Miscellanies in prose and verse on several occasions, by Claudero [i.e. James Wilson], son of Nimrod the Mighty Hunter. The Fourth Edition with large Additions |
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An Elegy on the much lamented Death of Quaker Erskine,
or Quakerism compared with Presbytery.
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 | Miscellanies in prose and verse |  |
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An Elegy on the much lamented Death of Quaker Erskine, or Quakerism compared with Presbytery.
What dreary news is this I hear?What doleful tale thus strikes mine ear?
No common loss sure this must be,
That draweth tears from ev'ry eye.
No trivial loss, the loss is great,
Mourn, mourn, the church, and mourn, the state;
Mourn, Ed'nburgh, both suburbs and city,
For Erskine's death, be fill'd with pity.
From youth-hood to his dying day
He to us both did preach and pray;
The gospel free he did dispense,
And for it ne'er took pounds or pence,
Unlike the canters of our day,
Who'll neither to us preach or pray,
Unless we pay two thousand merks,
Besides their Beadles charge and clerks;
And tho' they have the foresaid rent,
Yet de'il ha'e them if they're content
But do apply to parliament,
Their stipend further to augment.
Oh happy country sure and blest,
Where from the clergy they find rest!
But where shall we this kingdom find?
Not till in heav'n, this is design'd.
Here Gib damns Ralph, and Ralph damns Gib,
Both damn the Cameronian tribe;
While Whitefield comes, prays God save a',
Then takes our cash, and runs awa':
Unlike those, like 'postle Paul,
Erskine liv'd by honest call;
Our souls with gospel he did cheer,
Our bodies too with ale and beer.
Gratis he gospel got, and gave away,
For ale and beer he only made us pay;
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For which in heav'n he's highly blest.
If there were stipend in the case,
Fast for his kirk our priests would chase;
But where there is not store of wealth,
Souls are not worth the cure of health;
And for his kirk our clergy will not plea,
Vacant his kirk but not his brewerie.
Each canting presbyter, when he dies,
Gets to his fame high elegies,
And, whether they deserve or not,
They are set forth without a blot.
But here, alas! no risk we run,
His character can't be out-done;
For truth and honest probity,
No man e'er liv'd could him out-vy.
Some chuse Mass James, some chuse Mass John,
Some curse the power of a patron;
But all are in a gross mistake,
'Till they convert to honest Quake.
Now honest Quakers, best of men!
Mourn, mourn for him with heavy mane;
For by yea and nay, or by G*d d---n,
The Quaker was an honest man.
| Miscellanies in prose and verse | |