Ad Populum Phalerae: OR THE Twinn-Shams.  

OF all the Cheats and sham's that have of late  
shocked our Religion, and embroiled our State,  
None more abuse and leave us in the Lurch,  
Than those false Cries of Monarchy and Church:  
To these bewitching Sounds, these mighty Charms,  
We chief own the Miseries and Harms  
That filled the two last Reigns: and though at last  
Kind Heaven an Eye upon our Bondage cast,  
And opportunely to our Rescue sent,  
These plague us still, and clog our Settlement.  
So when the Hebrew Chief, on Egypt's Strand,  
Such Wonders wrought by the Almighty's Hand,  
That the wished Freedom was almost obtained,  
Two Sham-Magicians set it back again.   

I.  
For Monarchy; it is by all confessed  
Our ancient Government, that suits us best;  
Our Legal Form, to which our Statutes bind,  
By Laws supported, and by Laws defined.  
And more what can be asked? But when this Name  
Shall soar an Heavenly Pitch, and Kindred claim  
With Jove himself: when boundless Rule and free,  
Contemning Laws, shall fetch its Pedigree  
From Sacred Writ, and be imposed upon  
The World, on pain of dire Damnation;  
The Filmer's Tribe, with their Paternal Farce  
Into one House shall cramp the Universe:  
That Noah's Heirs despoticly might rule,  
Although a Cobbler, Madman, Knave or Fool:  
When Hodge and Parker's Doctrines do revive,  
Which God Almighty's Power to Monarches give,  
To rule the World with such a perfect Sway,  
That they the Potters are, and we the Clay:  
We rub our Eyes, and quickly are ware  
What the Result of such wild Maxims are.  
For than our Laws are Mockery and Sport,  
Our Judges are but Heralds to the Court.  
Our ancient Rolls, grown useless to preserve  
Our Rights, may then for Tailor's Measures serve,  
Or children's Drums; our Property and Claims  
Are all but blustering Sounds and empty Names:  
Our Charters too are void, though sworn and signed,  
For no Concessions Right Divine can bind.  
Who strives to limit such a sovereign Head,  
Fetters Levi'than with a single Thread:  
heavens Darling, he was only made to sport,  
And take his Pastime in the Watery Court,  
Where all th' inferior Mutes, and lesser Fry,  
Are but his Chattels, Goods and Property.  
Then talk of natural Liberty no more,  
Equality of Souls is out of Door,  
All, but of Kings, were stamped for Slaves and Poor.  
And were they visible, you might descry  
The native Badges of Servility:  
As Camels show they were designed for Packs,  
By natural Packsaddles upon their Backs.  
Such Notions well might suit the former Reigns,  
When French and Turkish Models filled our Brains;  
But under one who Champion comes to be  
Of England's, and of Europe's Liberty,  
Such Language needs must grate upon our Ears,  
And 'midst our Joys and Hopes, must whisper Fears:  
When such for Patriots pass, who another's Day  
Were the known Tools of Arbitrary Sway;  
And those that English Laws and Freedoms plead,  
REPUBLICANS are presently decreed,  
Although the Men that Crowned our Prince's Head.  
When such Discourses fill the Town, what less  
Can be designed than James' Re-access?  
By blackening those who have so plainly shown  
Themselves the best Supporters of the Throne.  
Or else they fain would tempt the Royal Breast  
To more Desire of Rule, than will consist  
With English Laws, or with his Oath and Word,  
That of his Subjects he might be abhorred;  
And so might pave the absent Prince's Way,  
And fall the  Tyrant's easy Prey.  
But Heaven that at the Boyne its Power did show,  
We hope will save him from these Flatterers too,  
More dangerous than grazing Ball that flew.   

II.  
But, O the Church! that, that's the second Cry,  
As very a Shame as that of Monarchy.  
For while the Letters in our Ears do ring,  
The Cabala is quite another thing.  
Some mean by Church downright Debauchery.  
For though our Church abhors such Villainy,  
Yet when a Sot or Bully, reeking from  
Tavern or Brothel, to a Church doth come,  
Mumbling his Orisons without Regard,  
To charm his Conscience, more than to be heard,  
That he might sin afresh with greater Gust,  
(As Turks with Opium fortify their Lust)  
Then, Ah the Church, the Church! that sacred Name  
Must serve to hollow his impurer Flame;  
Cancel old Sins, and qualify for new,  
Give Absolution, and a Licence too.  
So when he hugs the Sanctuary-Walls,  
Himself a Saint, the Malefactor falls;  
Christens his Fears, and from the sacred Stone  
Hath turned his Flight into Devotion.  
So Temples were by Heathens made their Stews,  
And Dens of Thiefs and Robbers by the Jews.  
So Eli's Sons, who at the very Doors  
Of the Assembly made the Women Whores,  
Were Churchmen too, but to the Church's Cost;  
For by such Churchmen soon, the Ark was lost.   

With others, Name of Church doth signify  
A mere misplaced Zeal and Bigotry  
For Rites and Ceremonies, and these too  
The very worst and meanest of the Crew;  
Such as perhaps the Church might better spare,  
And more her Blemish than her Beauty are.  
Live as you list, this Man doth not regard;  
Infringe her Doctrines too, he is not stirred;  
But touch a Surplice, or an Eastern Nod,  
You wound his Darling, and blaspheme his God.  
Ask him but whence unlighted Candles came?  
And straight the Man himself is on a Flame:  
Speak but against the Cross, he'll read your doom,  
That you deserve to hang in Gismas Room:  
He'd rather have two Easters in a Year,  
Than to disturb the sacred Calendar.  
What most is scrupled, that he values most;  
And rather would have all Dissenters lost  
Than old Translation should be refitted,  
Or Tobit and his Dog should be omitted.  
He joys when Service in the Chancel's read,  
Though half the People hear not what is said.  
Adores an Organ, though he needs must know,  
That when the Heavenly Boreas doth blow,  
The Sense too oft is murdered by the Sound  
And many Psalm feloniously is drowned.  
And if you do but lisp of Alteration,  
Then straight Vox Cleri must alarm the Nation:  
You're then Fanatic, Neuter, Half-way-man,  
Or mongrel Latitudinarian;  
You pull the Church down; for 'twill surely fall  
If you but pick one Pibble from the Wall:  
Or though you never move the smallest Stone,  
'Tis Sacrilege to pull the Ivy down.  
So Pedants count themselves best Orators,  
And Fops and Beaus the only Courtiers.  
So Dancing-Masters walk the Fields by Rules,  
Whilst all the World proclaims them formal Fools.   

A third, by Church, mean Persecution,  
A right Church-militant with Sword and Gun:  
A Church that governs more by Fear than Love,  
And more hath of the Eagle than the Dove:  
A Church that into Swords doth beat her Shares,  
And all her Pruning-hooks converts to Spears.   Ah could we but these Vermin hunt to Death By five and thirtieth of Elizabeth; Or plague them by Imprisonment or Fine, Until we had compelled them to come in, 'Twere brave indeed! but since that's laid asleep, And (which is still a Wound more wide and deep) A free and legal Toleration Is gained for all that do our Doctrines own; What Help remains, the Church doth gasping lie, And all is lost beyond Recovery! 

But hold Sir! Is't impossible to save  
The Church's Life, and keep her from the Grave,  
Unless these Steel Prescriptions we have?  
Pray tell me how in Ages Primitive  
She made a shift to keep herself alive,  
And flourished too? Or else resolve me how  
All pious Pastors hold up Churches now  
By Preaching and good Life? and so may you.  
The Way is open, imitate your Lord,  
And that alone will Followers afford:  
Most Men are not so giddy as to scorn  
Good Sermons more at Church than in a Barn,  
Or think an Heavenly Life less fair doth look  
Under a Gown and Cassock than a Cloak.  
But if you rather choose to prop your Cause  
By violent and compulsory Laws,  
Which is Dragooning in the best Edition,  
(Or younger Brother to an Inquisition)  
Your Church will meet the Fate of Tyranny,  
Hated to live, and soon unpitied, die.   

The last of those pretended Cheats and sham's,  
Doth, [by the Church,] at bottom mean King James:  
Let one that's true to VVilliam's Interest  
(Although as good a Churchman as the best)  
Attempt to stand at an Election,  
Straight he's a Whig: the Church is quite undone!  
But for a trusty Spark, that secretly  
Drinks James' Health, when knows his Company,  
They'll rend the Welkin with their bellowing Cry.  
There needs no Oedipus to unriddle this;  
Church is the Apologue, and James the Moral is.  
But if you think indeed King James your Friend,  
And that your Church he'll mightily defend;  
Then pray, to do King Lewis Right, remember  
Give him the Style too, of your Great Defender;  
Who listening to the Groans of the Oppressed,  
In pure Compassion sent his Fleet from Breast.  
This would resolve the Question, whether France  
Came hither by Agreement, or by Chance?  
Or if the last abortive Letter-Plot  
Was to be finished by French Force or not?  
And who must pay him his expended Pelf?  
Or if he would not wisely pay himself?  
And balancing the Charge against the Gains,  
Rescue the Church, and take it for his Pains?  
But whatsoever Interest was intended  
By French Invasion to be befriended,  
'Tis all a Case, the Treason is the same,  
Whoever the Authors are; and if the Name  
Of Church must shelter every Plotting Knave,  
(As once the Ark did Toads and Vipers save)  
Both Church and State, so late at Ruins Brink,  
Saved in a Storm, will in the Harbour sink.   
THE END