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II

So Luther thought the Pater-nofter long, 105 When doom'd to say his beads and Even-song; But having cast his cowl, and left those laws, Adds to Christ's pray’r, the pow'r and glory clausę.

The lands are bought; but where are to be found Those ancient woods, that shaded all the ground? We fee no new-built palaces aspire, No kitchens emulate the Vestal fire. Where are those troops of poor, that throng'd of

yore The good old landlord's hospitable door? Well, I could with, that still in lordly domes 115 Some beasts were kill'd, tho'not whole hecatombs; That both extremes were banish'd from their walls, Carthufian faits, and fulsome Bacchanals; And all mankind might that just mean observe, In which none e'er could surfeit, none could starve. These as good works, 'tis true, we all allow, 121 But oh! these orks are not in fashion now:

As slily as any

commenter

goes by Hard words, or fenfe; or, in divinity As controverters in vouch'd texts, leave out Shrewd words, which might against them clear the

doubt. Where are these spread woods which cloth'd

heretofore Those bought lands? not built, not burnt within

door: Where the old landlords troops, and alms? In halls Carthufian fasts, and fulsome Bacchanals Lqually I hate. Mean’s bleit. In rich mens homes I bid kill some beasts, but no hecatombs;

Like

Like rich old wardrobes, things extremely rare, Extremely fine, but what no man will wear.

Thus much I've said, I trust, without offence; Let no court-fycophant pervert my sense, 126 Nor fly informer watch these words to draw Within the reach of Treason, or the Law.

None starve, none furfeit fo. But (oh) we allow Good works as good, but out of fashion now, Like old rich wardrobes. But

my

words none draws Within the vast reach of th' huge statutes jawes,

SATIRE

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C
OMPASSION checks my fpleen, yet Scorn denies
The tears a passage thro' my

fwelling eyes;
To laugh or weep at fins might idly show
Unheedful passion, or unfruitful woe.
Satire! arise, and try thy sharper ways, 5
If ever Satire cur'd an old disease.

Is not Religion (Heav'n-descended dame)
As worthy all our soul's devouteft flame,.
As moral virtue in her early sway,
When the best Heathens saw 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, respect, and show,
As all rewards their virtue found below ?
Alas! Religion proper means prepares, 15
These means are ours, and must its end be theirs ?
And shall thy father's spirit meet the fight
Of Heathen sages cloth'd in heav'nly light,
Whose merit of strict life, feverely suited
To Reason's dictates, may be Faith imputed? 20
Whilst thou, to whom he taught the nearer road,
Art ever banish'd from the bless'd abode.

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

Or

30

Or live entomb'd in ships, thy leader's prey,
Spoil of the war, the famine, or the sea?
In search of pearl, in depth of ocean breathe,
Or live, exil'd the sun, in mines beneath ?
Or, where in tempefts icy mountains roll,
Attempt a passage by the northern pole?
Or dar'lt thou search within the fires of Spain,
Or burn beneath the Line, for Indian gain?
Or for some idol of thy fancy draw

35 Some loose-gown'd dame; courage made of

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

Know thy own foes; th' apostate angel, he 41 You strive 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, 45 The world, whose beauties perilh as they blow: They fy, she fades herself, and at the best You grasp a wither'd ftrumpet to your breaft. The flesh is next, which in fruition waftes, High flush'd with all the sensual joys it tastes, 50 While men the fair, the goodly soul destroy, From whence the flesh has pow'r to taste a joy, Seek'st thou Religion, primitively found--

friend, but where may she be found? By faith Implicit blind Ignaro led,

55 Thinks the bright seraph from his country fled, And seeks her feat at Rome, because we know She there was seen a thousand years ago;

And

Well,

And loves her relic rags, as men obey
The foot-cloth where the prince sat yesterday: 60

These pageant forms are whining Obed's scorn,
Who seeks Religion at Geneva born,
A sullen thing, whose coarseness suits the crowd;
Thoʻyoung, unhandsome; tho”unhandsome, proud:
Thus, with the wanton, fome perversely judge 65
All girls unhealthy but the country-drudge.

No foreign schemes make eafy Cæpio roam, The man contented takes his church at home; Nay, should some preachers, servile bawds of gain, Should some new laws, which like new fashions reign, Command his faith to count salvation ty'd 71 To visit his, and visit none beside, He grants salvation centers in his own, And

grants it centers but in his alone : From youth to age he grasps 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 professions careless Airy flies, For, all profeffions can't be good, he cries, 80 And here a fault, and there another views, And lives unfix'd for want of heart to chuse. So men, who know what some loose girls have done, For fear of marrying such, will marry none.

The charms of all obsequious Courtly strike; 85 On each he dotes, on each attends alike; And thinks, as diff'rent countries deck the dame, The dreffes altering, and the sex the fame; So fares Religion, chang'd in outward fhow, But 'tis religion still, where'er we go:

90 This blindness springs from an excess of light, And men embrace the wrong to chuse the right.

But

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