Classic Poem

What stupid creatures are the French,
Quite free from superstition;
Yet when they die, 'tis hard to say,
What can be their condition?

Of Heaven they entertain no thought,
Since it can no way fit them;
And as for Hell, the despot there
Has more sense than admit them.

If then for Hell they have no chance,
And to Heav'n have no pretension;
Some other dwelling must be found,
To lodge the French C ONVENTION .

Or, as their new philosophy
Has laid the fine foundation,
Their only prospect now must be
A blest annihilation .

How must these miscreant wretches move
Our anger, or our laughter,
Who wish to live like monsters here,
And nothing be hereafter!

Preserve us, Reason , taught by Grace ,
From reveries so beastly;
By whomsoever set afloat,
By Price , or Payne , or Priestly .

May Britons thankful still, and wise,
Beware of Gallic leaven;
So we need have no fear of Hell ,
And grace will give us Heaven .