's peril ever to white-wash the walls of his house, or to make even necessary, and oft-times expensive improvements, either in that, or his farm; for at his next renewal, which may be in a few years (or if a son succeed, in a few days) he is compelled to pay a considerable fine, or turn out.—So that really some of their houses, &c. are half ruined from this very circumstance; and when they are told of the unreasonableness and dishonesty of this, the usual reply, it seems, is, “We have “it only for our life.”—Your life!—why would you have it after your life? If this calls not for some legislative notice and amendment, what does?—And, what is not a little surprizing, some of those very gentlemen themselves have often made the very same complaint;—but then it is only at home. —The clergy want a Roman senate at their heels.
This was the meaning, and almost the very literal expression of a certain dignitary in the church of C. not long since; and is no great secret in the city where it was spoken.
As was (it seems) actually the case in the city of Canterbury, when two regiments of foot, and one of horse, were quartered there last winter: nor was the complaisance of the church, I am told, any more extended towards the officers than their charity was towards the private men: something strange too, one would think, that a body of men, both whose kingdom is most certainly of this world (tho' they both fight in their different way) should incorporate no better! but only this we know, that under some certain circumstances, even Satan may be divided against himself.
I cannot here sufficiently admire and recommend as a pattern to his brethren the clergy—the zeal of that sensible and useful preacher, Mr. Romaine—in vindicating that most important and fundamental article of the Christian religion, the divinity of the Son of God—tho' I must take the liberty of observing, that I think he carries his mark too high, since from the principles whereon he endeavours to prove that point, he may seem to make not only three distinct persons, but really three distinct Gods; for undoubtedly three necessarily self-existent, and independent beings, must be three necessarily, self-existent, and independent deities, so that even the Nicene creed, wherein Christ is styled God of God, Light of Light, &c. however orthodox it is esteemed, is really the reverse: and if so, this argument proves too much. —But this I hint with the utmost decency of deference and regard; as I do likewise my wish, that however severely he may judge it necessary to explode the tenets of the Arians, Socinians, &c. he would nevertheless treat those gentlemen with less clerical resentment and contempt; i. e. with more lay-politeness and humanity.
Of this we have lately had some very remarkable instances in the person of Mr Romaine in particular, and some others whose eyes God has opened to discern the truth as it is in Jesus, and their mouths as largely to declare it, tho' before they were either not known, or only regarded as learned or ingenious men:—but they are now called forth to pass thro' a different scene, viz of contempt, ridicule and opposition; a proof of their adversaries spirit, and no small evidence in favour of their own mission, and the success of that ministry, which, as it comes from heaven, entitles it's messengers to the reward there reserved for all such as turn many to righteousness, viz. to shine as the stars for ever and ever!
This is not designed to insinuate that all, no nor flatly to assert that any in particular, who die this death, are lost for ever—God forbid!—We both hope and believe that some (not to say many) who leave the world thus ignominiously, are saved; and make no doubt but (humanly speaking) many more might, had they but been attended at so important and awakening a period, by any besides drunkards, ignorants, or stupid bigots to a form or party.—And the term is here used allusively to the manner of their death, not the effect.
The reader will observe, that these are only a continuation of the objections made by the dissenters rather than the author.
And so it must be, and cannot be otherwise so long as this simple institution is deemed a sacrifice; for in this case, a priest (if he is to be had for love or money) must administer, and none else:—whereas, only reduce it to it's primitive and scriptural standard—and then, a handful of private individuals, or a single family, may communicate, as the Christians did of old—and the sacrament (so called) become once more literally a daily sacrifice of prayer and thanksgiving.— Strange, to hear wise and good people talk of, and pretend to pray for this, and yet at the same time most preposterousiy vindicate and adhere to that very method, which so unsurmountably contradicts and prevents it!
The reader will remember that this has been an old bolt shot at our church by the Dissenters; and is repeated here that every thing may have it's full scope—but the material objections of the author are chiefly levelled at the common and infamous abuse at that (in general) serious and valuable composition.
140
CANTO III.
Infandam, Regina, cogis revocare
Querelam!
Virg.
Virg.
1
Commence we now a second scene,A feast of dullness, pride, or sin:
Where hungry souls are starv'd:
A Sermon dight—you'll understand,
Or made—or newly come to hand:
An old one would have serv'd.
2
First mounts a pompous, downy Sire:Wrapt up like Muffins at the fire:
For fear they should grow cold:
Settl'd secure—th' important Sage
'Gins mutter o'er the lifeless page:
His gospel to unfold.
3
Tells you—“we were not born in Sin,“Adam's too early to begin
“The present decent race:
“For tho' 'tis true(as all must own)
“A naughty apple threw him down:
“Yet we pick'd up his Grace.
4
“That all the fall consists in this,“Our aptitude to do amiss:
“And some times—to do good:
“Tho' doubtless not so much as Sin,
“As possible—it would have been,
“Had father Adam stood.
141
5
“And therefore all the ill in us,“Is not as madmen would impose,
“Or wild Fanatics dream:
“From any tincture of his fall:
“Or if it be—'tis mighty small:
“And all must lie on him.”
6
How well receiv'd by all who hear!No wonder each erects his ear:
And hums the hush'd applause:
When thus the preacher—soft or warm:
Their ignorance can kind inform,
“That Adam's all the Cause.”
7
Not of their guilt or foulest stain:This were all true—nor light nor vain:
And might alarm their fear:
But “of some little Taste for vice:
“As scandal, levity, or lies,
“Low whisper'd in your ear.”
8
“That this is common to us all:“And no more proves a general Fall,
“Than if because your leg
“Were here and there a little stain'd,
“With scarlet spots—(or if your hand)
“Would prove a general Plague. ”
9
Now could you hear or see the crowd!“Well this is excellently good!
“Ay this—is something like!
142
Thus they correct 'em with a reed:
And with a bulrush strike!
10
Not thus the preacher who has known“His sin and Adam's were but one:
“The common source and head:
“Grand representer of his race:
“That lost for all the common Grace,
“And all in him are dead!
11
“That from him—(as a fountain) springs,“All that in Beggars or in Kings,
“Is lofty or impure:
“That saints and sinners are the same,
“Alike their Nature and their shame,
“Alike their death or cure!”
12
“That all are dead asleep in sin“Nor ever once their life begin
“'Till quicken'd from above:
“By that great hand—which rais'd up him
“Who only could a world redeem:
“Or buy the Father's love!
143
13
“That hence the taint thro' out the whole:“The dying Frame—the dying Soul:
“Prime curse and end of Vice:
“That hence the fairest, hum an saint,
“With all her virtuous, moral paint—
“Her Passion—or her Price”
14
She may indeed—assume form:The gentle dove or humble worm:
Yet credit not her Face:
Since after all—she's nothing more,
Than an untry'd—untempted whore:
Soft ya-hoe of the race!
15
So that in truth, the warmth within,Is not resentment at the Sin:
But vengeance at the Shame
Annex'd from Custom to it's Cause:
For, save but this—or bribe the Laws:
She burns a rival flame.
16
Nor burns she more, than all may burnWith passion, pride, revenge or scorn:
Tho' diverse in Degree:
Nature no formal boundary knows:
But various channels—various flows
From Monarchs—down to me!
17
For ev'ry Heart and ev'ry Soul,Is equally impure and foul,
From her infected source:
Runs thro' the whole a muddied stream
Of guilt—of nakedness—and shame:
Strong as diffus'd it's course!
144
18
Thus, like a Tree—high-branching wide:Whose fruit is Ignorance and Pride:
Self-poison'd at the Root:
Soaks thro' the sap each op'ning pore;
Rotten it's Essence—and it's Core:
Tho' fair—unsound the fruit!
19
That not by taking thence a dropOr here—by plucking from the top
A single leaf or stem:
Can you eradicate the tree:
Change or it's Bane or Quality:
Or purge the tainted Stream.
20
As well the woodman may suppose(As fondly view'd the stately rows
Of Cedars yet unhewn:)
That cropt a Tendril or a twig:
He may in time by cropping—dig,
Or cut the forest down.
21
Or that by pruning of the Vine:Untwisted or remov'd it's twine:
It's present form or place:
He can or break the nervous bend:
It's native curl, or change or mend:
Or meliorate the race.
22
What Nature—but a lofty pine?Or a wide spreading tow'ring Vine
High over all and chief!
Scorns or the finger or the sheers:
Yet drops (what without hurt she spares)
A Tendril or a Leaf.
145
23
But lay the ax beneath the root:Down falls the tree—it's branch and fruit
Low levell'd with the ground:
Or dry the river at it's source,
Then alter or direct it's course:
And make the water sound.
24
Not that compar'd the vile and good:As equal enemies to God:
To virtue or mankind:
As if no difference were between
The vulgar rude or decent mien:
The base or polish'd mind.
25
This we allow—each takes his place:But where exempt if view'd in Grace?
Here all insolvent see:
All are in debt—and who can say
The grand discharge—or who shall pay
“My hand has set me free!”
26
Free before Men—they may appear:Delude thine eye—or mock thine ear:
With Figure or with Sound:
But will he (think you) judge the same
Who knows no difference of Blame,
Where difference is not found?
27
And none is here—for all have sinn'dHis Glory lost—nor e'er has gain'd
One soul his lost esteem:
'Till conscious prostrate in the dust,
Condemn'd as guilty and unjust,
He owns his equal shame.
146
28
Then may he rise—but not before:'Till then alike the vile or pure:
The humble and the proud:
All else is Nature's work and pride:
Unsearch'd—untempted—or untry'd:
Most negligently good!
29
Small cause to boast if this the case,Virtuous or vile alike from Grace:
The man endu'd with none:
Yet unemerg'd from Nature's night,
Or, glories in her borrow'd light:
And glitters like the moon.
30
“Yet this is light”—we grant it is:And such as oft deceives the wise:
Serene or mild as balm:
As well might Ships their virtue boast,
Who ride unshatter'd, as untost:
Amidst the flatten'd calm.
31
The calm of Elegance and Ease:Unruffl'd by the lightest breeze
To influence your course:
Yet even here—your Pride is seen:
You shew or meditate your Mien:
Your Stature or your Horse.
32
Yet with the air of Disregard,(Your self-complacence your reward:
Nor this alone—your end)
Silent you ask a smile or steal:
Then with a blush—reflective feel
The flattery of a friend.
147
33
Feel it with pleasure and with pain:Disgust of politic disdain:
Yet while you seem to shun
The fond applause—or feign to hide:
How fed the ardor of your pride!
Nor this engag'd alone:
34
For now your Virtue comes in play:Your Tempers shine a summer's day:
Your soul—a violin:
How ready to oblige or go!
The rise how grand! the stoop how low!
How virtuous—Harlequin!
35
Was e'er such goodness seen before?Why yes—at Court—ten thousand more
Whose piety like his,
Drops from their eyes or fingers ends:
Smile on their foes and squeeze their friends,
How gracious or—how wise!
36
See grave Tertullus in his rear:Thoughtful, serene, august, severe:
And polish'd as a Reed:
Has nobly drawn in the defence
Of Grace—the Truth and common Sense:
A Convert to his Creed!
37
But yet, Tertullus might do wellTo weigh a moment if his zeal
Be girt with Charity:
Genius—consistent in his mien:
Devoid of Party, State, or Spleen:
Unmix'd simplicity!
148
38
Not clouded by the portly frownThat with imperial scorn looks down
On any who dissent
In practice, principle or mode:
Nor deems a sacrifice to God,
The bigot's Compliment.
39
Paid as an offering to the shrineOf human precepts as divine:
Whence thousand Contrasts rise!
The whims of Priests' prolific brain:
Of senseless vanities—a train
And hierarchal lies!
40
Whence hard contempt or hate of them,Who bare the Burden and the Shame
Of half a kingdom's Crimes:
Their toil—or use—as light esteem'd:
Themselves as vile Intruders deem'd:
The Stop-gaps of the times!
41
And yet Tertullus burns with zeal,And huge concern for Zion's weal:
As warm her sons to save!
But spurns the very men by whom
Her head emerges from the Tomb:
Her honours from their Grave!
42
Thinks—pity God had not employ'dThe men by whom, as half destroy'd:
So half her shrine's defil'd:
Her Statutes, Orders, and her Creeds,
Esteem'd a Rig-ma-roll of beads:
The Drivelings of a child!
149
43
Fit troop indeed—to raise her fame!Her merit—dignity or name:
Themselves her worst disgrace!
How fitter far to serve their turn,
To whom her very Name's a scorn:
Insulted to her face!
44
Yet These—Tertullus are thy Choice!For these preferr'd th' elective voice:
How thoughtless and ingrate!
Not once reflecting—he condemns
The very men—whom yet esteems
His Folly or—his Fate!
45
Strange—that Tertullus does not seeWhat wild—unfair absurdity
His Witless scheme attends!
Since, tho' the first are wrong believ'd:
The men—who them support—receiv'd
His patterns and his friends!
46
Nay—should his heat for Modes subside:Or cool his superstitious pride:
Or Stateliness of sense:
What difference would he dare commend
'Twixt those—who rob'd or robeless stand?
Her Hate—and her Defence!
150
47
Would he not see—and own how wiseThat ruling Providence—whose eyes
Beheld her vile estate:
Had interpos'd his timely power:
By these had sav'd her from the hour
Of Rome's impending fate!
48
The fate of all—who boast a nameTo live—yet to their living shame
Are dead—amidst their Breath!
The case of her—before us seen:
Till these (he scorns) arose between
Her Sentence and her Death!
49
Strange sort of Homage this—to her:Whose fall he mourns—for whom his pray'r
Ascends a filial flame:
Thus to esteem who her despise:
And them contemn—by whom they rise
From Infamy to Fame!
50
The first, in truth, for little more,Than what e'en Heathens might adore:
The Drapery or Vest:
Accoutrements contriv'd to screen
The nonsense, dulness, or the sin
Of one—yclep'd a Priest!
51
The next again—for little elseThan that these want the lordly veils
Of Aaron's pontiff line:
But stand the ministers of God:
Uncumber'd with th' invidious load,
Of Priestcraft and her Shrine!
151
52
As if (because unbound by swarmsOf Ephods, Articles and Forms:)
Unhallow'd and unmeet!
Or, as devoid of thought or sense,
An awful, all-wise Providence
Had acted indiscreet!
53
For tho' the Inference should shame,As well it may—yet still we claim
With Reason to conclude:
“Who or despises or condemns
“The Instruments—the Workman blames:
“As foolish or not good!”
54
This most undoubtedly's imply'd:Tho' plac'd in Form—might be deny'd:
Or as an Axiom brought,
Would shock Tertullus' generous soul:
His sparkling eyes resentive roll,
With horror at the Thought!
55
But such the Inconsistency,Where squinting—moon-ey'd Bigotry
Maintains her hood-wink'd sway:
Or with the hand of witchcraft spreads
Her leaden mantle o'er our heads:
And blunts the visual ray!
56
Next Mitio—herald of the word:As plain as e'er was Norway board:
And stedfast as a tow'r:
Serious, serene, polite, and mild:
Yet all his virtues—how despoil'd!
Were Mitio fond of Pow'r?
152
57
But what—if he were fond of more?Not the successive, bursting roar,
That noisy Bigots raise:
But if he drinks with eager breath,
Th' empoison'd draught of certain death:
The stabs of decent praise ?
58
Nor were this all—see next behind,With all the graces of his mind:
The fiend his bane instill:
If by his eloquence, or strain,
His art, his interest, or mien,
He perpetrates his Will.
59
Since tho' unmov'd by vulgar things,The pomp of courtiers and of kings:
Of Titles or of Pelf:
Yet on the whole, we should infer,
However self-renounc'd his Air,
“That Mitio lov'd himself.”
60
Now Glario—solemn, midnight sage!Bursts o'er the manners of the age,
His deep, nocturnal groan!
Drawn by the Profile of his pen,
Who sees—yet sorrows not that Men
And Centaurs, are but one?
153
61
Critic of morals and the times:He spares not Britain nor her crimes,
But mark the luckless foil:
Not censur'd all—ah partial Rose!
While o'er his Idols shrines he throws
The Daubings of his oil!
62
Daubings of fulsomeness and pride:The drapery design'd to hide
The Monsters he should paint:
The rich, the rising, and the great:
The pimps and minions of a state:
Pray which of these—the Saint!
63
Why then condemn'd the Infidel?Who with his Astaroth or Belle—
Exclaims—“Behold the Sun!”
While Age herself adores the fair,
And points to ev'ry list'ning ear:
“One brighter than the Moon?”
64
Forgive the pertness of the Muse:Nor call her liveliness—abuse:
But list thine eyes and see
The answer, e'er her being, giv'n:
“Who spare not Wilmington, nor Heav'n,
“Will surely not spare thee!”
65
Beside, the thought that plumes thy crest:May lawful warm her tumid breast:
Enkindled at thy flame:
In whose, with thine, with all around,
The universal Passion's found
Of universal Fame!
154
66
Nor ought avails—th' unequall'd pen:Depictur'd—Goddesses or men,
How bright or blind their eyes:
Not hers, the subject of my song:
For thee reserv'd—and for thy tongue,
“Fair P—tl—d of the skies!”
67
The skies—her rival and her sphere:Where not Selina's brightness dare
With Cynthia's form contend:
But “more a Goddess by the Change”
Exult—and in her lunar range
Adore her nobler friend!
68
Unmask her, Glario unmask:For thee 'tis no unusual task
To strip the borrow'd plume:
Besides, 'twas borrow'd from thy pen,
And to thy shame resume again,
Nor dread the waxing gloom.
69
What tho' eclips'd—she hide her face,Nay more than hide—suppose her Grace
Should frown upon thy age:
What's that to thee? her harshest frown
Will not retard thy falling sun:
Nor sweep thee from the Stage!
70
But if she could—what would she more,Than sweep thee from the dreary shore
Of earth's inhuman throng?
Sweep thee where smiling seraphs live,
Where bright Narcissa's flames revive
And angels learn her song!
155
71
And thou shalt theirs—if theirs thy lot:On high up-cast—where Midnight thought
Like Light herself shall shine:
Where plays the uncreated ray:
Where all is one unclouded day:
Eclaircissement divine!
72
Next, Crusius, warm, prelatic bard:A Levite—poet—truth 'tis hard,
To say what he is not:
At times he's taken for a fool:
A madman—void of care or rule:
All vacuum of thought!
73
Or thought confus'd or uncontroul'd:To selfish whim or fancy sold:
All hurry and turmoil!
Yet amidst all—the Something's found
That like a gem from under ground
Denominates the Soil!
74
But here the grand obstruction lies:Crusius can see with both his eyes:
But uses only one:
From hence arises his reserve:
Or huge affection—till the nerve
Of friendship is undone.
75
Here stands a Pauper—well what then?Is he a saint? not Crusius can
Discern it in his Face:
Shew him a Colonel—or my Lord:
They hardly breathe—but “on his word,
“He knows they must have Grace!”
156
76
And whence is this? why, chance from hence,That Crusius knows for he has sense)
And gives the reason wny—
'Tis this—“a something's felt within”
(For if they're not afraid to sin)
“They're not afraid to die.”
77
And mayn't the fear of death be goneFrom thousands as from only one:
Whose state is insecure?
Not sure where found the noble mind:
From vulgar dross and dregs refin'd:
High polish'd—and obdure!
78
But this is Crusius' turn and taste:He thinks unthought—and speaks in haste:
Commends or disapproves:
Dependant each—not on the ground
Of solid rock—at random found:
Wherever Crusius loves.
79
And where is that? why you shall hear,The rich, the stranger, and the fair:
The graceful and the wise:
The man of pomp or eminence:
The dame of honour and of sense:
How thick their Virtues rise!
80
From hence his inconsistency,His cool relax to you or me:
His glory and his stain:
Yet after all to speak his due:
Aside what else we might review:
He dies—an honest man!
157
81
What hence inferr'd? why what is plain,How strong tho' latent is the stain
Diffusive thro' us all:
Nor can our utmost efforts hide
What are themselves the fruits of Pride:
As pride is of the Fall.
82
But you—perhaps are something more:You visit, nay you love the poor:
Nor scorn their levell'd roof:
So good—you'll rise by night or day:
Nay pity, feed, or clothe, or pray:
But can you bear Reproof?
83
“Reproof for what?” why this or that:Or any thing—I can't tell what
Particularly now:
“But I must know”—I'll tell you why—
You're or most pompously too high:
Or sullenly too low.
84
Not barely in your mien or mood:And Right—were an extreme of good:
Nor wholly free from blame:
But or too warm your fond pretence,
Or soon and lasting your offence:
I need not speak your Name.
85
'Tis you, 'tis me, in short, 'tis all,On most the Inuendos fall:
Our foible or our crime:
'Tis want of prudence or of grace:
'Tis want of knowledge in our place:
Or difference of time.
158
86
All the effect of pious pride:Without ability to hide
Your impotence of soul:
Easy elate, with ease deprest,
For trifles angry, or distrest,
At parties, or the whole.
87
And yet, methinks, I know a case,Where you would court the lowest place,
Nay, relish a rebuke:
“Where?”—why when sweetly with your leave,
Nods with an air, or pulls your sleeve,
My Lady or the Duke.
88
Then—you are all submiss of form:Never so humble was a worm:
You're nothing that you should:
Replete with foibles, blots and crimes,
The very model of the times:
How wicked and how—good!
89
'Tis well that neither you nor they,Believe one syllable you say:
How wretched your desert!
If either did—how flush'd your face!
What ordeal trial of your grace!
'Twould scarify your heart!
90
But you are safe—there's nought to fearFrom them, ungrateful, or severe:
No Delicacy hurt:
You wound yourself—there is no harm:
Besides their flattery's a balm:
Soft physic of the Court!
159
92
But undone this—O what a Face!What flushings of exasper'd grace!
What menaces or scorn!
What dread designs against our peace!
Our hearts, our credit, or our ease!
Your very entrails burn.
93
Burn with amazement or revenge,At those who firm disdain to cringe,
But honest disregard
Your pleasure or impertinence,
Yourself a rock of just offence:
Your torment your reward.
94
And plain the premises approveThat all the ardor of your love,
Your piety and zeal,
When closely scann'd are little more
Than (as was hinted just before)
The honours of your Will.
95
Be this perform'd—you're all that's pleas'd,And this oppos'd—ne'er so diseas'd,
The leprous head or hand:
Too strong for Reason's gentle rein,
You cannot for your life refrain,
Nor bear a reprimand.
96
“Bear it from whom?” why, from a friend:“O yes—I hope—I'd always mend
“When it is rightly giv'n!”
Rightly forsooth! come cut it short:
You love the language of the Court:
A little of the leaven.
160
91
Give you your way—(for that's the thing)What down so soft! nor smiles the king
More gracious from his throne:
Accent how mild—how meek your eyes!
The cause just nam'd—(nor latent lies)
Your sov'reign Mind is done.
97
But is your food or physic worseBecause the vehicle is coarse?
Your freedom less admir'd:
Because the hand that sets you free,
Or bids you turn the friendly key,
Is raggedly attir'd?
98
“But 'tis unmerited the blame”—Why then your censure's not your shame:
How little we abide!
Besides 'tis what you might have done,
And may e'er sets the rising sun:
Just issue of your pride.
99
“Well but I did not do the thing:”Allow'd—but pray are you a king
That no one must reprove:
What or they hear or think you did,
But only as you please to bid,
Or delicately love?
100
If true the guilt—esteem it well:Not be displeas'd that any tell
Your weakness or your crime:
If not—be thankful you are clear:
And take as warning for your care,
Against another time.
161
101
For who despises a reproof,But fondly deems he's safe enough
From error's sad disease:
Yet shews a mind but too infirm,
To bear the impulse of a storm:
Or ruffling of a breeze.
102
But lofty minds are always safe:At admonition's frown or laugh:
The monitor miscall:
Unweeting (till they smart within)
That scorn of that precedes our sin:
And haughtiness our fall!
103
Now comes your rival—bold or fair:Who sweeps along like zephyr'd air:
(You're very smart indeed)
Has seen the world—that is the Stage:
Talks of it's manners and the age:
How infidel their creed!
104
Laments in soft pathetic toneThe crimes that constantly are done
Within this lower sphere:
Loves much to hear the gospel spreads,
The suckling on the serpent treads:
It's Messengers how dear!
105
The last how just—how shrewdly true!But is there nothing dear to you
Beside their Word's success?
Mistakes mine ear—or dims mine eye,
When prone to think you half apply
For personal Address.
162
106
At least, for personal regard:Their just attention your reward:
As pleas'd to hear you speak
Your own—or judgment of the wise:
“How strong their thoughts—how clear their eyes,
“How masculine their Greek!
107
“How tun'd their voice—how wav'd their hand:All nature moves at their command:
“The hearers how inform'd!
“What nervous points! what crowds attend!
“Myself—how raptur'd to the end!
(Less mended than you're warm'd.)
108
“Well, sir, I hope not short your stay:“Indeed, you ne'er should go away,
“If I could have my will:”
Believ'd, Miranda, you say right:
You'd hark the year, from morn to night
Yet, be Miranda still.
109
And that's enough—'tis all that's frail:A blast—a bubble, or a tale:
A fairy or an elf:
It is, in short—what is it not?
A dream—the Ideot of a thought:
It is—Miranda's self.—
110
And reason good it should be so:You aim at nothing but to know:
An easy, lifeless task:
But as a Medium of excuse:
Permit me less reserve to use:
And unapolig'd ask,
163
111
Start there no glances from your eyes?No grave, affected, soft surprize
At what you knew before?
No gentle, sprightly, well—turn'd leer?
No Inclination of your ear,
To be inform'd of more?
112
I would not willing judge thee hard:Only 'tis meet that some regard
In reason should be paid
To marks as glaring as the sun:
By or your hand, or air, or tone:
Or motion of your head.
113
All these (you know) as loudly tell(As ever toll'd th' alarming bell
For burial or for pray'rs:)
What is the Genius of your frame:
What or your hope or hopeless aim:
Or whether only—Airs?
114
And if 'tis this—'tis loss of timeAt least—if not a real crime:
And nothing gain'd beside
The harsh, uncomfortable sense,
“That all your grace is but Pretence:
“And all your fervour—Pride!”
115
But come—be serious and sincere:(All Affectation costs us dear)
Enough you know the Text:
Leave others to descant in form,
Display the logic of their Arm:
And listen to the next.
164
116
Hear then a Spark that tells you moreThan chance you ever thought before:
“There never was a Fall:
“Adam was just as he was made:
“And we but carry on the trade
“That fools Corruption—call.
117
“We're all the same—pure Flesh and Blood:“Some act amiss—but all are good:
“Each in his different way:
“Except 'tis here and there a few,
“Who ne'er or truth or morals knew:”
This is his sacred lay!
118
To him we nothing can reply:He seems as born to live and die
A Heathen of a Priest:
But so far we may just remark:
As to return the daring spark,
His Articles at least.
119
Now comes a third—an airy beau:That looks as if a Puppet-Show
Were really the Intent:
He talks a little like the first:
And eke unwilling to be curst:
Repeats the Compliment.
120
Tells them—“they're doubtless well inclin'd:“Good Christians—all of the same mind:”
And so they are no doubt:
But still he cautions them (for fear)
Not to get drunk, defraud, or swear:
This serves the present bout!
165
121
And it serves them as well as him:He tells—and they approve the dream:
But neither—quite awake,
Imagine aught behind remains,
But—to forget it for their pains:
And hold the former track.
122
Up steps a fourth—a lusty blade:Just fit to handle Oar or Spade:
A very strong divine!
Tells us—“that nothing's good for nought:
“That Troy was burnt, and Dunkirk bought:”
They stare—go home—and dine.
123
Another lifts his trumpet's voice:(Did ever Herald make his noise?)
“Ye can but live in sin!”
O how they echo to his praise!
Since in effect—the Wizard says,
“That we must die therein!”
124
Now hear your Christian Faith defin'd:“A notion”—any thing—the wind:
“It is”—pray what is it?
Why, 'tis a something that you brought
Into the world—that comes to nought:
The model of your Wit.
125
Yet, “We are justify'd by Faith”The good old Church of Encland-Path:
But hear him all ye Turks!
For fear his flock should idle grow:
And neither Good nor Evil do:
“We're justify'd by Works!”
166
126
But now—“we are set free indeed“By Faith alone”—be this our Creed:
But does the Sire insist
On any farther due regard
To promise—threat'ning or reward?
Or live we as we list?
127
If so—what profits all our faith?Still to move on the baleful path
Of Carelessness or Sin:
Far better yet unknown his grace:
Than thus affront him to his face:
And dare the wrath divine!
128
But hold—“ye are predestinate!”Who are? why—we'll demand your State:
Have you one single spark
Of light or life infus'd within?
Do you design to flee from sin?
“Why yes”—then there's the Mark!
129
Allow'd—but is there nothing more?This they could boast of long before:
So that if this be all:
But slender cause your joy to move,
Since at the close, it may but prove
An ineffectual call.
130
From hence how many self-deceiv'd:Themselves predestinate believ'd,
For little more than Thouht!
Trifled with God, till left alone:
They're irretrievably undone:
To swift destruction brought.
167
131
Now view the souls—whose end is nigh,Senseless or hopeless see them lie:
And desperate their case:
Yet why should these be lost with fear:
When traitors whisper in their ear:
“Ye're the elect of Grace?”
132
Nay, see a second rack'd with care:From Guilt—he's dying in despair:
Stabb'd deeper by their breath
Who cry—“The path, that such must go,
“The saints of God must all pass thro'
“The vale and shade of death!”
133
'Tis true—who doubts or dares deny?But pray, can you no mean descry,
No difference between
The soul that's drinking his last cup,
And Trifler that is given up
To horror for his Sin?
134
But, had ye carry'd it still higher,The light of life, the living fire,
Bright shining in his soul:
Influx of grace and love divine:
Where sweet, angelic tempers shine,
Conspicuous thro' the whole:
135
No sinner had himself deceiv'd:No one himself elect believ'd,
For nothing but a spark:
Or flash of weak or strong desire:
Till flam'd his soul ethereal fire,
Grand, evangelic mark!
168
136
Enlighten'd by the living word,Born as begotten of his Lord:
He tastes that God is good:
Harmless, and pure, and undefil'd:
His Maker owns him for his Child:
His Father and his God!
137
Nor short of this—will aught avail:Still as unenter'd in the pale;
Or covenant of grace:
A child unborn is not an Heir:
Untasted yet the vital air:
Unnumber'd with his race.
138
Instead of this—how low defin'dThe tokens of a gracious mind!
So pale, infirm, or faint:
That not the holy (these who blames?)
But e'en the Hypocrite esteems
Himself a chosen saint!
139
Has fancy'd he was born again:Took it for granted he was clean:
Elected—ere conceiv'd:
And who can blame the dire mistake,
('Tis but the same that many make)
They said it, he believ'd!
140
Thus they sail on, right down the streamOf party, prejudice, or whim:
They trifle, dress, or sing:
Attend the lecture of the day:
Then trade, or while—their life away,
“All children of a King!”
169
141
Again, they're carry'd up so high,That 'twere a marvel to descry
A saint thro'out the whole:
He sins amain—what next the tone?
“Why—safe his end—or else he's gone
A non-elected soul!
142
And yet, not long since, you esteem'dThis very man, elect, unblam'd:
You saw it in his Face:
But now you can't deny his Fall—
You must, or make secure his Call:
Or say, “'Twas all Grimace!”
143
But where or truth or reason here?Why will ye scruple to declare
What Facts so plain evince?
That after all that God has done,
This saint his former course may run,
And perish in his sins!
144
A brother tells the sleepy crowd,“All fear is needless—God is good:
“Ye may repent at Will:
“Is this (say they) the truth we hear?
“Why then indulge another year:
“At least—a little while.”
145
A while the sinner puts it off:They dance—they play—they lie—they scoff:
Each hugs the pois'nous tale:
Till in a moment—ere they think,
Death slyly moves them to the brink:
And sends the Pack to hell.
170
146
Another speaks so soft of Sin,You'd think it were a violin:
Or ideot of a trance:
He talks so sweet of all they love,
What wonder with their Heart should move
Their Feet the choral dance!
147
Next hear a wealthy, solemn Don:But mark the Text he is upon:
“Who works not—shall not eat:”
Well said—what pity all the Trade
Don't feel—if this was gen'ral made,
They'd nor have Drink nor Meat!
148
Another vindicates the poor:But mind they're thrusted from his door:
He ne'er admits one in:
But to excite his hearers Pride,
He tells'em—“Charity shall hide
“A Multitude of sin!”
149
The multitude his wisdom praise:And doubt not but that as he says,
“It shall their doom decide:”
For once to huge confession brought:
Each owns (but who believes) he'as got
A Multitude to hide!
150
Strait see the patin or the dish:All cannot give—but all can wish
To offer up their mite:
Some Heaven buy—as much as needs:
Others atone (as some by Beads))
Their lust, revenge, or spite!
171
151
Yet this—they're told—is Charity:Only distinctive in Degree:
But all is pious done:
From him that lamps the gloomy pile:
To him that makes an Organ smile:
And mends it's broken tone.
152
The donors die—but heav'n has allWho them support, or they their Pall:
What Certainty of gain!
But only see their windows broke:
A plank too starts—not struck a stroke:
Nor ever heal'd a pane!
153
A Steeple totters in it's height:'Tis bad—it's split—oh what a fright!
(The land-mark of the Poor:)
Come, take it down—to stand a shame:
Lost now—from all except the Name
Of Arnold and his Tow'r!
154
Where now employ'd the sacred sum?Supports it any other dome?
To what is now devote?
Who can explore (and yet 'twere meet)
The heighten'd fund—'tis all secrete:
Or Thousands or a Groat!
155
O would some Lay-unhallow'd LawBut lift on high her leaden paw,
And make the scrutiny!
You'd soon perceive—(tho' hard deny'd)
That Part at least was ill apply'd:
Not all—in charity.
172
156
Another grave, important BardTells us what he himself has heard:
And ancient sires declare,
(An old wife's tale—more dull than true)
“That saints in Heav'n—their Sins shall view,
“To keep them humble there!”
157
His audience—all of the same mind:And (reason good) are well inclin'd
To lay aside their fear:
E'en let us prosecute our will:
We may as well retain 'em still,
To keep us humble here.
158
They take the counsel of the Priest:However—each his own at least:
And hugs the lying tale:
Each lives incautious of his state:
Till with amaze they find too late
Their Sins and them in hell!
159
But see his Successor appear:(Hey day! pray who have we got here!)
O a far deeper Rose!
He enters wide into his work:
Tosses and cuts like any Cork,
The Text before his nose.
160
Tells you how all the Heav'ns were made:(As if Apprentice to the trade)
How all the glitt'ring stars
Are suns and worlds—just such as ours:
Where there are seas, and hills, and tow'rs:
He joins the Hemispheres!
173
161
The audience gaze—and well they may:They'd rather heard of Hopps and Hay:
Or have had leave to sin:
But all have different gifts to use,
Some for diversion or abuse:
And some to raise a grin.
162
Next hear a Moralist declaim:Tells you the nature of your Frame:
How form'd to act at Will!
How you may reason, know and chuse:
Compare, determine, and refuse:
Yet—be a Sinner still!
163
Talks of the human soul and powers:Grace and her Nonsense scorns and scowers,
As Scavengers the Street:
Sweeps them away as dirt and stone:
For since the world is wiser grown,
'Tis almost out of date.
164
The gospel doubtless—is a scheme,That long has been a fav'rite theme
Among the good and weak:
But never was of God design'd,
But only as a light—to blind
The senseless Jew or Greek.
165
Talks of Confucius, Socrates:Seneca, Plato, whom you please:
As Millers of their Grist:
Quotes now and then (to save the rest)
A poor old Prophet's dream or jest:
But hardly once of Christ.
174
166
Another mentions him—as what?I hardly know—what it is not:
A stranger—or as one
They say “once liv'd—and dy'd, and rose,
“But left behind his Burial-Clothes:
“Then came—and put 'em on.”
167
His brother comes and calls him “Lord,”But makes him nothing but a Word:
Tho' not long since his pen
Witnest his Godhead—human born:
We know him—were the times to turn,
He'd witness it again!
168
These wretches can take any form,One when they're cold—another warm:
For int'rest, pique, or pride:
Swear and subscribe—yet ne'er believe,
Or nonsense—or a lye receive:
Then seek their shame to hide.
169
But seek in vain—'tis known to all:Alike their Honesty and Call,
Consistent and divine!
'Tis all to serve a private end:—
To serve the times—or make a friend:
Or consecrate their shrine!
170
At first—they sign'd the Church's sense:Their Patron bids 'em now dispense:
But soon as this is done:
The knaves confounded—hardly know
What to reply—but brazen bow—
“We sign'd it—in our own!”
175
171
But what to wonder at in them,Their calling's burden and it's shame?
All—but their sin—by halves:
That those should high blaspheme their God,
And deem the virtue of his blood
No better than a Calve's!
172
Fit doctrine to indulge the timesIn vice and infamy of crimes!
Who shall his ruin tell,
When rushing down the deep amain:
He like a comet—drags a train
Of Proselytes to Hell!
173
There leave him to enjoy his fame,Convert to wisdom in a flame:
High blazing o'er his head!
Not for his Ignorance or Mistake,
But for his Perfidy to make
A Market of his Creed!
174
Now sparkling see a diamond ring!Would fain talk sense about the King:
His Loyalty we know:
His hearers think him mighty fine:
But scarce a Priest—and no Divine,
He shines a finish'd Beau!
176
175
Another raves or tells his mind:His audience are all inclin'd,
To take the counsel giv'n:
They do take care—but what to do?
Nor to repent, nor live anew:
But—to beware of—Heav'n.
176
A champion now upon the lists!Down Puritan and Methodists:
Beware all flesh or bone!
Well meant and large upon the head:
It comes with weight—'tis solid lead:
As is his Heart of Stone!
177
Hear now the Heretics defin'd—“Monsters—Leviathans—the wind—
“Red Dragons of the sea!”
But view the buzzing, sniggering crowd,
Who point, and whisp'ring hiss aloud—
“There—yonder—that is he!”
178
“You're very good—I see him now—“O what a Jesuitic brow!
“How villainously pale!
“Well—who'd have thought—if still unseen,
“That such a Wretch had ever been!
“Pray—won't he go to Hell!”
179
Why yes he will—if he don't mend:With you and your inquiring friend:
Fell brothers of Despite:
Who censure, damn, revile and curse:
Are wrong yourselves, or, what is worse,
Uncharitably right!
177
180
Well—now we're bidden “to be good”—But O how frail is Flesh and Blood!
“Perfection is not here!”
What rapture seizes all around!
Since what you know cannot be found,
Need never make our care!
181
But you should leave your grosser sin,Because if chance ye should therein
Be driven from the earth:
'Tis possible you may be sent
Where (tho' in vain) you'll sure repent
You ever knew your birth.
182
“However small infirmities“Are not to be adjudg'd as Vice:”
(A Thread is not a Vein)
How swallow'd glib the golden pill!
Each walks his way—infirm or ill
In Folly and in Sin.
183
This—the infirmity of Pride:That—has the weakness to deride
Or Grace or Nature's fool:
One's folly to live void of care:
While others dance, debauch, or swear:
Infirmity's their rule!
184
At length the preacher proves a Sword:A sinner feels the pointed word:
Condemn'd—the Convict cries,
“What must I do—t'escape the doom
“For Sin reveal'd—the wrath to come?”
Where shall he turn his eyes?
178
185
Not to the World—their case the same,But ignorant, would revile or blame:
No mercy at their hand:
The Pastor's sought—what's the event?
To sports, the world, or nonsense sent:
A faithful, triple Band!
186
He takes the counsel—see his end—The world are pledg'd to stand his Friend:
They stand—and see him fall:
His peace, repute, or bus'ness dies:
He finds their promises are lies:
Forsaken of them all!
187
Another drunk—a Brute—a Thief:Of sinners, held by all, as Chief:
Their scandal or their load:
Reform'd—he lives another man,
The world no longer can contain:
But curse him with his God!
188
Some could have borne a partial change,But thus abridg'd his former range,
No patience with the times!
Sinners—their Contrast view and burn:
While envious Saints malign with scorn
The convert from his crimes.
189
What wonder that a circle's round!Has not the same been always found?
What here then strange or new,
That Darkness should oppose the Light?
The Blind revile the men of Sight?
The lying false—the true?
179
190
Has not thy Lord foretold thy fate?Himself sure object of their hate,
The scandal of his own?
The men of outward form and pride,
With barefac'd sinners help deride
The sacred Corner-Stone!
191
“But they—were Jews”—and what are these?Why Jews—or Pagans—which you please,
Their Spirit just the same:
Replete with pride—(a shameless crew!)
They'd join the Pagan or the Jew,
To crucify the Lamb!
192
Regard them not—they know not him:What marvel then—they both blaspheme
In thee the name of Christ?
In thee—thy Lord revil'd again?
A Lollard—saint—or Puritan,
Or, viler Methodist!
193
Now hark—the Decalogue's explain'd:No pride of human glory stain'd:
The Letter is the thing:
Who breaks not this—is sound and safe:
May eat and drink—carouse or laugh:
A Goddess or a King!
194
And well they might, were this the caseAnd nothing more the sign of grace,
Than Negatives in sin:
A myriad might their Merits boast:
To honour, truth, and virtue lost:
If only lost within!
180
195
Keep from commission of the Deed,How pure their Heart—how firm their Creed!
All else as guilty blam'd:
But take the Spirit of the word,
A thief—a jilt—her Grace—my Lord:
Tho' Saints—are all condemn'd.
196
How strange we would be justify'dBy that—which in the letter try'd,
Would scarce discharge us clear!
And yet defy the Spirit's sense,
As if unguilty the offence,
And folly all our fear!
197
Allow'd in part, the Letter free,But appertains the Law to thee,
Yet flatter'd a Release!
Try'd by the Letter at thy word,
What proves it but a two-edg'd sword,
A ponyard to thy peace?
198
And well it may—for what's the doom?Why nothing but “the Wrath to come,”
As unperform'd the whole:
The Letter broke—but once allow:
Behold the lightnings of his brow,
Bright flashing on thy soul!
199
Flashing conviction to thy face:Felon of this—if not of Grace:
Small reason to presume:
Or boast, as sure thy vain retreat:
When seen (with horror at thy state)
The Letter of thy Doom?
181
200
But still the Letter is not all:It's Spirit has a further call:
And hails thee at the bar:
No longer now secure or free:
The Spirit's sentence and decree:
From Sinai's thunder hear.
201
The text—“No other Gods but me,“What wretches all the Papists be!
“Within this sacred place
“Not one Idolater has been!”
Pray what are they who love their Sin,
Or, idolize a Face?
202
“Thou shalt not make an Idol-God:”They don't—they can't—or else—they wou'd:
By this the Thesis prove:
They're ready made—make it a Creed:
When pride, revenge, and lust, or trade,
Sole objects of their love!
203
“Thou shalt not take my Name in vain:“Swearers—how wicked and prophane!”
And art not thou condemn'd,
Who boasts a Christian's faith and name?
Thy life a stumbling-block and shame:
Thro' thee—thy Lord blasphem'd!
204
Remember—sanctify my Day:“They do—they go to church and pray:”
But how concludes the rest?
In publick strollings or in sport:
While some in Scandal cut it short:
Or spend the time in jest!
182
205
Some move a Pawn—or deal a Card:But then 'tis decent disregard,
'Tis only candle light:
“Come draw the curtain”—why—what fear?
“None—but to save the vulgar stare:”
But—is not God in Sight:
206
“Honour thy Parents”—now the Theme:“Unruly children what a shame!
“How threatn'd their offence!”
But are unmeant nor menac'd they
Who curse, revile, or disobey
Their Betters or their Prince?
207
The ag'd—the honour'd—how revil'd!Their years contemn'd—their glory soil'd,
From wantonness or pride:
What mongrels lift not up their horn?
Their counsels hate, their dictates scorn,
Their weaknesses deride!
208
Thus are contemn'd thro' all the land,Who bear or high or sole command,
Their terror and their jest:
Their rulers dupes—their prince a fool,
Their parents doat—an Ass or Mule,
Or dull or stubborn beast!
209
“Thou shalt not murder”—next the word:“Not one of these—e'er drew a sword:”
What unconcern'd surprize!
But has not Hatred found a part,
Deep lodg'd the cavern of thy Heart,
Or started from thine eyes?
183
210
Hast thou not wish'd a brother dead!A thousand curses on his head!
Here then thy Virtue's flaw!
Come—blush condemn'd and conscious own,
What farther still thy hand had done,
But only for the Law!
211
Nay—nor has this always deterr'd:So little Murderers regard
Conscience or future pain:
But had ye dy'd a sacrifice
To frantic Honour and her lies:
Where had ye both now been?
212
Why—where all murderers shall go:Deep to the shades of final woe:
Who hate, revenge, or kill:
Alike the spirit of them all,
Alike their everlasting fall:
Such thine unalter'd will!
213
Now hear “Adultery”—forbid:“All clear—as not the outward deed:
But who's untaint within?
Has not thine eye a wanderer rov'd?
Creatures inordinately lov'd:
And art thou clear of Sin?
214
Hear what the Spirit saith of old:Thy crime—it's cause and end foretold:
“Who looks the base desire,
“That moment bursts the sacred line,
“Incurs the penalty divine:
“Heav'n's vengeance and hell-fire!”
184
215
Thou shalt not steal”—how great a Sin!“But who of these concern'd therein?
“Who are of these to blame?”
Not you—who ne'er took Gold or Fleece:
But only robb'd thy neighbour's Peace,
Or stole his guiltless Name!
216
But hangs the Thief that steals thy PurseHalf-starv'd?—why then escapes a worse,
If thou unhang'd may'st live,
Who causeless wounds another's Name:
Or wanton stabs a dying fame,
Unable to survive!
217
Now hark, a voice salutes thine ear,“Thou shalt no perjur'd Witness bear”
For enmity or gain,
“Against thy Neighbour's life or weal,”
Where Justice lifts aloft her scale,
Or lawless F—ds arraign.
218
“Of this—all innocent and pure!“From legal vengeance how secure?”
But what is his esteem,
Whose ear has heard thy sland'rous tongue
Whisper aloud the infectious wrong,
Of treacherous Defame?
319
“Thou shalt not covet”—saith the Lord,By whom not broken all his word?
Who guiltless bears not part
Or in the judgment of mankind:
Or, (of their judge) tho' more refin'd,
A sinner in his Heart?
185
220
Has not thine eye with envy seenAnother's wealth, or peace, or mien,
His fortune or his fame?
Another's beauty or estate?
The objects of thy restless hate?
Or, base, malignant theme?
221
For these—what censure upon all!How prov'd a universal fall!
But Sinai roars in vain,
While lying prophets tell the crowd,
“That all but Profligates are good,
“Nor general the stain!”
222
From hence—what vile deceit of pride!All now beneath the banner hide
Of less enormous crimes!
The Saint and Sinner bear a part,
And cry—from insolence of heart,
“How wicked are the Times?”
223
Wicked indeed! when each of you(A proud, prophane, or formal crew,
What dire hypocrisy!)
Comparing each yourselves with them,
Whom Fame or human Laws condemn,
Cry—“Stand aloof from me!”
224
Aloof for what? are ye afraidOf being number'd with the Dead
In Trespasses and Sin!
Yourselves unquickn'd to this hour,
Void of the Form—at least the Pow'r
Of godliness within!
186
225
In truth as much need they to fearA worse estate—lest without care,
The men whom ye deride
Should catch from you that foul disease,
Sure death of all whome'er it seize:
The plague of holy pride!
226
Far safer is their present lot,If pierc'd their heart—abas'd their thought,
They mourn uncancell'd sin:
Than with yourselves—deluded dream
All is secure—yet rush the stream
Of death's unending pain!
227
Object not here—“A mottled blend“Of Vice with Virtue's foes or friend:”
Not East from West more wide:
Our sole design (and all we crave)
The Sinner and the Saint to save
From Ruin and from Pride.
228
Well weeting they are all condemn'd:Alike in his account esteem'd,
Who balances the soul:
His Law—a Circle round his throne:
That so whoe'er offends in one
Is guilty of the whole .
229
How stain'd the pride of human boast!Their merits void—their glorying lost:
Just issue of the Fall:
The Lord alone exalted stands,
While Justice with her dread demands,
Is justify'd of all!
187
230
No more the saints their Virtue plead:Sinners no more the worthless deed
Of partial—virtuous vice:
But both alike condemn'd for Sin,
Find judgment scattering within,
The Refuge of their Lies.
231
No longer damns the chaste—a Whore:The proud—a Pharisee—no more
The scrupulous a Thief:
But each with equal guilt and shame,
Prostrate—abas'd—aloud exclaim,
“Of Sinners I am Chief!”
232
But how shall this effect be wrought?Is it by poisoning the thought
With false or proud conceit
Of their own merit or desert?
And leave as unarraign'd the Heart,
Prime source of all deceit.
233
Is it by saying—“ye are good,”Because unspilt a brother's Blood,
His Property yet clear?
While still beneath the fairest form,
Sly lurks the fox, the wolf, or worm,
The tyger or the bear!
234
Touch but the apple of their eye,Their virtue, fame, or quality:
Their goodness or their face:
Trust me, you'll soon their vengeance feel:
E'en Mystics—cannot long conceal
The Vengeance of their Grace!
188
235
Couch but the Truth—in aukward terms,My Lord will glow—my Lady warms:
Pugh—don't pretend to hide:
'Tis nothing more than artifice,
The stately coverture of lies,
The Mystery of Pride!
236
Still light or varying as the wind,Like this to calm or storm inclin'd:
Uncertain, yet the same:
Now pliant bends, elastic steel:
Or whirls on fury's livid wheel,
The hot vindictive flame.
237
Or, with the meek, superb address,Of stately, calm, contemptuous ease,
Remits you back again:
For what? because you're but a Clown:
Knew not their distance or your own:
And put their Pride to pain.
238
And here—hail thou—idol of all!Thy voice of old—a trumpet's call
To Seriousness and God:
The Christian's hope of perfect love
Co-rival of the saints above:
Now both their Bane and Rod.
239
Lost in the all-confounding mazeOf mystic labyrinths—where the race
Of Tauler and his sons,
Began but never ended theirs:
Bequeath'd the clue each to his heirs,
An endless period runs.
189
240
Where shall it end? who can say where?Or in the Spirit of Love, or Pray'r,
Or lunacy of Pride?
Most like—while these supremely wise,
A universe of Fools despise,
Or, modestly deride.
241
But yet how ill can most of theseDispense with Fame or selfish Ease ?
Their charter and their seal:
Severe your truth—stand clear offence:
You but “excite a passion'd sense
“They do not care to feel!”
242
But then consult the Oracle:What will they not or think or tell?
Now you are truly wife!
For owning they are so alone:
That all beside are blind of one,
While these have both their eyes!
243
And what beside should they expect,When ask'd as judges to direct,
Your conscience or intent?
'Tis nothing more than is their due,
Who in return will dictate you,
A mystic compliment.
244
But guard against their pious lie:'Tis but the shield of policy,
To ward the dread offence:
190
Who rather than presume them gods,
Dispute their very Sense.
245
O what an insolence of thought!A Mystic to the Bible brought!
Now see the rising sun!
Dazzled thine eyes with unknown light,
Or strikes a Something on your sight,
As vapouring as the moon.
246
'Tis borrow'd all—return it back,Let the first owners of it take
Their phantasies again:
(Such light is darkness—and her beams)
Nor puzzle with their complex dreams,
Thy dull, domestic brain.
247
Mystic or Pagan—where's the mean?Or what the difference between
The Infidel and he?
By both deny'd or wrath in God,
Th' Atonement made by hallow'd blood:
All Infidelity!
248
Nor less the Papist claims his shareIn the high precedented pray'r,
For full deliverance
From Tophet's warm purific fire:
The doom of Catholics, and hire
Of Behmen and his Trance!
249
As if not here was scarce begunThe sacred work—much less were done
The whole—e'er shoots the dart
191
To strike the sinner on the strand;
Sav'd—yet unpurg'd the heart!
250
O such a mixture—such a PaintOf Pagan, Papist, Protestant!
A triple-headed scheme!
Sprung from the enterprising brain,
Of heated, self-sufficient men:
A dark, Teutonic dream!
251
Yet not alike—who bear the nameOf Mysticism—favourite theme
Of Piety and Pride:
Various it's orders and degrees,
A thousand branches and their trees,
It's fibrous roots divide.
252
Some philosophic—wise yet dark,Noble their aim—yet miss the mark
Of true felicity:
Not from defect of thought or sense,
But from the arduous high pretence
Of false philosophy.
253
Impatient of the common load,With scorn forsake the simple road,
Of Scripture's sacred rules:
Talk high of Nature and her tome:
Still disappointed—wildly roam:
In Happiness—are Fools.
254
Now name a man—yet name him not:Daring his mind—and vast his thought:
But like the soul in sleep:
192
He rolls at large the black Profound,
And takes it for the Deep!
255
Piercing his wit—severe his eye:To probe or censure or apply
The Caustic of the soul:
But void of skill or care humane,
He wounds or aggravates the pain,
Nor finds nor leaves it whole.
256
(But what from them expect or find,To lash as to lament inclin'd
Their partners in the Fall?
What from the men of high conceit,
Who cry with insolence of wit,
“We're wiser than ye all?”)
257
O had this son of thunder knownHow bright thy ways—how dark his own!
His aim sublime—how wild!
Peaceful his feet—and safe had trod,
His soul had center'd on her God:
Secure, serene, and mild.
258
Keen had his word like lightning shone:Or melted warm the heart of stone:
With wisdom's poignant fire:
Strong consolation deep had flow'd,
A multitude had sang their God,
Their Pastor, and their Sire!
259
For this—how slighted or revil'dHis labours void, his glory soil'd,
And all his strength in vain:
193
His Greatness and his Fate conceal:
For ever clos'd the scene!
260
Some with the air of high conceit,Term'd or philosophy or wit,
Of warm Teutonic blood:
Pour from their own exhaustless fund,
A meaning useless—as beyond
The vulgar and the good.
261
Stare in your face as if a ghostYour started slumbers should accost
Amidst the noon of night:
Pity your ignorance who pretend,
Or not with ease to comprehend
The darkness of their light.
262
Talk of their own immensity,Then bid you wond'ring gaze and see
Them sink far deeper still:
But after all their vaunt of wit,
How plain 'tis nothing but a pit,
Or unenlighten'd well.
263
Others less subtle than sincere,Contented move an humbler sphere
Of piety and grace:
Not vaunting rise, or wanton rove,
But meek their mind as warm their love,
An unaffected race.
264
Patient, and lowly, and serene,Grave, yet benevolent their mien,
Impartial and benign:
194
They trace his steps with trembling care,
Great Exemplar divine!
265
Adore his cross, and meek rejoice:In secret silence wait the voice
Of Wisdom and her Sire:
Long with empassion'd sense to feel,
(Not the judicial scorch of hell)
But pure seraphic fire.
266
Fire of affliction and of love,By which the saints their virtue prove,
From dross their gold refin'd;
Bright in his image wait to stand,
High polish'd by the Saviour's hand,
Fair emblems of his mind.
267
Such Philo, venerable name,His soul a sweet angelic flame,
Of modesty and love:
Serious his faith, as meek his hope,
Cautious he scales the mountain's top:
Yet sure his throne above.
268
Did Mystics all resemble thee,From pride, and guile, and nonsense free:
All false distinctions void:
My wearied soul would quit her sphere,
No more my heart, mine eye, mine ear,
With Sects or Parties cloy'd.
269
But they are not—thou art but one:They all leave thee—thou them alone:
As little more than name:
195
And weeping for her laurels torn,
Continue where I am.
270
Useless, neglected, and contemn'd,My faults unspar'd—my Virtues blam'd,
If virtue's not deny'd
To one now stript of Means as Ends,
By causeless foes—by thankless friends,
Beyond the utmost try'd.
271
Constru'd Infirmities to Crimes:And crimes minute—a thousand times
Exagger'd and expos'd:
Scorch'd by the breaths that should have heal'd
My sorrows—and my faults conceal'd:
Now gracelessly disclos'd.
272
But stop, my Muse, thy eager hand,Repress, or gracefully command
The ardor of thy strain:
Suffice in secret flows thy tear:
Sigh deep—but sigh to him whose ear
Receptive feels thy pain!
273
The pain of Friendship's generous pride:Deep wounded thro' the gilded side
Of honour in disguise:
The gauze of fair profession's veil,
Thrown as a mantle to conceal
A Magazine of lies!
274
Yet why complain—as none but theeWere doom'd the mark of treachery,
As had thy breast alone,
196
When clasp'd of old the Son of God,
A Traitor to his own!
275
Yet not thyself with him compare:All bright—all spotless, and all fair,
Unguilty and untaint:
But to abate thy keen surprize,
To wipe the wonder from thine eyes,
And heal thy loud complaint.
276
Now name a race—but only name,Their present boast—their present shame:
Of high Barcleian mold!
Scornful they leave each ritual mode,
By Bigots deem'd—or serv'd a God,
Or as they serve their Gold!
277
Yet boast of their Forefathers zeal:Their labours, love, and sufferings tell:
Now—only on record:
Their sons display another mind,
To dull formality subjoin'd:
A lifeless, senseless word.
278
Say not—“Condemn'd the whole for few:Ye know that more than this is true
(What Thieves conviction love!)
Your own may censure loud and warm:
Arraign the deadness of your form:
But may none else reprove?
279
For who more worthy reprimand,Than they who with uplifted hand,
Point out our heresy?
197
Are sunk in all the Pride of Life,
Or proud Formality!
280
To these succeed as poor a train:Light, empty bigots, proud and vain:
Yet boast superior grace!
For what? is more sublime their Love?
In aught more favour'd from above,
As the peculiar race?
281
No—they unlimited deny,Renouncing stout the heresy
Of Calvin and his pale:
These loud maintain the general Call:
As they deny the general Fall:
But—they believe—in Gale!
282
Avouch the true, primeval ModeOf dedicating souls to God:
Immers'd beneath the deep:
Implung'd in darkness and in sin,
Emerging just as they went in,
Uncleans'd and fast asleep!
283
Yet boast of Nature and her Skill:Her mighty pow'rs to act at Will:
They censure or deride
Who dare believe that all have fell,
By nature born the heirs of hell:
Their charity and pride!
198
284
Deny the Resurrection's pow'rOf Soul as Body till the hour
When all the dead must rise :
Disown their Lord's divinity:
Account his merits as a lye:
A Dream—his sacrifice!
285
Revile or slander who regardThe purchas'd glory—the reward
Of faith in Jesus' blood:
Trust to themselves and their own works:
May share the paradise of Turks:
But not the mount of God!
286
A moment view their Contrast here:Who move a more contracted sphere:
(How can Extremes be right!)
199
Reciprocally fools and wise:
Each other's darkness—light!
287
These hold the truths—the first deny:And right affirm that all shall die
Of the accursed seed:
But who these are—is the dispute:
Be all but Revelation mute,
Their oracles our Creed .
288
Not here decide—but there refer:To end the antichristian war
Of Calvin and Socine:
Let each of all but clear evince
Themselves elect—abhorr'd their sins:
Love mutual as divine!
289
Till this be done—nought else avails,'Tis all but froth—and frothy tales:
Each but asserts his will:
200
Whether the meek or surly name
Of Episcope or Gill!
290
Now—for the Complex of them all!A prince—my Lord—or monarch call,
A prelate or a priest:
'Tis hard to say—(if same be true)
What name—or style—is not his due,
SPITZBUB or the Beast!
291
Seven are his heads—and ten his horns,A flagrant branch his front adorns,
Of insolence and pride:
Skill'd in the arts of polish'd guile,
He lures a senate at his will,
Or bribes them on his side.
292
Read but himself —and read his scheme,'Tis any thing you please—a dream
Of blasphemy and filth:
Where could he get it?—who can tell?
Sure it was laded up from Hell,
Or, was it got by stealth?
201
293
Of him no more—unmatch'd by all:We leave him or to stand or fall,
Till safe in his abode:
He tread the ever scorching ground,
With Lucifer in darkness bound:
Or strangely mounts—to God!
294
Now lifts an orator his hand,While earthquakes shake a stagg'ring land,
(Hear all the awak'ning sound)
“The ax is laid beneath the root,
“What tree now brings not forth good fruit
“Is smitten to the ground!”
295
But who's the tree that is not good?“Why—who denies the word of God,
“Transmitted from above:”
(The preacher's right) and he no less
Who holds it in Unrighteousness,
Or want of humble Love!
296
But who is this? is not he oneWho with his pontiff habit on,
Bids you incline your ear:
Himself betroth'd (with all he says)
To pride, revenge, intrigue or ease,
Can Infidels—but sneer?
202
297
Laugh in their sleeves and spue on him,As telling in his sleep a dream:
Awake he must deny:
Or else renounce his own pretence
To grace, or honesty, or sense:
Himself—his sermons lye.
298
Next hear a preaching Politician,The State's and not the soul's physician,
Their benefit his aim:
'Tis well—a few with zeal may burn,
But then the greater part return,
No warmer than they came.
299
Another mounts and tells his tale,(You'd better read the Flander's mail)
(Tho' orthodox the Text:)
Pities the Vulgar—shews their cause,
'Tis nothing more than nature's Laws,
And natural th' effects.
300
Effect of water and of air,Pent up within the lower sphere:
The marrow of her mines:
Opprest or troubled in her course,
What wonder she should vent with force
The burden of her Loins?
301
The list'ning croud exulting hear,Away or penitence or fear:
This doctrine must be sound:
The Preacher says he knows the cause,
'Tis nothing but the common laws
Of nature under-ground.
203
302
But can the preacher be a fool?Does he not know that nature's Rule
Is nature's awful God?
That second causes are the Means
He but employs to serve his ends?
His warnings or his rod.
303
Is it less dreadful an event,Less kind or certain the intent,
Of warnings from his hand,
Because a second cause is prov'd?
But is the Danger too remov'd,
Or, Folly from the land?
304
Proves not each Second cause a first:Who then the bands of Reason burst,
Or render them in vain?
The men who point from them to this,
Or, you who more than common wise,
Would rid them of their pain?
305
The pain of salutary fear,As if a raid that over care
Should make them over good:
Or is it lest their foolish mind,
To superstition's voice inclin'd,
Should agitate their blood?
306
Distort their senses—or their head?Fill'd with the fond conceit or dread,
As Nature were undone?
When, after all—'tis nothing more,
Than what has oft been seen before,
A Freak of nature's own.
204
307
But such a freak as you esteem,Or, they who fond suppose a whim,
What Nature dreads to tell:
Were you to ask the destin'd brood,
Late smitten by the hand of God
To ruin and to Hell,
308
“What (maugre all they dreamt beforeWith you—and half a million more,
Who scornful set at nought)
“Is, now their judgment of the laws
“Of Nature and her second cause,
“What now their real thought?”
309
Would they (imagine you) reply,“O this is nothing—we but lie
“Beneath the common laws
“Of Nature in her usual course,
“'Tis all, true, philosophic force,
“Her secondary cause?”
310
Would they not rather mourn their fate,Their eyes unopen'd till too late,
For mercy once their friend?
Would they not answer—“These were all
“The friendly warnings of his call,
“Prophetic of their end?
311
“That these unnotic'd or despis'd,“As visions scorn'd, as phantoms priz'd,
“Were the tremendous cause
“Why lost at all—they mourn in vain
“The endless rack of endless pain:
“Hell's nature and her laws!”
205
312
But put no cause should intervene,A warning or a bar between
The sinner and his doom:
But in a moment swept away,
Should end the long protracted day,
Amidst the wrath to come.
313
Would he not justly loud complain?Unnotic'd as unthought his pain:
Would not yourself bewail
The hapless portion and the end
Of a poor unadmonish'd friend,
Ne'er warn'd till deep in hell?
314
Would ye not both aloud blasphemeThe wrath of God and of the Lamb,
Unrighteously severe?
As struck without one warning giv'n
From all the hope of life and heav'n,
To torture and despair?
315
Would ye not plead (the general lye)“That had, but ere his doom drew nigh,
“Some notice been vouchsaf'd:
“He gladly would have burst the yoke,
“Have shunn'd the dread, avenging stroke,
“Nor drank the fiery draught?”
316
Is this the copy of thy face?Thy self a copy of the race,
Perfidious and ingrate!
By this we prove the whole untrue,
Here are the warnings of the blow
That shall decide thy fate.
206
317
But where the terror that should reign?Or where the sorrows for thy sin?
Where or discern'd or found?
Are not you one—out-stretch'd at ease,
While fierce omnipotence displays
It's thunders all around?
318
So far from this you either smilePhilosopher—serene and still:
The Cause (to you) is clear:
Or coward tremble from within:
Remov'd—congratulate your Sin:
Base perjury of fear!
319
But to return—are you afraidToo soon improvement should be made,
Of terror and it's pain?
You may assign what cause you please,
Small labour serves to set at ease
Their conscience and it's sin.
320
Have not they all forgot the day,When rous'd from slumber or from play,
Her Nobles were dismay'd,
Lest earth her jaws should open wide,
Their doom unchangeably decide?
Fast number'd with the dead!
321
Afraid no more—return'd amain,To pride, to wantonness, or gain,
The nation lull'd to rest:
Rolls on her way—secure her sons:
Her gentry, rabble, and her dons:
Thrice obdurate her breast!
207
322
Small reason then to find a plea,From Nonsense or Philosophy,
Why sinners should not mend:
Far better bid the nation join
Their concrete voice—loud added thine,
To deprecate their end!
323
Last starts a wretch—hell starts to hear!All—(but his own) are struck with fear,
A fell blasphemer—he!
Heard him mine ears—write it my pen,
And if repeat—then write again,
His horrid Blasphemy!
324
Spare not his form—or lank demure,His soft address—or dark obscure,
His subtlety or pride:
His mean submission to the Great,
His abject scorn or private hate:
Lash him but not deride.
325
No there his Nonsense—but his Crimes,Report to these or future times:
Rise censure like a storm!
Whether he plays the guileful fox,
The surly bear or stately ox,
Or, crawls a wriggling worm.
326
Tho' these are flea-bites to the next:Attend and hear him read his text:
Hell opens at the sound!
What wonder Earth had open'd too,
Swallow'd with Lisbon's worthless crew,
Himself and all around!
208
327
But God had mercy on the man,They all perform the best they can,
But oft how bad the best!
Sure never sprang from Infidel
A worse (it must come warm from hell)
Or, vile' paganic priest!
328
What was the axiom—or the word?Malignant Treason at his Lord:
Yet holds the Trinity!
But such his infamy of face,
He calls—“Imputed Righteousness—
“Impute Absurdity
329
Could he beyond—unless deny'dThe Saviour either liv'd or dy'd,
Or risen from the dead?
So far ev'n Priests themselves have stretch'd:
All this might be—and but impeach'd
His Impudence or Head.
330
But Treason belches from the Heart:This member must have borne it's part
With the blasphemer's tongue:
(Judicial blast for pride and sin)
Or the Redeemer ne'er had been
His ridicule or song.
209
331
“My God forgive his blasphemy:“Open his darken'd eyes to see
“His treachery and shame:
“Bolt the deep thunder on his heart,
“With lightning let his eye-balls start,
“And flash the livid flame!
332
“Plunge the keen ponyard of despair“Beneath his breast—hell's fiery glare
“Strike horror on his eyes:
“Till burst his soul, with dread replete,
“He fall condemn'd before thy feet,
“Nor trifle nor despise.
333
Shew him his righteousness is Sin,“Ragged and filthy and obscene:
“When thus expos'd his shame:
“He'll blush at his own nakedness,
“And cloth'd with Jesus' righteousness, ,
“Shall reverence the Lamb.”
210
334
I know the vulgar fond excuse,Their fear and danger of abuse:
As Morals were at stake:
Pray look around—and take a view
Of such who scorn as well as you,
The Pharisee or Rake.
335
These like imputed righteousness,Just as the Wise approve your Dress,
Perhaps not quite so well:
But if maintain'd it ne'er so strong,
Could they or your misguided throng,
Be any nearer Hell?
336
Could they a greater distance moveFrom all that God or Angels love?
From happiness to come,
Than now they stand?—alike their case:
Each in his sinful righteousness,
And just alike their doom!
337
One argument for all suffice,Experience only answers lies:
Death stares upon them Both:
Eternity is hard at hand:
It's terrors in their brightness stand:
Less pale the Shroud or Cloth!
211
338
“How strange is this!” not strange at all,Both are the offspring of the Fall,
And both alike abhorr'd:
Both yet unsav'd—or purg'd from sin:
Nor ever from the birth have been
Or pardon'd or restor'd.
339
'Tis not then Actions—are the whole:But 'tis our nakedness of Soul,
Alike in all or none:
Marvel not then the howl of saints,
Beyond the sinner's loud complaints:
God estimates them one.
340
They're not like him—this is their Bane:Their present curse and future pain:
They're yet unborn anew:
And what is more (ah dire to tell!)
God oft condemns them both to hell:
Ere they believe it true!
341
But take a courtezan or king:A villain in his star or string:
A tyrant or his slave:
Strip them of all that is their own,
And put his robes of beauty on:
How brilliant and how brave!
342
The reason here—they're now uncloath'dOf what the eye of Justice loath'd,
The food of wrath divine:
But veil'd and cover'd with that dress,
The garment of his rigteousness,
Each like the Saviour shine.
212
343
Hell quits her claim and death her sting,The vile's a saint, the saint a king:
No judgment now or dread:
They live enwrapt in that bright veil,
That death defies and laughs at hell:
All perfect as their Head!
344
“Hide me—my God beneath this shroud,Envelop'd as a fiery cloud
This spotted soul of mine:
I see it brighter than the sun,
E'en Seraphs might they put it on,
Would more Seraphic shine!
345
Perhaps they do—who rash would dareTo say that Angels can appear,
With ought themselves acquire:
But highly favour'd yield their robe
For that, which must enshroud a globe,
Or burst o'er all a Fire!
346
Shall Man then boast his righteousness?His filthy rags and tatter'd dress,
Of arrogance and shame?
Shun the foul deed—lest God shun thee,
Detest thy vile hypocrisy:
Anatomiz'd in flame!
347
Who hugs his own, will ne'er find his,Who theirs abhor will never miss
Of glory or it's crown:
Alike receiv'd, as once his Grace,
The purchase of that righteousness,
His merit makes our own.
213
348
In this who walk before him here,In that before him shall appear,
Environ'd and secure:
Shine as ne'er Angels shone above,
High in his brightness and his love
As glorious and as pure!
349
Here then the difference with them,Who here but glory in their Shame,
Proud of their Sins or Grace:
From those who all an off'ring bring,
Fall at his feet—remount and sing
“The Lord our Righteousness!”
350
The contrast here assigns the cause,(Like different climes and different laws)
Why different our Thought:
Why some are rescu'd from their sin,
Another lives and dies therein,
While yet a third is brought
351
To true repentance from despair,To faith or joy from hopeless fear,
To virtue and to God:
While others stand unmov'd as oak,
The Devil's plants, till death's last stroke,
Insures them their abode.
352
The scene is done—the sermon ends:The priest and people part good Friends,
Intending to meet soon:
They nod, they bow, they compliment,
Each lisps or mutters his intent
To spend the afternoon.
214
353
All now return, both low and high,Who heard—as he who told his lie,
Each wanton, hard or vain:
Resolv'd to live, as list their lays,
While the loud Organ roars their praise,
“You're welcome, Gentlemen.”
354
“The Altar next elate—secur'd:”Not less by Rails (with ease endur'd)
Than by a scarlet Race
Of crimson dye—and crimson souls,
The doughty pastors of thy folds,
And helpers of their grace.
355
Who with the hands of pomp and pride,The sacred elements divide:
Pour out the graceless wine:
Bought fresh—with that which bought the last,
For who would say (but in his haste)
“It should be bought with thine?”
356
To this ascends a mottled crowd,Of surly, trifling, righteous, proud:
All once or twice a-year,
(Except the Atheist and profane,
Nay these when provident of gain)
To keep their reck'ning clear.
357
But all are welcome when they come,Unsummon'd or by pipe or drum:
They come for various ends:
Some for Devotion, some for Task,
Some know not why—some for a Mask,
And some to please their friends.
215
358
Nathless they come, and there they are:Now thin adorn or thick the bar:
Each lying—as they kneel:
Not rash—'tis true, the whole we say,
You did yourselves but t'other day,
Say what you did not feel.
359
“The Burden of our sins is great,”“Remembrance vast—unwieldy Weight!”
“But Sorrow—how Sincere!”
When in that moment—had you known
What you ne'er did—nor yet have done,
What Agony!—what Fear!
216
360
How thunder-struck with self-amaze!How would you shudd'ring grieve and blaze
Your own hypocrisy!
That had so long impos'd the cheat,
In place of real—palm'd deceit,
For holiness—a Lie!
361
This the effect of pious fraud!We lie to conscience and her God:
Till smitten from above
With bright conviction—pungent pain,
Of self-deception and chicane:
We tremble but not love.
362
Yet safer this—than as before:Return'd but blind and harden'd more,
As better for your Sin:
For what beside—tho' you affirm,
Resolv'd—yet never dare reform,
Nor e'er one virtue win!
363
For this—how many fall'n asleep!How many plung'd the soundless deep,
Of vast, unending pain!
For having trifled with their God,
Eat of his flesh and drank his blood,
Unfeeling—or in vain.
364
Come brib'd, or harden'd, unprepar'd,Fall on their knees—but off their guard,
Week's Preparation void:
Go back to censure, guile and strife,
To all the toys or crimes of life,
To levity and pride.
217
365
Thus ends the service of the day,A farce, a tragedy, a play:
Yet how secure within!
But Time and Providence will shew
Still deeper shades of heighten'd woe,
For insolence and sin!
Ay—but plague spots are a sign of the plague—and if the inclination in all to commit sin (till grace destroy it) be not a sign of the corruption of all, then our faith is vain, and our Bibles are a fable.
See Rom v. 12, &c. If Adam had not sinned—Adam had never died—but he did sin—and his death was two-fold— spiritual and natural.—His posterity are in the same situation— and why?—because they have not sinned?—or because they sinned actually before they were in being?—no—but because they sinned in him as their progenitor and representative; so that (like a family whose chief is attainted and condemned for high-treason) they are all equally subject to the consequences of his crime—a natural effect under his over-ruling wisdom, who giveth account of his works to none!
The Deists, Arians, Socinians, Papists, and Dissenters: all of whom in their different ways have had a stroke at our poor Jerusalem!—and the bad lives of so many of her ministers, is the general handle with them all.
As for example, if a man in writing a dialogue, should so manage it, that his pupil (if himself were the instructor) should compliment him from beginning to end?—or, from a diffidence of his own inability and demerits, should suffer two or three poetical eulogiums to be printed (as it were on the very title page of his book) could one impute it to any thing, but the want of knowledge, resolution, or humility?
The very expression of a certain modern D.D.—How different was the judgment of this apostle from that of the famous author of the Epistle to the Hebrews. See Heb. xii. 24.
Two things, among many others, the modern mystics do not care to part with any more than some other people.
I should be mighty glad to know what either good or wise end so uncomfortable an hypothesis can possibly answer: that, contrary to reason, scripture, and (so far as these are any evidence of it) to the experience of all who are now on the other side of time—a number of otherwise ingenious and good men have taken so much pains to demonstrate and recommend it.—I am sure with regard to the N. T.—there is one writer has most preposterously uttered himself—If this doctrine be true, viz. St. Paul Philip. i 24. where he desires to depart and to be with Christ —He should rather have petitioned to depart, that he might go to sleep with him—which is far better still—But the merit of being thought wiser than others—which is vanity, and the want of real, vital, and internal spiritual experience—which is no other than real and spiritual ignorance—is the fountain of these, and ten thousand other whimsies and extravagancies of men, whose minds are corrupted by vice, or obscured by the mists of vanity and self-importance.—One simple act of lively, holy faith dispels all these glooms, and clears up an infinity of difficulties, which without that, will always confound us!
Here was a fair occasion of entring full drive into the yet undecided controversy between the Calvinists and their opponents—but it is purposely avoided, as not only unnecessary but endless—and the parties on both sides referred to what is the best proof of their own sincerity and benevolence in either, viz. to the spirit of Christian amity and a Christian life.—And had this been the method pursued by only one of them, the controversy had long ago been at an end.—All pious fury at our antipodes in sentiment had been avoided, and a direful handle to the adversaries of Jesus Christ and his gospel had never been given; but they have stumbled (and it was right they should, for they sought an occasion of stumbling, and were glad of an opportunity to disobey and despise the Bible) but woe to the men thro' whom the offence has come!
As in the latter part of the fourth line in the first verse, the reader will observe the whole here is quite supposititious; so this line refers to such writings as have been published by this eminent person, or have come out under his immediate auspicies and inspection; in which, without the least imputation of flattery or falshood, one may venture to affirm, there are found such sentiments and expressions, as are not to be matched in all the writings of either the ancient or modern Theology; yet strange or unscriptural as they are, there are not wanting many who both admire and vindicate them— and that too in such a manner, as, considering they so warmly condemn things of far less moment and exception in every body else, is a most undeniable proof if of nothing worse—at least of the most devoted ignorance and bigotry to a peculiar sect, which have at last rendered themselves so universally contemptible and suspected.
“Cornu petit ille, caveto.”Virg
The real expression was—“imputed nonsense.”—Let any man in his senses only read over attentively the fourth chapter of the Romans, and then see whether he receives any authority from St. Paul, to treat so tremendous and important a point in so profane and ludicrous a manner!
Whoever would see this most sublime and important doctrine most fully and emphatically elucidated—we refer him to the very valuable and ingenious author of Theron and Aspasio,—tho' at the same time, we must take the liberty of observing, that not only what is there his main scope, might have been proved and recommended in a far less compass, than in three large volumes; but that, had he been less strenuous in asserting some other controversial points—and especially had he omitted such an effluvia of redundant and romantic rhetoric, it had certainly been as great a proof of his superior judgment—as, had he been somewhat less severe upon (that miserable helpless part of mankind) the common beggars, (for whose wants, idleness, and other misbehaviour, the magistrates are to blame more than they) this had likewise been of his superior charity! for who could ever have imagined but from under his own hand,
“That minds like his would e'er indulge a thought,“Of Mercy naked, and from Love remote?”
I am well aware of the vulgar, senseless objection, both with respect to this and many other parts of this poem, beginning with a great round—“O—but you condemn all, “without making any distinction.”—O what an outcry about nothing! but I suppose you are one, for I think your speech betrayeth you—but had you either common sense, or common humanity, you would have considered, that, as no man but a murderer would ever do the one, so again, that no man, not a lunatic, would ever require the other, when he knows at the same time, that upon the principles of reason and benevolence, a proper distinction is necessarily implied, and so consequently here—tho' 'tis true—satyr, like the law, (which is itself only the satyr of a government, and now and then a satyr upon it too) always supposes every one guilty (especially if found in bad company) till a full and impartial trial has proved them otherwise; and therefore, where daily experience demonstrates the Generality culpable—to seem to include the whole is neither impropriety nor crime. —Who thinks it is, only let him live the exception, and his life is his patent for ever!
218
CANTO IV.
O
Tempora!
O
Mores!
Virg.
Virg.
1
Here paus'd again—again we mourn,And mourning—to our task return:
As hopeless as before:
Nathless while love magnetic draws,
We live to vindicate thy Cause,
Or else thy Curse deplore!
2
“Thy Christ'nings next”—O what a farce!(Could one unblam'd the whole rehearse)
Of superstitious guile!
Allow'd the duty—dark or clear;
Yet how express enough severe,
The blended pure and vile!
3
“A Child is born”—'tis born to die:Make haste—perhaps it's end is nigh:
Here comes the Curate—well!
The hov'ring gossips round him stand,
When with his high-commission'd hand,
He saves one half from Hell:
4
The other left—a longer time:'Tis left for good—and where's the crime?
The baby panting lies
Wearied with life—instinct of pain,
He seeks his native clime to gain,
And weeping pale—he dies!
219
5
Some cry, “A Mercy”—and some mourn(Cruel!) a moment—it's return
From Vanity and Death:
From all the sorrows and the snares,
That taint our lives—or point our cares:
And make us curse our breath!
6
From bad examples seen at home:From all the sufferings yet to come:
Who longer seasons know:
From all the guilt of various crimes,
From all the follies of the times,
And everlasting woe.
7
Hail, little favourite of God!Now sparkling in thy fair abode,
Bright as the morning star!
What glories now enchant thine eye!
What unheard scenes before thee lie!
Thy Intellect—how clear!
8
Not so thy rival—who succeeds,(For whom a distant mourner bleeds,
Born and re-born again:)
The parents glory and their hope:
In all the Pride of Life brought up,
Or nastiness and sin!
9
He's quite regenerate—and renew'd,The Fees are paid—his Baptism's good,
The Sponsors—better still:
They were so kind—as to engage
He should perform—what dullest sage
May guess he never will.
220
10
Promise he shall all that renounce,Which they themselves ne'er did but once,
'Twas then—by Proxy done:
Would you they more should do for him,
Than ever yet was done for them?
The child is not their own!
11
And if it was—'twere just the same:A being—nurture—or a Name:
What can the parents more?
The warmest passion could not save
A fav'rite lap-dog from his grave,
Nor Julia—from a Whore!
12
“But then—Examples should be show'd!”They shou'd—and Woe that Parent's load,
Who seeks not to excel:
But keener still his pain shall prove,
Who or from pride, neglect, or love,
Has sown his seed in Hell!
13
But whose is he? why you shall hear,(Shudder ye sires—twinge ev'ry ear,
Hear all ye Parent-brood)
He's born of them—perhaps of you,
Who care not if he prove a Jew:
Or any thing—but good!
14
“Conceiv'd in Sin”—he's now it's heir,His parents crimes and follies share,
Perhaps their rotten health:
221
Lives as they die, and then enjoys
Their perjur'd, ill-got wealth!
15
Taught from a child to love the Ill,Impuls'd from Nature to his will,
What e'er he wills—performs:
Unus'd to bridle or restraint,
Can brook nor caution, nor complaint,
But like a madman storms.
16
Blusters the Tyrant or the Slave,Proves or a Coxcomb—or a Knave:
Dupe of himself and sin:
He games, he rakes, he stamps, he swears,
Falls sick, condemn'd, he raves and tares,
Then drops to endless pain!
17
Or taught t'admire the scarlet-hose:To raise the neck and turn the nose:
“How pretty Miss—and good!”
Told of her family and name:
Her future fortune and her fame,
Her Heraldry of Blood!
18
Early initiate in the artsOf losing Grace, or gaining Hearts,
She courts the coxcomb's bow:
But what is here of blame or lies,
She never broke the promises:
Who made the senseless vow?
222
19
Never corrected, or with pain,“Come—hush—we'll make it up again:”
Thus void the sacred rules
Of wisdom's discipline sublime:
The child unconscious of a crime,
Sees Both the parents—Fools.
20
Hence loss of government and peace:Hence strife, and passion, and distress:
Hence fell domestic wars:
Hence children's stubborness and pride:
Hence parents false or surly chide
Reciprocally jarrs.
21
Nor less the Stranger helps our woe,These all the pretty moppet know,
And fondly act the Knave:
Acquaintance, relative, or friend,
All help to it's untimely end:
The Gallows or the Grave.
22
Next view the Poor—what better here?Devoid of grace, or shame, or fear:
They work or steal for Gin:
What rude impiety is found?
How discontent or scorn abound?
What Raggedness of sin?
23
Point at the man whose kind intentWould save their souls, or them from want,
From each distress redeem:
Yet how they curse, reproach, deride:
Shiver with Nakedness and Pride:
Till drop their rags and them.
223
24
Another lives and drives a trade:No doubt his fortune will be made:
A citizen or sh'riff!
Perhaps an alderman—a fish—
There's nothing easier than to wish:
But yet—he dies a Thief!
25
“He dies (you answer) in his Bed:”What then? but where his heart, his head?
Or harden'd or insane?
Pity'd by those who wish him free
From small to highest misery:
The plunge of deepest pain!
26
In short, go wander thro' the land,What can ye find on either hand,
But rioting or want?
And where's the wonder, when ye hear
How void of virtue or of fear,
And all religion—Rant?
26
And whence is this? comes it not hence,(The only plea in your defence
But) that ye were Beguil'd?
The Church began the baleful lay,
Your parents led you more astray,
Deluded from a Child!
27
Taught from the first, nay bid believe,(What none but madmen e'er receive)
“That Baptism was your Grace:”
As well they might have said—and true,
“The chrystal rivulet was blue:
“The bason was your face.”
224
28
From hence your scorn and disregardOf all that ever since ye heard,
Of being born again!
Laugh and reject th' important theme,
As but a fool or madman's dream,
The oozings of their brain.
29
Woe worth such Parents and such Guides!(Not strange the Infidel derides,
So humorous a sight:)
What know ye not 'tis but a sign
Of deeper things—not to refine,
Or wash the Æthiop white?
30
No—nor such washing—never will,Had they e'en kept on washing still,
You'd been but where you are:
The shack'ed slave of guilt and sin,
A foe to God—of future pain,
The everlasting heir!
31
But had they honestly declar'd“Your state by Nature—foul and hard,
“Your heart impure and vile:
“The taint by Baptism unremov'd,”
Your base hypocrisy reprov'd,
(Solemnity of Guile!)
32
Ye would have trembled at the sound,Or prostrate fallen on the ground,
With broken heart deplor'd
Your rooted epidemic stain,
Nor rash, nor sudden rose again,
Till bidden by your Lord:
225
33
“Arise and be baptiz'd within,“Arise and wash away thy Sin,
“Invoke the sacred name
“Of him that calls you to return,
“Bids you with tears afflictive mourn
“Your danger and your shame.”
34
Then had you been baptiz'd indeed!From guilt, and fear, and judgment freed,
From darkness and it's pow'rs:
Fought with his saints the Fight of Faith,
Obtain'd the everlasting wreath,
As more than Conquerors!
35
Instead of this—their constant lore“We are not sick—we have no sore,
“We all have been baptiz'd,
“Are all regenerate again:”
“Yea cleans'd”—and yet unpurg'd from sin:
And God himself despis'd.
36
But this not long—he calls aloud:Hear him ye unawaken'd crowd,
His thunder's at your door:
Rise—see the lightning on his wheels,
The swift avenger at your heels:
And God despis'd no more!
37
Now just disclose a kindred scene,Than in it's order comes between
A Tragedy and Jest:
Where with the form of something good,
How sacrileg'd the name of God,
How prostitute the Priest!
226
38
Dight Confirmation now at hand:Where rows of blended rabble stand,
Each in disorder plac'd:
But hard to say from what you see,
Or all or whether of the three,
Or Bishop'd—curs'd or blest.
39
See myriads throng together brought,Void or of Decency or Thought:
How like a mart—the place!
Each to obtain (what none believe,
Nay what their hands can never give)
The Signature of grace.
40
Now see each rev'rend pastor leadsThe untaught flock his dulness feeds:
The infant with the sage:
Deep in his care—O what a task,
To search distinct or gravely ask
What name, or place, or age!
41
Or if more close the scrutiny,Then thro' or fear or modesty,
Each pupil's found a dunce:
The pray'r—the decalogue or creed,
This has forgot—that cannot read:
But all could say it once!
42
All now deliver up their charge,Each left to live and sin at large,
To stand or fall alone:
Freed ev'ry parent from his fear,
As ev'ry sponsor from his care:
Committed to their own.
227
43
Taught to maintain, they've all receiv'd,What just before not one believ'd,
Or was, or could be giv'n:
Walk on their way—their sin pursue,
Alike regenerate and new:
Alike secure of heav'n!
44
How different this from theirs of old,(Engross'd on leaves of sacred gold)
When apostolic men,
Laid on the hands of Faith and Love,
Invok'd the Spirit from above:
And souls were born again!
45
Or, born before, afresh renew'dThe seal and evidence of God:
Afresh their Grace confirm'd,
Of living faith—or humble hope:
Their hearts in grateful joy lift up,
With livelier ardor warm'd!
46
A multitude the sound inflames,Of grace descending as in streams
Of rapture from on high:
While gaze the Gentile and the Jew,
Each marvel, as acknowledg'd true:
Nor dare profane draw nigh?
47
All now were of one heart and mind,Their hopes, their joys, their suff'rings join'd,
The same, elective call:
228
None claim'd his own, but gladly shar'd,
In common with them all!
48
Stedfast as ardent they abode,In all the ordinance of God,
With gratitude of fear:
Unwavering hearers of his word,
They meek attended on their Lord:
In vigilance and prayer!
49
Such were the times—and such the menWhom here we mimick—but in vain,
Till kindled from above,
We feel their first seraphic flame,
That warm'd the followers of the Lamb,
All purity and love!
50
Till then—or pow'r from him is giv'n,To shut or ope the doors of heav'n,
Communicate his grace:
We but elude each vulgar soul:
Palm on their judgment brass for gold:
Foul insult of grimace.
51
Nay more than this—'tis downright Guile:Not worthy bare neglect or smile:
'Tis guile of deepest dye:
229
It merits his vindictive rod,
And irritates his eye.
52
First to impose yourselves as theyWhose beck the sacred gifts obey,
Of knowledge or of faith:
Abuse the senseless multitude,
Of proud, or light, or vain, or lewd,
Heirs of eternal wrath.
53
As if how base or vile before,They now were vile or base no more:
Endu'd with grace divine:
Pardon'd their trespasses and sin,
From guilt, offence or judgment clean:
A spotless, sacred line!
54
Yet view their tempers or their lives:Would one suppose that e'er survives
A thought of heav'n or hell?
When erst they came, or march'd their way,
How rude—how light—how vain—how gay!
How—any thing you will.
55
O what absurdity of thought!What wonder all returns to nought?
The source from whence it came:
Or more than nought—it ends a Curse,
When proves the whole (if nothing worse)
A senseless, noon-day dream!
56
And how should it be otherwise,When nothing's heard but sacred Lies?
Nay more—when thanks are giv'n,
230
They're each regenerate and clean,
Ascertain'd heirs of heav'n!
57
See here the close of all the farce:It's baleful consequence rehearse,
(O what a fearful scene!)
With pride and careless fancy warm'd,
The multitudes disperse—confirm'd,
In Ignorance and Sin!
58
To close at length this tedious plan,Of all thy nonsense proud and vain,
These two objections more:
Reserv'd the last, to grace the whole,
As what of all best paint thy soul:
(A part how soft and sore!)
59
“Thy Abbies huge, Minsters and Choirs,“Lin'd with a range of pond'rous sires,
“That look like things abroad.”
Who lean or loll, or sit, or stand,
As best agrees with heart or hand,
Or head—dispos'd to nod.
231
60
Fronting their Eastern deity,Who had he spectacles to see,
Their worshipful intent:
Might peep himself behind the screen,
And with his godlike air and mien,
Return the compliment.
61
These ( they pretend) are such a weight,“About the neck of church and state,
“That if not hang'd elsewhere,
“Will either sink them to the Deep,
“Or tost aloft like down of sheep,
“Up-mount them into air!”
62
Then Disproportion of thy Boons,”Wider than wax'd from waning moons,
(Rome first the difference made)
This call “my Lord”—that hardly “Sir,”
Here comes the Doctor blowz'd in fur,
But is his Curate paid?
63
Some roll in State and some in dust:This venison feeds—and that a crust:
Another basks in down:
His brother chance on nothing more,
Than wheaten bed—or humble floor,
Nor these (or long) his own!
64
Some move in chairs, and some on foot,Well-feather'd crowns, or bald as coot,
Expos'd to heat or cold:
One plaits his lawn—this pares his nails,
One tells his griefs—a fourth his vails,
Of Copper or of Gold.
232
65
Such the dire contrast of thy Call,And yet alike divine of all!
Why not more equal Pay?
If all are thine—why then so Few,
Who hardly find so much their Due,
As stable-room or hay?
66
I'll tell thee why—(for thou may'st shame)Thy Predecessors were to blame,
Who forg'd this Right divine:
With what intent—but to defraud
The poor, the naked, and their God,
And aggrandize their shrine?
67
O such a plea for stolen wealth!No wonder as it came by Stealth,
What each can get his own!
Or what he grasps his Right believes,
Shar'd like the moiety of Thieves,
Some all and others none!
68
In short, they all get all they can:Would grasp Potosi at a span,
Or stride th' Æquator'd line:
And tho' at last but mod'rate gains,
Lecture or Living for their pains,
Yet, this is right divine!
69
Another happier—fastens more,Robs friends, the widow, or the poor,
(Such thy permissive will!)
He plays, or sports, retails, or shoots,
Lackers my lord—procures, or votes:
This is diviner still.
233
70
A third—more fortunate than both,(Fell dread or envy of the Cloth
Such his effectual call!)
Somehow—procures a Deanery,
A golden-Prebend or a See:
This—most divine of all!
71
In short 'tis nothing but divine,Whether they swell, or burst, or pine:
All's sacred—all's secure!
O how infatuate the times,
When Priests by subtlety or crimes,
Could such demesnes procure!
72
Hence then the boast of Right Supreme?Why not engross'd the Air or Flame?
What pity but they cou'd!
If Air would keep, or vend the Sun,
So much for breath or light per Tun:
As now so much for Wood!
73
I know what's ready in return:“A proper Order must be borne,
“Or all would be destroy'd:
“The church must have her wealthy sires,
(“This indispens'd her state requires)
“Down to her meanest Child.”
74
Next “Just Gradation is thy plea,”(O such a scale of harmony!)
A true hierarchal plan!
So then to keep the balance even,
This dares, while that discredits heav'n:
And scuffles as he can!
234
75
Well—and requires her Dignity,That some should burst a Plethory,
While others scarce have Bread?
Why, sure she's not a Monster grown,
Her hands and feet—and heart all one:
And nothing but a Head!
76
If this the case—all wonder ceas'd:Her pains and penalties releas'd:
Know this—ye North and South!
The Church (whate'er to you she seems)
Depriv'd of all her former limbs,
Is nothing but a Mouth!
77
Feed her with lions, or with fawns,With vultures wild—or tamer swans,
Or aught she can digest:
Feed her with honours, styles, and state,
Ye know her lore, be these her Bait,
And Hell's extreme her rest!
78
But jest apart—for truth 'tis none,More solemn far than broken bone,
Or common broken Heart:
And thine will break I dare to say,
(Whoever lives to see the day)
When thou and Wealth shall part!
79
And part ye must—nay part from All,The Mitre, Purple, and the Pall:
Prefigure these thine End?
E'en tho' thy sorrows should excel,
The howl of Hadadrimmon's vale:
Or, Jesse's for his friend.
235
80
O were it giv'n thee thus to mourn,Thy breast with keen concern to burn,
Thy sorrows loud deplore
The loss of all thy Dignity,
End of thy Faith and Purity:
Conspicuous now no more!
81
Address we here our last design,Come listen to a friend of thine,
Thy welfare his desire:
Permit him free to reprimand,
Kindly embrace thy careless hand,
And modestly enquire,
236
82
Is all this Truth—or is it not?With mickle more that might be brought,
If pity did not sue,
And beg the Muse to say no more,
Lest found so like the Scarlet Whore,
Ye scarce were known for two.
83
Nor wou'd you now—but those who rule,Kindly prevent your turning Fool,
As they have often done:
Nay really were it not a sin,
To wed—who are so near a kin,
For me, you might be one.
84
Not that this need break any square,She can, ye know, with graceful air,
The chastest laws postpone:
Widest extremes together tye,
Much more the two that are so nigh:
Consolidate in one.
85
As you again from her decree,Have frequent molten two from three,
For profit or for ease:
And then dissolve, for gain or will,
When there remains as many still,
For any that can seize.
237
86
But this is the Opposer's tale,Now hear a friend that bids thee well,
One in thy circle born:
Permit him too to deal as plain,
As thou hast done with many a man,
And ask thee in thy turn.
87
Not with the threats of racks or noose,Such as thy Kinswoman would use,
To torture out the truth:
But such as one might freely do,
With one's best friend—as I with you,
Thou gentle virgin-youth.
88
Yet ah! what little hope I see,That e'er thy sons will follow me,
In all or aught I mean:
As soon may Thames o'er-freeze in June,
Hoarse ravens croak the Syren's tune,
Or, Cantia's streets be clean!
89
Sooner shall Shylock hate his Gold:Arabia's sands burn frore with Cold:
The Planets burst their rule:
238
A Blake--- or Blakeney fly like B---:
Or Ch------st------rf---ld turn Fool!
90
However—be my end despair,'Twill make at least my Reverence clear,
And 'tis a debt I owe:
In case I think thee false or wrong,
To tell thee so, in gentle song,
Tho' not the half I know.
91
Why feign we then our warp from her,As cringing hounds afraid to stir,
Or, growling dare not bark?
For what's the difference that's seen,
But little more than that between
The Parish-Priest and Clerk?
92
What says the saucy papal dame,But British canons say the same,
Or, would repeat again?
Let Rome but thunder out her Bulls,
'Gainst heretic, dissenting culls,
And England cries “amen!”
93
Away then all thy specious boast,Of Bells, and Beads, and Bodkins lost:
Thou farther must depart,
239
Thy visage prim, or mien demure,
Be deem'd a Jilt at heart.
94
If then thou would'st thy fame retrieve,Nor scandal of thy children live,
Who mourn a Parent's fall:
Not this or that the bar removes,
But all thy scarlet sister loves,
The Prison as the Pall.
95
But if thou wilt nor leave nor mend,Persisting fondly to the end,
To boast thy pontiff line:
Assert thy claim to Tythes and dues,
And punish such as dare refuse,
On score of Right divine.
96
Permit me to foretel thy Doom,(Which has in Part— been that of Rome)
Thou wilt be clean abhorr'd:
The Nation will expose thy shame,
Cast out as dung thy putrid name,
The vengeance of the Lord!
240
97
For while her Orders and her Rules,Are made the Standard of thy Schools:
And all beside of Blame:
What other portion canst thou hope,
But that the Wise should give thee up,
Her Ape—without her Name?
98
Nor deem this sentence false or hard,Depictur'd thus by witless bard,
As Blasphemy were done:
What milder judgment can prevail,
Than that the church of England's pale,
And Rome's (not Christ's) are one?
99
Complain not then, as if defam'd:As had traduc'd—or causeless blam'd,
The writer or his Muse:
Is not the whole as fair and calm,
As zephyr'd breeze or vernal balm?
'Tis Satyr—not Abuse.
100
And that you know, is always mild:It's wound the man—it's aim the Child:
Tho' like a ponyard sharp:
Or, like an Organ sill'd and warm,
Blends with the thunder's loud alarm,
The sweetness of the harp.
101
Or, like a high-bred, generous Horse,That bounds or canters o'er the course,
With front undaunt as gay:
So would my Muse—her temper hold,
Champ on the bit, serene as bold,
Good-humour'd all the way.
241
102
But maugre this, I know there are,Who rash will deem us too severe,
If not alike untrue:
To these, we must a while reply,
Unconscious of Design or Lye:
A moment then adieu.
103
Severe in what—we crave to know?What more severe than what they do,
Of whom we here complain?
Can you resent a baser deed,
Than theirs who made their Call a Trade,
Or Godliness—their Gain?
104
Can you bewail more heinous crimesThan theirs—who vilely serve the times,
Themselves alone regard?
Who eat the fatness of the land,
And frontless ask at ev'ry hand
The lucre of reward!
105
Cry—“Look on us—lo! we are they,“Who can alone point out the way
“To happiness and life:”
Strangers themselves to all beside,
Attach'd to indolence and pride,
Or, Mammon's eager strife!
106
Who preach themselves and not their Lord,Their own, and not his sacred word,
It's Spirit or it's Pow'r:
Spout forth the dreams of other men,
Or of their own—as dull or vain:
Fast barr'd the gospel door!
242
107
Who cauponize the word of grace:Then with the air of high grimace
Bid you “Do this and live:”
Harden the vile, or wound the meek,
Raise not the dead—nor heal the sick:
Nor bid the faint—revive.
108
Confirm the sinner in his sin,So that he shall not turn again,
Nor leave the widen'd road
Of guilt, and danger, and despair,
Careless his thought, unmov'd his care,
For happiness or God.
109
Shut up their bowels of concern,From all on whom should sweetly yearn,
Their pity or their love:
Hide all compassion from their own,
Flesh of their flesh, bone of their bone,
But Fellow-heirs above!
110
Are these the men you would excuse?Condemn their censure for Abuse,
What can more mild be done,
Than gravely to arraign their Deed,
Boldly—their insolence implead?
Less sharp than just the tone.
111
How more severe what soon may breakIn thunder's loud, concussive crack
O'er ev'ry guilty head:
Fill ev'ry heart with deep amaze,
While the keen lightning's livid blaze,
Shall sweep them to the dead!
243
112
Saw ye this sight, wou'd ye condemnMy softer Muse—her Ardor blame,
As impious or severe?
Would ye not wish a louder strain
Had first alarm'd the slumbring train,
And realiz'd their fear?
113
But ye think—“Satyr will not do.”Says mine a syllable untrue?
What but a fair record
Of deeds perverse, and actions done
Before his eyes (who lights the sun!)
And sharper than a Sword?
114
What are his judgments now abroad?What all th' artillery of God,
(Loud echoes of his call!)
But his rebuke for human crimes?
Censur'd the past and present times:
Grand satyrs on us all!
115
What human Pains and Penalties,But legal censures to make wise,
Or keep the Fool in awe?
What the dire ensigns in her hand,
Stern Justice waves o'er all the land,
But Satyrs of the Law?
116
What all the censure of this pen,On Times, on Manners, or on Men,
Unjustly term'd “Abuse,”
But the weak arm of Infancy,
Waving her reed at Infamy:
The Satyr of the Muse?
244
117
And what the plain intent of all,But to prevent a farther fall
From Virtue and from Rest:
Convince the rebel of his sin,
Secure his soul from final pain,
High number'd with the blest?
118
To this object—“Their warm resent,”Wide of the end or just intent,
Of satyr or it's aim:
Fill'd with disgust—refuse to turn,
Or fir'd with proud resentment burn,
Or glory in their shame.
119
Whom have we satyriz'd—unspar'd?Or, whom have we undaunted dar'd
To cauterize with fear?
None but the villain or profane:
The proud, the saucy, or the vain:
Impartial—tho' severe.
120
None but the insolent at least:The hypocrite or surly priest:
The tyrant or the slave
Of parties, interests, pique, or names:
Alike their honesty or aims:
The bigot or the knave.
121
O'er whom has wav'd our gentle rod,But such as scorn the scourge of God?
Yet tempt the lifted hand
Of justice human or divine:
Serving an idol or their shrine:
Desilers of the land.
245
122
Nor has the Muse ingrate pass'd byThe men of mean estate or high,
Pure, and upright, or good:
But in their different ranks dispos'd,
Their virtue or their grace disclos'd,
To mortals and their God.
123
Who now should blush? the Muse or theyWho warn'd, advis'd, yet spurn away
The writer and his rod?
Yet what to marvel here as strange,
When each alike refuse to change
For Justice or her God?
124
What strange to see a wretch resistThe hand divine—or (as a beast,
Wild taken in the snare,)
Bluster, blaspheme, revile, rebel,
As plung'd beneath the lowest hell,
Fast pris'ner of despair!
125
What strange to see a Thief condemnThe judge, the witness, or the beam,
Suspensive of his doom?
What is yet this but Wrath to hear
His sentence?—insolence of fear,
At judgment yet to come!
126
What else their anger or disdain,The pride of fury and it's pain,
At villainy disclos'd?
But servile dread, unjust as base,
Their rage canine (how plain the case!)
As punish'd or expos'd.
246
127
No difference too 'twixt us and themWho indiscriminately blame
As serv'd or lost their End?
Let all alike at random go,
Or deal the hard unequal'd blow,
On enemy or friend.
128
No difference 'twixt my muse and thoseWho envious or enrag'd expose
The frailties of a few?
Or warp'd with malice or design,
Blast, or besiege, or undermine
The fame of all they know?
129
Are not you one who here condemnFor too severe—the general blame,
As levell'd at the whole?
Wilfully blind to the barrier
High fix'd with justice as with care,
Between the fair and foul.
130
Are not you one wise in your own,(Alike familiars as unknown)
Are blind with both your eyes?
Govern'd by passion, pride, or spleen,
Oft see no difference between,
Or friends or enemies.
131
But with the weather or the wind,Alike to fix or change inclin'd,
So various thy mood:
Prone now to censure or to smile,
How base the great! how pure the vile!
How profligate the good!
247
132
What this but whim or low revenge,Harsh turning on the grating hinge
Of prejudice or pride?
Full of herself, yet easy tost
From side to side—with all her boast,
Too impotent to hide.
133
Nay—let them call your Dog a name,'Tis well if not provok'd some flame:
Some well-bred warm return:
Would not some keen sensations rise,
Some sparks of fervor dart thine eyes,
Some secret ardor burn?
134
Would here escape the Church or Priest,Who thus abus'd a harmless beast:
A favourite of his Dame?
I much mistake—all would not share
Their part in the resentive pray'r,
Of tenderness and flame!
135
How justly then provok'd our zeal,For Zion's or the publick weal:
Ardent her sons to save!
But least of those who mourn her fall,
And aid with their inferior call,
Her rescue from the grave.
136
Nor plead the impotence of mine,Far less concern'd to please or shine,
Than to avert her Doom:
'Tis but humanity—nor more
To seek her ruins to restore:
E'en Satyr may save some.
248
137
May mine save you—who would abuse,Destroy it's nature and it's use:
When take away the Ill:
You quite annihilate of course
The end, the genius, and the force
Of Satyr and her quill.
138
But while the villainy remainsDeep in it's dye and bright it's stains,
Unpunish'd nor pursu'd:
She still unsheathes the two-edg'd sword,
(The double savour of her word)
For ruin or for good.
139
Or like an Eagle—mounts on high,Self-center'd in the sun's bright eye,
Where ken'd the prey her own:
Broad as the light, clear as the day,
She points and seizes on her prey:
A Dunghill—or a Throne!
140
Or like a graceful well-taught hand,Whose fingers move at her command,
Eager to fire or please:
She plays around her living pen,
Impartial, accurate, serene,
With sprightliness and ease.
141
Malice—low creeping on the ground,A serpent sly, malicious found,
Haunts but the fens or brakes:
Hisses at Man—her first distaste,
Doubles her folds then seeks in haste
Her brethren the Snakes.
249
142
So these with envious pride or hate,Or flatter or despise the great,
The virtuous or the good:
Or kindred mingle with the vile,
Altern their horror or their smile:
A hissing, winding brood!
143
But where thus partial or malign?Where or of pique or sect the sign,
Or false distinction known?
The portrait may be just and strong,
But what improbity or wrong,
That each should trace his own?
144
Nor less the care to steer betweenThe bombast swell or vulgar mean:
Come draw thy wooden sword:
Point with it's dull unpointed blade,
The base reflection falsly made,
Or one ill-natur'd word.
145
Sprightly and blithe she may appear:And well—as freed from ev'ry care
That could extort a frown:
Depress the genius of the Muse,
Or squeeze a lying vile excuse,
Her Senses not her own.
146
Much less has she condemn'd the whole:Ten thousand bodies as one soul:
One undistinguish'd blend:
But just defin'd the separate bound,
Has left on the unhallow'd ground
His minions and the fiend!
250
147
Nay here we might without excuse,Or feeblest shadow of abuse,
Pronounce “the whole—unclean:”
Just as a Patient sore diseas'd,
All whom the leprosy has seiz'd,
Save that untouch'd his Shin.
148
Come—view that yonder dunghill there:Go fetch a spade full of it here:
“'Twas there a Diamond fell:”
Allow'd—but what infer'd from hence?
Howe'er it sprang, or came, or whence,
What but a Dunghill still?
149
So is the Church—a blended heapOf dead in Sin or dead in Sleep,
Wanton or dull their mood:
But shall the few (like diamonds found)
On rotten, vile, unhallow'd ground,
Denominate her good?
150
As well esteem a Mummy such,That fair, yet dreads the fatal touch
Of gentlest infant-hand:
Or, close preserv'd with trembling care,
Lest some small breeze of lightest air
Should mold it on the strand.
151
Equal the folly and abuse,Of Justice servile to excuse
A Group for some alone:
As to condemn or censure all,
(Without distinction great and small)
For little more than one.
251
152
Now go survey that yonder mass,Mingled with straws, or stones, or grass:
See here the brilliants shine!
This makes a difference indeed,
We now pronounce (another creed)
“No Dunghill—but a Mine.”
153
So shall the Chur ch—when purg'd her Scum,Her papal dross of pomp and Rome,
Her rotteness and shrine:
Tho' still remain a few unsound,
Still shall be sacred held her ground,
And all her sons divine.
154
For this my heart shall often bleed,For this my spirit interceed,
For this my eye run down:
In secret places will I mourn,
Her faded laurels late return,
Her worship and renown!
155
Hail then again thou portly dame,Attend the ruin of thy fame,
Attend thy certain doom:
Precinctive sure and unrepell'd,
While aught unconsecrate is held,
Of popery and Rome.
156
Hast thou not heard, hast thou not known,The trumpet of her vengeance blown,
From high Prophetic word:
On her and all who share her Crimes:
Pamper the spirit of her times?
The vengeance of the Lord!
252
157
And is not yet her genius foundWithin thy courts unhallow'd ground?
Do not her ensigns shine,
As standards blazing from on far,
The tokens of pontific war,
On all who quit thy shrine?
158
What then in reason to presume,But partial crimes—a partial doom,
Of misery and woe:
Or unrepenting—share the fall
Of Rome's elate imperial wall,
God's high decisive blow!
159
Now struck at Lisbon and her sons,Proud, cruel, sanguinary dons,
Of insolence and blood:
Where rag'd the tyrant and the priest,
Fell members of the papal beast,
The curse and scourge of God.
160
Now scourg'd themselves with livid flame,High blazing forth their horrid shame,
From earth's unburthen'd womb:
Burst with the load so long retain'd,
Nor till this period restrain'd,
But God secur'd the tomb.
161
Now opens wide the yawning earth,Teeming with souls (a second birth)
Their ashes new reviv'd:
A moment view the ghastly pile,
Now burnt or levell'd with the soil,
Where once their tortures liv'd.
253
162
The spot where late tremendous stood,The house of Mercy and of blood,
A den of pontiff thieves:
Devote to insolence and gain,
The cave of horror and her pain,
Hell's tyrants and her slaves.
163
Where, nor sweet liberty nor peace,Dar'd shew their undissembled face,
E'en Thought herself confin'd
Within the limits of Disguise,
Looks the impostor in her eyes:
Corrupt as rack'd their mind!
164
Where bright religion never shone,But with her squalid garments on,
Of horror and dismay:
Stalk'd like a murderer in despair,
Or with the witchcraft of her glare,
Put out the blaze of day!
165
Where nought but avarice of gain,The lore of torture and it's pain.
Hot fierce pontific zeal:
Ravag'd like monsters all around,
While howling agonies were found,
Unequall'd but in Hell!
166
A matchless rival of that den,(Deep from the sight of human ken)
Where Fiends with torture glow,
Rattle their chains of Adamant,
And with infernal Gnashings taunt
The partners of their woe!
254
167
Now vast augmented by a crew,Of dark, blood-thirsty, crimson hue,
Fell murderers of mankind:
Haters of God and of his race,
Now basking in the livid blaze,
Excruciate as confin'd.
168
Prisoners of judgment and despair,Their eyes the living anguish glare,
Quick rolls the tortur'd ball:
Swift darts around her piercing ray,
Unview'd the light or beam of day,
Or hope that comes to all.
169
No longer now their state ador'd,For ever blasted and abhorr'd
Their cruelty and scorn:
No longer vaulting o'er the groans,
Of nature's agonizing sons,
Unpity'd and forlorn.
170
No longer gauls the heavy chainHer prisoner's feet with iron pain:
No more the merc'less Wheel,
Stretches the victim from his joints,
While mockery all his torment points,
His torturers now in hell.
171
Here write the memorable day ,When God for ever swept away
These varlets from the earth:
When vengeance teeming with despair,
Struck them beneath the burning sphere,
First fountain of their birth.
255
172
A day of torture and of pain,When souls a sacrifice are slain,
To murderers and their God:
A day of cruelty and scorn:
A day when unhelp'd wretches burn:
Of blasphemy and blood!
173
A day devoted to his Saints,Not one—but all—while eager pants
The bigot and his priest:
To light the high sacrific pile,
The painted sufferers revile
Their agonies—their Jest.
174
A day when warm with furious hope,Their dark, blood-thirsty eyes look up,
As waiting to behold
Heaven's judge assisting with his train,
Ten thousand deep—prophetic strain,
Of Enoch from of old:
175
Ah dire mistake! (the contrast hear,Throb ev'ry heart—hark ev'ry ear)
On high enroll'd the deed!
But not approv'd—the saints resign
Their grand prerogative divine:
Stand Demons in their stead!
176
Not to adjudge—but to fulfilHis stern, unalterable will,
High thunder'd from his throne:
“That they who sought themselves the blood,
“Of weeping victims to their God,
“Should now pour forth their own.”
256
177
And more than this, “should bleed at heart,“And bleed for ever from the smart
“Of vengeance and despair:”
The demons bow'd, and hugg'd their charge,
A moment loos'd, they range at large,
And throng the thick'ning air.
178
Now rose the Sun in bright array,Threw round his eyes of piercing day,
With Justice at his side:
Survey'd the death-devoted crew,
“These, thou avenger, are thy due,
“The sons of lust and pride.”
179
Justice had long stretch'd out his arm,But Mercy, bleeding mercy warm,
With pity for the land:
Besought a moment to refrain
The stroke of full decisive pain,
And stopt his eager hand:
180
Arm'd with the sword of deep revenge:Mercy—slow turning on her hinge,
The everlasting door:
Now final shut, for ever barr'd,
Their future cries and groans unheard:
God merciful no more!
181
Justice survey'd the destin'd prey,Listen'd awhile the frantic lay,
Of madmen and their theme:
Silent review'd their black design,
Then in a moment sprung the mine:
God's grand vindictive scheme.
257
182
Vengeance for crimes of various dye,Whose hue had blacken'd all the sky,
Drew o'er their threaten'd heads
The clouds of judgment and dismay,
While Mercy weeping march'd her way,
And left them at their Beads:
183
And—at their Sins (devout or not)Nor God nor judgment in their thought,
No Charity at least:
But all a black ill-minded brood,
They ask, they seek, they pant for blood,
Fell offspring of the Beast!
184
Leaves each his palace or his cell,To help condemn to deepest hell,
His brother or his friend:
Silent or loud approve the deed,
Sees a companion broil or bleed:
Their torments without end.
185
All on the point precinctive stand,Black rows of Priests on either hand,
Their standard high uprear'd:
See clouds of rabble—each his torch,
Blazing with eagerness to scorch,
Or give the Dogs a beard .
186
See ev'ry heart and ev'ry eye,With joy infern, elate on high,
See flocks of demons croud:
258
Their life, their blood, an off'ring made,
To Moloch,—Lisbon's God.
187
Made—but yet only in intent,Their death and their Damnation meant,
(Doom of the papal whore)
Fond they suppose themselves the men,
Whom Justice follow'd with her train,
But Justice was before.
188
Before with them and with their crime:Now is her hour and now her time,
Her turn to strike the blow:
She did—and dashes with her hand,
A group of villains to the land
Of everlasting woe.
189
Big with amazement and the guiltOf past, as with the blood unspilt,
But only in design:
They rush amain (O what a leap)
And headlong plunge the soundless Deep,
Beneath the wrath divine.
190
Devils in arms to see them come,With raptur'd horror make them room,
Their portion now the same:
Burning with joy they whet their taste,
While broiling Furies dress the feast,
High roasted in the flame.
191
O what a rapture of repast,E'en Devils have their fill at last,
And gorge them to the full:
259
(Fatten'd themselves like slaughter'd beasts)
And scrap'd their very skull.
192
How just their judgment from on high,Who just before had doom'd to die,
The guiltless or the good!
Scorch'd with the flames themselves had made,
For ever blazing o'er their head:
Hell's panders and her food!
193
Come hither all ye feather'd fowl,Ye spirits damn'd that flying howl,
Around the dark domain:
Perch on your long intended prey,
Or in your talons bear away
To realms of deeper pain.
194
Spare ye not them, they spar'd not hereThe tortur'd groan, or falling tear,
Fast dropping from the eyes
Of souls tormented to their death,
Crackt or their limbs, suffus'd their breath,
Unseen or mock'd their cries.
195
Nor this the whole that justice saw,By all contemn'd the common law,
Of equity and love:
Fond of revenge, of guile and death,
Invok'd her judgment from beneath,
Her vengeance from above!
196
A land blood, and pride, and ease,Careless and settled on her lees,
Unmov'd as unrefin'd:
260
Brilliant her diamonds and her vice,
And trifling as the wind.
197
Her prince unshaken at the groansOf hapless widows and their sons,
The virgin or her sire:
Saw them unhelp'd (how helpless He! )
To Baal low the trembling knee,
Or in the flames expire.
198
Expire for what? for lust or blood?No, but for honouring their God
Beyond an Idol's shrine:
Prefer'd the Patriarch to the Saint:
The warm Apostle to the paint
Of priestcraft and her line.
199
For these—what blood has not been shed!What eyes not wept—what hearts not bled!
What sorrows have not howl'd!
Hast thou not seen! hast thou not heard!
(My Country for a moment spar'd)
Or hast thou not been told?
200
Yes thou hast heard and seen it too,And is not half her doom thy due,
The Part'ners of her Trade?
And half her Crimes—as all supprest
The native candour of thy breast,
Uncrush'd the horrid deed!
261
201
Had Albion but stretched out her hand,Her Senate grac'd the high command,
Petition'd to cast down
The cruel dome of Lust and Blood:
E'en Lisbon longer might have stood,
Or milder ruin known.
202
Yet Albion's sons heard all her cries,E'en Albion turn'd away her eyes,
And stop'd her tingling ears:
Smote with the glitter of her gain,
She view'd oblique the victim's pain,
Nor wip'd away his tears.
203
But why should Albion interpose?Albion the wife—why she disclose
Her secret disgust?
At hazard of her own repute:
Her Interest barter or commute,
For virtue or for dust?
204
Suffic'd if not her leave for trade?Or aught their luxury had made
Expedient or esteem'd?
What ours to do with racks or fire?
She only saw their sons expire;
Or pitied unredeemed!
205
This God beheld—and saw it long:Justice survey'd the sanguine throng,
And waited their return:
But all in vain—her wearied arm
Impatient struck with short alarm,
They tremble, howl, and burn!
262
206
See now a Capital in flames!See Nobles (once distinguish'd names)
Just blended with the vile:
All in one common ruin thrown,
While stately palaces rush down,
And aggrandize the pile?
207
E'en Tagus lifts her tumid tide,As fill'd with horror at their pride;
And all her banks o'erflow'd:
As indignation swell'd her stream,
To vindicate her Maker's name;
Forerunner of his Rod!
208
Feels Cadiz next the horrid shock,Shakes from the basis of her rock:
What tremulous amaze!
With dread awaits the rushing sound
Of flames emerging from the ground,
Or Sodom's falling blaze!
209
The dire concussion spreads abroad,E'en Madrid trembles at the rod:
High waving o'er her head!
Shriek here the victims bleeding cries,
While vile Inquisitors despise
The living and the dead!
263
210
Where rich and poor (alike their slave)With bending servile meanness crave
A blessing from their tongue:
Inur'd to fawning and deceit,
They stoop or stooping kiss their feet:
Their idol and their song!
211
Bow to their shrine of pride and blood:Adore the Priest—blaspheme their God:
To tyranny inur'd:
Shudder the Rack—yet kiss the hand,
That in a moment may command
Themselves to be immur'd.
212
Where all humanity's destroy'd,The strongest ties of nature void:
Here no distinction known:
Alike their bigotry and zeal;
A Father (for the Church's weal)
Arraigns or stabs his Son.
213
The daughter from her mother torn,Her innocence must yield or burn:
Heard here no virgin-cries:
Fast in the hands of Demon-priests
As devils hard and foul as beasts;
She guiltless sins—and dies.
214
For these, and crimes like these unknown,Justice shall shake th' Escurial throne:
Nor always stand unpaid,
The sanguine debt of poor Peru;
Their Blood as once their gold—her Due:
And register'd their dead!
264
215
For this the arm of Vengeance bar'dWithout distinction or regard,
(For all approve the crime:)
Shall deal the thunders awful sound:
While livid light' nings scorch the ground:
And torrify her clime.
216
Barren as now their minds of grace,Be then their land of herb or grass;
The food of beasts or men:
Heaven's iron canopy severe
Shall leave e'en verdant pastures bare,
Nor drop the fruitful rain.
217
That fount of life—they now despise,Far off remov'd elude their cries;
Athirst unquench'd they pine:
Their Nobles shall for hunger fail,
While famine ravenous as pale,
Consumes the pamper'd line.
218
Her Priests in vile contempt array'd,A hissing of the vulgar made,
Shall quit their sanguine Lay:
No more exalt their lucrous lye,
Themselves for ever doom'd to fly
Where glowing tortures play!
219
Nor these alone—but on the shores,Of dull Batavia's greedy boors,
Is heard the threat'ning sound
Of vengeance hast'ning in her car,
Commenc'd the wide vindictive war,
Beneath the floating ground.
265
220
Here unrepenting shall they feel,The trembling soil's concussive reel:
Or from the warning giv'n,
For ever plunge beneath the deep,
Involv'd in more than native sleep:
Death's dark asphaltic hav'n.
221
Nor for the cruelty or gainOf priests—or racks distorting pain,
For daring to believe
What these dislike—or would impeach
The vile absurdities they teach;
Nor base their shrine receive.
222
But for their avarice of gold,Their fame, and peace, and country sold
To perfidy and France:
For trampling on the Saviour's name;
While scornful Japonese blaspheme
The Christians and their Trance!
223
For all their mercantile defraud,To serve the honours of their god;
Vile Mammon's molten shrine:
For all their cruelty and lies,
The yet unwip'd—unbury'd cries
Of Bantam and Amboyne!
266
224
For all her own domestic jars,Her private stabs or civil wars,
Her Patriots condemn'd:
Their schemes of probity oppos'd,
Their secrets artfully disclos'd,
And baffled or contemn'd.
225
Nor less the venerable NameOf Orange and her patriot flame,
Inherent from her Sire:
Shares the reproach of envious scorn,
From Dutchmen with their leaden horn:
Unquench'd the perjur'd fire.
226
Hail, widow'd Princess! and thy son:Heir of his father and his throne,
Thy genius and thy friend:
Lift up in hope thy hopeless eyes,
See brighter days precinct arise:
And all thy sorrows end!
227
See Britain aid thy feeble hand!See all her sires around thee stand:
Belgia's defence and thine!
See perjur'd villains flee thy face:
The nations and their own disgrace:
See Providence divine
228
Assert thy cause—his smile thy guard,His hand thy shield—and thy reward,
The blessings of his throne:
See him prepare thy peaceful way:
Resum'd the triumph of the day,
The laurels all thine own!
267
229
Now Albion thee—fairest of all!Permit to join my feeble call
With heaven's loud alarm:
Attend the universal blow,
Let all thy sons and daughters know
The impartial outstretch'd arm
230
Of Justice in her full career;Not distant as of old but near,
That Albion may attend:
Felt not thy coasts the fatal shock,
The dread divine elastic stroke
Of Justice—yet thy friend?
231
Justice—that with her loud alarm,Wou'd fain thy sons with fervor warm:
And recollected rise
From out the ashes of their sin,
E'er her vindictive charge begin,
And set at nought their cries.
232
E'er Mercy—disappointed turnAway her sight with weeping scorn,
At penitence to come:
Hopeless to see their morals mend,
His wrath appeas'd or God their friend:
And unrevok'd their doom.
233
“But what! compare Britannia's crimes,With Lisbon's sanguinary climes
Of tyranny and blood?
Compare her genius meek and mild,
Her borders free and undefil'd
The favourite of God?”
268
234
“With Lisbon's horrid worthless crew,For whom what more reserv'd or due
Than vengeance and despair?
Region of cruelty and lies:
Where myriads mock the martyrs cries:
Nor heed the guiltless prayer.”
235
“Where thousand unheard crimes are done;Secret to all beneath the sun,
But his keen searching eye;
Equal to whom the deepest night,
As fairest noon's meridian light,
Their darkness can descry.”
236
“Here bright religion's gentle hand,Waves over all her olive-wand
Of liberty and peace:
Her children smile beneath her shade,
Her saints in robes of truth array'd,
Her priests with righteousness.”
237
In part allow'd—in part deny'd:Or else how wisdom justify'd
In dealing here her blow?
Why else should Britain feel the sound
Of distant warnings all around?
Prophetic strokes of woe!
238
Are not her sins of crimson dye?Is not her smoke gone up on high?
Her offerings to the dead?
Her pride, and levity, and scorn,
Her bendless neck and dauntless horn
High branching o'er her head?
269
239
What wantonness of deed and thought!What scenes of vice or folly wrought!
What sacrifice of truth!
Virtue of all the hate or smile:
Her ancients how debas'd and vile!
How dissolute her youth!
240
What foes to nature and their own!How fond of ruin—not alone
A Father tells his shame:
His children snatch the dire mistake,
The slender yoke in sunder break,
And plead a Parent's name.
241
What blasphemy of Providence!His word a bauble or offence,
To scorners and the wise:
Prophan'd his name—despis'd his day:
His secret warnings cast away,
For liberty and lies.
242
For licence to walk on in sin:For leave to live and die therein,
Without remorse or fear:
High privilege of Albion's sons,
While each amain unbridled runs
To ruin and despair?
243
What murmuring and discontent!What jealousy or base resent
At injuries ne'er receiv'd!
What murders, lewdness, and debauch!
What false malevolent reproach!
What infamy believ'd!
270
244
What vile indecency of pride!What native proneness to deride
The Stranger or the Good!
What insolence of poverty!
What raggedness of villany!
What thirstiness of blood!
245
What lust of pleasure and of sense!What brutal base incontinence!
What idleness and strife!
What secret treachery and design!
What hard attempts to undermine,
Our property or life!
246
What total loss of probity!What falshood—shameless perjury!
What appetite of gain!
What private stabs of harmless friends!
What stone unturn'd to serve their ends!
What mockery of pain!
247
What boldness of impertinence!What plots or censure of their prince!
E'en Brunswick feels his share:
(But yet not feels—or feels unseen
The envious malice of their spleen:
Their happiness his care!)
248
Hail him again—thy regal Sire!Britain's great hope—whose patriot fire
Enkindles all her sons!
Long may her scepter grace his hand:
Her foes confess his dread command,
Whom God himself enthrones!
271
249
Long may he wave the scepter'd rod,For Albion's honour and her God
Long may he grace her throne:
Till call'd from dignity and care,
His brows a brighter lawrel wear,
An everlasting crown!
250
Long may his num'rous offspring shine,The charge of providence divine!
Long may his guardian hand
Protect the num'rous rising race!
Blest in his love enrich'd with grace
The darlings of the land!
251
Are these then Britain's graceless crimes?Is this the portrait of Her times;
And can She still demand
“What room to fear the threaten'd woe;
“Of Lisbon's dread, judicial blow,
“Re-echo'd on her land!”
252
Is not the Lord of terrors nigh?Is not his hand lift up on high;
His arrows cast abroad?—
Drawn from the bow (elastic steel)
To wound, consume, or drive to hell
The haters of their God!
253
Are not his kind monitions dealt?Why tremors or the murrain felt,
Among thy Bestial brood?
More just as victims snatch'd away,
Than feed thy carcase for the day
Of slaughter and of blood!
272
254
These die to save their Lords from death!To lengthen ours resign their breath,
Nay more, they die to save
A Nation from her death of Sin:
And (doom of all who dye therein)
An everlasting grave!—
255
Is Albion ignorant of this?Albion—the stately, and the wise:
Can She untaught deny
The gentle lashings of his hand,
Or stout, beneath his vengeance stand,
Exalt her horn on high!
256
Can she refuse (from pride) to hearThe warning stroke of rumour'd war
Not distant as of old:
But from her borders kens the hosts
Of murderers—hov'ring o'er her coasts;
Must Britain then be told,
257
“These are the engines—These the rod:The scourge vindictive from her God:
Brandish'd before her eyes?
To shock the hardness of her sons,
To melt the marrow of their bones;
And make their sorrows rise?”
258
“That Nature's self is nothing moreThan his artillery or store
Of water, air or fire:
Engines—from whence around are hurl'd,
Storms, or confusions thro' the world;
The weapons of his ire.”
273
259
Maker of nature and her Lord,That Wind and Storms fulfil his word,
The Lightning but his Eye
Flashing displeasure on mankind,
While the loud Thunder rolls his mind?
Dread voice of majesty!
260
What, all the Rains on herb or grass,But tears wept o'er the fallen race
Of miserable men?
Tears of compassion to melt down
The Human heart more hard than stone;
More infamous than sin!
261
What, Locusts scatter'd o'er the land,Dropt from the fingers of his hand
But tendrills of that rod,
Bound for the backs of senseless fools,
Who laugh at wisdom and her rules;
The discipline of God!
262
What, all the Foes that Albion hate,Alien or homeborn in her state;
Beside a sword of Thine?
Ready whene'er thy Justice calls,
To rase the turrets of her walls;
Or, violate her shrine!
263
But These perhaps we may be spar'd;If not Britannia's on her guard;
A match for human foes:
274
Her sons around successive deal
Her thunders or her blows!
264
But can she equal guard her coastsAgainst the light, suspensive hosts
Of Locusts and their train?
Flying in squadrons from on far,
Pregnant with famine's baleful war,
Unnumber'd as the rain!
265
Will these regard her glittering arms?The martial trumpet's loud alarms?
Will these be struck with fear
At all the forces she can raise—
The front of terror and it's blaze,
The fulness of their rear?—
266
Will these regard her brib'd allies?A camp of gewgaw butterflies:
The glitt'ring of their sword?
Themselves in polish'd armour clad
Shall bold defie their keenest blade
The army of the Lord!
267
Can Britain calm the Thunder's power!Can She repel the bursting shower
Of Water or of Fire!
Can She resist th' o'erwhelming stream
Or, quench the universal flame?
Or, hectoring require—
275
268
(By or her Statutes or her Law)The arm vindictive to withdraw
The Murrain from her Herd?
Or, can she live without their aid?
Her sons (with them) an offering made:
Unpity'd and unspar'd?
269
Can She unmov'd the Tremor feelOf earth's intoxicated reel?
When staggering too and fro;
She rocks (as drunkards from their wine)
While bursting tempests undermine
Her Basis from below!
270
If she must strive—let her contendWith (such as match her feeble hand)
The Potsherds of the Earth:
But let not Albion boast her Shame,
Or, madly dare contend with Him,
Who gave Britannia birth!
271
Howe'er on them she turn her eyes,Their threatnings or their arms defies;
Their promises or guile:
Here let her drop her lifted hand,
Aghast before her Maker stand;
And weep his absent smile!
272
Put off the garments of her Pride:And wait till Justice' scale decide
The balance of her doom:
Till Mercy's sov'reign arm shall raise
Her drooping head—and her bright blaze
Dispel the gen'ral gloom.
276
273
The gloom of ignorance and sin,Dark gloom of conscience and it's pain
Now foolishly disguis'd:
If yet at Heart, her spirit fail,
Within her anxious dread prevail,
Externally despis'd!—
274
Despis'd in vain—for yet not long;E'er, what is now her scorn or song;
May be contemn'd no more:
But Albion's sons may feel the Rod
High waving in the hand of God,
Fierce thunder of his power!
275
Her peers no more direct her stage;Or lead the manners of the age,
With insolence demand
What rabble dare their pleasures chuse?
“The plaudit of their taste refuse”—
Or, lift the Vulgar hand!
276
Better be every hand employ'd—(With folly's guilty pleasures cloy'd)
Lift up the general pray'r:
Or, wipe their wanton, scornful eyes,
While floods of inbred sorrows rise;
And wash them from Despair;
277
But hark—thy Prince proclaims a Fast!For what? the Present—and the Past,
The guilt of Future times:
277
Pursue their Follies and their sin;
Reiterate her crimes!
278
See ye not this—see in their faceThe signs of insolence and grace—
In weeping they rebel:
Stretch forth the hands of lust and pray'r:
The lifeless, legal form, their care
But does Britannia feel!
279
Feels She compunction for her sin?Does Albion feel the poignant pain
Of generous distress
For all the evils of her sons?
While o'er her utmost border runs
The stream of wickedness.
280
Feels She the warm vindictive shameAt all the honours of her name
Contaminate by vice?
278
Still or how faithless or obdure;
How stupid—or how wise!
281
Laugh not her sons at all around?While yet her Prince a Mourner found,
Extends the regal hand
Pities the Nation and the times,
Weeps o'er his own and Albion's crimes:
The spokesman for the land.
282
Does not thy Prince thy fate discern?For this do not his bowels yearn?
Sees not the King thy doom?
Hear him—ye rebels—call aloud:
With him invoke your injur'd God,
And flee the wrath to come.
283
Will nothing then Britannia move?Her Maker's threatnings nor his love;
Will nothing move her fears?
She cannot sure be deaf to all:
Alike his thunder as the call,
Of gentle, vernal airs!
284
Awake then, Albion, awake!Thy children from their slumber shake,
E'er sees the rising sun
The morning of their hapless fate:
Sequel of that thou heard'st so late:
At Lisbon—but begun.
279
285
Remember hers, and watch thine end:Alike thine own and Mercy's friend,
Still—lingring at thy door:
See him who weighs the Nations stand!
Who lift the Balance with his hand,
And Lisbon—is no more!
As a naturally necessary consequence, not vindictive or judicial—but as it was a consideration that ought to have deterred the parent from committing sin, so is it a severe, but wise and gracious designation of providence to make his offspring abhor it; so that tho' the father may have eaten sour grapes, yet (in one sense) the children's teeth need not be set on edge!
See Acts ii. 42. O what a picture of a Christian church! —had the church of Rome preserved this system uncorrupt— there had been no Reformation—had the church of England done it, there had been no dissention—and if the Methodists maintain it, there will be no division.
In the abby at Durham, the Dean and Chapter wear not the similar, but very identical garments that their predecessors (the Popish priests) wore there about 200 years ago— and I think such figures they must make, as are seldom to be met with—unless in those countries, where their profession, as well as practice, is really papistical—what would these gentlemen say, if any of the dissenters were deck'd up in this manner, and have they not a right? Nay, would not those who turn to the Church for hire or reward, put on these upon the very same motive?
Whoever would see to the utmost advantage, the controversy (not barely between the Dissenters—for there is no end of their squabbles, but really) between Scripture, common sense, and common decency on the one side—and the Church of England as by law established on the other—debated and decided in the most convincing and masterly manner, let him only read a book, entituled “The Dissenting “Gentlemen's Answer to the rev. Mr. White,” (not long since gone to answer himself for having drawn over his parish from their communion, instead of their sins—in which, it is to be feared, some of them still lived and died.) A book, wrote in so just and correct a spirit, that it deserves to be printed in letters of gold, and worn around the neck of all the clergy in England—nor less does the most ingenious author deserve the best preferment in the church, if either her gratitude would offer it, or his conscience permit him to accept it—but she knows better, and I hope he does too.—I was born, and am like to die in her tottering communion, but I despise her nonsense, and thank God I have once read a book, that no fool can answer, and no honest man will—to this I will readily add— “Neale's Hist. Purit.—Calamy's Hist of ejected Ministers— “Bennet on the Reformation.—An Essay on the Character “of Charles I.—The Life of that memorable man Oliver “Cromwell, written by a Gentlemen of Oxford,—and the “rev. Mr. John Wesley's three Appeals.”
As I know a certain dignified divine did, not long since, even when his own hands were as full as they could hold;— whereby a valuable, and useful man was deprived of his expectation, and in some measure of his right. Pray now, when a wretch acts in this manner, does not it shew the nature of a pig? and ought such a disposition to be indulged in a church established by law?
The capital or metropolis of the county of Kent, (in Latin, Cantium) which I have been told is (with the city, &c. of York) most remarkable for it's dirtiness, as the precincts of it's cathedral for their darkness.—What pity a severe act of parliament does not compel them both to do that, which neither common conveniency, humanity, reputation nor decorum ever did yet, or ever will without it!
An eminent sea-commander, who once saved the British fleet from the barbarous designs of a merciless and inveterate enemy — whom he set at defiance by the dextrous disposition of his sails and rigging — but for which signal piece of service, he was sometime under his discontented country's disgrace. See his own letter dated May 25, off Minorca.— Anno — quo scriptum est.
I almost query who is the greatest criminal, the rev. Mr. T. who threw poor John Little into prison, or those trusty friends of Quakers, who permit him to lie in, as he has done for some years? to the present honour of both parties, and I hope their future happiness and applause. I really think that next to a case in Canterbury, where a poor woman has lain in a common jail, for about sixteen years, (half the time, it seems, at a particular friend's request) for a debt contracted by the industry of the spiritual court — I hardly know one that wears such an aspect of equity and benevolence! but it must be death, I believe, (and not the law,) or private humanity, that must set either of them at liberty.
This is the phrase that is made use of, when with their lighted torches they singe the faces of such as are fasten'd to the Stake.
See the publick accounts, where thevery King himself bemoans his situation—as being without a house, without attendants, and without bread!
It is highly observable that this river rose to a very remarkable height a few hours before the earthquake; so that had it been but duly attended to, some might have escaped, and others, tho they had perish'd, might nevertheless not have perish'd in their Sin!
Which the Dutch are universally reported to do, by treading publickly on the cross at Japan, in token of their not being Christians but Dutchmen—(a truth as demonstrable as the light)—for which they are most cruelly censured—but I most cordially commend them—since having renounced the gospel of Christ, for the friendship of mammon—I cannot blame them for procuring as much of this world as they can.
For some—not all—time was indeed when Europe trembled at the name of an Englishman, and well it might—but now a single country of what our vast significancy calls Poltrons— begin to mortify and stagger our intrepedity—but a nation that has lost its virtue has in effect lost all.
I believe so conceited a nation as the English are hardly to be found on the face of the earth—but some late occurrences perhaps may contribute to make both the present and the future generation a little less sanguine and somewhat more vigilant and modest.
Tho' I am fully persuaded that the last day of public humiliation was really and effectually such among many in the nation—for whom (I trust) God may in some measure have been intreated for the land—yet I fear the greater part either afflicted not themselves at all, or have since prov'd it but a mockery of God and of their King, by the fresh if not redoubled return to their impieties. I am sure little better can be thought or hop'd of them who had the insolence and impiety both before nay at and after the royal proclamation to advertise in the public news-papers—their infamous assignments for balls, plays, &c. in half the little paultry cities and towns of this kingdom, or who attended them— If this be not to mock God, and despise his threatnings, I should be glad to know what is?—but is it not a doubt among us whether there be any God—or no—or at least any that troubles his head with the transactions of mankind —and who only sits an invisible and unconcern'd spectator of the wheel of that vast machine his necessitated omnipotence has set in motion.
FINIS.
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