 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
291
TRIMMERS.
Think it no vulgar threat, no party spiteAt Church and State, at gentle Rome, or you;
I speak the words of soberness and right,
A patriot and a churchman staunch and true:
If Rome were health and not a moral blight,
Still, by your duty sworn and province fee'd,
Bishops of England, foremost in the van
To stand contending for our purer creed
Is to you law, while honour dwells in man:
But if, as erst, ye fail through sinful sloth,
Flinging integrity and faith away,
To combat evil in this perilous day
Trimming with God and Man, think you from both
Ye shall not earn confusion and dismay?
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