THE ASSEMBLY OF Moderate Divines.  

PRay pardon me, John Bays, for I beg your excuse  
If I make no stranger of your beloved Muse,  
It being your Talon Divines to Abuse.   

Divines that can Scruple and Cant with the Times,  
As Settle and Shadwell for Crust belch their Rhymes:  
But St. Peter and Judas we know had their Crimes.   

If among Twelve Apostles, we can produce two,  
Did exceed any Cruel and Hardhearted Jew,  
Why then should we wonder, if we have a few.   

There's the B— p of B— n, for he L—ne ne'er saw,  
And there's Naked Truth, with his scrupulous Paw,  
And there's— Pray beware of the Common Law.   

There's t●e D— of St. P— admired by some  
For his Works against England, Geneva and Rome,  
Idolatry, Separation, Irenicum.   

And there's Trimming Trey too, who talks much of Love,  
As if a Fanatic was as meek as a Dove:  
But for him and R— Cudworth, a God let them prove.   

But Gilbert where art thou? thou man of the Lord,  
For Mary-Hill's lost, you may take the Planks word,  
Between you and I, 'twas a Prophetic Board.   

With you Anth— H—ke the Pulpit disgraces  
By your Whining, your Canting, and your Outlandish Faces,  
But the Rolls and the Savoy are Privileged places.   

St. Laurence for Wh—te did stiffly dispute,  
Perhaps he might Cant well, had he not been Mute,  
But he Preached as Marr-all does play on the Lute.   

There's old Father G—rd of Dunstan's i'th' East,  
Who among the rude Vulgar is a Prophet at least;  
But who e'er Preached well, when the People were pleased.   

There's a Fat Trimming Doctor of Cornhill St. Miles,  
Whom the Clergy's contemner, Parson slip Stockings styles  
An Eloquent Preacher, none hears him, but smiles,   

And there's Boannerges his Brother that thunders,  
He Cants in Old-Fish-street, and who I pray wonders,  
For he has a most excellent Voice to sell Flounder.   

There's a Moderate Doctor at Cripplegate dwells,  
Who Sm— s his Curate in Trimming excels:  
But Bunyan the Tinker has tickled his Gills.   

There 's P—ne of Whitechappel a Simoniac they say,  
A man that's cut out to be Vicar of Bray,  
If the Times do but turn: as he wishes they may.   

There's Charterhouse P—cke, a Captain they call him,  
For Borlesqueing the Psalms, some highly extol him,  
But O how L'Strange, and Sam's Coffee house gall him.   

But Kidder thy Trim above humane Race,  
For Faction turned out of the Rolls with Disgrace,  
And Orthodox B— t succeeds in thy place.   

There's Scotch bawling Alderson, proof against jen,  
Has a Voice that drowns a Cathedral Amen:  
But 'tis thought he Catches more Women than Men.   

There's D—m of Breadstreet has Trimmed fifty years.  
So Old, so Grave, and so Foolish appears,  
At once he deserves both Laughter and Tears,   

But Trimming's the subject of Brave Roger's Pen,  
Who Scourges those Monsters called Moderate Min,  
For Trimming the Source of Rebellion has been,   

Go on Loyal Sir, and gain more Renown,  
Writ all the Factious whigs and Trimmers down,  
Draw out your Conquering Pen and Guard the Crown.    
FINIS.