Whofe merit of strict life, severely fuited
To Reason's dictates, may be faith imputed,
Whilft thou, to whom he taught the nearer road,
Art ever banish'd from the bleft abode ?
Oh! if thy temper fuch a fear can find,
This fear were valour of the nobleft kind.
Dar'ft thou provoke, when rebel fouls aspire,
Thy Maker's vengeance, and thy Monarch's ire,
Or live entomb'd in ships, thy leader's prey,
Spoil of the war, the famine, or the fea;
In fearch of pearl, in depth of ocean breathe,
Or live, exil'd the fun, in mines beneath,
Or, where in tempefts icy mountains roll,
Attempt a paffage by the northern pole?
Or dar'ft thou parch within the fires of Spain,
Or burn beneath the line, for Indian gain?
Or for fome idol of thy fancy draw
Some loose-gown'd dame; O courage made of ftraw!
Thus, defperate coward, would'ft thou bold appear,
Yet when thy God has plac'd thee centry here,
To thy own foes, to his, ignoble yield;
And leave, for wars forbid, th' appointed field?
Know thy own foes; th' apoftate angel; he
You strive to please, the foremost of the three;
He makes the pleasures of his realm the bait,
But can he give for love that acts in hate?
The world's thy second love, thy second foe,
The world, whofe beauties perish as they blow,
They fly, fhe fades herself, and at the best,
You grafp a wither'd ftrumpet to your breast;
The flesh is next, which in fruition wastes,
High flush'd with all the sensual joys it tastes.
While men the fair, the goodly foul destroy,
From whence the flesh has power to taste a joy,
Seek thou Religion primitively found—
Well, gentle friend, but where may she be found?
By faith implicit blind Ignaro led,
Thinks the bright feraph from his country fled,
And feeks her feat at Rome, because we know,
She there was seen a thousand years ago;
And loves her relick rags, as men obey
The foot-cloth where the prince fat yesterday.
These pageant forms are whining Obed's fcorn,
Who feeks Religion at Geneva born,
A fullen thing, whose coarseness suits the crowd:
Though young, unhandsome; though unhandsome,
Thus, with the wanton, fome perverfely judge [proud;
All girls unhealthy but the country drudge.
No foreign schemes make easy Cæpio roam, The man contented takes his church at home, Nay, fhould fome preachers, fervile bawds of gain, Should fome new laws, which like new fashions reign, Command his faith to count falvation ty'd,
To vifit his, and vifit none befide; grants falvation centres in his own, grants it centres but in his alone;
From youth to age he grasps the proffer'd dame,
And they confer his faith, who give his name;
So from the guardian's hands the wards, who live
Enthrall'd to guardians, take the wives they give.
From all profeffions careless Airy flies,
For all profeffions can't be good, he cries;
And here a fault, and there another views,
And lives unfix'd for want of heart to chufe;
So men, who know what some loose girls have done,
For fear of marrying fuch, will marry none.
The charms of all obfequious Courtly strike;
On each he dotes, on each attends alike;
And thinks, as different countries deck the dame,
The dreffes altering, and the fex the fame :
So fares Religion, chang'd in outward show,
But 'tis Religion still where'er we go:
This blindness springs from an excess of light,
And men embrace the wrong to chuse the right.
But thou of force must one Religion own,
And only one, and that the right alone;
To find that right one, ask thy reverend fire,
Let his of him, and him of his enquire;
Though truth and falsehood seem as twins ally'd,
There's eldership on Truth's delightful fide;
Her feek with heed-who feeks the foundest first,
Is not of no Religion, nor the worft.
T'adore, or fcorn an image, or proteft,
May all be bad; doubt wifely for the beft,
"T were wrong to fleep, or headlong run aftray;
It is not wandering, to inquire the way.
On a large mountain, at the bafis wide,
Steep to the top, and craggy at the fide,
Sits facred Truth enthron'd; and he who means
To reach the fummit, mounts with weary pains,
Winds round and round, and every turn essays,
Where fudden breaks refist the shorter ways.
Yet labour fo, that ere faint age arrive,
Thy fearching foul poffefs her reft alive:
To work by twilight were to work too late,
And age is twilight to the night of fate.
To will alone, is but to mean delay,
To work at prefent, is the use of day.
For man's employ much thought and deed remain,
High thoughts the foul, hard deeds the body ftrain,
And mysteries afk believing, which to view,
Like the fair fun, are plain, but dazzling too.
Be Truth, fo found, with sacred heed poffeft,
Not kings have power to tear it from thy breast.
By no blank charters harm they where they hate,
Nor are they vicars, but the hands of fate.
Ah! fool and wretch, who lett'ft thy foul be ty'd
To human laws! or must it fo be try'd?
Or will it boot thee, at the latest day,
When Judgment fits, and Juftice afks thy plea,
That Philip that, or Gregory taught thee this,
Or John or Martin? All may teach amiss:
every contrary in each extreme This holds alike, and each may plead the fame. Wouldst thou to power a proper duty fhew? 'Tis thy first task the bounds of power to know; The bounds once paft, it holds the fame no more, Its nature alters, which it own'd before,
Nor were fubmiffion humbleness exprest,
But all a low idolatry at beft.
Power from above, fubordinately fpread,
Streams like a fountain from th' eternal head;
There, calm and pure, the living waters flow,
But roars a torrent or a flood below,
Each flower ordain'd the margins to adorn,
Each native beauty, from its roots is torn,
And left on deserts, rocks and fands, are toft,
All the long travel, and in ocean loft.
So fares the foul, which more that power reveres,
Man claims from God, than what in God inhereş.
FROM realms of never-interrupted peace,
From thy fair ftation near the throne of Grace,
From choirs of angels, joys in endless round,
And endless harmony's enchanting found,
Charm'd with a zeal the Maker's praise to fhew,
Bright Gift of Verfe defcend, and here below
My ravish'd heart with rais'd affection fill,
And warbling o'er the foul incline my will.
Among thy pomp, let rich expreffion wait,
Let ranging numbers form thy train compleat,
While at thy motions over all the fky
Sweet founds, and echoes fweet, refounding fly;
And where thy feet with gliding beauty tread,
Let Fancy's flowery spring erect its head.
It comes, it comes, with unaccustom'd light, The tracts of airy thought grow wondrous bright,
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