Classic Poem

Eclogue 6th

The first was I, who thought it worth my while,
Of Mary-Land to Speak in any Style;
Nor bless'd my Muse — a modest girl you'll say —
Her wondrous Sons to sing in rustick Lay —
Assembly Men, & Counsellors, & jars
In highflown Numbers thought I to rehearse;
No; she reply'd; — too ventrous are the Themes;
Nor dare you triffle with those glorious Names.
What Worth they have, deserving nobler Rhimes,
Some, tuneful Bard shall sing in blither Times.
Thy humbler Verse of Celsus' Worth shall tell,
Celsus, who is Himself's own Parallel;
Celsus, whose large capacious Soul's too great,
Things sacred with the least Regard to treat:
He keeps with W — — n, M — — n strict Alliance,
And holds Priests, Prophets, Gospels, at Defiance!
'Gainst Creeds with what persuasive Force he raves;
How scorns the Wretches Priestly, Pow'r enslaves?
Yet when, Himself his Rheth'rick flings about,
And gives 'gainst Heav'n & Ch[urch] his dictates out;
Whate'er he says, his Hearers must believe;
What he calls Truth implicitly receive.
Thus is the Wight the very Priest, he blames,
And the same Track pursues that he condemns.

On then, my Muse — Once visited the Sage,
Thoughtless & Rakely, Youths of equal Age,
Of equal Warmth in Reason's mighty Cause,
Of like Invet'racy to Tyrant-Laws.
Oft had he promis'd to their longing Heart
A Schedule of his fav'rite, Scheme t'impart.
They now demand it — He with gracious Eyes.
Benignly to their fond Request replies:
" Children, I'll all your doubtings joyful clear;
" just is the Boon you ask; attentive Hear."
He said, & strait a Silence most profound,
Still as the Dead of night reign'd all around.
E'en Crab, his fav'rite Foist, was quite struck dumb,
Nor Puss has stir'd, tho' Mouse, had crost the Room.
As serious as Dan: Burgess did he look,
As grave as Nailor's were the Words he spoke.

First, then he sung how this round Spacious Ball
Once on a Time, was a huge Chaos all;
Till Chance, a mighty Pow'r, but who or what,
Was far beyond this Ken — that matter'd not —
Bad Order from Confusion to arise,
And thus form'd Lands & Seas, & Liquid Skies.
Next, [God] he sung, but such a [God] as shew'd
He thought he very little to him ow'd;
Too great, too glorious, & too unconfin'd,
The paltry Bus'ness of our Earth to mind,
And therefore left poor Mortals to their Passions,
To do what suited best their Inclinations.

Then sacred Story was his Scoundrel-Theme,
And wondrous wisely did he now declaim:
Adam & Eve Non-Entities were made;
No Serpent yet a Woman e'er betray'd;
Noah's a Blockhead, & Cham Serv'd him right,
T'expose, His Weakness to his Brother's Sight;
Abr'ham's great Faith was nothing but a name,
And Moses cheated Israel with a Sham:
Sampson's vast Strength deserves our Ridicule,
David's a Villain, Solomon a fool;
By childish whims were fill'd the Prophets all,
No more inspir'd by H[eave]n, than by Baal.
And the whole Bible's a notorious Cheat,
A Maintenance for lazy Priests to get.

The Gospel next his Eloquence commands,
And now he loudly Ch[rist] himself arraigns.
A pack of Sots is ev'ry Ch[ri]st[ia]n, Nation,
And gull'd the World had been, e'er since the Passion.
And they, who his Absurdities believe,
A just Pretence alone to Wisdom have.
— But hark! the Muse is shock'd — She bids me cease
These Outrages against the Prince of Peace:
And to those other glorious Tenets haste,
Which wondrous Celsus to the Youths exprest.
The Sacraments he made of equal Force
To save a Ch[ri]st[ia]n, as to save a Horse:
No sacrifice of Praise did H[ea]v[e]n require,
And fruitless, needless all were Forms of Pray'r.
By Consequence no Need there was of Teaching,
And P[a]r[s]ons shou'd be planting, instead of preaching.
In short, Religion was the Child of Pow'r,
To keep poor ign'rant Man from knowing more,
Than what their wise Forefathers knew before.
Hence then, this Inference he plainly drew,
Our Passions shou'd be all submitted to;
Pray why were they bestow'd if not employ'd,
And what are Blessings, that are not enjoy'd?
Come then, indulge where Humane Laws permit,
Hell, Devil defy, these School-boy Fears forget,
Dare any Act, but what may cause you swing:
Libel your G[od], your Country & your King;
Debauch a diff'rant Fair one ev'ry Night;
The Nuptial Tie's an Imposition quite.

Go Bravely on — No After-Reck'ning fear,
With which old Dreamers frighten Children here
When Death invades, the Humane Frame's no more,
Than just the empty nought it was before.
Souls we've no more, than has a Bug, a Mite,
And all is wrapt in one eternal Night:
No Heav'n, no Hell will be hereafter seen,
But we shall be, as tho' we' had never been.

He ceas'd — the list'ning Youths around him bow'd,
And grateful own'd what mighty Thanks they ow'd.
His fine Harangue, enraptur'd Hearts approv'd,
While Tray began to bark, & puss remov'd:
Some farther Time in friendly Converse spent,
Away well-pleas'd with Blasphemy they went!