The Md — De
Ecloga 4th
Ye Severn Nymphs, attempt a nobler song;
Tho' meaner Themes delight the vulgar Throng,
Slaves, Convicts, scoundrel Subjects please not all;
Sublimer Minds for loftier Numbers call.
Such then I'll sing, wou'd Baldus lend an Ear,
As Baldus' self wou'd not disdain to hear.
Now, now's arrived the long expected Time
Old Hoeus had foretold in tuneful Rhime.
Now M[arylan]d a Set of Priests can boast
To slavish Principles of Truth not lost:
Whose golden Tongues true Freedom shall restore
And make those cease to pray, who pray'd before.
And so the Doctrines of our Faith explain,
As serves make th' Observance of 'em vain.
Caress them, Baldus, great to them thy Debt;
For faith! thyself & they are nicely met
To thy auspicious Rule all Bliss we owe,
And Epochas of Blessings wait us now.
Our Leader thou; if any Marks remain
Of blind Subjection to the Priestly Chain,
These deep Divines the Darkness shall remove,
In Freedom's Cause Hiberno's self shall prove;
Thomaso's Genius shall their Breasts inspire,
And fill them with his own persuasive Fire.
O happy Priest! Your Forties shall be paid,
And old Hybernio too, shall give his Aid,
Hybernio who at Parsons long has growl'd,
And rail'd at Bishops like an errant Scold.
But make a jest of Jesus & his Laws,
And he without a Fee will plead you Cause.
To you the Fair in Clusters shall repair,
The glorious Doctrines that you teach to hear.
E'en all the Church & Parson shall entoll;
And why, 'cause now twill be no Church at all.
Now Tindal's System's ev'ry where received,
And Collins, Morgan, Whoolstan all believ'd,
Now sits great Sh[aftesbury] on each Heart enthron'd,
And Mandevil's with highest Honour's crown'd.
Some few Remains of Truth howe'er shall be,
Some stubborn Souls won't with these Schemes agree,
Will own a Saviour, & will think him God.
Of honest Faith will Still endure the Load:
Will think the Sacraments art awful Things,
And great the Transports true Religion brings.
In short, in Spite of all these Sons of Reason,
Will still be Godly, tho' tis out of Season.
No more than Britain need our Parsons come,
Enough we have, that better know at Home.
No more the beardless Boy Damnation fears,
But at such Old Wive's Fables nobly sneers;
The tim'rous Girl that wont to fear an Oath,
And trembled at the Thought of Breach of Troth,
Now smiles at Perjuries — the Reason's plain
By Gospel-Laws who wou'd themselves restrain?
They socrn, with self-sufficient Wisdom fraught,
By Bibles or by Parsons to be taught.
Thus spoke they to each other; " now's the Time,
" Let's to the Honours of the Forties climb;
" Tho 'tis a Trade, tis yet a gainful Trade;
" Better help on the Cheat, than not have Bread,
" Both Law & Physick Starves, too well we know,
" And tho' we've hardly common sense, twill do."
O had I strength but equal to my will,
These glorious Wights shou'd be my Subject still;
Nor shou'd e'en L[ewi]s poor, unhappy Bard,
Be read with more Delight or more Regard.
L[ewi]s, on whom the Muse her Favours Shed
And yet to Want her Favourite betray'd.
Nay, M[arylan]d, Spite of herself, Shall own,
Their Preaching by my Poetry out done;
I'd paint them out, just in the Light I ought;
And shew the wondrous Lessons they have taught.
Go on; as yet you hardly know your Pow'r;
Harangue 'gainst sacred Doctrines ev'ry Hour;
With Love of Truth, with Love of Freedom fill'd,
To moral Systems bid the Bible yield;
So shall his fav'rite Priests great Baldus make ye;
And to his inmost Soul & Counsels take ye.
Ye Severn Nymphs, attempt a nobler song;
Tho' meaner Themes delight the vulgar Throng,
Slaves, Convicts, scoundrel Subjects please not all;
Sublimer Minds for loftier Numbers call.
Such then I'll sing, wou'd Baldus lend an Ear,
As Baldus' self wou'd not disdain to hear.
Now, now's arrived the long expected Time
Old Hoeus had foretold in tuneful Rhime.
Now M[arylan]d a Set of Priests can boast
To slavish Principles of Truth not lost:
Whose golden Tongues true Freedom shall restore
And make those cease to pray, who pray'd before.
And so the Doctrines of our Faith explain,
As serves make th' Observance of 'em vain.
Caress them, Baldus, great to them thy Debt;
For faith! thyself & they are nicely met
To thy auspicious Rule all Bliss we owe,
And Epochas of Blessings wait us now.
Our Leader thou; if any Marks remain
Of blind Subjection to the Priestly Chain,
These deep Divines the Darkness shall remove,
In Freedom's Cause Hiberno's self shall prove;
Thomaso's Genius shall their Breasts inspire,
And fill them with his own persuasive Fire.
O happy Priest! Your Forties shall be paid,
And old Hybernio too, shall give his Aid,
Hybernio who at Parsons long has growl'd,
And rail'd at Bishops like an errant Scold.
But make a jest of Jesus & his Laws,
And he without a Fee will plead you Cause.
To you the Fair in Clusters shall repair,
The glorious Doctrines that you teach to hear.
E'en all the Church & Parson shall entoll;
And why, 'cause now twill be no Church at all.
Now Tindal's System's ev'ry where received,
And Collins, Morgan, Whoolstan all believ'd,
Now sits great Sh[aftesbury] on each Heart enthron'd,
And Mandevil's with highest Honour's crown'd.
Some few Remains of Truth howe'er shall be,
Some stubborn Souls won't with these Schemes agree,
Will own a Saviour, & will think him God.
Of honest Faith will Still endure the Load:
Will think the Sacraments art awful Things,
And great the Transports true Religion brings.
In short, in Spite of all these Sons of Reason,
Will still be Godly, tho' tis out of Season.
No more than Britain need our Parsons come,
Enough we have, that better know at Home.
No more the beardless Boy Damnation fears,
But at such Old Wive's Fables nobly sneers;
The tim'rous Girl that wont to fear an Oath,
And trembled at the Thought of Breach of Troth,
Now smiles at Perjuries — the Reason's plain
By Gospel-Laws who wou'd themselves restrain?
They socrn, with self-sufficient Wisdom fraught,
By Bibles or by Parsons to be taught.
Thus spoke they to each other; " now's the Time,
" Let's to the Honours of the Forties climb;
" Tho 'tis a Trade, tis yet a gainful Trade;
" Better help on the Cheat, than not have Bread,
" Both Law & Physick Starves, too well we know,
" And tho' we've hardly common sense, twill do."
O had I strength but equal to my will,
These glorious Wights shou'd be my Subject still;
Nor shou'd e'en L[ewi]s poor, unhappy Bard,
Be read with more Delight or more Regard.
L[ewi]s, on whom the Muse her Favours Shed
And yet to Want her Favourite betray'd.
Nay, M[arylan]d, Spite of herself, Shall own,
Their Preaching by my Poetry out done;
I'd paint them out, just in the Light I ought;
And shew the wondrous Lessons they have taught.
Go on; as yet you hardly know your Pow'r;
Harangue 'gainst sacred Doctrines ev'ry Hour;
With Love of Truth, with Love of Freedom fill'd,
To moral Systems bid the Bible yield;
So shall his fav'rite Priests great Baldus make ye;
And to his inmost Soul & Counsels take ye.
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