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The clergy keep me for their eafe,
And turn and wind me as they please.
A new and wondrous art I show
Of raising fpirits from below;
In scarlet fome, and some in white :
They rise, walk round, yet never fright.
In at each mouth the fpirits país,
Distinctly seen as through a glass :
O’er head and body inake a rout,
And drive at last all secrets out :
And still the more I show my art,
The more they open ev'ry heart.
A greater chymist none than I, Who, from materials hard and dry, Have taught men to extract with skill More precious juice than from a still.
Although I'm often out of cafe,
I'm not asham'd to show my face.
Though at the tables of the great,
I near the fide-boad take
Yet the plain 'squire. when dinner's done,
Is never pleas'd till I make one :
He kindly bids me near him ftand;
And often take me by the hand,
I twice a-day a-hunting gu;
Nor ever fail to seize my foe;
And when I have him by the pole,
I drag him upwards from his hole,
Though some are of so stubborn kind,
I'm force'd to leave a limb behind.
I hourly wait fome fatal end ;
For I can break, but scorn to bend.
The Gulf of all human Poffeffions.
Written in the year 1724.
Come hither and behold the fruits,
Vain man, of all thy vain pursuits.
Take wise advice, and look behind,
Bring all past actions to thy mind.
Here you may fee, as in a glafs,
How soon all human pleasures pass.
How will it mortify thy pride,
To turn the true impartial fide!
How will your eyes contain their tears,
When all the fad reverse appears !
This cave within its womb confines
The last result of all designs :
Here lie deposited the fpoils
Of busy mortals endless toils :
Here, with an easy fearch, we find
The foul corruptions of mankind.
The wretched purchase here behold
Of traitors who their country fold.
This gulf insatiable imbibes
The lawyers fees, the statesman's bribes.
Here, in their proper shape and mien,
Fraud, perjury, and guilt are feen.
Neceflity, the tyrant's law,
All human race must hither draw;
All prompted by the same desire,
The vig’rous youth and aged fire.
Behold, the coward and the brave,
The haughty prince, the humble flave,
Phyfician, lawyer, and divine,
All make oblations as this thrine.
Some enter boldly, fome by stealth,
And leave behind their fruitless wealth.
For while the bashful fylvan maid,
As half afham’d, and half afraid,
Approaching finds it hard to part
With that which dwelt so near her heart;
The courtly dame, unmor’d by fear,
Profusely pours her off'rings here.
A treasure here of learning lurks,
Huge heaps of never-dying works ;
Labours of many an ancient sage,
And millions of the present age.
In at this gulf all off'rings pass,
And lie an undstinguish'd mass.
Deucalion, to restore mankind,
Was bid to throw the stones behind ;
So those who here their gifts convey,
Are force'd to look another way;
For few, a chosen few, must know
The mysteries that lie below.
Sad charnel-house! a dismal dome,
For which all mortals leave their home;
The young, the beautiful, and brave,
Here bury'd in one common grave ;
Where each supply of dead renews
Unwholesome damps, offensive dews :
And lo! the writing on the walls
Points out where each new victim falls
The food of worms, and beasts obscene,
Who round the vault luxuriant reign.
See where those mangled corpses lie,
Condemn'd by female hands to die ;
A comely dame once clad in white,
Lies there consign'd to endless night;
By cruel hands her blood was spilt,
And yet her wealth was all her guilt.
And here six virgins in a tomb,
All-beauteous offspring of one womb,
Oft in the train of Venus seen,
As fair and lovely as their queen
In royal garments each was drest,
Each with a gold and purple veft;
I saw them of their garments ftript;
Their throats were cut, their bellies ript ;
Twice were they bury'd, twice were born,
Twice from their fepulchres were torn;
But now dismember'd here are cast,
And find a resting place at last.
Here oft the curious trav'ler finds
The combat of opposing winds :
And seeks to learn the fecret cause,
Which alien seems from nature's laws;
Why, at this cave's tremendous inouth,
He feels at once both north and fouth :
Whether the winds in caverns pent
Thro' clefts oppugnant force a vent;
Or whether, op'ning all her stores,
Fierce Æolus in tempeft roars.
Yet from this mingled mass of things
In time a new creation springs.
These crude materials once shall rise
To fill the earth, and air, and Ikics :
DEprivd of root, and branch, and rind,
Yet flow'rs I bear of ev'ry kind;
And such is my prolific pow'r,
They bloom in less than half an hour :
Yet standers-by may plainly see
They get no nourishment from me.
My head with giddiness goes round:
And yet I firmly stand my ground:
All over naked I am feen,
And painted like an Indian queen.
No couple-beggar in the land
E’er join'd such numbers hand in hand ;
I join them fairly with a ring;
Nor can our parson blame the thing:
And though no marriage-words are spoke,
They part not till the ring is broke,
Yet hypocrite fanatics cry,
I'm but an idol rais’d on high ;
And once a weaver in our town,
A damn's Cromwellian, knock'd me down.
I lay a pris'ner twenty years,
And then the jovial cavaliers
To their old poft restor'd all three,
I mean the church, the king, and me.