Classic Poem

In all the Hosannas , our whole World's applause,
Illustrious Champion of our Church and Laws,
Accept, great Nassau , from unworthy me,
Amongst the adoring Crowd, a bended Knee;
Nor scruple, Sir, to hear my Ecchoing Lyre,
Strung, tun'd, and joyn'd to th' Universal Quire:
For my suspected Mouth thy Glories told,
A known Out-lyer from the English Fold,
Rome 's Votary, the Protestants sworn Foe,
Rome my Religion half an hour ago;
My Roman Dagon 's by thy Arm o'rethrown,
And now my Prostituted Soul's thy own:
Thy Glory could convert that Infidel
That had whole Ages stood immovable.
No wonder then thou could'st Affections sway
In tender Breasts, like mine, such plyant Clay,
As cou'd even bear new moulding every day;
Nor doubt thy Convert true, I who cou'd raise
Immortal Trophies, even to Cromwell 's Praise;
I who my Muses Infant Quill could fledge,
With high-sung Murder, Treason, Sacriledge
A Martyr'd Monarch and an inslav'd Nation,
A Kingdoms shame the whole Worlds Execration,
By the translated even to a Constellation.
If thus all this I cou'd unblushing write,
Fear not that Pen that shall thy Praise indite;
When High-born Blood my Adoration draws,
Exalted Glory and unblemish'd Cause:
A Theme so all Divine my Muse shall wing,
What is't for thee, great Prince, I will not sing?
No Bounds shall stop my Pegasean flight,
I'le spot my Hind, and make my Panther white.
Against the Seven proud Hills I'le Muster all
My Keen Poetick Rage, and Rhime with all
The Vengeance of a Second Hannibal .
The Papal Chair by dint of Verse o'return,
My Molten Gods, like Israel 's Calf, I'le burn
Copes, Crosiers, all the Trumpery of Rome ,
Down to great Waller 's blazing Hecatomb.
I'le pound my Beads to Dust, and wear no more
Those Pagan Bracelets of the Scarlet Whore.
But whither am I wrapt! for oh my Fears!
I bend beneath the weight of Sixty years;
Low runs my Glass, more low my aged Muse,
And to my Will, alas! does Pow'r refuse.
But if, Great Prince, my feeble Strength shall fail,
Thy Theme I'le to my Successors entail;
My Heirs th'unfinish'd Subject shall compleat:
I have a Son, and He, by all that's Great,
That very Son (and trust my Oaths, I swore
As much to my Great Master James before),
Shall by his Sire's Example, Rome renounce,
For he, young Stripling, yet has turn'd but once.
That Oxford Nursling, that sweet hopeful Boy,
His Father's, and that once Ignatian Joy;
Design'd for a new Bellarmin Goliah ,
Under the great Gamaliel Obadiah
This Youth, Great Sir , shall your Fames Trumpet blow,
And Soar when my dull Wings shall flag below
A Protestant Herculean Column stand
When I, a poor weak Pillar of the Land,
Now growing Old, and crumbling into Sand.
But hark! methinks, I hear the buzzing Crowd
At my Conversion dare to Laugh aloud.
Let censuring Fops, and snarling Envy grin,
Tickled and pleas'd with my Camelion Skin.
No senseless Fools my true Dimensions scan,
And know the Lawreat 's a Leviathan .
Now Tiber 's Mouth Ebbs low, and on that Shore,
My rowling Bulk, alas, can Sport no more:
Down the full Tide I scour, to take a loose
In the more swelling Surge of Helvert Sluce .
Let Chattering Daws, and every senseless Widgeon,
Their Descant pass on that great Name, Religion .
Religion , by true Polititian Rules,
The Wise man's Strength, and the weak Pride of Fools.
For we, who Godliness for gain, support
Heavens Votaries for Candidates at Court,
Makes our Church walls, our Rampart, Sconce and Fort.
Our Masses, Dirges, Vespers, Orisons ,
Our Counterscarps, our Rav'lins, and half Moons.
And now our Ave Mary 's put to th'rout,
And from that Bastion I am beaten out,
I'm but retiring to a new Redoubt.
Why should I blush to turn, when my Defence
And Plea's so plain? For if Omnipotence
Be th' highest Attribute that Heav'n can boast,
That's the tru'st Church, that Heav'n resembles most
The Tables then are turn'd; and 'tis confest
The Strongest and the Mightiest is the Best.
In all my Changes I'm on the Right side,
And by the same great Reason justifi'd.
When the bold Crescent lately attacqu'd the Cross ,
Resolv'd the Empire of the World t'engross,
Had tottering Vienna 's Walls but fail'd,
And Turkey over Christendom prevail'd,
Long e're this I had cross'd the Dardanello ,
And sate the Mighty Mahomet 's Hail Fellow,
Quitting my duller Hopes, the poor Renown
Of Eaton -College, or a Dublin -Gown,
And commenc'd Graduate in the Great Divan ,
Had reign'd a more Immortal Musselman .
No Art, Pain, Labour, Toil, too much t'assail
Heav'ns Tow'ry Battlements. By Heav'n I'd sail
Through all Religions, Church o'r Churches mounted,
More than the Rounds that Jacob 's Ladder counted.
Has this stupendious Revolution past
A Change so quick, and Inot turn as fast?
Let bogling Conscience shock the squeamish Fool,
Poor crazy Animals, whose Stomachs pule.
Shall scrup'lous Test disgust their Paschal stickle,
Whether true dress'd, in Souse, in Broth, or Pickle?
If Muscadine runs low, I'm not so dull,
But I can pledge Salvation in Lambs-Wool :
And if Salvation to One Church is bound,
So much the rather would I change all round.
Change then can be no fault; a whole Life long
Kept in One Church, may always be i'th' wrong:
But there where Conscience circles in her flight,
He who's of all Sides, must be once i'th' right.