The Catholics steady, and truly devout,
Are so hemm'd in by Parsons they cannot get out;
They need not be anxious their own eyes to use,
For the Priest will see for them as long as they chuse.

The keen Sons of Jacob appear rather low,
Their wealth and their honesty are but so, so;
Perfection, they plead, as from Abraham descended,
So 'tis not worth their notice to try to be mended;
His faith's a soft pillow, without variation,
On which they deposit their future salvation.

The Quakers abundant in riches are grown,
And meddle with no man's affairs but their own;
They pay such attention to act as they ought,
We should almost declare, they were men without fault.

Independants and Baptists, but let them alone,
They're peaceable people, and quarrel with none.
A Church without blemish is not among men;
Then don't pry too deep, and you'll find none in them.

The Methodists, numerous, herd altogether,
And keep their religion quite dry from the weather;
Improving in morals, good order, and plight;
Were the rioters Methodists, all had been right.

The props of Jerusalem here a place find,
From Emanuel Swedenborg's love to mankind.
May the props never moulder, nor power on them trample,
Till the rest of the Churches pursue their example!

The poor Presbyterians to church can't resort,
For cruelty left them no church to support;
The children of Satan, let loose, did fire bring,
And made a burnt-offering to Church, and to King.
Down tumbled their temples, instructions, and praise,
While Church-and-the-King's-men rejoic'd at the blaze.
The religion of Meekness, which bids us be quiet,
Is the purest religion for--making a riot.

One class of the peoples and hence spring our boasts,
Are so fond of divine things, they drink them in toasts.
Their church's support comes from eating and drinking,
A Church-and-a-King-club prevents her from sinking;
She floats quite secure, on a butt of bright claret,
She'll ne'er find the bottom-they'll find it, ne'er fear it.
The Church-and-King-Club-Men are votaries able,
Their devotions ascend with the smoak of the table;
The more they'll abound, as good eating grows plenty,
And nothing disturbs like a bottle that's empty:
They're models of meekness,--what men can be more
When perfectly tipsy, humbly lie on the floor!
For the good of religion, their appetites cram,
And support Church and King with fervent G--D--.