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FROM Codex hear, ye ecclefiaftic men,
This paftoral charge to Webster, Stebbing, Ven;
Attend, ye emblems of your P's mind!
Mark Faith, mark Hope, mark Charity, defin'd;
On terms, whence no ideas ye can draw,


Pin well your faith, and then pronounce it law;
First wealth, a crofier next, your hope enflame;
And next church-power-a power o'er confcience,

In modes of worship right of choice deny ;

Say, to convert, all means are fair;-add, why? 30 'Tis charitable-let your power decree,

That Perfecution then is Charity;

Call reafon error; forms, not things, difplay;

Let moral doctrine to abftrufe give way;

Sink demonftration; mystery preach alone;


Be thus Religion's friend, and thus your own.
But Fofter well this honest truth extends

Where Mystery begins, Religion ends.


In him, great modern miracle! we fee
A prieft, from avarice and ambition free;
One, whom no perfecuting fpilit fires;
Whose heart and tongue benevolence inspires:
Learn'd, not affuming; eloquent, yet plain;
Meek, though not timorous; confcious, though not

Without craft, reverend; holy, without cant;

Zealous for truth, without enthusiast rant.
His faith, where no credulity is seen,
"Twixt infidel and bigot, marks the mean;

His hope, no mitre militant on earth,


'Tis that bright crown, which heaven referves for worth. A priest, in charity with all mankind,

His love to virtue, not to fect confin'd:

Truth his delight; from him it flames abroad,

From him, who fears no being, but his God:
In him from Chriftian, moral light can shine;
Not mad with myftery, but a found divine;
He wins the wife and good, with reafon's lore;
Then ftrikes their paffions with pathetic power;
Where vice erects her head, rebukes the page;
Mix'd with rebuke, persuasive charms engage;



Charms, which th' unthinking muft to thought excite;
Lo! vice lefs vicious! virtue more upright:
Him copy, Codex, that the good and wife,
Who fo abhor thy heart, and head despise,

May fee thee now, though late, redeem thy name, 45
And glorify what elfe is damn'd to fame,


But fhould fome churchman, apeing wit severe, The poet 's fure turn'd Baptist-say, and fneer; Shame on that narrow mind fo often known, Which in one mode of faith, owns worth alone.

Sneer on, rail, wrangle! nought this truth repels-
Virtue is virtue, wherefoe'er fhe dwells;
And fure, where learning gives her light to fhine,
Her's is all praife-if her's, 'tis Fofter, thine.
Thee boaft diffenters; we with pride may own
Our Tillotson; and Rome, her Fenelon*.








OME feem to hint, and others proof will bring, That, from neglect, my numerous hardships fpring.

In this Character of the Rev. James Fofter, truth guided the pen of the Mufe. Mr. Pope paid a tribute to the modeft worth of this excellent man: little did he imagine his Rev. Annotator would endeavour to convert his praise into abufe. The character and writings of Fofter will be admired and read, when the works of the bitter Controverfialist are forgotten.

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Seek the great man! they cry-'tis then decreed,
In him, if I court fortune, I fucceed.

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What friends to fecond? who for me fhould fue, s Have interests, partial to themselves, in view. They own my matchlefs fate compaffion draws; They all wish well, lament, but drop my caufe. There are who afk no penfion, want no place, No title with, and would accept no grace. Can I entreat, they fhould for me obtain The leaft, who greatest for themselves difdain? A statesman, knowing this, unkind, will cry, Thofe love him: let thofe ferve him!-why fhould I ? Say, fhall I turn where lucre points my views; 15 At first defert my friends, at length abuse? But, on lefs terms, in promise he complies : Years bury years, and hopes on hopes arife; I truft, am trusted on my fairy gain;

And woes on woes attend, an endless train.

Be pofts difpos'd at will!-I have, for these,
No gold to plead, no impudence to teaze.
All fecret fervice from my foul I hate ;
All dark intrigues of pleasure, or of state.



I have no power, election-votes to gain;
No will to hackney out polemic ftrain ;
To shape, as time fhall ferve, my verse, or prose,
To flatter thence, nor flur, a courtier's foes;
Nor him to daub with praise, if I prevail;
Nor fhock'd by him with libels to affail.
Where these are not, what claim to me belongs?
Though mine the Muse and virtue, birth and wrongs.




Where lives the ftatefman, fo in honour clear, To give where he has nought to hope, nor fear? No! there to feek, is but to find fresh pain: The promise broke, renew'd, and broke again; To be, as humour deigns, receiv'd, refus'd; By turns affronted, and by turns amus'd; To lofe that time, which worthier thoughts require; To lose the health, which should those thoughts in



To ftarve on hope; or, like camelions, fare
On minifterial faith, which means but air.
But ftill, undrooping, I the crew disdain,
Who, or by jobs, or libels, wealth obtain.
Ne'er let me be, through those, from want exempt; 45
In one man's favour, in the world's contempt:
Worfe in my own!-through thofe, to posts who rife,
Themselves, in fecret, muft themselves defpife;
Vile, and more vile, till they, at length, disclaim
Not fenfe alone of glory, but of fhame.



What though I hourly fee the fervile herd, For meannefs honour'd, and for guilt prefer'd; See felfith paffion, public virtue feem; And public virtue an enthusiast dream; See favour'd falfehood, innocence belied, Meekness deprefs'd, and power-elated pride; A fcene will fhew, all-righteous vision haste; The meek exalted, and the proud debas'd!— Oh, to be there! -to tread that friendly fhore, Where falfehood, pride, and ftatefmen are no more! 60

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