THE ART OF Preaching, To a PARSON.  

Cant. I.  

STill you continue, Preaching, to Profess;  
Then pack your Laboured Follies, to the Press:  
But, Parson, You'll at length be fain to own,  
'Tis the most Irksome, Crabbed Trade in Town.   

What's Hardship? You reply, to Me, Inspired,  
To Natural Parts, who Science have acquired;  
More luckily ne'er did M— in the Hall,  
His Brother Sergeant Interrupting bawl:  
My Graceful Person long has took at Court,  
Of which, the Fifty Chaplains All came short:  
My Postures, well-shaped Hand, and sparkling Eye,  
Command Attention from the Laiety:  
My Voice strikes quite, to the Circumference  
Of all my Numerous, Thronging Audience.  
I speak pure English, and the Methods know,  
To handle a Discourse, and Vary too:  
Waller I Top, on Dryden I refine,  
Whose clever Style, more properly is Mine:  
More than Ben. Johnson, does to me belong,  
To make a Grammar for the English Tongue.  
I Rapin's Learned Volumes have read o'er,  
Which makes me know myself an Orator:  
I, in his Pages, nothing have descried,  
What Nature had not in myself supplied.  
A Score of Chaplains, with less Sense than Me,  
Have leapt from Benefice to Prelacy.  
My Sermons do Expect the like Reward;  
In order To't next Sunday I'll be heard.   

Ere with the People, you being, I sue,  
That my Instructions may begin with you;  
And since, You're fixed, I am obliged to say,  
Your Ease will cheat you, You must Toil all day.  
'Twill be the last Thing I'll to you prescribe,  
T'Increase the Number of the Tiresome Tribe,  
No certain Maxims are laid down to Preach,  
Of Humane Science, 'tis above the reach:  
heavens Master does alone the Secret know;  
And, where He pleases, does the Gift bestow.  
Your Air, your Voice, your Mien, have won you Fame,  
All these are Serviceable to Declaim:  
These helps set off an Actor on the Stage;  
With These, the Pleader does the Judge engage:  
To these Endowments, Learning, and deep Sense,  
F— has the most ensuring Eloquence:  
By his neat Style, and Judgement most exact,  
Clears confused Causes, which thick Sculls protract;  
In Evidence, Prolixity declines,  
And Sums up their Ten Pages, in five Lines.   

These Qualities accomplish Trades profane,  
But on the Ministry, are Lost and Vain;  
In them the perfect Character is found,  
Where th' Art of pleasing does with Grace abound;  
'Tis Preaching, where the Alarmed Soul betakes  
Its self to a New Life, Old Sins forsakes;  
For he no Sermon, who no Convert makes.  
In hardened Errors when 'twas prepossessed,  
Its Ways are Changed, and by the change finds Rest.   

Show me, whence may this Prodigy proceed,  
Faith points out th' Author of the Mighty Deed;  
He keeps that Sovereign Power in his own hand,  
giveth Man Commission but to reprimand:  
From Exhortation is his Powers Extent,  
To denounce Justice, and sure Punishment.  
What ever Doctrine from his Lips goes forth,  
Is down right Vanity, and nothing Worth,  
Unless to Heaven he does his Thoughts resign,  
And all his meanings are become Divine,  
Wanting Credentials, Him the World will find,  
No Emissary to convert Mankind.   

This, Parson, Doctors needs must let you know;  
And Common Reason their Superior too;  
You long t' appear in Public; but beforehand,  
Consult Yourself, Yourself to Understand;  
Search if that Pulse, that Ardour Heaven imparts,  
Which quickened Zeal in the First Christians Hearts?  
If so, Preach on in God Almighty's Name,  
Immortal War to Sin, and Vice proclaim,  
That by Your Voice Triumphant over Sin,  
The load Men may grow weary to keep in,  
And to Repentance go in Crowds begin.  
If sordidly base interest be Your bait,  
Or You for Popular Applause do wait,  
Indifferent as the Faith to propagate:  
If you on God, fix your pretended Theme,  
Your Words regarding more yourself, than Him:  
Irreverent Impudence, in Church, to dare,  
That which the drooping Playhouse would not bare.  
Goodman a figure makes of a much better sort,  
Has better pleased, and less to answer for't.   

Who knows, You answer, if the fire Divine,  
Burn brighter in a Humane Breast than Mine:  
Or the Supreme, whose Choice was always free  
For Healing Souls, has not allotted me?  
The Doubt will not perplex Us long I guests,  
If Parson, You'll ingeniously confess,  
That since you have so narrowly descried,  
Our failings, Your own life 've rectified?  
If in the Holy Week, we should produce,  
Lent Preachers Preached, which is not now in use,  
Their Sermons would back on Themselves Recoil,  
And their Own Reasons their Own Nests defile.   

A Preacher, whose Deportment did Imply,  
A sense Internal of Divinity,  
Against Excess, and th' Ages Lux'ury spoke.  
That to the very Heart a Cit was struck,  
Straight goes home to his Wife, and says, I have  
Resolved to leave All, my Soul to save:  
All, says She! Yes, the Parson makes it out,  
There's no Salvation with above one Suit.  
I'll keep but One, though I've at present Two,  
Th' other to th' Prisoners, or the Poor shall go.  
Poor Spouse by All means would the Preacher see,  
If He'd persist, or cancel his Decree?  
Attempts a Visit: To the Door being come,  
Demands, if Mr. Parson be at home:  
The saucy Footman snaps her up, and says;  
My Master can't dine for you now adays;  
Excuse me, Sir, till he has dined, I'll wait:  
Then by my Troth, You'll tarry pretty late.  
I'll go, and come again; Sir, go or stay  
'Tis the same Thing; for e'er since Yesterday,  
T'My certain knowledge, He's engaged to play.  
To morrow think you, he will be at home?  
Yes, but take care too Early not to come.  
To speak with him next Morning she repairs.  
Wait in the Hall, H'll quickly come down stairs:  
The Servant bids her. She desires to know  
Wither He may be stirring yet, or no?  
Yes, He's got up a little while ago.  
He's in his Wardrobe tumbling up and down,  
Changing his  just to ride out of Town.  
Changing his ! Then I shall pack away!  
If he hath Two Snits, I have nought to say.  
A Narrative, her Tongue in full Career,  
Makes of his Wardrobe, Gaming, and good Cheer:  
By his example is the Cheat disclosed,  
The Sermon on the Scrupulous Cit Imposed:  
Such blighted Preacing to the ground must fall,  
Though We such Sermons edifying call;  
The bad Example, does unravel All.  
With Rhetoric adorning Holy Writ,  
In Vain Your Sermons play the Hypocrite:  
If me You'd move, let me see Fruits in Thee,  
Which by Your Words You seek to plant in me:  
Thus the Apostles Preached, in Ages past,  
Their Holy Patterns shall for ever last;  
He drives another Road, and in the wrong,  
Whose Heart goes not together with his Tongue.  
You know the means t'obtain th' Heavenly Grace,  
Get T— to preach then in your Place;  
Him with attention hear, you'll soon discern  
From Him You'll best The Art of Preaching learn:  
No man has got the knack of speaking well,  
But can the proper Times for silence Tell.   

Three Years to Oxford Converse fix Your mind,  
To Lectures, and to Libraries confined:  
There from Chimeras weaned, vain fancies free,  
You may the Slightness of your Projects see;  
There Meek, Sincere, Devout, and Wiser grown,  
Your Nei'bors' Faults, less censuring than your own,  
Of Vice, which you cried down without reproach,  
I'll then believe you done't on Heaven encroach,  
But that you have divine unquestioned Right:  
You, Sir, my Counsel, I perceive, does fright?  
Three whole Years in a close Retirement stay:  
That's fine indeed, I'll not put off my Day,  
For I shall Preach as sure as I shall Pray,  
Who think You I to Preach my Course shall get?  
The Princess must be served by—  
Besides You know my Word's already took,  
My Name is marked down in the Vestry Book:  
How if in this more solemn Time of Lent,  
I failing, should my Parent's discontent;  
And disoblige my Friends; who did not spare  
For my preferment, journeys, purse, or care:  
And now I'm in possession, I'll make bold,  
Since there are but few Richer, This to hold:  
To the Apostle-like, I don't pretend;  
But am an honest Man, and there's an End;  
Crowds by the Nose, my much Inferiors lead,  
And few the beaten paths of Virtue tread.  
Since You're determined on the Enterprise,  
Communicate but where the Motive lies:  
What makes the Gentry Flock about You thus?  
What's the device, You know no more than Us.  
You'll scarce presume upon Your own desert;  
That You must leave to Preachers more expert.  
To pack an Audience, 've more ways indeed '  
Only the Sleepers, Hearers do exceed.  
Of my Sharp Muse, I guess You are afraid,  
Lest of Your Gang, the Shifts should be betrayed,  
And on what score should plainly make appear,  
To Preaching Man so often lends his Ear:  
On such a Subject so for satire fit,  
To Your cost, Parson, I could show my Wit,  
On Your deep Art, though I with malice fall,  
Yourself believe not an Original:  
Most men's successful Insufficiencies  
By Parties backed pass for Abilities;  
Some Great Men ne'er are wanting, to Protect:  
Dulness the very Parish would eject;  
To Hear their Pastor they would hardly Meet,  
Unless He did, in the Conclusion, Treat.   

After this Vice, the Gown has overspread,  
Do You, t'increase the general Grievance, dread?  
Turn Preacher of the Times, get Friends enough;  
Nothing like Trusty Lads, to bring you off.  
How ill strives Modesty against the Mode?  
What's common grown, Men cautiously explode.  
— Should be, in my Opinion, praised;  
His Family He by this Method raised:  
For at Two thousand Pounds a Year they rate,  
Jewels apart, his visible Estate:  
Good Mortgages his ready Cash secured;  
Which, to scrape up, Eternal Toils endured.  
Two Boys were only his Apparent Heirs,  
Whose Riches seemed, in Reversion, theirs.  
Two thousand Pounds a Year to serve for Two,  
Now I think better on't, it will not do:  
I care not much my Capital to divide,  
My Youngest shall be from the Church supplied;  
And shall with study, by his Trade in time,  
Or to a Bishopric by Favour climb.  
But, Does the Bishopric give Eloquence?  
Or Parts improve, or give us deeper Sense?  
'Tis Heaven exalts Us to that high Degree.  
If Heaven called any Man, my Son is He:  
He must be Prelate, being last begot;  
For That, by Course of Nature, is his Lot.  
We'll for the Church Train up his Tender Age;  
He shall not be Defective, I engage:  
He shall have Parts, if Parts are so required;  
And he shall Preach, if Preaching is desired.  
The Day long-look't-for, did at last appear;  
The Kindred all the Novice flock to hear:  
But, Did you well remark their Panic Fear?  
To see him one Man's Air, One's Voice affect;  
And the stole Sermon best its self detect.  
What mean these Coaches rattling up and down?  
A New Rhinoceros arrived in Town?  
Sure, You can tell th'Occasion of this Throng!  
P— Preaches; You have known him long?  
Is it— Son, I swear,  
His Father's my good Friend; I must be There,  
Be but took Notice of myself to show;  
For Men to Sermons, as to Musters, go.  
However He comes by it, such a Crowd  
Puffs up the Preacher, makes him wondrous proud.  
One Half, if You perchance inquire, pretends  
To be Relations, and the Other, Friends.  
If Company was Summoned, on pretence  
To give raw, bashful Youth, just Confidence;  
If our Young Preacher Kind Applause, did move  
His Parts in Time, by Studies to Improve:  
This proves not only an Inceptor's Art;  
None fail for Proselytes, to do their Part.  
— Up and Down;  
He's oft at Windsor, oft about the Town.  
My prying Friend would know, what He can mean,  
To show his grisly Face, and Carcase lean?  
Perhaps, He thinks, by's flattering Tongue, t'advance  
At Court, his most unflattering Countenance:  
Though, with a Cassock, He does not despair  
T'attempt the Favours of the Fickle Fair.  
Ladies, and Lords, (says He) on Sunday next,  
I'll at St. Giles' Preach, on such a Text.  
My Friend was There, found Him the very same,  
By Figure, Character, as well as Name.  
Affected Language, and Conception vain,  
His Audience, long be-spoke, did entertain.  
Of his Intrigues do You perceive the Drift?  
But list a while, I apprehend his Shift.  
This, Parson, This is was, that gave Offence:  
Does not his Anger justly this incense?  
That Holy Gospel has been used thus,  
Tradition has not yet informed Us.  
The Pious, Ancient Preachers did not rove,  
From Parish-Church, to Parish-Church remove:  
In their own Provinces were only Herd;  
And inno Pulpit, but their Own, appeared.  
Their Fame did o'er the Universe extend,  
Their Christian Doctrine All did comprehend:  
With greatest Sinners were Acquainted best;  
With Those most Intimate, who most Confessed.  
Contrition did Acquaintance recommend;  
In Prayer, and Study, only did contend.  
Our Idle Drone with Sextons is in League,  
And with Churchwardens, works for his Intrigue.  
But, let That pass; His Wants such Tools demand,  
Which may be every where got to his Hand:  
Let him to griping, sordid Vermin creep,  
With Them a sneaking Correspondence keep;  
That He a Velvet Cushion may procure:  
We shall be forced, this Grievance to endure.  
But to hear so much Stuff, so little Sense,  
Such gaudy Nothings, tiped with Impudence;  
His Morals, covered o'er with Ising glass,  
All put together, for a Sermon pass:  
This is Abomination, Horror breeds,  
As even the Sense of all our Faults exceeds.  
My angry Friend lugs out; and after, I,  
Finding him in the Right, for Company.  
You, Parson, who do only beat your Brain,  
Before Whom, When, Where, You shall Preach again;  
Do You at my Comrade's Departure, wink:  
Or in his Anger, had He Wit, d'ye think?    

Cant. II.  

IF Self-Conceit get not the Upperhand,  
Tell Us, If the True Style you understand,  
By which the Gospel is most Powerful made,  
That sinful Mortals may turn Retrograde.  
Can You Words apt for Promulgation choose?  
Rank them by Art, their Force they shall not lose.  
One thinks, he has the Elegance of Style,  
And can speak very well; when all this while,  
He with a Modish Phrase, Terms Acquaint and Pat,  
Has garnished a Discourse all over flat.  
One to a Word an Epithet has tacked;  
For Eloquence this passes most Exact:  
One with stitched Words, together edged with Rhyme,  
Has both Sham-Style, Sham-Muse alike Sublime.  
The Genius of our Tongue, try to discern;  
Study the Force and Weight of Words to learn.  
At Modesty in all your Writings aim,  
Discourse Uneven does a Treatise shame.  
Be Noble; but forbear to Stain at all;  
And be undespicably Natural:  
For that Perfection is the most esteemed,  
Which by You slighted and neglected seemed.  
In a pure Style, from Affectation free,  
Maintain, with Elegance, Simplicity.  
Form to your slef, in Reading Scripture, This,  
Which Nature never Painted yet amiss.  
By This from Nature, is distinguished Art;  
This speaks to, and is answered from the Heart.  
The Bible labour first to understand;  
Exact Composures your next Pains demand:  
For that Exactness, the True Preacher knows,  
'Twixt Orators, and Scribes, the Difference shows.  
When Tully Lawless Anthony Arraigned,  
Or against Verres bold Attempts, complained;  
His Method of Harranguing differed far  
From That, when Culprit Armed came to the Bar.  
Would You an Amorous Dialogue design,  
Make Lovers both on Wit and Tongue refine;  
Then imitate a French Romancer's Style:  
For such Exactness will a Sermon spoil.  
For one harsh Word, good Thoughts which won't admit,  
But makes to Euphony subservient Wit.  
In Pulpit Set-Discourses breed Dislike;  
The Soul Divine Reflections only strike.  
Far from hence Elegant Preachers I desire,  
Whose Cadence does like Jarring Jews-Harps tyre:  
This Musical Style does rock Me fast asleep.  
You must within some Rules and Limits keep;  
Not, ignorantly, Helps of Art decline,  
And talk without Connexion or Design.  
You to the Laws of Preaching are confined;  
And barred the making New Ones to your Mind.  
All Art to use, no Freedom is denied;  
The Business is, the Artifice to hid.  
Begin not with an Air, thta does amaze,  
And make Me, big with Expectation, gaze:  
With eager Haste the World that Preacher flies,  
Who his Design, forestall, Magnifies:  
Says, 'Tis of vast Importance; and what's more,  
Some thing that's New, You never heard before.  
But 'tis not now a Thing stupendious,  
The Labouring Mountain should bring forth a Mouse;  
Or Men of Matter full, at Coming-up,  
Their Stocks exhausted, ere Conclusion, droop.  
Himself the Prudent, ere he ventures, tries,  
And well examines his own faculties:  
Abstains from Manners haughty and absurd,  
And never promises, but keeps his word;  
Medlys' of Scred Stories, and profane,  
Take notice now, are much against the Grain:  
Yet One to be applauded has the luck,  
For his Exordium, who Cambyses took.  
Those fine Achievements, from Historians culled,  
For Excellecies long the People gulled.  
A Thousand Men like these are still cried up,  
Ev ' in the Pulpit we may find a Fop;  
At easy Rates pass Learned Men; I've heard,  
Works of this Nature swarm in Pauls-Church-Yard.  
And few so stupid are remaining yet,  
Who cannot Cart-loads on occasion get.  
glittering Exordiums so with some have wrought,  
That from the subject they have turned their thought.  
Their flights too lofty, in the foremost place,  
The flatness of what follows must disgrace.  
Close to Your Subject Matter still provide,  
The whole Discourse is to its Subject tied.  
Th' Exordium ended, Heaven assistance ask;  
You t'as much purpose may omit the task,  
As make t'a Saint an eloquent address:  
Upon Your Subject Your design express.  
A Subject choose, You may begin and end;  
Yet promise not the Whole to comprehend.  
It often happens, when Your Hour is past,  
Much Substance to be Treated of does last;  
And You Your Spirits do but spend in Vain,  
When You'd a Wearied Auditor detain.  
Keep to the Points which most material are,  
Which with Equality must difference bear.  
Antithesis did often Them divide;  
But Jingling Words are now quite laid aside.  
Solid and Flashy, are not coupled now,  
Sterling and Tinsel won't together go.  
Some Preacher may perhaps in Time contrive,  
Sermons may Christian's Liberty revive:  
The Gospel from strict Laws and Customs freed;  
For which adored Antiquity does plead.  
Division sure the Ancients never knew,  
Nor ever pinched Themselves, as we do now.  
Of Orators in Rome or Athens bred,  
In ne'er so much as entered in the head:  
With Art their Subject, to divide, proposed;  
The Members opposite, at first disclosed.  
Each point in'ts proper place itself did show;  
They without Coughing First from Second knew.  
The Subject should but one design include,  
Without Deviation be, or Pause pursued.  
Of Preachers, Unity's the Chiefest part,  
Who for One, must not Two Discourses start.  
Thus long with the same Object entertained,  
Th' Impression stronger on the Soul remained.  
The People left the Orator Alarmed,  
Tyrannic Fury instantly disarmed.  
Straight Philip of his Army dispossessed,  
And gave Greece, in an uproar, present Rest.  
But with Our Preacher, now, Invention fails;  
Division most exceedingly prevails;  
On which he so affectedly does go,  
That with his Points his Matter's changed too.  
All Your Points should one perfect Whole compose,  
Without Redundance, and Connected close.  
Your Genius I'll not curb; I'd gladly see,  
If 'tis Your Talon, a bare Homily.  
The Gospel-truths' to all Objectors, Solve,  
Which in Your mind at leisure did revolve.  
The Fathers thus to Preach were understood;  
Scholars most deep, but for the Common Good.  
Blest were our Times, shed they such Preachers bring;  
A Race of Saints might from their Sermons spring.  
Promiscuously Them to hear would Crowd  
The Nobles, Gentry, and the Multitude.  
I'd quit my Pen, and bid my Art adieu,  
Which had however useless proved to You.  
I'th' front of Hearers for Instruction go,  
And at their Feet, myself would prostrate throw.  
Some no near Kin to Saints, the Pulpit mount;  
Of Those I mean to give some small Account:  
They're for my purpose; and perhaps, their Crimes  
May make my Verses proper for the Times.  
If they will not the Reader influence,  
There's little to be said in my defence.  
As I shall run Them o'er, my Maxims mind;  
Eat every similary Phrase you find,  
Which on th' Analogy of Words but plays,  
And says the same Thing, varied, Twenty Ways.  
Such tasteless-Plenty shows a Barren-Brain;  
But if with Ease You'd every Point retain,  
Unlade Your Cargo, Your great Mass of Words,  
Good Thought most clear Expression still affords.  
Want of Expression, want of Wit betrays,  
The Tongue our Understanding open lays:  
For when the Head conceives a Notion well,  
The Tongue as roundly does the Business tell.  
Your Style and Matter care not to adorn;  
For We the Flourishes of Scholar's scorn.  
To Rhetoric I never Fancy took;  
'Tis in my Nature, it to overlook.  
Words are but Letters joined, our Thoughts to vent;  
But when the placing gives the Ornament,  
The whole Discourse does but our mind amuse,  
And we for Flowers do Fruit expected lose.  
Let not the Passion of a Heart enraged,  
To be described be to Art engaged.  
Nature paints its own Agitations best,  
But does the Art of Varnishing detest:  
Forbear that useful Art to Vilify,  
Which Orators t' improve in Schools, do try.  
So careless let it seem from You to fall,  
As if You had not Studied it at all.  
All over full of Matter, solid, clear,  
Your Unaffected Sermon does appear.  
And be upon Your Guard, t' avoid the Cheat,  
Which has the Shadow of a fine Conceit;  
W ch. true Light does, with glimmering, counterfeit.  
To search the Truth, o'er all the Scriptures range,  
Whose Natural Beauty loses by the Change.  
Composing, You must vary your Discourse;  
For some of Affection, by mere Force,  
Will the same Method, the same Ways retain.  
— is an Example very plain:  
For every Matter He alike does Treat;  
And He does still make Three Points, Opposite,  
With Three Divided, in their Station, meet.  
This Uniformity does tyre me quite:  
So we a Painter's feeble Genius slight.  
If the same Fancy in all Pieces reigns,  
And but one Shadow serves for all Designs;  
Such Daubing every Coppier may know:  
But neater Strokes an Able Master show.  
He's still the same, but with Variety;  
Discerned by none, but a Judicious Eye.  
Discourse Pathetic with the Glittering join;  
This will the Hearts of Auditors incline;  
And Men shall, unbespoke, themselves resign.  
Your Sermons their Fatigue shall take away,  
And make them, what they Tremble at, Obey.  
Of Times most proper, to Instruct take care;  
Speak boldly out, and no Transgression spare:  
Your Arguments will not fail to Edify,  
Backed both with Reason and Authority.  
Avoid the School-men's Language, Terms obscure;  
Such Pedantries no Audience can endure.   

Sometimes a Pedant, at a County-Feast,  
May Please: And I was told, among the rest,  
An Excellent Sermon— chanced to make;  
Which, for the very Plainness, would not Take.  
Against Him they excepted: But, says He,  
Be silent at a Feast? that cannot be.  
Next Time I doubt not, but to give Content.  
To keep his Word, was resolutely bend:  
And for his Subject, chose the Trinity.  
On which Mysterious Point He soared so high,  
On Word obscure an Emphasis He laid,  
So many Things about Subsistance said,  
That of Terms learned, He a Gibb'rish made.  
He charmed raw Heads, who nothing understood;  
Noise only ravishesthe unthinking Crowd.  
The Learned, skilful on your Side to get:  
If You do aim, and please the Men of Wit,  
And would at City-Lectures Females please;  
For there are, doubtless, Critics amongst These,  
As well as Greater Ladies, wrre They tried,  
Can Sermons judge, and other Things beside;  
With neat Exactness every Thing express,  
We from Philosophy expect no less.  
When we Discourses find of different Hue,  
We wish the Author ne'er his Hornbook knew.  
Latin Quotations were long since beloved;  
And to have One at least, is still approved:  
But quite to be Abolished, is their Fate;  
All but plain English, now, are out of Date.  
To Please the Ladies, present Custom has  
Brought Jesus Christ to speak the Modish Phrase;  
Which to make Him speak, is as great Offence,  
As we t' use Scripture with Irreverence.  
Let your Discourse be reverently Polite:  
You may, in Latin, Allegations cite;  
Quotations close, and shortest Merit praise;  
Variation will debase their Consecrated Phrase.  
If Latin be Your Text, no further seek;  
You must take other Measures for the Greek:  
Greek more does nauseat, does not well agree;  
It smells rank of the University.  
Whatever from Greek Fathers You allege,  
To tell in English, You have Privilege.   

Words, Parson, weigh not much; we Matter crave;  
Which pray dispose Yourself, to let us have:  
For on his Words it is a Preacher's Charge,  
To bring our Minds to Comment and Enlarge.  
But This, in vain, He thinks to bring about,  
If Learning only serves to help him out.   

The Author was no Fool, who did Rehearse  
First to's Maidservant all his Works in Verse;  
A Critic, very ignorant, would endure,  
Rather than Publish but one Line, obscure.  
This makes You rally, very pleasant makes:  
He who Haragues in Public undertakes,  
After our Author, must his Course direct,  
And should on Human Ignorance reflect.  
Some say, That— is Learned and deep;  
Others, What makes him such a Pother keep?  
And though abandoned, yet both Proud and Pert;  
Incessantly cries up his own Desert:  
Desertors He does Brutish Rabble style,  
And seems at their Stupidity to smile.  
It is not, if I know myself, my Lot  
To gratify the Taste of every Sot;  
A Wiser Audience must for Me be got.  
This bald Excuse to Fifty does belong;  
The Audience must be always in the Wrong.   

But, Parson, You're deceived in this Dispute;  
For I can make You Your own self Confute,  
And show, why You're of Hearers destitute.  
Resolve on Silence, and the Trade to quit,  
For Vulgar Understandings if unfit.  
The Vulgar? No. Great Men shall be my Care.  
That is, according as They Sinners are:  
The Useful Science is, as we are told,  
The Mystery of Deadly Sin t' unfold.  
The Sinner always Ignorance does plead;  
Your Learning serves for Him alone indeed.  
Each Passage pick, each Reason well deduce;  
Form Noble, Great- Ideas to the Mind:  
These Hearers will, of every sort, produce;  
The Art They can't discern, their Hearts will find.  
They ask not why or how a Work is Good?  
By Them 'tis Relished, as 'tis Understood.  
'Tis Good, and They're Attentive; That's enough:  
With Them a Good Discourse ne'er came ill off.   

But You, whose Wit, Trained up in Sciences,  
Can well distinguish betwixt all Degrees:  
Confusion eat! We'd by Distinction see  
Better from Good; from Good, Mediocrity.  
Still to the Better Part employ Your Mind;  
All Orators, by Labour, are Refined.  
Imperfect Talents should not Pulpit mount;  
For less than Excellent, is of no Account.  
Your Genius to advance. Your Forces weigh;  
Ambition does an Orator betray.  
Of his First Sermon, He th'Opinion has,  
It does— surpass.  
Know Yourself Better, and more Cautious be;  
To Your own Works, try to turn Enemy.  
Much more Content Mediocrity does give,  
So we can call't our own, and Primitive,  
Than what from Greater Authors we derive.  
The shameful Scandal of no Genius shun;  
And try to show Us something of Your Own.  
Give not the World occasion You to call,  
Ill Copy of a Good Original.  
From Best of Preachers do proceed the Worst,  
When 've to Imitate, their Talents forced.  
Of late, the Pedants Tribe is numerous grown,  
Who with Inspipid Drafts have tired the Town:  
Whilst One Those to Correct has done his Part,  
And skilfully has drawn the Perfect Heart.  
Who can but Imitate, can never Please;  
Theirs to Purloining, is the next Disease.  
Of them there is a Bold and Lazy Tribe,  
Who for their Own, Preach all they can Transcribe.  
In England, there are many Hundred Men,  
Who own their Eloquence to their Neighbour's Pen.  
How many hear we Preaching, Fifty Mile  
From London, that do dwell There all the while.  
Great Preachers ill Fate often does befall:  
Though— moves the Conscience at Whitehall,  
The Gospel teaches, and Vice overrules,  
He's less than Nothing in the Mouth of Fools.   

Parson, Your Sermon to Your Learning owe,  
And solid Sense on Your Discourse bestow.  
Some times You may, with Similes, enforce  
Your Reasons, and with History Your Discourse.  
Think not with over Delicacy blind,  
That This will argue Meanness of the Mind.  
Though These the Nicer sort, deluded, scorn;  
The Style sublime they frequently adorn.  
A Fable once well managed, did produce,  
Though Ratified, the Rupture of a Truce.  
The Orator, who well his Art did know,  
Though not he took his Simile too low.   

Parson, All's Admirable, could we find  
Prudence, and Zeal to Eloquence conjoined.  
Preach You but well, All shall be Herd by Me;  
And Pardoned, if I'm in an Eestasie.  
To that Effect we should Aspire in vain,  
If the Conclusion don't the Point maintain.  
Learn to Conclude, if You would learn to Move;  
Forces, in th' End, united stronger prove.  
Your Matter You for Him should briefly close,  
Who does your Total Victory oppose.  
Then back your Strongest Arguments recall:  
But lest You into Tediousness should fall,  
Hints will do better. Repetitions eat;  
And do not your Prescribed Bounds outrun.  
Your Hearer make, with deep Regret, retire,  
Full of your Works, that fan Devotion's Fire:  
Then with deep Silence, and with Eyes downcast,  
To Voluntary Penitence in haste  
He runs, and blames the Time without it past:  
Incensed, that He so long had trusted Fate,  
Deathbed Contrition to Anticipate;  
Lest it should seem Constrained, if come so late.  
By Meditation deep, on Faith may learn  
At what Expense, what Pains Men Bliss must earn.  
Then, shall he judge, justly become severe;  
Diversions, indiscreet, are bought too dear.  
To Hyde-park, and Balls, no Ogling Ladies trudge;  
Henceforth no Poet shall for Playhouse drudge:  
No more shall Gamester's Precious Time be sold  
To flattering Hopes, and sacred Thirst of Gold.  
Nor Love on Youth more Miracles shall show;  
Vaunting its Force, and Lover's Weakness too.  
'Twill be by th'useless Christian understood,  
He's guilty of much Ill, who does no Good:  
Who'll soon perceive, that Misspent Time will mount,  
To which he's bound to make a large Account.  
This Alteration in your Hearers make;  
At least, to bringed about, the Method take.  
The World is Confident, and Positive,  
Tho' we to Preach, with all our Forces strive,  
That this Stupendious Change will ne'er arrive:  
And all your Fervency, and Zeal, is vain;  
For Man, Convinced, will Rebel again.  
Alike Your Sermons, and My Verses do;  
Yours are on Them, and Mine are lost on You.    

Cant. III.  

AN Unconceited Writer I respect,  
Whose Pen is always eager to Correct.  
Your Sermons rigorous Correction need;  
This Place You think in Nobleness t' exceed.  
The Manner Charming, the Expression bold;  
Your Genius hatched it; and you're pleased, I'm told:  
Which Twenty times, at least, You do Repeat;  
And still starts up some New, or fine Conceit.  
That flattering, blinding Pleasure apprehend;  
Publish it not, till viewed o'er by your Friend:  
And closely watch the Gestures of Him too,  
Whether That Place delighted Him, or no:  
If not, Retrench it; and, before his Eyes,  
Let your Dear Idol fall a Sacrifice.  
Of all Things, eat a Censurer's Disdains;  
Be Pliant, and deserve his useful Pains.  
But think him not your Friend, who cries Take Care;  
And for a Critic, of a Fool beware.  
You need a Censurer no further Trust,  
Than he Instructs You, and You find him Just:  
But when his Reasons have Convinced yours,  
The Truth Embrace, and its Resistless Powers.  
Men blush not to give Reason the Right Hand;  
But at a Panegyric, Trembling stand.  
Of those Impostures, the Rank Poison fear;  
Praise pleases You, it plainly does appear:  
And You shall have from every one enough;  
Some to be kind, will Praise You, most to scoff.  
Your Enemies, like Friends, have Complaisance;  
And Both together join, your Faults t'enhance.   

Once Benson Preached, (where I devoutly went)  
Bespoke his Congregation to Augment:  
Scarce had He whining, with a School-Boy's Tone,  
And quaking Limbs, his whole Exordium done,  
But Stammers, Hesitates, and is quite out;  
Then for his Notes he searches all about:  
Which having, at a Time so fatal, lost,  
Says any Thing next that comes uppermost:  
Like Mariner, having his Compass lost,  
At all Adventures, up and down is tossed.  
I was afflicted to perceive Him so;  
And when He Trembled, I did Tremble too.  
Half sunk, at last, his Treacherous Memory  
On the Plank casts Him off Eternity.  
There he Concludes: But, as I marched away,  
Won't You, says One, t' Congratulate him, stay?  
I, out of Breath, to make Resistance strove;  
But was, by Force, into his Chamber drove:  
There Benson lolling on a Couch, I found;  
Whom several soothing Coxcombs did surround:  
He kindly the Fool's Compliments received;  
For All he swallowed, None were disbelieved.  
Jesus, says One, the Sermon Curious was:  
Your Memory does all men's else surpass.  
Another, in plain English, That is Good,  
Which to be so, by All is understood.  
Then, fauningly, Embracing him; My Dear,  
Says He, You outdo— I swear:  
Less Exact— Lesle Delicate;  
Less Elegant— and less Charming—  
The Good Man, 'midst his Glories, did not fail,  
With Modesty, his Memory to bewail;  
And 'bating the few Stumbles which He made,  
One of his Best the Sermon was, He said.  
Then I can't tell, Sir, what You Stumbling call;  
But, by my Faith, You Stumbled not at all:  
He lies, that says You did. I swear again,  
You of your Memory, without Cause, complain.  
Your Memory for once Defective grant?  
That but demonstrates, You no Wit do want.  
At that Discourse, Benson cheers up again;  
No longer can to Praise himself, contain:  
For soothing Words, which do afford Relief,  
He'll not pay back his Friends with Unbelief.  
You might a Wager venture, chosen He  
Would for a Visitation-Sermon be.  
Myself I into a Close Corner got;  
And Blushed, to see the Company did not.  
I by my sneaking, downcast Look might pass,  
Of all that Gang, to be the only Ass.  
At last, broke lose, I wished the Devil, and all  
Plagues might on Benson, and his Flatterers, fall.   

Self-Flattery all bewitches of That Trade;  
Ill Preacher's Blemishes are Public made:  
'Gainst Them, when Auditors in Judgement rise,  
Some Flatterer at a dead Lift supplies.  
Let such as These his Confidence maintain,  
He will to yield to Orators disdain;  
And will the World, Blind as Himself, persuade,  
Those follow Him He has Desertors made.  
These Shamms are every Day in London seen;  
Which, when I mention, I know who I mean:  
Name's I shall spare, since Men themselves persuade  
They are Infallible in their own Trade.  
Would you be sure t'know how your Sermons please?  
Closely observe the People's Visages:  
They the Intrinsic Value will Reveal;  
What charms their hearts, their eyes will ne'er conceal.  
Mark well those Places, where the Longing Town  
Their Ears, resigning to your Voice, bow down;  
Where, when their Bodies fixed, like Statues are,  
Their greedy Eyes their Heart's Delight declare.  
This Proof alone suffices to maintain,  
These Points are Best, which most Attention gain;  
For when the Voice does Influence the Ear,  
The Heart an equal Influence does share:  
Yet You those Places, for the worst, condemn;  
And say, The rest have far more Wit than Them;  
Are better Turned, more Charming, more Polite.  
Let These the Rule to all your Sermons give;  
Those Carelessly are done, but Well, Sir, by your leave.  
If at the main End of your Trade you drive,  
On your Own Self to be a Critic strive:  
For Friends, where Kissing does by Favour go,  
Reject, and our Wise Author's Rule pursue.  
In Preaching, You must say, Vice I'll beat down,  
And levelly, with the Earth, its powerful Throne.  
What would be said by Paul, or Chrysostom,  
If They should Hearers to my Sermons come?  
Did thus Hell's Spite to Them, confounded, yield?  
Was Paul Triumphant thus in Mars his Field?  
Did Chrysostom the Miser thus persuade,  
When over to the Poor his Wealth he made?  
Those Noble Models keep before your Eyes;  
Their Works their Voices do Immortalize.  
In Reading Them, find out Their Power Divine:  
From Him who Theirs bestowed, obtain thou Thine.  
Do, as They did: Always before your Prayer,  
The Subject you'll Proceed upon, declare.  
Then Heaven Implore, You to Illuminate;  
And We'll Digest on what You Meditate.  
Take Time enough, and well Yourself Prepare;  
But Rash, Extempore Sermons, pray forbear:  
Unless on some unlook't-for Exigent,  
You could a Congregation's Loss prevent;  
Concluding what Another had Begun,  
As if the Choice of Subject was your Own:  
On the same Points, divided, to the last,  
Sequels deduce the Other had forecast;  
In that Case, You Extempore may Preach;  
But must not, otherwise, your Talon stretch.  
Count not the Time your Sermon making cost;  
Merit it be not on the Hearers lost.  
In all your Subjects, choose the Better Part;  
To choose discreetly, Reason, with your Heart:  
For what in Reason moves, and pleases You,  
By the same Reason, must please Others too.  
Hence the Designs of all your Sermons lay:  
On Different Themes choose an Indifferent Way:  
Here an Encomium, There a Mystery;  
Here Virtue to the Life must painted be:  
Here Sinners must, by sharp Invectives, smart;  
All diff'rently must be Touched; yet All with Art.  
If to the Purpose, Morals you'd Exhort,  
Then study well the City, and the Court:  
Do not a Merchant, like a Lord, disguise;  
Nor set on Subjects, Royal Qualities.  
Make Greedy Citizens for Riches yawn;  
Paint Lords Fantastic, and make Courtiers Fawn:  
Yet, Parson, have a care, while You Correct,  
Vices, lest We Philosophy detect,  
When We do pure Christianity expect.  
The Chair from Heathenish Virtues is exempt;  
And Nothing, in their Praise, should You attempt,  
Unless with True Religion burnished o'er;  
And Christian turn, what Pagan was before.  
Let Them, at their Discretion, Justice teach;  
Humility You, with St. Paul, should Preach.  
From worthless Honesty alone, desist;  
And on the Just impose the Cross of Christ.  
Paint not Men but what they really are;  
Attack not Vices, which are very rare:  
Those tricks are amongst Preachers common grown,  
Who set up Whimsies, but to pull 'em down.  
His Strokes all miss, and He, in vain, assaults;  
Of different People, paint the different Faults.  
Mind not the Fool, who o'er the Country roves,  
Reforming Great Men's Tables, and their Train;  
Verrio's fine Ceelings, Gibbon's carved Alcoves;  
Names, which the Ignorant Audience can't retain.  
In all your Drafts, let Nature coppy'd be;  
That We the Heart may, through the Picture, see:  
But too plain Colours, prudently forbear;  
Name not the Sinner in the Character.  
Let not the Pulpit Satyrs  infest,  
For fear Damnation should attend the Jest.  
Eat Rhetoric, which Improvement does bereave,  
And does our Mind but just diverted, leave.  
Preaching thus— does the World content;  
Yet They return no Wiser, than They went.  
All This is vain: 'Tis not a Preacher's Part,  
To Please the Mind, unless He Strike the Heart.  
Jumbled together, Pieces different,  
By blind Chance, into One of large Extent,  
The Sermon to our Senses does present:  
Where He should fix his doubtful Mind, can't tell;  
Yet He's conceited, that He Preaches well.  
When one by one, the Frailties of the Heart,  
Mirth, Honour, Vanity, He does impart;  
At random, to his Sermons, All comes in:  
No Grounds, no Art, no Proofs, or very Thin.  
By Inference He Matters running o'er,  
With too much Light but blinds my Eyes the more.  
When of Those, He presents, among the rest,  
I on that Object fix, that Pleases best;  
Straight comes Another, which does drive That out:  
From This, to That, He wanders still about.  
The Mind can hardly what He says, retain;  
The Heart grown tired, the Mind pursues in vain.  
Sometimes confines his Matter to a few;  
And what He blames, affected does pursue.  
Proud in his very Sermons to expose,  
That of the World the Ways, and Fashions knows;  
Jilts, and Intrigues, He sticks not to disclose.  
The Ordering of a Ball, exactly paints;  
In proper Terms to scandalise, acquaints.  
The Art to Please at Court, He does abridge;  
And likely too, to lay an Amorous Siege.  
Profane Interpreter of Vile Intrigues,  
Blaming and Loving Vice, creates Colleagues.  
The Vice he would Explode, he makes beloved;  
Or at his own Expense, is Laughter moved.  
In Preaching then, think of your latter End:  
For with such Crimes a Sinner may offend,  
Whose ignorance does a Preacher recommend.  
Or if 'tis requisite, He should know All;  
Discretion will not Every thing let fall.  
Let Vices Image be so neatly wrought,  
It may disturb the Heart, not wound the Thought.  
Make not the Innocent Cheeks with Blushing glow,  
Of deadly Crimes only the Horror show:  
Vice with Art Painted, is not much at best,  
The Loathsome Sight my Heart must needs detest.  
Paint it as fatal, foolish as you please:  
So you produce the Cure for the Disease.  
Most Wretched, Brutal, Infamous am I,  
The Sinner to th' Accuser can reply.  
You plainly read my Heart, and by it are told,  
That in your Pictures, I that Heart behold.  
I am a sinner, Great and Grievous too;  
Why repeat you what I already know?  
Then pray no more the Argument renew?  
I know my Own Sins better far than you:  
But 'twill not serve Our Miseries to confess,  
The Virtue Contrary must them redress.  
To grasp that Knowledge, bring my Clouded Mind,  
Of Sinners make my feet the new Road find.  
This from your Preaching is to Sinners due,  
Till They Instructed are, Depart not you:  
To Crimes add Counsel which described are,  
Just on the Wound the Plaster lay with care.  
Open, and close your Lips, make his Concerns,  
The Sinner at ill usage chafes and spurns;  
Him Gently Treat, Sick Men in Frenzy took,  
On their Physicians do as Ruffians look:  
But chief if for Church your Zealous rage,  
Makes you against Fanaticism engage:  
Let not the Whig want of Respect resent,  
A Combatant should not grow insolent.  
Against Impostures Charity does Arm,  
Seeks to repel, but not to offer harm.  
The Zealous Christian does from wrongs refrain,  
He blames the Sin, but would the Sinner gain,  
And with Respect in Lists fanatics entertain.  
All Men surprising Orators neglect,  
When They do Preach on what we least expect;  
They quite forget the Gospel for the Day,  
And from its Mystery hurry Us away.  
On Christmas Day the Birth should be your Theme,  
Than you think fittest Railing to condemn:  
When Heaven its Offspring did to th' Manger bring.  
Which Wonder through the Universe does ring.  
You only on the Subject silent are,  
Mankind against your Preaching will declare.  
Keep to the Mystery, and done't fly off:  
One Mystery has for One Sermon scope enough.  
Many have thus proposed, but ere They'd done,  
Forgetting That, on something else did run.  
This Parson to the People's a Rank Cheat;  
In you for Ignorance passes, not Deceit:  
The Greatness of the Mystery did you know,  
'Twould make its Order and Conclusion too:  
The Thing Deep Meditation does demand,  
Which if the Preacher don't well understand,  
Leaving the Subjects which such pains would cost,  
And shifting where his Needs require him most;  
His Sermons nothing to the Purpose makes;  
His Voice like Thunder Church & Pulpit shakes,  
And a loud Noise the People Threatening makes:  
For all this Bustle you may yet remark;  
As to their Faith They still are in the Dark.  
They could not tell, if asked at th' End of Lent,  
What by True Christianity is meant:  
And They perhaps know not one Jot the more,  
What to think of the God which They Adore.   

If on Faith's Mysteries you Discourses hold,  
Make them some Great Important Truth unfold:  
Quote both the Scripture and the Fathers too;  
If needful, those Quotations we allow:  
In Trivial Things, speak Latin Every where,  
Your making Great St. Austin, I can't bear.  
Nor quoting Scripture much in Matters plain,  
Such Lectures, and their Praises, are but Vain.   

We awkward Palates and Cross Wits detect,  
Who think They Preach, if They can but collect.  
Even in Collections too They're at a loss,  
Where Gold is plenty, They present you Dross:  
I smoke those Preachers, when I hear 'em first;  
Yet to the Father's Doors they lay the worst  
Places of all their Sermons: When the Thought  
Is false, a Father to maintained is brought;  
Says He, When we do find him Reason wrong,  
This does t' a Father, not to me, belong.  
a Father,— Roused than I depart with Rage,  
The Bishop with Remonstrance try t' Engage,  
These false Purloiners may suspended Be,  
And thus the Fathers from the Scandal free.  
The Inte'rests of Condemned Faction quit,  
And to the Edicts of the church submit.  
Well understand what you for Faith declare;  
Men are seduced often unaware:  
And for Positions, which the Church does hold,  
Zeal is broaching damned Opinions Bold.  
Yet Zeal does not for Ignorance atone,  
For Ignorance does seldom reign alone.  
But its lage Empire often does divide,  
With a fanatics more unruly Pride.  
Confounds the Truth, but for distinction sake,  
Thinks He does in a Schism a Conquest make.  
With false Zeal the Fanatic always Blind;  
Makes Fools to His Rebellious Boldness Kind.  
No sooner can his Wiredrawn Thoughts unfold,  
But by the Crowd is for a Saint enroled,  
Worthy Restorer of the Gospel's Light,  
He only the Old Discipline can set right.  
Friends, Strangers, Neuters, when his Name is up,  
Into the Church striving for places drop,  
Coaches do one another's passage stop.  
The Church too little for the Crowd is made,  
And Auditors the Entry Barricade;  
Till he Fanatic is declared at last,  
And the Just Censure by the Bishop past:  
The Law does him due punishment enjoin,  
To Newgate for his holding-forth confine:  
These are the Rocks on which these Preachers split,  
Whose Pride transcends their Modesty, and Wit.  
— to Gain Proselytes turns Presbyter,  
But for a Deanery does the Church prefer:  
On this side now, on that side than did lean;  
At last he neither Preacher is, nor Dean.   

The Pulpit many several Dreamers knows,  
Who Their Wild Fancies would for Faith Impose:  
Other Interpreters so headstrong are,  
As to make Faith a Castle in the Air.  
Those strange Excesses argue self-conceit,  
Of Him whom grossy does self-flattery Cheat;  
Too stiff to doubt, and to believe too shy,  
On his own Judgement solely does rely.  
Adhere You to the Church, the surer Guide;  
And those Debates attempt not to decide,  
With which Herself forbears to have to do;  
This would be High Presumption sure in You:  
In Points hard to be cleared, Your Faith Resign,  
And thank the Powers, who those commands enjoin.  
Into the middle Path of Christians fall,  
'Twixt doubting Nothing, and suspecting All:  
For to what purpose in a doubtful Thing,  
Should We a Scrupulous Soul disturbed bring?  
Since many Articles, and Points Made out,  
Do leave A Sinner Room enough to Doubt.  
Truth always Perseveres in being strict,  
The Gospel does a Rigid Life Inflict.  
In vain Man fishes for soft Pleasures there,  
Which thick set, We discover every where,  
Does only Crowns of Thorns, and Crosses bear.  
If wanting Innocence Man heavens loss deplores,  
Repentance only that Great Loss restores.  
This Gospel-Oracle will prove too true,  
Sinners to Heaven, but in this Road can go:  
Your Rigorous Maxims still support with Truth,  
Make Venial Sins, not Mortal in your Mouth:  
When with Grimace the Truth you overact,  
I leave you, and do wish you more Exact.  
Condemning the Luxurious, and Profuse,  
Wishing Brocades, and Points were less in use.  
Forbear the Mode with Anguish to Control;  
And for a Ribbon, Damn a Harmless Soul:  
Patches and Paint, let— talk about;  
But plunge Rich Mammon in a deeper doubt:  
To Him the Forlorn Man's Gondition show,  
Wh ' Oppressed with Hunger, Empty to and fro;  
Life to maintain for Daily Bread does go.  
The Dismal Figure of an Alms-House Paint,  
Expiring Brethren's Groans, and dire complaint;  
Till of Attire Superfluous weary grown,  
The Wretches with Compunction does bemoan:  
Lays on his Pride the Cause of all Their Wrong,  
And owns what fed it did to them belong.  
This Prospect will Dead Nature Quicken best,  
And make him his vain Ornaments divest;  
And then reflcting on Expenses past,  
Shall send his Trimming to the Poor at last.  
To Truth stick always, as I did advise,  
Truth only in a Sermon Edifies:  
That here you Proofs from their true Meanings wrest,  
And there what's fettled you with force contest;  
The fence of Plainest Passages distort,  
Your Reputation greatly suffers for't.  
You Me, for Your Vain Eloquence must lose,  
And I Your Malice, or Defects, accuse.  
However, Novelties do Charm the Town,  
Severity with— best goes down.  
A Preacher that Damns with full power may pass,  
For a Great Doctor, though a very Ass.  
Though in his Life, a Rakehell he appears,  
He will not fail of Zealous Followers:  
Some Preachers now there are, 've no pretence  
To Wit, or Parts, beside Bare Confidence;  
Who only have the Gift of being frank,  
And please the World, just like a Mountebank.  
This Preacher merrily sends Souls to Hell;  
This on Sin rallies like an Infidel:  
Nothing amiss does to his Sermons come.  
Billingsgate Jests, or Stories of Tom Thumb;  
Does Figures without any meaning take,  
And does a Farce of Vice, and Virtue make:  
Mark how he on the Morals does Encroach,  
And for a Trivial Thing Mankind reproach:  
You'd think that only He was Sanctified,  
Heaven to Him only did its Will confide;  
That He alone the Gospel Understands,  
And has the Power of Heaven in his Own Hands.   

Suppose the World thus after Him did run,  
What mighty Wonders have his Sermons done?  
The People every Thing in Time does tyre,  
They into Our Apostles Life inquire.  
If at His Neighbours Cost He should make sport,  
On him his Neighbour would the Jest retort:  
With the Dreads, and Ills, which Jesting brings;  
The World delights to Ridicule such Things:  
And if I should be hanged, I can't forbear  
T' insert a very Comic Passage here.   

One of that Class, by this Description known,  
Preached pretty often very near the Town:  
His spleen did oft against those Sinners Vent,  
Who for their Ease to Church in Coaches went:  
Exclaimed at Them, at least a Hundred times,  
Said a Coach was one of the Mortal Crimes.  
In hsi Friends Coach to Church his Reverence came;  
His Memory there was very much too Blame,  
His Friend so on a sudden to forget,  
Who did under his Nose a Hearer sit:  
Zeal often does the Memory betray.  
The Sermon ended, all straight march away;  
The Friend forthwith into his Coach does step,  
Where the Good Preacher did attempt to leap;  
Putting him by, most gently with his hand,  
The Friend says, What's your Pleasure to command  
My Place, the Preacher presently replies:  
Your Place, Sir? his Dear Friend surprised, cries;  
What, shall I make you such a Sin commit?  
Troth, Sir, my Conscience will not suffer it;  
And since I can't with safety put you to't,  
For my part, you must even march home on foot.    

Cant. IU.  

FRom Flattery free those days thrice happy were,  
When without peril Men might be sincere:  
When Liberty all o'er the World did Reign,  
When Hopes and Fears did not make Mortals Vain.  
Those Happy Days Wealth too soon chased away,  
Ambition, and Base Fear than came in Play:  
Then a Professed Cheat came first in Vogue,  
And Men would Compliment the Cringing Rogue.  
Truth was defied, and made the Jester's sport,  
Was buffeted from Pulpit and from Court:  
For that Excited by a Pungent Zeal,  
Disguised Delinquents ready to unveil.  
Great Men were kept in awe of being bit;  
Yet Flattery found the Trick to stifle it.  
The Timorous Pulpit has been very Nice,  
And mighty shy in Reprehending Vice.  
For a Sinners Honour stickles after Fate,  
His Memory in a Sermon Celebrate,  
Become in Praising Him Immoderate.  
Against Old Customs how dare I declaim?  
Out of Oblivion's ashes rake some Great Man's Name:  
In that Deep Science— Imitate,  
And to yourself a Fame, like His, Create.  
That Talon Heroes in request admire,  
Who sure of Praise in Quiet can expire;  
you tell me, Parson, on that Art I droll,  
I must your Lying Faculty Control.  
Which makes you even before the Altar dare,  
Notorious Sinners for Blessed Saints declare.  
That Flattering Art to Poets than Bequeath,  
Writ no Great Man's Memoires just after Death.  
If his low merit leave no pledge beside,  
The Word of Partial Friends, or Kindred's Pride;  
The Public first should his Memoires proclaim:  
For you in Vain trace his Forefathers Fame,  
And style him Gallant, Liberal, and Brave;  
Titles, to which He no pretence could have;  
That Panegyric which your Heart does wrong,  
Damns both the Hero, and your Flattering Tongue.  
Give me A Hero with more than one Name,  
Equal with Mighty JAMES, or Monk in Fame;  
Whose Fame by public Acclamations Raised,  
The Commons first in Panegyric praised;  
But rather of a Saint in Heaven make Choice,  
One there Exalted by the Church's Voice,  
Whose Sufferings, and Repentance shall dispense  
On your Discourse, a Happier Influence,  
Give Greater Lustre, to your Eloquence:  
Then stick not Panegyric, to design;  
But to your Saint, your whole Discourse confine:  
Out of the Road of Common Places strike;  
None but the Hero, draw the Figure like.  
Praises and Morals are much better spared,  
Which any other Man than Ours regard:  
A Man, in an Oration's much the same  
Thing, as a Picture in Guilded Frame;  
Which taken off, and for a time laid by,  
Another will as well the place supply.  
The Preacher a Course little different Takes,  
And of one Panegyric Fifty makes;  
There's scarce a College, Alms-House, Hospital,  
But he can on Occasion preach them All,  
Though He their Founder's Lives, or Names don't know,  
Two or three Sermons will his business do:  
Always provided, ready to be Hired,  
In Abbey, Chappel, Parish-Church, desired:  
Nay, Dean and Chapter, for our Preacher strives,  
Who with One altered to serve All contrives.  
On different Saints, his Sermon is the same  
In several Places, changing but the Name;  
He dares Preach on the selfsame Subject took,  
This Day St. Matthew, and the next St. Luke:  
What then is he the less Esteemed for this?  
Among his Fellows he can't do amiss.  
Then for the Mysteries, your Sermons make;  
And in Designing, juster Measures take:  
Be more Religious in your Enterprise,  
Do not the Saints Cloth in a mean Disguise:  
Their Virtues on their Holiday Exalt,  
But Fall not into that Unchristian Fault,  
Of one who'd all the Saints from Heaven pull down,  
With more Convenience there to place his own:  
Mention no Act of Theirs, but what shall raise  
A just Esteem for Their deserved praise:  
For in those Panegyrics, 'tis most fit,  
That sinful Souls should Reap the benefit:  
Then let him pitch upon what Theme he will,  
The Sinful Soul must be instructed still:  
When to Great Lords you Preach, obliged to pay  
Homage, you pleasure for that Mode betray.  
If M— you into the Chapel bring,  
A Compliment make Worthy of the KING.  
Do not your Noble Character disgrace,  
Nor the High Royal Ministry debase.  
Our Pious JAMES does not to you resort,  
That in the Pulpit you should make your Court;  
Expects not, That you should the Gospel join  
To Fields, and Battles, where his Valour shines.  
Nor should his Subjects in the Church detain,  
With his Batavian Triumphs on the Main.  
Nor time, nor place, these Figures will permit,  
They're for the British History more fit.  
To Him the most Renowned Warriors yield;  
Give different Laurels in a different Field:  
Against More dreadful Enemies excite,  
Than are already vanquished, Him to Fight;  
Separate the conqueror, from the Christian;  
Leave the Great Prince, and show the Worthy Man.  
Now by His Care, Phanatacism goes down,  
And the Church-Militant's Triumphant grown:  
Having the Rebels in the West subdued,  
The Nation has its Happy Ease Renewed;  
And by the Strength of His New-Levied Bands,  
The Commonwealth on a Firm Basis stands.  
Fears now, nor Jealousies among Us dwell;  
His ARM hath Plots, and Factions struck to Hell.  
He's the most Great of Kings, who Mortals are:  
And they till Death, do very hardly far;  
Who to be watchful, Sentinels must endure,  
Their Virtues from Temptations to secure:  
Show that He bears God's Image, but in vain;  
That he the Style of Great and Wise does gain;  
His Subjects, His Profound Adorers made,  
And at His Feet, their Lives and Fortunes laid.  
If with the Graces which His Soul receives,  
From Christian Duties, He His Hours, bereaves;  
And for himself, that Peace does not in Heaven ensure,  
Which his Great Strength to Europe does procure.  
Let a short Compliment be finely wrought,  
In a few Words, Include a Pious Thought:  
A Christian Compliment, with solid Sense,  
Need never to seek Protection, or Defence.   

Whilst, at the Court with Vanity You steer  
That Place where hundreds have been shipwrecked, fear;  
Whom in that Dangerous Field we don't admire;  
Must, Blushing at his Rash Attempts, retire.  
'Tis difficult that Ticklish Course to tread;  
Nought for your Voice, Air, Style, can Intercede:  
Your Words, or Actions, There All will be scanned;  
And are, if not in Great Perfection, Damned.  
Sincerity, and Christian Virtues, There  
Very Unwelcome, and Uneasy, are.  
And yet the Orator no Good can do,  
Who's not both Censurer, and Christian too.  
Each Man for th' Image of his Vices looks;  
Whose Giddy Humour the Thing done, provokes:  
Then They in question, his Discretion call,  
For having, in Resemblance, pleased them All.  
Go in those Places Heaven does You command;  
Appear Conducted by th' Almighty Hand:  
Confine your Wishes, and with Patience bear,  
To Preach to Them, who follow You to Hear.  
Cook at Court Preaches, Hook in Country-Town;  
Which is the Best, in your Opinion?  
Cook makes us Sleep, we Weep when we hear Hook;  
Hook then we needs must judge worth Ten of Gook,  
If your Stars prove Malignant, and unkind;  
If with Great Lords You no Beception find,  
Your wont Importunity forbear;  
Trouble not Them, who have no Mind to Hear.  
For Propagation of the Faith, to show  
Your Ardent Zeal, an Emissary go.  
In Remote, untaught Deserts, raise your Voice;  
Do by Necess'ty, what One did by Choice.  
YOur Talon useless, 'tis too long to keep;  
To tyre the Town, and Lull the Court Asleep:  
Poor Sinners, who from Life's Refreshment stray,  
Might quench their thirst, with what you cast away.  
Parson, The Imputations chief due,  
And Scandal of their Ignorance, to you.  
Of You do I, for want of This, complain;  
You whom Heaven formed great Lords to entertain.  
On then, perform what Heaven for You decreed;  
With your enchanting Eloquence, proceed:  
'Tis high Time; therefore, get into the Chair.  
Stay till I've Powdered, and curled up my Hair,  
Took off my Beard, says He, I'll straight be There.  
O Parson, Who do You design to please  
With such Fantastic, Foppish Pains, as these?  
Is't possible so Worldly an Outside  
Can be to Gospel-Truth so near Allied?  
Fasting, do your Plump, Ruddy Cheeks promote?  
Or Penitence, your Powdered Hair denote?  
Happy is He, whom Nature, in the Chair,  
Freely Endowed with a Delightful Air:  
'Tis necessary thought but by a Fop;  
But there are Other Ways to be cried up.  
It is not your Affected Air does move;  
But as the Sermon is, the Hearers prove.  
Neglect in Pulpit no beseeming Grace;  
Ascend, with Modesty, the Sacred Place:  
And, by your Venerable Carriage, show,  
That You the Reverence of your Function know.  
At your First Entry, be not over-loud;  
And Elevate your Subjects to the Clouds.  
Speak out with Force; What boots it You to cry?  
At last, You Passionate may, if justly, be.  
The People's Genius no Controlment bear:  
Words please the Great Ones Best, the People, Tears.  
To Please by Turns, their different Palates seek;  
Cry at St. Marget's, at the Abbey Speak.  
Manage your Voices, Force and Latitude,  
That without Pain, You may be understood.  
This shunning Slowness Gallops on Post-haste;  
The Other Jades, in fear to march too fast:  
One I can't Fellow, nor for Tother Stay;  
And Neither pleasing Me, I go my way.  
Too Fast their Sermons, or too Lagging go,  
When they'd by heart, say what by halv's they know.  
Their Memory then falls from full Speed to Trot;  
What You'd say, should in Readiness be got:  
To be got Ready, well be Studied must;  
Even than You should your Memory distrust.  
'Tis a great Blot, when in its Place too late,  
A Word arrives, that makes Yovi Hesitate;  
And of a Natural Expression fail,  
We, in concern, Sweat, Tremble, and grow Pale.  
Without Book, Word for Word, your Sermon get;  
But let your Memory to your Thought submit:  
Not to Constrain, or Bridle it, pretend;  
But Thought admit, and Words, when You can mend.  
Extempore with Repeated Words abounds;  
There Phrases never keep within their Bounds.  
Words spoke at Random, have not half the Grace,  
As a Word ranked in its Proper Place:  
But Plain Discourse, of Oder void, and Art,  
Is Better than a Startcht One, got by Heart.  
Manage your Fires; for some conceive they charm,  
When Toils and Travels their Chilled Fancies warm:  
Defective of that Necessary Fire,  
Help from their Neighbour They for Need require.  
So under Heroes, Trembling Soldiers stand,  
Guessing the Battle to be near at hand;  
Their slumbering Valour by Degrees retrieve,  
When Unconcerned Their Leader They perceive,  
And by his Looks, strikes Terror in his Foes:  
Then from the Field in Glorious Triumph goes.  
Valour was never Judged by a Noise,  
Nor Eloquence beholding to a Voice.  
In vain to kindle Fires the Preacher tries,  
Which want of Zeal to his own Breast denies:  
And tho' he strives with Warmth drawn up by Art,  
Seems Ice to me, and cannot warm my Heart.  
To put hard stress upon your Voice refrain,  
Nor t' incommode your Health, your Body strain:  
To Regular Motions let your Hand be brought,  
To show Your Meaning, and express Your Thought.  
You'd swear, That into sinful Souls our Priest  
Would beat deep sorrow in with's doubled Fist:  
Be You more Wife, and let not your Address,  
Your frequent Posture-Practising confess.  
Nature does Guide the Hand, the Voice, the Eye,  
And fuitable to the Discourse all Three.  
Upon That Subject One has Verses Writ;  
And you may read 'em o'er, if you think fit.  
To all your faults be Rigorous as you can,  
I named you Snipson, a downright honest Man:  
Learned by Nature, fitted for the Chair,  
His Wit's Obstruction was his Rustic Air.  
His Friends outrageous, tho' in Vain, were grown,  
Correct your Air, cried They, & Change your Tone.  
In answer, He more Clownish, does reply,  
Your Dainty, Fine-mouthed Preachers I defy:  
Far from Faults mending which reproved were;  
In Them, He was well pleased to persevere.  
Says He, For my part, I the Gospel Preach,  
And shall not mind what some pretend to Teach:  
So London cast him off thus Unrefined,  
And He no Audience could in Village find.  
At This Discourse a Citizen in pet,  
I hear cry out, What would you, Sir, be at?  
Must no Man ever Preach, but what's Polite?  
Why Pray so sharply the dead Collins by't?  
But rashly my Intentions you Accuse,  
And Slander my Discreet and Cautious Muse:  
For you shall find in my Descriptions still,  
Vice real is, The rest is what you will.  
Let's Talk of Collins, since that Man you name:  
The Clownishness which you in Snipson blame,  
As much to Collins to belong is known;  
And yet he had the knack to Charm the Town.  
If you the least of his Success should doubt,  
His Bishopric most plainly makes it out?  
I doubt it not, But where Tends your Discourse?  
To show That Void of Art, by Nature's force,  
In Pulpit a mere Clown may have success.  
Why, did not I myself as much confess?  
You of your Harpur do the Carriage blame;  
Why may not I of Snipson's do the same?  
If He is for his Clownishness forfook,  
Must We on This, as on a Wonder, look?  
Let's leave Our waspish Cit whom I offend:  
But one Word more, and I will make an End.  
All That does please is Good, and should be fought;  
The contrary Retrench, for 'tis a fault.  
When Clowns can please so well, What need of Art;  
But Justness pleases still the Major Part.  
Study hard to acquire it, and forbear  
To think it, Bigot-like, an Impious care.  
For Our Conversion, not Diversion, Aim.  
The Citizens your Artless Sermons Love;  
The Lords no lefs the Contrary approve.  
Say not that Zeal at Court is useless grown;  
For Sin does Reign in Court as well as Town:  
And there is many an honest Christian Heart,  
Which may be Touched, if th' Preacher does his part.  
There— expert,  
Do many Souls from customed Sins convert.  
There every day He shows the Truth barefaced,  
By many made perhaps to be Embraced.   

A hundred more I easily could name:  
Whose Zeal no way Inferior to their Fame;  
Sent the Creator's purpose to effect,  
Will tread the Course where Heaven did them direct.  
To Me in Private Villages forlorn,  
Their Names, on Wings of Echoes, shall be borne;  
Pleased their Court-Sermons are on Virtue made,  
I free from Envy, which attends That Trade,  
Am as contented, my Acquaintance should  
Silenced, or followed be, for th' Public GOOD.    
FINIS.   

ERRATA.  
PAge 3. Line 5. for being read begin. p. 17. l. 6. for his r. our. p. 21. l. 12. for for r. but. p. 25. l. 4. for Christian's r. Christian Liberty. p. 38. l. 8. for Mouth r. Mouths. Ibid. l. 11. for Similes r. Similes. p. 51. for They really. r. really They.