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Epistle to an heretical Professor.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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Epistle to an heretical Professor.

Be dumb, you Sophist, metaphysick Fool,
With your dull Cant, and Gibb'rish of the School:
You'll rake in Rubbish of an Arian Crew,
Quibble and vamp their aged Errors new.
Dark and perplex'd, and whimsical your Brain,
You toil in Trash, and vomit Froth with Pain.
In splitting of an Hair consume an Hour.
Not Jacob Bechman's Works are so obscure.
You torture Texts, and squeeze the Hebrew Roots,
As some did Whigs in Thumbikins and Boots.
Peep in the Grand Secret, and with your Seeing,
The Son of God has but a casual Being.
I'll sooner prove with Blasphemies you're cramm'd,
And, ex necessitate, you are damn'd.
Arius of old an Athanasius found,
Clear'd Truths divine, and heal'd the bleeding Wound.
Mysterious Jargon cannot travel far,
We'll crush the Cockatrice, and end the fruitless War.