A Priestly--War I sing, and bloodless Field,
And pious Chiefs, in Paper Warfare skill'd;
Chiefs, that full oft have quarrell'd for their God,
And all the Mazes of the Schools have trod;
Profoundly skill'd to lead the World astray;
Skill'd to explain or gloss a Text away,
Unlimited Positions to restrain,
And, for a Turn, to hedge them in again:
Such Chiefs I sing, Religion's Reverend Sires,
Whom Conscience actuates, and the Church inspires.

Let others, venal Bards, in impious Lays,
Pamper Ambition, with immortal Praise;
In mournful Dirge let softer Coxcombs whine,
And idolize the Fair in ev'ry Line;
Let gentle Gay describe the Pastures green,
Or club with Arburthnott a luscious Scene;
Mine be the bolder Province, to engage
A vicious Priesthood, and degen'rate Age;
The furious English--Papist to chastise,
And strip him of his Protestant Disguise;
To tell what Heights ambitious Synods tow'r,
How o'er the Soul they claim a lawless Pow'r;
How the staunch Church--man would his Faith betray,
And quite refine the Protestant away;
And how to Glory and immortal Fame
Unweary'd Hoadly consecrates his Name.

While I, my Lord, this pleasing Task persue,
And give to Merit its much--envy'd Due;
Do you, to whom this humble Verse is paid,
Into my Breast infuse your pow'rful Aid,
That, unacquainted with the Poet's Stream,
New to the Bays, nor equal to my Theme,
Rais'd by your Smiles, I may be taught to sing,
And soar advent'rous on no vulgar Wing.

Fain would I trace, while you my Footsteps guide,
The secret Source of Sacerdotal Pride;
Fain would I tell how Gospel--Candour fails,
And the old Laudean Leven still prevails;
How Fraud and Priest--craft have debauch'd the Times,
And Romish Bigots swarm in British Climes.

Say, Muse, what Pow'r inspir'd the fierce Debate,
And sow'd in Heav'nly Breasts the Seeds of Hate;
To latest Times transmit the wordy Fray,
And set the learned Hosts in just Array,
Their Names, their Order, and their Numbers sing,
And rise undaunted on an Eagle's Wing.

Long set the glorious Sun of Gospel--Light,
Involv'd in blackest Clouds of Romish Night;
The sov'reign Priest aspir'd into a God,
And on the Necks of the tame Lay--men trod:
From vulgar Eyes remov'd, and prying Day,
The sacred Page obscure in Cobwebs lay:
Voracious Wolves o'er--leap'd the hallow'd Mound,
And with religious Slaughter strew'd the Ground:
The Papal Chair was fill'd with Sloth and Pride,
And ductile Conscience own'd th'unerring Guide:
Indulgences and Pardons were retail'd,
And Sainted Murders thro' the World prevail'd:
Salvation pass'd like Stocks and current Gold,
And Heav'n was, in Reversion, bought and sold:
The Idol triumph'd o'er th'exploded God,
And Persecution shook her Iron Rod;
O'er--grown with Empire, and enormous Pow'rs,
The Tyrant Church--man Civil Rights devours:
From hence, Contention, Feud, and Civil Broil;
And Pagan Weeds o'er--run the Christian Soil;
Ten thousand pageant Fopperies succeed,
And Superstition grows a Point of Creed;
Such carnal Principles become in Vogue,
That Church and Priest are grown mere Whore and Rogue;
Of ev'ry Grace and genuine Charm bereft,
Scarce is the Shadow of a Christian left.

Now first in Arms our Warriour--Mother shone,
And o'er the World usurp'd a Ghostly Throne:
Now first she laid frail Argument aside,
And learn'd by surer Methods to decide;
By penal Arts to propagate the Word,
And blend Religion with the Civil Sword;
Gibbets become the Engines of Dispute,
And Racks and Flames the Heretick confute;
(For oft, what proves unable to convince
Imperial Reason, shakes the Coward Sense
While Armies, whom pathetic Torments bend,
To holy Mother, as their Center, tend.

Not so our Lord and his Apostles taught,
Nor by such Arts religious Converts wrought;
Candour and Love shone out in ev'ry Deed,
Nor did the stubborn Unbeliever bleed.

Thus lay the Christian Faith in Errour drown'd,
And holy Pride and Ignorance profound,
'Till our Reformers broke the rushing Flood,
And in the fatal Breach unshaken stood;
Inspir'd from Heav'n, they met Rome's keenest Rage,
The Fleetwoods and the Hoadlys of the Age
Nor fear'd to die in the unequal Strife,
But for each darling Truth they paid a Life:
Inly they wept, a firm and virtuous Few,
To see their Saviour crucify'd a--new;
To see their holy Mother pierc'd with Wounds,
While sacred Tyranny enlarg'd her Bounds;
Oppress'd with Fetters, and in Dungeons hurl'd,
Boldly they struggled with a carnal World;
Shame, Want, and Pain, for their Redeemer's Sake
They bore, and smiling met the greedy Stake.

At length the glorious Cause of Heaven prevail'd,
And Hell and Rome their ruin'd Arts bewail'd;
They saw the Glories of the op'ning Age;
They saw, and kindled into fiercest Rage:
Oppression shook, disarm'd her broken Chain,
And Inquisition gnash'd her vengeful Teeth in vain;
The Church once more put on her native Light,
And shone in ev'ry Charm divinely bright;
From Shade and Errour Gospel--Truth reviv'd,
And on the Earth once more th'Apostles liv'd.

Abroad we conquer'd our Apostate Foes:
But see! at Home a Race more fierce than those,
Who plead to Tyranny a Right Divine,
And trace it back in one unbroken Line:
A Race, that loath th'old--fashion'd Gospel--Light,
New Doctrines coin, and foreign Gods invite,
The passive Text has so o'erturn'd their Brains,
They laugh at Freedom, and contend for Chains;
Each Sermon teems with their industrious Fears,
And wins, with artful Cant, the vulgar Ears;
The CHURCH is falling, falling is the STATE.
And they preach Dangers--which themselves create.

Still in our Albion Popery remains;
The Name proscrib'd, the Spirit still obtains:
Again we lust for superstitious Rome,
And strive once more to bring her Errors Home.
By Turns we leave each other in the Lurch;
By Turns unchristen, and by Turns unchurch.
Th'ambitious, upstart, sacrificing Priest
Reigns absolute, and lords it o'er his Christ;
On a new Foot projects the sov'reign Scheme,
His Prince a Subject, and himself Supreme;
He pardons Sins, o'er--rules Divine Decrees,
And pleads a saucy Birth--right to the Keys;
While from the Press Anathemas abound,
And Pulpits lavish their Damnations round.
Fain would the Church her quondam Pow'rs resume;
And all's Geneva that dissents from Rome.

Was it for this, Divisions rent the Age,
And Inquisition stalk'd with ten--fold Rage?
For this, with brain--sick Jealousies possess'd,
Did pious Thousands stand the fiery Test?
For this, did Councils wage religious War,
Creeds rival Creeds; with Altars, Altars jar?
Is there in Popery nothing but the Name,
A bugbear Word to set the World in Flame?
What have we labour'd then so many Years,
If vain our Doubts, and groundless are our Fears?
Why did we tremble so, if all was right;
Or why did Cranmer burn, or Nassau fight?

Sorrow and Rage possess my Soul by Turns,
And all the Protestant within me burns:
My honest Heart with Indignation glows,
And in full Tides my boiling Choler flows:
To my big Thought great Burnett's Shade appears,
And Tillotson his rev'rend Image rears;
Reforming Confessors, as Seraphs bright,
Stand forth in Glory to my ravish'd Sight,
And urge me onward to the promis'd Flight.