AN ENQUIRY AFTER RELIGION: OR, A View of the Idolatry, Superstition, Bigottry and Hipocrisie of all Churches and Sects throughout the World.

Also some Thoughts of a late Ingenious Gentleman of the Royal Society concerning Religion.

Religion stands on tip-toe in our Land,
Ready to pass to the American strand.
Herbert.
Dic quibus in Terris—& eris mihi magnus Apollo.

LICENSED,

April 23. 1691.
R. M.

LONDON, Printed for Richard Baldwin at the Oxford-Arms in Warwick-lane 1691.

SOME Thoughts concerning RELIGION.

THere is nothing in which Mankind have been, in any compari­son, so out of their Wits, as in what they have abusively call'd by this Sacred Name, Religion! In all Countreys it has been dy'd with Humane Blood, and swoln with Spoil and Ra­pine; written on the Heads of Tyrannies and Ʋsurpations, and pleaded as the Cause, the Cause of prosperous Villanies: 'Tis divided into Attoms of Sects, and disputed into Air of Opinions; entituled to all the Vanities of sick Imagination, and claim'd by all the folly of zealous Ignorance.

If we attend to the Zeal and the Confidence, the loud Talk and bold Claims of each of the Pretenders, all are in the truth, and all mista­ken: Every Sect is in the right, if it may be judg'd by the fondness of its own assurance; and every one is out by the sentence of all the rest: Here is Religion, sayes the Church of England; nay, but 'tis here, sayes the Dissenter; and the Papist gives the Lye to them both; and then they scuffle and contend 'till they have talked themselves out of Sense, out of Charity, and out of Breath: And when they would say on, but know not what, when their Passions are rais'd, but their Reasons lost; they fall to pelt each other with hard Names; they squabble and strive, and damn one another by turns; they gather Parties to help up the cry, and fill all places with the noise of their quarrels, and triumph and crow after a Con­quest in Imagination: And after all this bustle, and all this adoe, they sit down where they begun; nothing is gain'd on either side but an addition of Malice and bitter Zeal, more rancour and more damning sentences, while they are, for the most part, as far from Truth as from Agreement.

This is the state of the Contending World, nor can we expect it should be otherwise, while Ignorance and Malice, Interest and Passion inspire the quarrels. Or if the Controversies should be ended, the Vote would doubt­less be cast on the side of Folly and Falshood, for their adherents are more numerous, and most loud, while the friends of Truth and Reason are meek and modest, thinly scatter'd among the Herd, and still liable to be over­born and out-nois'd by the Tumult. But though Religion is thus exposed and scorned, though it is made ridiculous by some, and laugh'd at by [Page]others, yet 'tis no Creature of Melancholly or Design, but a great Reality, and no cunningly devised Fable; no dream of Imagination, or interest of any lust, but as simple as Innocence, and as clear as the Virgin Light. Religion is a plain thing, and easie to be understood; 'tis no deep subtilty, or high­strain'd Notion; 'tis nogilded Fancy or elaborate exercise of the brain; 'tis not placed in the Clouds of Imagination, nor wrapt up in mystical cloath­ing; but 'tis obvious and familiar, easie and intelligible; first preach'd by Fishermen and Mechanicks, without pomp of speech, or height of specula­tion; address'd to Babes and Plebeian Heads, and intended to govern the Wills of the honest and sincere, and not to exercise the Wits of the Notio­nal and Curious: So that we need not mount the Wings of the Wind to fetch Religion from the Stars, nor go down to the Deep to fetch it up from thence; for 'tis with us and before us, as open as the Day, and as familiar as the Light. The great Precepts of the Gospel are cloathed in Sun-beams, and are as visible to the common Eye as to the Eagle upon the highest perch. 'Tis no piece of Wit or Subtilty to be a Christian, nor will it require much Study or learned retirement to understand the Religion we must practise. That which was to be known of God, was manifest to the very Heathen, Rom. 1.19. The Law is light, saith Solomon, Prov. 6.13. And 'tis not only a single passing glance on the Eye, but 'tis put into the Heart, and the Promise is, That we shall all know him, from the greatest to the least. Our Duty is set up in open places, and shone upon by a clear Beam; 'twas written of old upon the plain Tables of Habbakkuk, Hab. 2.2. so that the running Eye might see and read: And the Religion of the Holy Jesus, like himself, came into the World with Rays about its head. In fine, Religion is clear and plain, and what is not so, may concern the Theater, or the Schools; may entertain Mens Wits, and serve the Interest of Disputes; but 'tis nothing to Religion, 'tis nothing to the Interest of Mens Souls. Those things that we count Mysteries are plainly enough discover'd as to their being such as we believe them, though we cannot understand the manner how; and 'tis no part of Religion to enquire into that; but rather it enjoyns us meekly to acquiesce in the plain Declarations of Faith, with­out bold scrutiny into hidden things.

The summ is, Religion lies not in Systems of Opinion, but in Faith and Patience, Innocence and Integrity, in Love to God, and Charity to all the World. Mica 6.8. He hath shewed thee, O Man, what is good, and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do Justice, and to love Mercy, and walk humbly with thy God? James 1.7. Pure Religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, to visit the Widows and Fatherless in their Affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the World.

AN ENQUIRY, &c.

THe, beautious UNA,
True Re­ligion. Vid. Spencers Fairy Queen.
of a Race Divine,
The first, the best of all Heav'ns Royal Line:
Thro' the wide World the Muse resolves to seek,
Farther than ever went the wandring Ʋlysses.Greek.
The Golden Fleece did Jasons Search imploy,
Aeneas sail'd to find another Troy:
Not the wild Desarts of th' Atlantick Main
Cou'd fright the brave Columbus back again.
Our aim's more high, our Enterprize more bold,
Our search for something more refin'd than Gold.
Veer the Main-sheet of Fancy, till we're born
To th' utmost Chambers of the rising morn:
Where Infant day its blushing Forehead rears,
And either World the Suns kind bounty shares:
Encircled round with a small Troop of Friends,
See where the Goddess from the Ark descends,
On Ararats proud Top they Altars raise,
And with her sing their mighty Saviours praise.
The Good old Man, who knew no guilt or sin,
All white without, and Innocent within;
Noah himself was then the Priest, as he
The King and Father of the Family.
No long distracting Systems then were taught
For Fundamental Truths, no Cobwebs wrought
In thin Scholastick Brains, each morn they rise,
And on the Mountain pray and Sacrifice:
A Turf their Altar, Heav'n their Temple then,
Their Congregation all the Race of Men.
Here dwelt Religion long, with all her Train
Of Joys, nor wish'd to fly to Heav'n again.
To Noah's Sons a few short Rules did give,
While his Example taught 'em how to live.
Justice and Prudence, mutual Peace and Love,
Just thoughts of man below, and those above;
Reverence of Parents, whatsoe're they be,
Pursuit of Virtue, flight of Cruelty:
But Error soon did this bless'd Troop invade,
And in their little Church disturbance made.
'Twas cursed Cham who first began to stray,
No longer he'd his Doating Sire obey,
But led one third of all the World away.
Error they for Religion with 'em take,
Their homely Turfs, and Sky-light Roofs forsake,
And glittering Robes, and gawdy Temples make;
By her direction Babels Turrets rise,
And Story after Story pierce the Skies;
Till thro' calm Aether now the Lab'rers go,
And fearless see the Clouds and Storms below:
Th' Almighty saw, and with an angry frown
He thunders all their Mole-hill Labours down,
Compells 'em soon to leave that hated place,
Scatt'ring Confusion round the faithless Race;
Some dreggs remained,
Who in their cursed Fathers footsteps trod,
Their Faith they chang'd before and now their God,
Their Grandsire The Origi­nal of Idola­try.Belus must be he or none,
He fills the Shrine, who lately fill'd the Throne.
Still Errors here, altho' she took her flight,
With every wrangling tongue, and well she might,
For Truth is one, but Error insinite;
Scatter'd thro' every Nation, Age and Place,
Or she her self, or her unnumber'd Race,
Yet still Religion's mask adorns their Face.
And while their foul deformities they hide,
They only' are true, and all are cheats beside.
They in a thousand various shapes appear,
A thousand odd fantastick forms they wear.
Those by their Reasons glimm'ring Light proceed,
These lean on lame Traditions broken Reed,
A third who only Senses aid implore,
The Sun and all his glitt'ring Host adore:
Others, whom conscious Guilt and Fear pursue,
Worship the Devil, that he no harm may do,
Their Idols all an ugly ghastly crew.
Tho' many monstrous Beasts hot Africk sees,
Asia can boast more monstrous Detites.
Religions of Asia.
Say ancient China what thy Temples hold
Thy Gods of Iron and thy Gods of Gold.
Tremendous Forms whose looks chill Horror bear,
And like true Daemons, fright the burdened air.
And well they may, whose hungry Scent and Eyes
The Chinese Priests offer the steam of the Meat to their Gods, and eat it themselves.
Are only feasted in a Sacrifice.
Since fed with nought but smoak, well may they lowr,
That all the meat their own fat Priests devour;
Nay most unmercifully use the
They also whip their Idols when they ob­tain not what they desire.
Rod,
And when they please lay on their naughty God.
If well their Shelf of Porcelan, hee'll not guard,
Nor their Devotion with Rupies
A sort of Coin in sue in the Eastern Countreys.
reward.
No wonder true Religion won't abide
In Realms so full of Ignorance and Pride;
Yet many you'l like the Chineses find,
Who only see, and think all others blind.
Of great Chufu
Their great Philosopher called by the Jesuits Confu­s [...]s.
their mouth are ever full,
Tho' good and prudent he, they lewd and dull.
Shou'd we go on i'th' track we late began,
And search the Temples of remote Japan,
What Idols ancient India ever knew,
What Malabar, or Ceylon, or Pegu;
What numerous droves of Gods and Monkeys rove
Thro' each fair Plain, thick Wood, or Sacred Grove;
Of ever getting home we must dospair,
The Sun wou'd first drive round and find us there:
Yet Ganges must we not forget thy fall
Rever'd by th' rich Natives of Bengale;
Not Nile was worship't by fat Egypt more,
Nor Crete of old could her own Jove adore:
Upon the reedy Banks in vain they pray,
Not all thy waves can wash their guilt away:
How many glit'ring Pagods may be told
By thy wide streams? how dawb'd with Gems and Gold!
With humane or with brutal victims fed,
While thou for fear shrink'st back thy conscious Head:
While the distracted Faquirs
The Indian Priests.
still invent
Themselves by some new methods to torment
What Pains the wretches for Damnation take!
Not half the adoe our Western The Romish Priests.Faquirs make;
Tho' they so much to mortifie pretend,
In what distorted shapes themselves they bend;
What cords, what wounds, what heat, what cold they bear,
Expos'd to all th' Inclemencies o'th' Air!
How many years in the same posture stand
See Herberts Travels.
,
Nor move tho' the Mogul himself commands!
This to his Idol vows silence profound,
Half plung'd in Lakes, or bury'd in the ground;
That pearches like a Bird on some tall Tree,
From mortal Conversation to be free,
And wait the whispers of his Deitie.
Thus those who once possess'd the self same place,
The Predecessors of their foolish Race;
The fond Gyinnosophists
Vid. Quint. Curt.
wou'd gazing stand,
Their Eyes the San did burn, their feet the sand:
Thought all their Sence must lose who Reason find,
And none cou'd walk or see till lame and blind.
With these the Squeamish Bramins let us rank,
Who like their Cattle graze on Ganges bank:
They from all Food but milk and herbs abstain,
And think that half the World was made in vain.
Their holy Cows propitious aid implore,
So her kind Udders full they ask no more;
What 'ere their Conscience is, they are not nice,
A bless'd Religion 'tis for Fleas and Lice
They make it a piece of their Religion to Kill nothing.
.
Not a lame Dog whose Cryes their Succours call,
But they'll relieve and send to th' Hospital.
Shame to our World, we Men like Beasts do serve,
While their wide Care will Beasts like Men preserve,
Unless when Error prompts to Cruelty
And makes 'em mad and barbarous The West­ern Bigots, Pa­pists, &c.as we:
A false Religion at no mischief stands,
But dyes in Blood its Vot'ries guilty hands,
No difference makes, promiscuous Victimgs brings,
Their own, their Friends, their Fathers or their Kings.
Let this Narsing as horrid Rites declare
When the poor Wretch high mounted in the Air,
Rais'd to the frightful Idols frowning brow,
On dreadful Tenters hung performs his Vow.
Where the proud Pagods Chariot rolls along,
Guarded by an innumerable throng,
Happy they think the Wretch, and Martyr call,
Who to their Dev'lish gods a Victim fall;
Who coming Death with Joy and Rapture feels,
His Soul orusht out beneath the pond'rous Wheels.
Let's cross the Gulph, my Muse, and hasten o're
To search at seven-mouth'd Nile's uncertain shore;
There sure in vain we shan't Religion seek,
As common as the Onion or the Leek.
A goodly stock of gods, a numerous breed!
There lies a Deity in every Seed.
Kinder Divinities the World ne're saw,
You how you please may eat 'em, boyl'd or raw.
Some Gods they eat on the soft Banks of Nile,
Others eat them — the dreadful Crocodile
Whom Aegypt serves, as th' Indians Fiends revere,
Or Europe Tyrants, not for love but fear.
To some to still their Children they're devout;
Divine Anubis with his ugly snout,
Hounds head, and Ears which to the Earth incline
With humane Trunk; and Apis more divine,
Nay, some wise Towns in zealous Battle joyn.
Whether the Crocodile or Monkey
Vid. Ju­venal.
be
All things well weigh'd the greater Deity:
Their hideous Typhon we'll not here describe,
Nor all their huge unnam'd, unnumber'd Tribe
Of Bug-bear Gods, still new and new each morn
As fast as Niles imperfect Mice are born.
But hence we'll to Arabia's Sands repair,
And search if true Religion's wandring there;
Who of her only this pretend to know
— She that way pass'd two thousand years agoe.
More of the matter how d'ye expect they shou'd
Who ever since no Trade but Theft pursu'd,
And rob to get an honest Livelihood.
To fruitful Palestine let's next proceed,
Where by her Track we find she has liv'd indeed,
Whose very Stones and Hills her Footsteps bear,
Each Field, each River owns she once was there,
But now of an eternal Loss complain;
We Hermon's fragrant top may search in vain,
Or Gilead's neighb'ring Mount or lovely Plain;
Both that and her once boasted Balm are gone,
Nor dwells she in forsaken Lebanon;
Nor ev'n on ancient Sions sacred brow,
Once sacred, but profane and common now:
Long scorn'd and injur'd by that stiff-neckt race
The Dove cou'd bear no more, but left the Place,
Nor more will fix on some peculiar ground,
But far away wings the wide World around.
She scatters Blessings with her where she flyes,
An Olive branch she bears, which Peace implyes,
The flaming Sword's remov'd from Paradice.
Clean and Ʋnclean's no more, the Ark is free,
Whoever comes may now admitted be.
Religion now no longer we'll despair
To find thee out, since thou art every where!
Yes — we too soon may find her — see — she's there:
'Tis she, her face all cover'd with a flood
Of briny Tears, her Garments roll'd in Blood:
Circled with Flames and Lyons, bound in Chains,
I'th' midst of Racks, Tormentors, Deaths and Pains,
Yet spite of all her Constancy retains.
Sure Sorrow never lookt with better grace —
Coelestial Odors fill the happy place;
An Angel comes, and wipes her heav'nly Face,
Then lifts the Banner of the Cross on high,
See the bright Signal glitt'ring in the Skye:
See Heav'n above which wards each threatning blow,
Heav'n there, and generous Constantine below;
With whom the Pagans to their cost did trye
The Christians now cou'd fight as well as dye;
Cedebant non cedebantur as the Writer of those times relate it.
With her the Conqu'rer did the World divide,
And plac'd her close by his triumphant side;
In the Imperial Purple made her shine,
And kiss'd her Wounds, and bath'd in Tears and Wine.
True she was humble still, thô this she allow'd
To keep her from Contempt among the Croud;
But soon her foolish Sons grew vain and proud,
Contend and strive all round the conquer'd Globe,
And rend and tear their Mothers seamless Robe:
Was it for this the Idol Temples fell,
And every Daemon left his Oracle?
They taught and rul'd the World almost as well.
Nay, wiser they, and much, much more i'th' right
Since whatsoe're their dreaming Poets write,
They never did against each other fight.
First subtile Heads new Faiths, new Creeds devise,
And thred-bare old simplicity despise.
The Apostles had not Metaphysicks read,
Their Sence was dull, their Notions cold and dead
And too confus'd — Religion's course and plain,
We'll quickly show the World a purer Vein,
And teach her how to reach a loftier strain.
Proud Arrius first begun the fatal Game,
And big with Plagues from Alexandria came;
Confusion, Mischief and Distraction hurl'd
Before him, scatt'ring Poyson round the World:
Against him soon did the warm Saint
St. Athana.
arise
With zealous Thunder in his Voice and Eyes;
The Gospel in the Quarrel ne're were mist,
But Plato grew a fifth Evangelist:
Parties were made, Councils with Councils vy'd,
Ʋnerring Number must the Cause decide.
He that has fewest Hands in Hell he burns,
— And thus they Vote Damnation round by turns.
So loud, their Mothers Voice they neither mind,
Thô she so sad, so tender and so kind:
Her self she throws between, to part the Fray,
And beggs 'em by her Tears and Wounds to stay:
Deaf as the Winds when struggling Tempests rage,
They'd thro' her sides each other fain engage,
She's trampled down by their contending might,
Whilst over her the unnatural Wretches fight:
And when they found that damning wou'd not do,
At last they went to work with killing too:
Empires and Kings engage in the dispute,
Each other banish, vex and persecute;
Religion wounded from the Dust ascends,
No more to reconcile 'em now pretends,
But how it pleas'd, beggs Heav'n to make 'em Friends.
Who from the East th' Arrabian Mabomet.Monster sends
An Abject Slave, who Desolation brings
In his broad Sword, where e're his Arm he flings,
Where e're his Feet he sets he tramples Kings.
Whatever's sacred there before him flies,
Or crusht in miserable ruines lies.
No Faith, no Word he keeps — ah Wretch accurst,
On Rapine fed, in Blood and Murthers nurst.
All the fair Fields of Greece a Desart made,
And every stately Town in ashes laid,
The ancient Nurseries of wit and sense,
The Seats of Learning and of Eloquence.
All his Religion was, to do him right
As others since, only to whore and fight.
Unbounded Liberty to Lust he gave,
Which made the hot-vein'd Saracen his Slave.
A nearer way than Industry he'd shown
To wealth, kill the Possessor all's your own.
Seek not Religion there, alas 'tis fled,
Or else with all good Arts besides it, dead;
Whilst he its ravish'd vacant place supplyes
With Rhapsodies of Nonsence, Folly, Lies.
Conceive a pil'd Confusion he that can,
A heap of Nothings, that's the Alchoran,
A System of flat Incongruities,
And incoherent dull Absurdities,
Supplying want of Reason, Wit and Sence,
With empty pompous bloated Eloquence;
Cunning not wise the wretch himself has shown,
Of all Religions, yet indeed of none;
Of every Sect and Heresie he takes,
Not composition but confusion makes,
Jew, Christian, Heathen jumbles in one Law,
The greatest Monster Nature ever saw.
He plac'd no Padlock on their Lecherie,
All had as many Concubines as he:
The hop'd success th' Impostor quickly found,
His Doctrine all Luxurious Asia own'd.
Persia reveres her Sacred Fire
The Persians anciently (and some few at present) wor­ship the Fire. See Sir John Chardin's Voy­ages.
no more,
But this new Ignis Fatuus now adore,
Yet quarrel for his lawfull Succeslor.
Homar they bait and damn to endless Fire,
'Tis blessed Italy they alone admire.
Thro' the wide East this Poison creeps along,
And to th' Impostors Tomb whole Nations throng:
India, Arabia, Affrick's Desarts wild,
Nay, Europe's fertile Fields more civiliz'd and mild:
Nature it self had fix'd 'em bounds in vain,
Nor cou'd the narrow Hellespont contain
Their numerous swarms — the fatal stream is crost,
And, Constantine, thy glorious Tow'rs are lost.
The Crescent rises, and the Cross goes down;
And Europe now they reckon all their own.
Not to the Mufti
The Pope.
on th' Italian side,
Who'd not lose all, but willingly divide:
They need not for their shares keep much ado,
'Tis hard, or all the World's enough for two.
'Tis true, the Roman Caliph cannot bear
Two holy Cheats at once to fill one Chair,
Preserves his high unrivall'd Dignity;
Nor is there other Antichrist but he.
Out-does dull Mahomet and all his Crew,
Contrives a Worship more sublime and new,
Which Christ and his Apostles never knew:
In the old Pagan grafted, more refin'd,
And some new profitable Doctrines joyn'd,
Convenient Articles, which Service do,
Not only in this world, but t'other too;
Tho Pagan Temples now are blest and cross'd,
Not one good serviceable hint was lost,
Which from the Roman Flamins might be learn'd:
Thus far Panthaeon wisely they discern'd.
For every Idol did a Shrine provide,
In whate're Place or Country dignify'd:
Nor made Enquiry what they were before,
Mercury, or Venus, Thief, or Bawd, or VVhore;
Civil to Strangers whenceso'ere they came,
And who'd a piece of such good Nature blame?
No Traveller entred on this happy Coast,
But here might find their Gods where ever lost.
And if with a good Heart and Purse they come.
Might pray and pay as well as if at home.
Thus the old Romans did, and thus new Rome:
It lik'd the Humour well, and was content
To copy from so fair a President.
An All Saints Church of old Panthaeon made;
Thus the Sign's chang'd, tho' th' House still keeps the Trade.
Mahomet was a stupid Sot, nor knew
The Feats an Image might be taught to do.
He thought it an unprofitable Sin,
And threw 'em out, Rome wiselier kept 'em in:
Cuts off the Horns which did of old disgrace
Her Gods, and grafted Glories in their place,
Venus and Cupid which the Pagans use
To adore, their Temples can't a place refuse,
Those pretty Deities they must not loose.
Take Mars from one, and take his Bow from 'tother,
They'll make a very decent Son and Mother.
J [...]ve needs but little mending, he that will
Find fault! the Thunderer is a Thunderer still.
Castor and Pollux have at Sea the same
Due Reverence paid, only they've chang'dtheir Name,
With Chrism and Holy-water exorcis'd,
Their's into Christianity surpriz'd,
As Indians by a Spanish Priest baptiz'd.
But who i'th name of Wonder did prefer
Some lusty Rebel in the Grants War,
To be that Swinger of a Christian Saint,
Whom those at Rome like Polyphemus paint;
Who all the World on his broad Back did bear,
(His Feet the while two Angels held i'th Air,)
That huge unmerciful St. Christopher:
If Catholick Religion that we'll call,
Which has the largest Arms, and takes in all;
Rome claims the Title, superstitious, lewd,
Profane, debauch'd, vain, filly, bad or good;
It welcomes all, or all except the last,
And different Baits throws out for every Taste.
Musick and Songs for those that Musick crave,
For Women, Children, Fools, they Babbies have;
For traytrous Fryars a Halter they provide,
That still hangs gently dangling by their Side.
Poor hungry Mob with heav'nly Dishes treat,
Gape, gape, you Rogues! such Food you ne're did eat,
A muss of Gods— their taste, no doubt, divine;
Be thankful then— but not one soop of Wine!
Not one dear drop the thirsty Priest will spare,
Poor Wretch— his Lips must needs be dry with Pray'r.
Won't all this do? then t'other trick begin,
You've warrant for't— compell 'em to come in:
Goad all the restive Souls, who fondly wait
Without, and will not pass the Church's Gate;
Torment and worry them into Salvation,
Rack, hang, or damn to save 'em from Damnation.
This Rome's Religion was, and is so still,
This did of old our great Forefathers feel
Her Arguments, the Whip, the Fire, the Wheel;
To all dare'd true Religion entertain,
Who fled for aid to the cold Alps
The Coun­try of the Piemontois, &c.
in vain:
In vain she hop'd in safety there to dwell
'Midst Hills and Vallies inaccessible;
Error pursues, now only does not stray,
But to those deep Recesses where she lay,
Like Hannibal did make, or find a way:
Devotion and true Zeal her high pretence,
And often torn and wounded, forc'd her thence;
Tho in those Rocks she left a sacred Race,
And Monuments, which Rome shall ne're deface.
From place to place she like her Master fled,
Like him she knew not where to hide her head.
With Wickliff here did for a while sojourn,
Or o're brave Cobham's valiant Ashes mourn,
Till following Error forc'd her to return:
Amongst devoted Albigenses straid,
Or in Bohemian Villa's wept and pray'd.
With Huss and Prague to Constance did repair,
The Emp'rors Royal VVord her safeguard there:
But Error quickly had found out 'twas she,
And with her Friends Falshood and Perjury,
Voted all Faith to Hereticks null and void,
Made only to be taken and destroy'd.
Hereby she scapes, her dear Companions lost
In Martyrs Flames; by various Tempests toss'd;
Till with brave Zisca and his Favourites
Residing, she not only prays, but fights:
Till the bold German Monk
Luther.
, who long enquir'd
For her abode, found her at last retir'd
From the rude World and places of Resort,
Found her, and brought her to the German Court,
The Princes kiss'd her Wounds, her wrongs deplore,
And her to Thrones and high Tribunals bore,
Scarce cou'd her first lov'd Constantine do more:
Lov'd and caress'd by these illustrious Friends,
By their kind aid new Collomes she sends
Throughout the World, the stubborn North obey,
Throw off Rome's Iron Yoke for her more gentle sway.
With these rich Albion sees with glad surprize
Her Idol-Temples fall, and Churches rise.
The helpless rotten Rood a Bonfire makes,
Each cheating Fiend his Oracle forsakes,
Their Miracles are lying wonders found,
Their sacred Ducks-blood
Vid. Fox of the Dissoluti­on of Abbys.
scatter'd on the ground:
From the Familiar Samuel's Mantle fell,
And back he fled agen to Rome and Hell.
Learning and all good Arts with speed revive,
And by Religions kind Protection live:
The Golden Age returns, and who'd admire
The Dross shou'd be remov'd by Martyrs Fire?
Nay Jove himself, 'tis said, had Orders given
That blest Astraea shou'd return from Heaven:
But ah, some Seeds of ancient Fraud remain,
Which made the wondrous Change almost in vain;
And when old Arts wou'd now no longer do,
Too — fruitful Error soon invented new;
Demands Recruits from Hell, the Fiends obey;
Th' Enchantress waves her Wand, they hast away
From baleful Caves, and intercept the Day:
See in what Troops they to her aid advance,
Malice and Discord, Pride and Ignorance.
Black, foul-mouth'd Blasphemy, whose forked tongue
Hisses at Heav'n, and thinks its Thunder long
Before it strikes, Injustice, Rapine, Wrong,
Oppression on the Hearts of Orphans fed,
Tyrannick-Rule, by Will, not Justice led,
And foul Rebellion with her Hydra-head:
New fangled-Faith, and worse than all the rest
Hipocrisie, in Sheeps-fair-Cloathing drest
Within a Wolve's ficrce Paws, a Tygar's Breast.
The hellish Train she views with barb'rous Joy,
And doubts not to disgrace, if not destroy
Religions Colonies, to blast their Fruit,
If not prevail against the stubborn Root.
Go then, she said, my lov'd Companions goe,
Act what may Envy raise in those you leave below:
Haunt all the Enemies to us and you,
If they'll reform, be you Reformers too!
She said — like Locusts round the World they flew,
And each fair Field thro' which their Armies pass'd,
Not only with their odious weight lay waste,
But striving to perpetuate their kind,
They leave a fruitful numerous Spawn behind;
No Place, no Age, from their Vexation free,
No Church or Sect, from spacious Germany,
To thee, O wretched Albion! tortur'd more
With this than all thy other Plagues before.
The Bigotts first, who if their Cause is right,
No thanks to them, they only blindfold fight
The largest Catholick Church that e're was found,
Wide stretcht thro' all the universal Round;
But none to a greater height of madness come
(They'd have you call it Zeal) than ours at home:
A foul black humour which not all the Flood
Of Thames can wash away, still sowrs their Blood.
The pois'nous Juice still grumbles in their Veins,
And as the Moon directs it, turns their Brains:
Then like mad Indians, rambling thro' the Street
They run-a-muck, and murder all they meet.
Thus Aetna's horrid Caverns ever glow
With sullen subterranean Fires below;
But when contending winds thro' some sinall chink
Or cranny rush, or its hot Intrails drink,
Trinacrian Waves, it rises to the brink,
And liquid Flames in dreadful Currents fall,
Loud bellowing on Catania's neighb'ring VVall.
What Strife, what Jars, what an impetuous Flood,
Wide rolling down, of Mischief, VVars and Blood
Derive their Origine and Spring from thee
Firebrand of England, hated Bigottrie?
Practis'd by all, and yet by all decry'd,
Hated by all — but still of t'other side:
As Tradesmen will their cheating Neighbours blame,
Who only Occasion want to do the same.
Was not the last sad Age thy Vengeance cloy'd,
Three flourishing Kingdoms more than half destroy'd
By thy wild Fury, that the same disgrace
Thou striv'st to entail on their unhappy Race?
But that we know thou dost unjustly bear
Religious Name, the VVorld wou'd that forswear,
And turn meer Atheists in despite of thee;
Ev'n a more silly Sect if that can be.
Fools leave one Vice, and chuse its contrarie.
And such thy Followers are, still on they run,
Nor value where, so they each other shun:
In tow'ring Top-knots these Religion dress,
Those even her Hair pull off, and some confess
They like her best in Raggs or Nakedness.
This Fate uneasie Scotland ever mourns,
Where every Sect each other plagues by turns:
Bonnet or Mitre be't that fills the Chair,
Woe to the VVretch whose Lot it is to bear:
They never knew what 'twas a Friend to spare;
Or Church or Kirk when once they get astride,
While Arms and VVhip, and Leather hold they ride:
The Malice even of Fables they'll out-do
And for their Foes one Eye they'll forfeit two.
Not that at home we much behind 'em fall,
Rather than fail, wee'll forfeit Head and all.
Each Sect pretends Infallibility,
They only true, the rest a Cheat and Lye.
Maggots which in Religion's Carkass breed,
When in the last sad Age she lost her head;
Whence numerous swarms of various Insects rise,
Deafen the Air, and fill the darken'd Skyes;
Of different casts, of different shape and wing,
A warlike Race, all arm'd with claws and sting,
Like Earth-born Brethren, meet with equal spite
And rage, for they no sooner live but fight.
Some came from Forreign Shores, which we'd be loth
To wrong, (but most of our own natural growth;)
Hungry and lean they came, tho' since 'tis clear
They're very much improv'd and batten'd here.
For such a crop but little Labour needs,
'Tis a rank Soyl, and wondrous kind to weeds:
From distant Poland came the fruitful Seeds
Long since by sly Socin [...]s scatter'd there,
Which but too soon a large increase did bear.
They rose to Plants, which to our Fields convey'd,
And rooted here by monstrous Biddle's aid,
Projected far away their deadly shade.
Socinus is believ'd instead of Christ,
And Crellius makes a Fifth Evangelist.
For true Religion they false Reason take,
Of Man a God, of God a Man they make:
Idolaters Idolatry to shun
Two Gods adore, while they believe but one:
Forsaken by that Saviour they abuse,
Left by that sacred Guide they scorn to use,
Their boasted Reason in wild Nonsense loose;
So vain is Man, so gross his Errors be,
Who more than him who gave him Eyes would see
And boast to comprehend the Deitie!
But thô so loud they Persecution blame,
If bad their Faith, their Charity's the same:
Witness Cracovian Fields, and that wild Flood
Which conquer'd all, of Error mix'd with Blood.
O had the spreading Poyson there remain'd,
Or in one Age, if not one Place contain'd
Its hated growth, we that had neither had
Nor Antidotes which are almost as bad.
Orthodox Zeal where it too warmly burns,
Seizes the Brain and a Vertigo turns;
Christs Doctrines would like Antichrist defend,
The Gospel plant by Writ of Comburend':
Or Books or Men the same; nay, more unkind,
They in Repentance scarce relief shall find,
But must be burnt while they 're in a good mind.
'Twixt these Extreams Religion tortur'd stands,
Weeps Tears of Blood, her Side, her Feet, her Hands
Torn, wounded, pierc'd, yet pierc'd with shame far more,
As was her Master 'twixt two Thieves before.
All madness some with the Socinian Race
Wou'd tolerate, all Blasphemies embrace;
Others Infallibility defend,
Yet rail at Rome's, and since too good to mend,
Wou'd neither Tolerate, nor Comprehend.
By each his Adversaries Face is shown
So ugly that they never mind their own.
These Moderation hate, and these no less
Immoderately for Moderation press:
Some Honour at a distance keeps, some fear
Their Cheats shou'd be descry'd if view'd too near;
Some think the Breach too great, and some too small
To' admit or need a Cure, some loudly bawl
That Int'rest, Int'rest is the Cause of all:
Whether men pass for Moralists or Saints
'Tis true — perhaps, too of their own Complaints.
What makes two Combatants stand off, but Fear
Each shou'd the advantage get if once too near?
Yet sure they wou'd unite, tho' ne're so loth
Shou'd a third man come in to kill 'em both.
Even the mad Jews awhile adjourn'd their Hate
When they the Romans saw before the Gate;
But madder we keep up our Rage and Spite,
And leave our Enemies with our Friends to fight:
Fall out upon the Breach, and to pull down
Our Neighbours House will gladly fire our awn.
Ah griev'd Religion whither art thou fled?
Or say what Desart hides thy blushing Heed;
Blushing for thy lewd Sons, with conscious shame,
That they 'll not leave their Folly or their Name?
Shall we with those whofe Race from Munster
Anabaptists.
came
Seek in the Waves for thy secure abode,
Where like some Water-Nymph or River-God
They say thou thy Majestick Court dost hold,
And for thy Treasures dive like Shipwrack't Gold?
Pretend Heav'ns Patent to engross the Trade,
And all besides have Interlopers made;
Upon that Coast they nothing have to do,
And therefore them with Fire and Sword pursue:
To these let's reckon Venners hot-brain'd crew,
Who like an Amazon Religion dress'd
Arm'd Cap-a-pe in Helmet, Back and Breast:
Each knotty point decide with their broad Sword,
And murder all they meet 'ith' name o'th' Lord.
But tho' all Sects their headlong madness blame,
Show me another wou'd not do the same,
That safely might — not even the trembling Quakers.Race,
With whom an Ague — fit's a mark of Grace;
But if too heavy on their Toes you tread,
Or chance to break their Shins — will break your Head.
The Flesh is strong, they Vow by Yea and Nay,
Twill sometimes with the Spirit run away.
Tho' that too has its turn; and the new Light
Leaves Sence and Reason often out of sight,
And mounts, like Lanthorns with a paper Kite.
They've God himself within 'em — tell not them
Orh' Man that suffered at Jerusalem!
Bull and mouth Gospels only Orthodox,
They no Aposties own like Pen and Fox.
All their Religion, (such as please their Trade
May call't) of meer Antipathies is made:
Timon of Athens, if alive, wou'd be
A Doctor in their sowr Divinity:
And snarling Aphemantus make another,
As right as their lost Pensylvanian Brother.
But most commend me to that jovial Crew
Who think Mankind has nothing else to do,
Form'd for no nobler, higher Undertaking,
Than singing Doggrel Psalms
Sweet-singers
of their own making.
With open mouth they Dame Religion paint,
And ever chuse a Songster for a Saint;
By that their strength of Judgment you may guess,
We know a Singing-man is seldom less:
But why themselves sweet Singers would they call?
Creaking of Wheels is Musick when they bawl:
The Shrieks of Owls, the Inish-man's O-hone,
Toads when they croak, or Quakers when they groan,
If to their cursed Yells compar'd they be,
Are little less than heav'nly Harmonie.
What shou'd we any further venture on,
Or lose a Thought on doating Muggleton?
Dull, sordid Nonsense, senseless Blasphemie,
A heap of Filth the Ranters both and He.
With these the Adamites may find a Place
Those Goats erect, a barbarous brutal Race,
Their own, and all Humanity's disgrace.
Fit Planters for the Californian
Cannibals.
States,
For Bridewell and for Bedlam Candidates.
Tired with my search, upon a Mossy Bed
I threw me careless down, and lean'd my Head
All pensive, on a gentle rising there
Regretting the expence of Time and Care;
Sunk deep in Thought, a Spark comes by the while,
And proudly view'd me with a scornful smile:
'For what, nor is, nor ever was, he cries
'Th' Enquiry, O how grave, the search how wise?
'For his vain Toil you the fond Chymist blame,
'Who scatters real Gold in Smoak and Flame
'To find a fancy'd mine — yet do the same;
'A Shadow for a solid Substance chuse,
'Religion Court, and Pleasures Charms refuse,
'For future idle Tales true present Joys you loose.
'What now here is, is not, direct me right
'To find her, and you make a Proselyte:
''Tis all a Cheat — and then I think he swore,
'Where or what is she? — I cou'd hear no more.
But rising thus—you Sir in vain pretend
To censure what you cannot comprehend;
Strifes for Religion rather do imply
There's something in it, than the contrary.
Who wou'd contend if neither side were right.
Or for imaginary Kingdoms fight?
Wee'l take a short Review, nor need despair
To find some Footsteeps of it every where.
Natural Religion, which perhaps may do
For those who never any better knew.
Far off we need not seek, 'tis plain impress'd,
E're blotted out by Vice on every Breast:
By this we all that's fair and just approve,
Honour and Virtue, Honesty and Love:
By this, altho' too weak, while 'tis conceal'd
To find it out, we judge of Truth reveal'd:
This by it self examines all the rest,
And justly Votes the Christian Faith the best.
E're knotty Metaphysicks spoil'd the Creed,
Plain, simple, easie, those that ran might read:
Believe what Truth reveals, do good to all!
With pious Prayers on the first Being call!
Relieve the Poor, the Innocent defend,
Forgive your Enemy, and love your Friend,
Your Countrey more, nor think your Life too dear,
Frankly to sacrifice to Heav'n or Her.
This is Religion, this alone can save,
And this you'll find in the few Wise and Brave.
FINIS.

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