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Yet authors here except a faithful band,
Which the prevailing faction did withstand ;
And some, who bravely stood in the defence
Of baffled justice and their exil'd prince.
These shine to after-times, each sacred name
Stands still recorded in the rolls of faine.

HEN lawless men their neighbours dispossess,

The tenants they extirpate or oppress ;
And make rude havock in the fruitful foil,
Which the right owners ploughid with careful toil.
The same proportion does in kingdoms hold,
A new prince breaks the fences of the old!
And will o'er carcases and deserts reign,
Unless the land its rightful lord regain.
He gripes the faithlels owners of the place,
And buys a foreign army to deface
The fear'd and hated remnant of their race.
He starves their forces, and obstructs their trade
Vast sums are given, and yet no native paid.
The church itself he labours to ailaii,
And keeps fit tools to break the sacred pale.

Of those let him the guilty roll commence,
Who has betray'd a master and a prince ;
A man, seditious, lewd, and impudent;
An engine always mischievously bent;
One who from all the bands of duty swerves;
No tye can hold but that which he deserves ;



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An author dwindled to a pamphleteer;
Skilful to forge, and always insincere ;
Careless exploded practices to mend;
Bold to attack, yet feeble to defend.
Fate's blindfold reign the atheist loudly owns,
And Providence blasphemously dethrones.
In vain the leering actor strains his tongue
To cheat, with tears and empty noise, the throng,
Since all men know, whate'er he says or writes,
Revenge or stronger interest indites,
And that the wretch employs his venal wit
How to confute what formerly he writ.

Next him the grave Socinian claims a place,
Endow'd with reason, though bereft of grace ;
A preaching pagan of surpaffing fame :
No register records his horrow'd name.
Oh, had the child more happily been bred,
A radiant mitre would have grac'd his head :
But now unfit, the most he should expect,
Is to be enter'd of

TF's fect.
To him succeeds, with looks demurely fad,
A gloomy soul, with revelation mad;
False to his friend, and careless of his word;

A dreaming prophet, and a griping lord ;
He fells the livings which he can't possess,
And farms that fine-cure his diocese.
Unthinking man! to quit thy barren see,
And vain endeavours in chronology,
For the more fruitless care of royal charity.



Thy hoary noddle warns thee to return,
The treason of old age in Wales to mourn ;
Nor think the city-poor will loss sustain,
Thy place may well be vacant in this reign.

I should admit the booted prelate now
But he is even for lampoon too low :
The fcuin and outcast of a royal race;
The nation's grievance, and the gown's disgrace.
None so unlearn'd did ere at London fit;
This driveler does the sacred chair besh-t.
I need not brand the spiritual parricide,
Nor draw the weapon dangling by his side :
Th’astonish'd world remembers that offence,
And knows he stole the daughter of his prince.
'Tis time enough, in some succeeding age,
To bring this mitred captain on the stage.

These are the leaders in apostacy,
The wild reformers of the liturgy,
And the blind guides of poor elective majesty;
A thing which commonwealth’s-men did devise,
Till plots were ripe, to catch the people's eyes.

Their king 's a monster, in a quagmire born,
Of all the native brutes the grief and scorn;
With a big fnout, cast in a crooked mould,
Which runs with glanders and an inborn cold.
His substance is of clamıny snot and phlegm ;
Sleep is his essence, and his life a dream.
To Capreæ this Tiberius does retire,
To quench with catamite his feeble fire.





Dear catamite ! who rules alone the state,
While monarch dozes on his unpropt height,
Silent, yet thoughtless, and secure of fate.


but see the fulsome hero led By loathing vassals to his noble bed! In flannen robes the coughing ghost does walk, And his mouth moates like cleaner breech of hawk. Corruption, springing from his canker'd breatt, Furs up the channel, and disturbs his rest. With head propt up the boltter'd engine lies ; if pillow flip aside, the monarch dies.





E P I S T L E.

THE PRE FACE. A Poem with fo bold a title, and a name prefixed

from which the handling of so serious a subject would not be expected, may reasonably oblige the author to say fomewhat in defence, both of himself and of his undertaking. In the first place, if it be objected to me, that, being a layman, I ought not to have concerned myself with speculations, which belong to the profession of divinity ; I could answer, that perhaps laymen, with equal advantages of parts and knowledge, are not the most incompetent judges of sacred things; but, in the due sense of my own weakness and want of learning, I plead not this : I pretend not to make myself a judge of faith in others, but only to make a confefsion of my own. I lay no unhallowed hand upon the ark, but wait on it with the reverence that becomes me at a distance. In the next place I will ingenuously confefs, that the helps I have used in this finall treatile, vere many of thein taken from the works of our own reverend divines of the church of England; so that the weapons with which I combat irreligion, are already confecrated; though I suppose they may be taken down

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