There's nought in nature that can purge a soul,
But the Lamb's blood, which for our sins was slain;
It cleanses ev'ry vice and habit foul,
And purifies the conscience from each stain.

Two roads there are, wherein all men must go;
To ruin, one - to life, the other leads -
A third, no man can from the gospels show,
Which he that goes to purgatory treads.

Two places only, in the world unknown,
Those books point out for all men, when they die,
Heaven and Hell - nor can a third be shown:
For Purgatory's but a Popish lie.

Two sorts alone of men, on earth, are known,
The unbelievers, and the faithful train -
The former to perdition, shall be thrown,
The latter shall in endless bliss remain.

Fire can torment, 'tis true, and hurt a man -
Fire can all earthly substances devour -
But neither fire, nor ought created, can
Make pure one soul, besides our Saviour's gore.

Fire may the gold from all its dross refine,
Fire may consume chaff, straw, or logs of wood,
But neither fire, nor ought thou canst divine,
Can purify thy soul, besides Christ's blood.

The man that does not go to paradise,
Where our Redeemer Jesus Christ remains,
Shall down, to hell, be hurry'd, when he dies,
With Satan, there to suffer ceaseless pains.

The man, that does not, at departing, fly
Like happy Lazarus, to Abraham's breast,
Must soon to hell's infernal furnace hie,
Like Dives, by the fiend to be distrest.

This Purgatory is not in the sky,
Nor in the earth, nor is it in the sea,
Nor does it in the nether regions lie,
Where then can this same Purgatory be?

Since some assert, that in the roaring main,
Some, in the earth - and some, in hell below,
Others, that it in Etna lies, maintain:
Which of them all, must I give credit to?

That 'tis th' angelic host, some papists say,
Others affirm, 'tis hell's old sable train,
Punishes those, who there are doom'd to stay ;
Whilst others know not what they shall maintain:

Some say, that they shall be in water boil'd,
Others, that they in penal fire shall fry :
Since they can't tell, who shall be sod, who broil'd,
We may conclude the whole to be a lie.

Small venial sins alone, as some maintain,
Before the Purgatorial court appear,
Others believe it, full as strong and plain,
That deadly sins are only punish'd, there.

Some, those tremendous pains must undergo
'Till doomsday, as it is by many said -
Some, for a thousand years to come, or so -
Some, 'till an off'ring, for their sins be paid.

But when this off'ring on the altar's plac'd,
Each priest, or prelate, can a pardon have,
Or else the Pope, with Peter's powers grac'd,
Can, whom he will, from Purgatory save.

The money'd churl shall soon be loosed from thence,
Entirely free from purgatorial pain;
Whilst the poor wretch, who has no stock of pence,
Shall long (what care such pastors?) there remain.

If Purgatory make the sinner pure,
For what was our Redeemer's passion good?
Why did He pains ineffable endure?
Why did He offer up his precious blood?

If it be that, which washes sin away,
And all our filth - what do the scriptures mean,
When they so oft, and so expressly, say,
That 'tis the blood of Christ, which makes us clean?

In vain did Christ pour out his precious blood,
(His death and sufferings all entirely lost)
That we might wash in that all-cleansing flood;
If Purgatory such effects can boast.

O, let me wash my filthiness away,
And bleach my soul in Christ's abstergent gore!
Then let the Pope in Purgatory key
My soul: I value not his papal pow'r.

The bloody tenets, that the Papists hold,
The Christian blood that they so often spill,
Shew me, they are not of Christ's peaceful fold,
But wolves that take delight his sheep to kill.