Meanwhile at the declining Noon of Night,
When gentle Sleep had veil'd each Mortal's Sight;
With balmy Dews the smiling Pastures weep,
Torrents are hush'd, and drowsy Whirlwinds sleep;
The Cattel slumber on the spacious Plain,
And Darkness rules o'er Earth, and Skies, and Main:
Fatigu'd with public Cares and Toils of State,
(His Thoughts still anxious for Britannia's Fate,)
Ev'n mighty BRUNSWICK had resign'd to Rest,
The golden Slumber springing to His Breast;
When see, the Genius of our Isle appears,
And gently whispers in the Monarch's Ears:
The Guardian--Form all clad in bloomy Light,
And seems a youthful Cherub to the Sight;
A golden Circlet binds his shining Hair,
Which from his Shoulders falls with wanton Air:
For ever watchful o'er the Godlike Man,
He spread his beaming Wings and thus began:

''Beware, O PRINCE, forewarn'd by Heav'n, beware
''Approaching Danger, and elude the Snare:
''No foreign Sword invades thy dreaded Reign,
''Nor calls Thee forth into the dusty Plain.
''Urbino's Bankrupt--Youth, a warless Knight,
''Declines his boasted Claim and Lineal Right:
''No more of Conquest and of Empire dreams,
''And plots no longer his ill--fated Schemes.
''Ev'n Sweden's King, for warlike Daring known,
''Repents his Rashness on the British Throne:
''The distant Realms to thy Decisions yield,
''And warring Kingdoms take or leave the Field.
''The Turk and Austrian wait for thy Command,
''And Europe trusts the Balance to thy Hand.

''But arm at Home against the threat'ned Blow,
''And in th'aspiring Churchman see the Foe;
''Who domineers it in a Christian Way,
''And on the Gospel grafts Tyrannic Sway:
''The rising Sun beholds the op'ning War;
''The summon'd Chiefs assembling from afar.
''The Brazen Roof shall eccho to the Sound,
''When the bold Zealot with Applause is crown'd.
''But Thou, O PRINCE, assert the Christian Cause,
''And rescue from the Traytor--Priest her Laws:
''Consult the Welfare of the Church and State,
''And silence the fierce Strivings of Debate.

''Nor yet despair amongst the rest to find
''Some Rev'rend Pastors of unspotted Mind:
''Hoadly, by no sinister Arts controul'd,
''Amongst the Shepherds of the Christian Fold,
''Th'immortal Hoadly shines with strongest Light,
''Scarce the Sun more diffusive or more bright:
''His boundless Love thro' all Mankind extends,
''And his worst Foes are treated as his Friends:
''Nor yet alone his Christian Virtues shine,
''The ablest Scholar, as the best Divine:
''In Danger unappal'd he takes the Field,
''The Gospel both his Weapon and his Shield:
''With that alone he scorns all Hostile Blows,
''And singly triumphs o'er Ten thousand Foes.

''At him the Belial Priesthood aim their Rage,
''And into Factions rend th'uniting Age:
''In various Shapes, as Proteus ever knew,
''Their vow'd Revenge relentless they persue:
''A like the Christian and the Man they blame,
''And censure both his Doctrines and his Fame;
''The keen Resentment rankles in each Heart,
''And Emulation points the venom'd Dart.

''Fleetwood, untouch'd with Pontificial Pride,
''Refers each Christian to his Conscience--Guide:
''Nor studious the Believer to enslave,
''Rejects all Pow'r, but what his Master gave.
''Trimnel and Talbot, Two immortal Names,
''Of Tyranny disown the spurious Claims.
''For all Mankind the gen'rous Kennet lives;
''And Chillingworth in Pillonniere revives.

''Beware, O PRINCE, forewarn'd by Heav'n, beware
''Approaching Danger, and elude the Snare:
''From forth thy Bosom turn the Viper--Guest,
''Or, e'er he bite thee, crush him at thy Breast;
''With timely Care th'impending Ill avert,
''Their Pride defeat, their Councils disconcert:
''Awake, and heal Religion's bleeding Veins,
''So shall the World confess a Brunswick reigns.

Thus having said, he vanish'd from his Eyes,
And in a sudden Blaze resum'd the Skies.
Straitway the Monarch woke to dawning Light,
And in his Mind revolv'd the Vision of the Night.

The Morn, now clad in Robes of various Dye,
Serenely blush'd along the op'ning Sky;
Whose setting Light decides Britannia's Doom,
And carries in Event the Fate of Rome.

Near to that Place, where Justice lifts the Scale,
While Orphan--Right and Equity prevail:
Where the fam'd Cowper pleads the Widow's Cause,
And blunts the Edge of the too rigid Laws:
Where King and Parker rose to early Fame,
And learned Jekyll gain'd a deathless Name:
In the adjacent Abbey of Renown,
Full in the Western Canton of the Town,
The Synod is conven'd: His proper Place
Each trusty Member fills with rev'rend Grace;
Immur'd they sit within the brazen Wall,
And teach the Christian Stocks to rise or fall:
They fix the Layman's Faith, intent of Thought,
And stamp each Doctrine Orthodox by Vote;
The Gospel is declar'd an useless Guide,
And passive Crowds believe as they decide.

Now had the Fury reach'd the British Shore,
And just alighted at the Council Door:
Musing she paus'd a while; then entring took
Dawson's sleek Aspect and unthinking look;
Like him she sails aloft, of bulky Size,
And lazy Mists suffuse her batt'ning Eyes;
Her goodly Presence and Majestick Height,
With Veneration fill the obvious Sight;
Her ample Chin, full rev'rend to behold,
Voluminous descends in many a Fold.
The Churchman--Hag review'd her sage Compeers,
And hemming, thus bespoke the list'ning Seers.

''And shall unmark'd the daring Hoadly write,
''And scoff at our Decisions in despight?
''For Toleration publickly declare,
''And shall we, passive as we are, forbear?
''Was't not enough, with sacrilegious Hands,
''That the Eighth Henry spoil'd us of our Lands?
''(Ev'n whilst I speak, transported with Delight,
''The ravish'd Manors swim before my Sight.)
''Was't not enough, that our Revenues lost,
''And every pleasing View of Empire crost;
''That of all former worldly Goods bereft,
''The Tenths alone are to the Clergy left?
''That, like th'Apostles, an abandon'd Race,
''We boast alone a double Share of Grace?
''That we alike with them, from whom we claim,
''Are grown a meer unformidable Name;
''And heir in one uninterrupted Line,
''Their Poverty, as well as Gifts Divine?
''But shall this Devil, to compleat our Shame,
''(With all due Rev'rence to so great a Name,)
''Shall he, observant of the fatal Hour,
''Despoil us of our Sacerdotal Power?
''Perfidious Wretch! that to advance his Cause,
''Durst boldly trample on our Sacred Laws;
''And soundly studious of the Layman's Praise,
''Himself, his Brethren, and --- the Church betrays.

''Soon as the Church was nam'd, with Grief oppress'd,
''A deep--fetch'd Murmur bursts from ev'ry Breast;
''The Hag, her Fraud the better to conceal,
''Devoutly Sobbing with extatick Zeal,
''Stop'd short a while; and thus resum'd Discourse.
''Why therefore use we not Religious Force?
''As yet at Ieast 'tis giv'n us to controul
''His headstrong Neck, and tame his vaunting Soul;
''Let us at length exert our dormant Pow'rs,
''His is the wrangling Talent, and not ours;
''Each latent Fraud unerring, he descries,
''And points it out to less sagacious Eyes;
''Reason no longer will our Cause support,
''And Sophistry hath made her last Effort:
'''Tis time at length Authority awake,
''And from her Limbs the drowsy Slumber shake;
''We still, tho' routed on the listed Plain,
''The Fastness of Authority retain:
''Let then Authority confirm our Zeal,
''And who shall from Authority appeal?
''Justice and Honour calls us; for 'tis fit
''We boldly Censure what he boldly Writ.
''But first, if I foresee aright, 'tis best
''That formally their Lordships be address'd;
''Our Miter'd Fathers with indulgent Care,
''No doubt will listen to our filial Pray'r;
''If they refuse to grant what we implore,
''We'll vote them useless as we've done before;
''And by our selves in this Affair proceed,
''While each true Churchman shall applaud the Deed.

She spoke, and lowring sate. When Bisse began,
A florid Pulpiteer and rev'rend Man.

''What you advise, O! Brother, I approve,
''With Speed their Lordships and his Grace to move;
''Just are your Fears, and your Resentments just,
''Of the bold Prelate, that betrays his Trust;
''Who under Covert of the Publick Good,
''Imbrues his Fingers in his Mother's Blood.
''And over--weaning of his reas'ning Strain,
''Does our whole Church--Oeconomy arraign,
''Exhorts the Layman, in his wonted Pride,
''Her Articles and Canons to deride;
''To laugh at Outcries of all human Fear,
''And to be happy bids him be sincere:
''To Christ alone he has the Pow'r confin'd,
''To sway the Conscience, and to rule the Mind;
''To Christ alone all lawful Pow'r is giv'n,
''To treat with Sinners, and dispose of Heav'n.

''With Grief unfeign'd, and deep Concern of Heart,
''I bear in this Consistory a Part.
''The Church alone extorts these Throws of Zeal,
''My latest Hours devoted to her Weal:
''Ev'n now, methinks, I see her tott'ring Wall,
''Which nodding seems to bode her sudden Fall:
''To ev'ry Sect her Portals are thrown wide,
''And Danger threatens her on every Side:
''Long has she stood the Shock of civil Blows,
''From daring Atheists and Socinian--Foes:
''In vain have Sectaries conspired her Doom;
''In vain have foreign Arms and Feuds at Home:
''At length the Christian Vineyard to deface,
''And leave without a Fence the hallow'd Space,
''A Bishop undertakes, with monstrous Hands;
''And saps himself the Ground on which he stands;
''Resolv'd at once the Priesthood to dethrone,
''And to his Saviour King submit alone.

No more the Sage each Danger could repeat,
But deeply groan'd and sunk into his Seat:
When Proteus thus harangu'd the rev'rend Crowd,
And utter'd these ill--omen'd Words aloud.

''What then remains, but that with one Accord,
''In our Defence we draw the Sacred Sword?
''Her Freedom still shall wayward Conscience boast,
''In her own giddy Wilds of Error lost?
''A Curse on latest Ages to derive,
''Still authoriz'd shall Heresy survive?
''Still shall the Panther wear her spotted Hide,
''And the strict Union of the Church divide?
''Nor shall the Civil Arm avenge our Cause,
''And force Obedience to the Christian Laws?
''In wordy Parle, devoid of binding Pow'rs,
''What boots it to protract the tedious Hours?
''Or what avails the Crosier and the Lawn,
''If worldly Sanctions hap'ly be withdrawn?
''Rise, Brethren, rise; with the vindictive Rod,
''Protect your Altars and assert your God.

O Mortal, rash of Soul, with Zeal o'ercast,
Blind to the future, thoughtless of the past!
With ill tim'd Rage whilst Hoadly you accuse,
Know the same Vengeance the same Guilt persues:
Too late, alas! you'll curse the luckless Hour,
And wish again the Minutes in your Pow'r:
Nor labour'd Darkness shall conceal your Shame,
Nor all the Flow'rs of Speech repair your Fame.

Now the fam'd Busby's Successor arose,
And snuffled his Suspicions thro' his Nose:
Then Cannon herding in the common Cry,
Condemns he knows not what, he knows not why.
A num'rous Party the same Fears confess,
With equal Sorrow, and Concern no less;
Their raging Veins with Floods of Spleen ferment,
And beat impatient for the great Event.

When Stanhope thus address'd them from the Chair:
''Well does a falling Church deserve your Care;
''Our sinking Altars call aloud for Aid;
''Our Temples shaken, and our Rights betray'd.
''You see, my Brethren, with what boastful Pride,
''Our regular Succession is decry'd:
''What dang'rous Tenets to the World are taught,
''Our Pow'rs Ecclesiastic set at nought.
''With you the fatal Juncture I deplore,
''And dread his Doctrines much, his Influence more.
''Wherefore some Cure must be apply'd with Speed,
''(Heav'n grant our joint Endeavours may succeed.)
''In lukewarm Counsels we debate in vain,
''The scoffing Prelate mocks our idle Reign.
''Forthwith then a Committee be assign'd,
''In ample Form to represent our Mind;
''In soothing Words to dress our pious Fears,
''And ask Redress from our paternal Seers.
''With utmost Care select the trusty Band,
''Prompt for the Church to act as we command;
''Of known Attachment to her drooping Laws,
''And zealous to promote the dying Cause.
''Nor let this Opportunity be lost,
''And each consenting kind Concurrence cross'd:
''The lucky Minutes, as they hast away,
''Seem to upbraid us for this short Delay:
''All Hardships and Reproaches we defy;
''Our Church demands it, and we must comply.

He sate; when straitway the deputed Nine
Retiring enter on the great Design:
Unquestion'd Churchmen all, a sturdy Band,
And strongly charm'd with absolute Command.
In solemn Conclave now the Clan engage,
And squeeze out Heresy from ev'ry Page:
From each ambiguous Word they wrest Offence,
By puzzling Grammar, and perplexing Sense;
To fix the grievous Charge they toil all Night,
And scarce their Counsels end with Morning Light.

Soon as the rising Sun had left the Main,
In Synod meet the zealous Seers again:
When now the grave Committee--Men appear,
And shake the learned Scroll with scornful Leer.
The poignant Words are read; th'applauding Court
Joyful receive and enter the Report:
When nought remain'd but that with their Request
The Mitre'd Fathers straitway be address'd.

But see, alas! how mortal Man may fail,
Nor will his finest Policies avail;
What various Chances wait the surest Blow?
And how precarious are all Things below?
Just as with hasty Steps the Dome they sought,
Their utmost Wishes to a Crisis brought;
Just as they enter'd with their smart Appeal,
The Royal Mandate intercepts their Zeal.

Say, Muse, what Wonder through the Dome appear'd,
When first the fatal word Prorogu'd was heard;
What sudden Sorrows and Laments arose,
What Jealousy of Friends, and Dread of Foes:
Their Bosoms burn with disappointed Rage,
And pale Confusion marks each gaping Sage;
Her borrow'd Form the Fury laid aside,
And crost on Wings of Wind the briny Tide.
The gnashing Seers, unknowing whom to blame,
Retire oppress'd with Madness and with Shame,
Alike from Synod and the Town retire,
To dine each Sunday with the neighbr'ing 'Squire.

So when of late on Scotia's barren Plain,
The Rebel Clans despis'd their Sov'raign's Reign,
A while they bluster'd, terrible in Arms,
And scar'd the Loyal Swain with dire Alarms:
But soon as Brunswick's Thunder once was heard,
The passive Warriors sudden disappear'd;
Content amongst their Native Rocks to dwell,
And plot their Treasons in the Highland--Cell.