So Luther thought the Pater-nofter long, 105 When doom'd to fay his beads and Even-fong; But having cast his cowl, and left thofe laws, Adds to Chrift's pray'r, the pow'r and glory claufe.

The lands are bought; but where are to be found Thofe ancient woods, that shaded all the ground? We fee no new-built palaces afpire,

No kitchens emulate the Veftal fire.

IJI

Where are those troops of poor, that throng'd of

yore

The good old landlord's hospitable door?

Well, I could with, that ftill in lordly domes 115
Some beafts were kill'd, tho' not whole hecatombs;
That both extremes were banish'd from their walls,
Carthufian fafts, and fulfome Bacchanals;

And all mankind might that just mean observe,
In which none e'er could furfeit, none could ftarve.
These as good works, 'tis true, we all allow,
But oh! thefe works are not in fashion now:

As flily as any commenter goes by
Hard words, or fenfe; or, in divinity

121

As controverters in vouch'd texts, leave out Shrewd words, which might against them clear the doubt.

Where are thefe fpread woods which cloth'd heretofore

Those bought lands? not built, not burnt within door.

Where the old landlords troops, and alms? In halls
Carthufian fafts, and fulfome Bacchanals
Equally I hate. Mean's bleft. In rich mens homes
I bid kill fome beafts, but no hecatombs;

Like rich old wardrobes, things extremely rare,
Extremely fine, but what no man will wear.
Thus much I've faid, I trust, without offence;
Let no court-fycophant pervert my sense, 126
Nor fly informer watch these words to draw
Within the reach of Treafon, or the Law.

None starve, none furfeit fo.
Good works as good, but out

But (oh) we allow of fashion now, Like old rich wardrobes. But my words nonę

draws

Within the vast reach of th' huge ftatutes jawes,

SATIRE

C

SATIRE III.

VERSIFIED by Dr PARNEL.

OMPASSION Checks my fpleen, yet Scorn denies
The tears a paffage thro' my fwelling eyes;

To laugh or weep at fins might idly show
Unheedful paffion, or unfruitful woe.
Satire! arife, and try thy fharper ways,
If ever Satire cur'd an old disease.

Is not Religion (Heav'n-defcended dame)
As worthy all our foul's devoutest flame,.
As moral virtue in her early fway,

15

When the best Heathens faw by doubtful day? 10
Are not the joys, the promis'd joys above,
As great and strong to vanquish earthly love,
As earthly glory, fame, refpect, and show,
As all rewards their virtue found below?
Alas! Religion proper means prepares,
Thefe means are ours, and muft its end be theirs?
And fhall thy father's fpirit meet the fight
Of Heathen fages cloth'd in heav'nly light,
Whofe merit of ftrict life, feverely fuited
To Reason's dictates, may be Faith imputed? 20
Whilft thou, to whom he taught the nearer road,
Art ever banish'd from the blefs'd abode.

Oh! if thy temper fuch a fear can find,
This fear were valour of the nobleft kind.
Dar'ft thou provoke, when rebel fouls afpire, 25
The Maker's vengeance, and thy monarch's ire?

ΟΙ

30

Or live entomb'd in fhips, thy leader's prey,
Spoil of the war, the famine, or the fea?
In fearch of pearl, in depth of ocean breathe,
Or live, exil'd the fun, in mines beneath?
Or, where in tempefts icy mountains roll,
Attempt a paffage by the northern pole?
Or dar'ft thou fearch within the fires of Spain,
Or burn beneath the Line, for Indian gain?
Or for fome idol of thy fancy draw
Some loofe-gown'd dame; O courage made of
ftraw!

35

Thus, defp'rate coward! would'st thou bold appear,
Yet when thy God has plac'd thee centry here,
To thy own foes, to his, ignobly yield,
And leave, for wars forbid, th' appointed field?

45

Know thy own foes; th' apoftate angel, he 41 You ftrive to please, the foremost of the three; He makes the pleasures of his realm the bait, But can be give for love, that acts in hote? The world's thy fecond love, thy second foe, The world, whofe beauties perish as they blow: They fly, the fades herself, and at the best You grafp a wither'd ftrumpet to your breaft. The flesh is next, which in fruition wastes, High flush'd with all the fenfual joys it taftes, 50 While men the fair, the goodly foul destroy, From whence the flesh has pow'r to taste a joy, Seek'st thou Religion, primitively found--Well, gentle friend, but where may she be found? By faith Implicit blind Ignaro led, 55 Thinks the bright feraph from his country fled, And feeks her feat at Rome, because we know She there was feen a thousand years ago;

And

And loves her relic rags, as men obey

The foot-cloth where the prince fat yesterday. 60 Thefe pageant forms are whining Obed's fcorn, Who feeks Religion at Geneva born,

A fullen thing, whofe coarfenefs fuits the crowd; Tho' young, unhandfome; tho' unhandfome, proud: Thus, with the wanton, fome perverfely judge 65 All girls unhealthy but the country-drudge.

No foreign fchemes make eafy Capio roam,
The man contented takes his church at home;
Nay, fhould fome preachers, fervile bawds of gain,
Should fome new laws, which like new fashions reign,
Command his faith to count falvation ty'd
To vifit his, and visit none befide,

He grants falvation centers in his own,
And grants it centers but in his alone:

71

From youth to age he grafps the proffer'd dame, And they confer his faith, who give his name: 76 So from the guardian's hands, the wards who live Enthrall'd to guardians, take the wives they give. From all profeffions careless Airy flies,

80

For, all profeffions can't be good, he cries,
And here a fault, and there another views,
And lives unfix'd for want of heart to chufe.
So men, who know what fome loofe girls have done,
For fear of marrying fuch, will marry none.

The charms of all obfequious Courtly ftrike; 85
On each he dotes, on each attends alike;
And thinks, as diff'rent countries deck the dame,
The dreffes altering, and the fex the fame;
So fares Religion, chang'd in outward fhow,
But 'tis religion ftill, where'er we go:
This blindness springs from an excefs of light,
And men embrace the wrong to chufe the right.

99

But