Said a jolly church parfon, (devoted to ease, While penal law dragons guard his golden fleece,) If you pity your foul, I pray liften to neither; The first is in error, the last a deceiver:
That our's is the true church, the sense of our tribe is, And furely in medio tutiffimus ibis.
Said a yea and nay friend with a stiff hat and band,
(Who while he talk'd gravely would hold forth his hand,) Dominion and wealth are the aim of all three,
Though about ways and means they may all difagree;
Then prithee be wife, go the quakers by-way,
'Tis plain, without turnpikes, fo nothing to pay.
On BARCLAY'S Apology for the Quakers.
HESE fheets primæval doctrines yield,
Where revelation is reveal'd;
Soul-phlegm from literal feeding bred,
Syftems lethargic to the head
This celebrated book was written by its Author, both in Latin and English, and was afterwards translated into High Dutch, Low Dutch, French, and Spanish, and probably into other languages. It has always been esteemed a very ingenious defence of the principles of Quaker fm, even by thofe who deny the doctrines which it endeavours to eftablish.
They purge, and yield a diet thin,
That turns to gofpel-chyle within.
Truth sublimate may here be seen
Extracted from the parts terrene.
In these is fhewn, how men obtain
What of Prometheus poets feign:
To fcripture-plainness dress is brought,
And fpeech, apparel to the thought.
They hifs from inftinct at red coats,
And war, whose work is cutting throats,
Forbid, and prefs the law of love;
Breathing the fpirit of the dove.
Lucrative doctrines they deteft,
As manufactur'd by the priest;
And throw down turnpikes, where we pay
For ftuff, which never mends the way;
And tythes, a Jewish tax, reduce,
And frank the gospel for our use.
They fable standing armies break;
But the militia ufeful make:
Since all unhir'd may preach and pray,
Taught by thefe rules as well as they;
The Author was born at Edinburgh in 1648, and received part of his education at the Scots College in Paris, where his uncle was Principal. His father became one of the earliest converts to the new Sect, and from his example, the fon feems to have been induced to tread in his fteps. He died on the 3d of October 1690, in the 42 year of
Rules, which, when truths themselves reveal,
Bid us to follow what we feel.
The world can't hear the fmall ftill voice,
Such is its bustle and its noife;
Reafon the proclamation reads,
But not one riot paffion heeds.
Wealth, honour, power the graces are,
Which here below our homage fhare:
They, if one votary they find
To miftrefs more divine inclin❜d,
In truth's purfuit to caufe delay
Throw golden apples in his way.
Place me, O heav'n, in some retreat,
There let the ferious death-watch beat,
There let me felf in filence fhun,
To feel thy will, which fhould be done.
Then comes the Spirit to our hut,
When faft the fenfes' doors are shut;
For fo divine and pure a guest
The emptieft rooms are furnish'd best.
O Contemplation! air ferene!
From damps of sense, and fogs of spleen!
Pure mount of thought! thrice holy ground,
Where grace, when waited for, is found.
Here 'tis the foul feels fudden youth,
And meets exulting, virgin Truth;
Here, like a breeze of gentleft kind,
Impulfes ruftle through the mind;
L 4
Here fhines that light with glowing face,
The fuse divine, that kindles grace;
Which, if we trim our lamps, will last,
"Till darkness be by dying paft,
And then goes out at end of night.
Extinguish'd by fuperior light.
Ah me! the heats and colds of life,
Pleasure's and pain's eternal ftrife,
Breed ftormy paffions, which confin'd,
Shake, like th' Æolian cave, the mind,
And raise defpair; my lamp can laft,
Plac'd where they drive the furious blast.
Falfe eloquence, big empty found,
Like showers that rush upon the ground,
Little beneath the furface goes,
All Atreams along and muddy flows.
This finks, and fwells the buried grain,
And fructifies like fouthern rain.
His art, well hid in mild discourse,
Exerts perfuafion's winning force,
And nervates fo the good defign,
That King Agrippa's cafe is mine.
Well-natur'd, happy fhade, forgive!
Like you I think, but cannot live.
Thy scheme requires the world's contempt,
That, from dependence life exempt;
And conftitution fram'd fo ftrong,
This world's worst climate cannot wrong,
Not fuch my lot, not Fortune's brat,
I live by pulling off the hat;
Compell'd by station every hour
To bow to images of power;
And in life's bufy fcenes immers'd,
See better things, and do the worst.
Eloquent Want, whofe reafons fway,
And make ten thousand truths give way,
While I your scheme with pleafure trace,
Draws near, and ftares me in the face.
Confider well your ftate, fhe cries,
Like others kneel, that you may rife;
Hold doctrines, by no fcruples vex'd,
To which preferment is annex'd,
Nor madly prove, where all depends,
Idolatry upon your friends.
See, how you like my rueful face,
Such you must wear, if out of place.
Crack'd is your brain to turn reclufe
Without one farthing out at ufe.
They, who have lands, and fafe bank-stock,
With faith fo founded on a rock,
May give a rich invention eafe,
And conftrue fcripture how they please.
The honour'd prophet, that of old
Us'd heav'n's high counfels to unfold,
Did, more than courier angels, greet
The crows, that brought him bread and meat,
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