The Lord Whiglove's Elegy To which is added A Pious Epitaph upon the Late Bishop of Addlebury [by Edward Ward] |
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 | The Lord Whiglove's Elegy |  |
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THE Lord Whiglove's ELEGY:
To which is added A Pious Epitaph upon the Late Bishop of Addlebury.
Farewel, Old Bully of these Impious Times,
True Patron of the Whigs, and of their Crimes;
Projector of the Schemes advanc'd to raise
Those Conflicts Britain felt in Cromwel's daies:
The English Lucifer, whose restless Pride,
Stop'd by no Bounds, both Heav'n and Earth defy'd;
Corrupt by Nature, born to be the base
Impatient Leader of a Factious Race;
That, by his Friendship for the Good Old Cause,
The Saints might know whose darling Son he was;
For all his Actions, like the Mark of Cain,
At once declar'd his Guilt, and spoke the Man
To be the Off-spring of that Rebel Sire
Who skulk'd in Sawpit, whilst his Troops stood fire.
True Patron of the Whigs, and of their Crimes;
Projector of the Schemes advanc'd to raise
Those Conflicts Britain felt in Cromwel's daies:
The English Lucifer, whose restless Pride,
Stop'd by no Bounds, both Heav'n and Earth defy'd;
Corrupt by Nature, born to be the base
Impatient Leader of a Factious Race;
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The Saints might know whose darling Son he was;
For all his Actions, like the Mark of Cain,
At once declar'd his Guilt, and spoke the Man
To be the Off-spring of that Rebel Sire
Who skulk'd in Sawpit, whilst his Troops stood fire.
None more industrious to obtain his Ends,
Or readier to selam his Whiggish Friends;
Free of access to Men Expert in Evil,
On every bad Account so wondrous civil,
He'd be as proud to serve 'em as the Devil.
Or readier to selam his Whiggish Friends;
Free of access to Men Expert in Evil,
On every bad Account so wondrous civil,
He'd be as proud to serve 'em as the Devil.
Religion o'er the Bottle was his Jest,
And nothing more his Banter than a Priest;
Yet oft he call'd on God, we must allow,
But 'twas to Damn him, as he finds e'ernow.
So Atheists sport with Heav'n's avenging Ire,
Till doom'd for ever to Infernal Fire.
And nothing more his Banter than a Priest;
Yet oft he call'd on God, we must allow,
But 'twas to Damn him, as he finds e'ernow.
So Atheists sport with Heav'n's avenging Ire,
Till doom'd for ever to Infernal Fire.
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His highest Vertues, even Friends must own,
Were to deride the Church and thwart the Throne;
Espouse, Reward, Encourage, and Maintain
The wretched Tenets of the vilest Men;
And to oppose, with unrelenting Spight,
What e'er was Sacred, Orthodox, or Right;
Cavill'd at all things that above him soar'd,
And at the highest Pow'rs most loudly roar'd;
As wanton Mastiffs in a Moon-light Night
Bark at fair Cynthia 'cause she shines so bright.
Were to deride the Church and thwart the Throne;
Espouse, Reward, Encourage, and Maintain
The wretched Tenets of the vilest Men;
And to oppose, with unrelenting Spight,
What e'er was Sacred, Orthodox, or Right;
Cavill'd at all things that above him soar'd,
And at the highest Pow'rs most loudly roar'd;
As wanton Mastiffs in a Moon-light Night
Bark at fair Cynthia 'cause she shines so bright.
None from bad Men could merit more Applause,
For his good Service in a wicked Cause;
Or prove more friendly to those daring Knaves,
Proud to insult, and make their Kings their Slaves;
Those croaking Frogs, who triumph or complain,
And neither are content with Log or Crane,
But spurn at Princes who with Mercy sway,
And rail at those that force 'em to obey.
For his good Service in a wicked Cause;
Or prove more friendly to those daring Knaves,
Proud to insult, and make their Kings their Slaves;
Those croaking Frogs, who triumph or complain,
And neither are content with Log or Crane,
But spurn at Princes who with Mercy sway,
And rail at those that force 'em to obey.
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No cunning Whig could boast superiour Parts,
Or Juggler practise more deceitful Arts;
By Knaves and Jilts applauded to the Skies,
But curs'd by Tradesmen whom he shamm'd with Lies.
Yet, tho' his Lordship hated to discharge
A lawful Debt, and thought each Bill too large,
Much Wealth he squander'd, with the least regret,
To strengthen Faction, and confound the State,
That the same Troubles might again prevail,
In which his Father fish'd, and far'd so well.
Thus Rebel's Sons, and Daughters of a Jilt,
Derive from Parents their enormous Guilt;
For Villany and Vice descend by Blood,
And make the Promise in the Dec'logue good.
Or Juggler practise more deceitful Arts;
By Knaves and Jilts applauded to the Skies,
But curs'd by Tradesmen whom he shamm'd with Lies.
Yet, tho' his Lordship hated to discharge
A lawful Debt, and thought each Bill too large,
Much Wealth he squander'd, with the least regret,
To strengthen Faction, and confound the State,
That the same Troubles might again prevail,
In which his Father fish'd, and far'd so well.
Thus Rebel's Sons, and Daughters of a Jilt,
Derive from Parents their enormous Guilt;
For Villany and Vice descend by Blood,
And make the Promise in the Dec'logue good.
At Epsom once this great aspiring Lord,
Was by a Reverend Clergy-Man implor'd
To grant a slender Sum, as many more
Of equal Rank had freely done before,
That a new sacred Chappel might be rais'd,
Wherein good Heaven might be ador'd and prais'd;
My Lord, who, valu'd neither Church nor Priest,
But turn'd what e'er was Sacred to a Jest,
Pulls out a Sixpence, swears a bloody Oath
He'ad no regard to either Church or Cloth;
Adding, Good Sir, I am not so profuse
To lavish more to such a foolish Use:
But if you'll build upon the self same Ground
A Bawdy-House, I'll give you Twenty Pound.
Was by a Reverend Clergy-Man implor'd
To grant a slender Sum, as many more
Of equal Rank had freely done before,
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Wherein good Heaven might be ador'd and prais'd;
My Lord, who, valu'd neither Church nor Priest,
But turn'd what e'er was Sacred to a Jest,
Pulls out a Sixpence, swears a bloody Oath
He'ad no regard to either Church or Cloth;
Adding, Good Sir, I am not so profuse
To lavish more to such a foolish Use:
But if you'll build upon the self same Ground
A Bawdy-House, I'll give you Twenty Pound.
This was the wise and mighty Prop of State,
Extoll'd so highly by the Whigs of late;
This their great Oracle, who seldom spoke
Without an Oath to crown some impious Joke;
The Wretch who, in Contempt of Heav'n and Hell,
Defil'd the Rostrum with a dripping Tail,
Vile from his Cradle, blasphemously bold;
A Rake when young, and very lewd when old.
Extoll'd so highly by the Whigs of late;
This their great Oracle, who seldom spoke
Without an Oath to crown some impious Joke;
The Wretch who, in Contempt of Heav'n and Hell,
Defil'd the Rostrum with a dripping Tail,
Vile from his Cradle, blasphemously bold;
A Rake when young, and very lewd when old.
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This was the Lordly Whig the Faction chose
To steer their Helm, and patronize their Cause,
Who, in their Service, lavish'd his Estate,
Apply'd his Brains new Mischiefs to create,
As Witches use their Art to punish those they hate.
To steer their Helm, and patronize their Cause,
Who, in their Service, lavish'd his Estate,
Apply'd his Brains new Mischiefs to create,
As Witches use their Art to punish those they hate.
O! mourn his Exit, you that spurn the Throne,
And curs'd the best of Queens that sat thereon;
Weep all ye flagrant Enemies to Peace,
Who pray aloud that War may never cease;
Grieve all ye Whigs, your sinking Cause bemoan,
Since Heav'n has pull'd your two great Pillars down.
One doubly quallify'd in Church and Court,
To do and sanctify the greatest Hurt;
The other indefatigably vile
In all that tended to the Nation's Spoil;
Each destin'd to be infamously great,
One in the Church, the other in the State:
Yet both did to the Transient World appear
Alike Religious, and alike sincere.
Therefore once more, O Whigs! lament your Loss,
And seek new Stancheons for your tott'ring Cause:
For now, alass! they're gone, you'll find but few
So truly fit to serve the Dev'l and You;
Worthies whose Vertues we may Justly say
None but the Rev'rend Ken---t can display.
And curs'd the best of Queens that sat thereon;
Weep all ye flagrant Enemies to Peace,
Who pray aloud that War may never cease;
Grieve all ye Whigs, your sinking Cause bemoan,
Since Heav'n has pull'd your two great Pillars down.
One doubly quallify'd in Church and Court,
To do and sanctify the greatest Hurt;
The other indefatigably vile
In all that tended to the Nation's Spoil;
Each destin'd to be infamously great,
One in the Church, the other in the State:
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Alike Religious, and alike sincere.
Therefore once more, O Whigs! lament your Loss,
And seek new Stancheons for your tott'ring Cause:
For now, alass! they're gone, you'll find but few
So truly fit to serve the Dev'l and You;
Worthies whose Vertues we may Justly say
None but the Rev'rend Ken---t can display.
An Epitaph on the Late Bishop of Addlebury.
Here
Scotus Lyes, of late as Wise
And Learn'd as Tom Aquinas;
Lawn Sleevs he wore, yet was no more
A Christian than Socinus.
And Learn'd as Tom Aquinas;
Lawn Sleevs he wore, yet was no more
A Christian than Socinus.
Oaths Pro and Con he swallow'd down,
Lov'd Gold like any Layman;
Wrote, Preach'd, and Pray'd; but yet betray'd
God's Holy-Church for Mammon.
Lov'd Gold like any Layman;
Wrote, Preach'd, and Pray'd; but yet betray'd
God's Holy-Church for Mammon.
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Of e'ery Vice he had a Spice;
Altho a Rev'rend Prelate,
Yet liv'd and dy'd, if not bely'd,
A true Dissenting Zealot.
Altho a Rev'rend Prelate,
Yet liv'd and dy'd, if not bely'd,
A true Dissenting Zealot.
If such a Soul to Heav'n hath stole,
And 'scap'd Old Satan's Clutches,
We'll then presume there may be room
For M--- and his D---
And 'scap'd Old Satan's Clutches,
We'll then presume there may be room
For M--- and his D---
FINIS.
| The Lord Whiglove's Elegy | |