Atheists Help at a dead Lift VIZ. The Benefit of the Clergy.  

WHat! Hector God and Man? Yet fear to die  
Under the Gild of Blood or Felony?  
If Justice Catch Leviathan in's hook,  
Will he implore the Benefit of's book?  
Will Ravenous Harpies, who make prey of all,  
(Laics and Clerks) that in their Pounces fall,  
(Rather than try the Strength of Hangman's string)  
For shelter sneak under the Clergies wing?  
Will sight of Axe, will thought of Tyburn quell  
The Atheist's Courage, and breed sense of Hell?  
Thus guilty Joab to th' horns of th' Altar fled;  
Trembling Tiberius thus crept under bed  
At every Thunderclap; tho' in clear Sky,  
He durst all Gods that ever were defy.  
Caius would make himself all Gods in one,  
Assuming Mars' Target, Venus' Zone,  
Minerva's Helmet, Jove his Thunder-mace▪  
Neptune his Trident, limping Vulcan's Pace;  
Commands his Statue in this Garb to stand,  
T' affront great Judah's God in his own Land,  
And sacred Temple; but for all these brags,  
At sight of Lightning his proud Courage Flags:  
His Brazen face Etherial flashes pale:  
Heavens painted fire, his Confidence does quail.  
That God and Death were nothing, that fool said  
Than whom ne'er man was more of both afraid.  
Nero, when haunted with his Mother's Ghost,  
When found himself by God's just anger tossed,  
Tried all the Charms his Atheism could invent  
To conjure up his Spirit, and prevent  
The Entertainment of the thoughts of God;  
Or Deaths black Page, the Sempiternal Load  
Of guilt and pain: but the Bystanders read  
In's ghastly looks, his Soul was Captive led  
To the belief of the angry Deity,  
Hell's Torments, and Souls Immortality.  

The Puff-paste Atheist's Soul, for all his Jetting,  
Gives in, like Yorkshire Cloth, and shrinks i'th' wetting.    

There's no Religion but hath Martyrs bred;  
In its Defence men glory to be led  
To Goal or Gibbet. Christians triumph in  
Their Witnessings to theirs, without a skin:  
Outbraved the Rack, the Fire, and thousand forms  
Of grimmest visaged Death, the fiercest Storms  
Of all Assailants. This side's roasted through,  
Turn th' other side to Fire (O Tyrant) now,  
Cries one. In Phalaris' Bull another sings  
Melodious Anthems, till he Torment brings  
To his Tormentors. But what Linx can see  
The Devils Martyrs? Devil a Martyr's he.  
In all his Archives there's not one Man's Name,  
Who sold his Life to buy his Master Fame.  
Some  sinner may, by peice-meal, rot  
Himself into a Sacrifice to th' Pot,  
Or Pox; or, in the heat of blood, may stake  
And venture all at once for Doxies sake;  
Yet 'tis but Venturing; for his hope to scape  
Commits upon his Reason a sly Rope,  
And spurs him on to what he would not dare  
Were he of his Deaths Certainly ware.  

But should the Devil trust the Atheist, when,  
To save his Neck, there's nothing else in Ken,    

Saving his Neck-Verse, he would then forsake him,  
And, without Curse or Oath, bid Devil take him.  
He now betakes himself unto our Creed,  
Which he from end to end Vouchsafes to read,  
At's Ordinaries bidding: and thanks God  
For's good old Granam, whose well-managed rod  
Beat into's head the Penitential Psalms,  
he'll kiss the feet of Churchmen in these Qualms:  
No Saint to th' Atheist now! can't stand his ground,  
When pale Death's Terrors thus assault him round:  
These Terrors so amaze and Jenkenize him,  
A Jew, to save his life, might Circumcise him.  
Force him to look on Death, he sees beyond it  
The Certainty of things he never found yet.  
Were Law not ham-stringed, and forced to lie idle,  
IT would quickly drive the Atheist to his Bible.  

For shame, you braving Hector's, learn to dare,  
Unforced, to fix your minds on things that are.    

In th' Unseen World; or that immortal spark  
Within you, which your Lusts rake up i'th' dark:  
Dare to know your whole self, and Future State,  
In a calm Mood, before your Lives last date.  
Dare, at a distance, look on Death's grim Face,  
'Twill then look on you with such smiling grace.  
As it approacheth nearer, that you'll haste  
Into its Arms; and cling about its waste;  
For fear it should departed, and not your Soul,  
Now having sipped of Heaven's Nectar-bowl.  
Presented in Death's hand, you'll long to be  
Where Nectar flows to all Eternity.   
FINIS.   

Licenced according to Order.