THE MORALIST: OR, A satire UPON THE SECTS. SHOWING Some Disputing Passages by way of DIALOGUE, between a Well-Principled LAYMAN, and a Professor of THEOLOGY. With Reflections upon some Modern Writings and Actions, particularly the late Absconding of a certain B—.  
By the Author of the Weesils.  
LONDON, Printed in the Year, MDCXCI.   

THE MORALIST.  
The Argument of the First Section.  
The Pastor proves his Case is good,  
The Reasons much too strong to fall;  
The Moralist declares they should  
Be plainer shown, or not at all.  
SECTION 1.  Pastor. 
OF all good works that tend to Heavenly Rest,  
And Peace of Souls, Instruction is the best:  
And Writing was by Providence designed,  
That Blessing to distribute to Mankind.  
Thus none of Ignorance can fairly plead,  
Since those that cannot hear the Truth, may read;  
And if in Childhood are in Letters learned,  
The Law's so plain it needs must be discerned.  Mor. 
The Laws of Truth we know should all be plain,  
No Impious Fallacy disturb the Brain;  
But be in th' Bosom of the Priesthood worn  
Naked and Innocent, as Babes new born.  
Church-Writers should be Just too in their Station,  
And Virtue teach without Prevarication.  
The Golden Robe ne'er should for pompous show,  
But Sacrisice, before the Altar Bow;  
Pride should be routed, Avarice expelled,  
Simony scorned, and Lust of Greatness killed:  
And when all this your Work Divine we see,  
You may pretend t'Instruct the World and Me.  Pastor. 
Earth's dazzling Joys, alas, your Reason blinds,  
Instruction is not proper for all Minds.  
Thistles and Weeds upon the Soil are grown,  
Your Garden must be dug before 'tis sown.  
You, that with shallow Sophistry withstood  
Those Tenets I late offered for your good,  
Can never of much Fertile Judgement boast,  
And so by consequence Instruction's lost;  
My Reasons else had satisfied your doubt:  Moral. 
What Sir, before you make your Reasons out?  
The World was ill-contented with your first,  
And to atone, your second are your worst.  
Thus you, like Horses floundring in the Mire,  
By struggling are less able to retire:  
For till your Reasons can to Magic rise,  
Our Understandings Charm, and Seal our Eyes;  
Till by your Art you can our Senses win,  
To think all Dreams that we have heard and seen,  
Some wise Observers will (you need not doubt)  
Detect, and make your Contradictions out.  Past. 
Those Contradictions which you think extreme,  
Were only Doctrines on a different Theme,  
Which Duty, and a tender Conscience too,  
Obliged me at their different times to do.  
Thus though in former days the Theme was plain,  
'Tis wisely altered in the present Reign.  
Allegiance now must guide us what to do,  Moral. 
So Reason then must not be Reason now;  
Because the Heavens have sent another K—  
The Church of England is not the same thing,  
But must her Tenets change in every Case,  
To get her Son a Title, and a Place:  
This is your Theme, your Zeal too springs from hence,  
More than your great Allegiance to your Prince.  Past. 
You might an Inference more Just have chose,  
Nor ought to draw Conclusions from Suppose,  
Which since all false— an obvious proof must be,  
Of your absurd defect in Loyalty.  
Did you your Monarch's Cause and Country's take,  
You'd then believe I swore for Conscience-sake.  Moral. 
No more than I believe at the Church-door,  
All that is gathered, given to the Poor.  
And yet with humble heart, and Soul sincere,  
The Easy Yoke I, of Subjection wear.  
Still wish our Sovereign's Glory more sublime,  
And that his happy days may outlast Time.  
My Country too I wish a happy Chance,  
And to Crown all, a Conquest over France.  
Nor do I in despite, or moved with Spleen,  
Against your Reverend Order use my Pen;  
In base Contempt, or as by Hell inspired,  
To make your Sacred Function less admired;  
But only Rally what I read of late,  
And which you since so weakly vindicate.  
And as it is your Province to Expose,  
And Swinge our Vices with Spiritual Blows:  
To lash the Atheist for his Non adoring,  
And the whole Town for Drinking and for Whoring.  
So where I find a Hypocrite in Black,  
That does not his own Preaching Council take,  
Neglecting Duty, Idly wast the day  
Amongst the Sons of Vice in Wine and Play;  
Or if I find out one that in pretence  
Of Doctrine, shall Impose upon my Sense;  
Helped by Fallacious Arguments, make out  
Things that are false, and leave my Soul in doubt;  
Affirm sound Systems of Divinity,  
And e'er three years are passed the same deny;  
Only to such its Rage my satire shows,  
To all the rest with humblest Duty bows.  Past. 
Through the thin Veil of your Discourse I see,  
That you particularly aim at me.  
My Conscience is the Butt at which you shoot,  
And my late Writings urge you to Dispute:  
Possessed with Malice which the Crowd does sway,  
You Cry me down before my Cause you weigh.  
My Reasons else could vanquish any one,  Moral. 
Your Reasons, what? for Writing Pro and Con?  
For altering former Scrolls in later days,  
And Preaching on one Text two different ways?  
These are the Reasons that you should have shown,  
And not for Swearing, that's already known.  Past. 
My Vindication than you think a fault;  Moral. 
Faith it's so dull, it is not worth my thought.  
You by the Town were counted weak before,  
For giving any Reasons why you Swore.  
And whosoever bad Reasons worse de●ends,  
Rather than gain, does often lose his Friends.  Past. 
Did you find nothing there that could surprise?  Moral. 
Yes, twenty Thousand strong Tautologies,  
To make the Treatise swell to twelve pence price.  
The Convocation-Book to Atoms torn,  
The Case 'twixt Princes made, and Princes born;  
With Jaddus, Jehu, Joash, Athaliah;  
Extend the utmost Bounds of your Sophia.  Past. 
What you think Sophistry in my Intent,  
Is proper to the Rules of Argument:  
For if we History should cease to quote,  
To vindicate the passages we wrote:  
Our Propositions would be ne'er approved,  
And less the Reader's Understanding moved.  Moral. 
For all your quoting and industrious pain,  
I find your Writing not a Jot more plain;  
Unless you would our Approbations raise,  
For Torturing one poor word ten Thousand ways:  
As lately you have used the Convocation,  Past. 
That Secret should be public to the Nation.  
That more than Sacred Book first made me Wise,  
Relieved my Conscience, and unsealed my Eyes;  
Informed my Soul what I before ne'er heard,  
And taught my Feet the Path to be preferred:  
Instructed, and with Influence Divine,  
From Fortune's Ills secured both me and mine.  
This caused my Reverence of it, besides Fame's  
Extollment, and the Credit of King I—.  
Who took peculiar Notice of the matter,  
As I have quoted from the 
* Vid. Vind. page 2.  Observator.  
From which famed piece my first good hint did come;  Moral. 
You might as well have had it from Tom Thumb.  Past. 
Thus when ill Arguers in Topics fail,  
The humour turns, and they begin to Rail.  Moral. 
No, I can rather laugh at what you say,  
And your quotation with derision pay.  
He that can slip so many Authors o'er,  
So famed for Controversies learned Power;  
Who Reason to her highest Throne do lift,  
To stoop so low and make so poor a sbift:  
As well may Scribble in the second place,  
The Legend of the Scots from Chevy-Chase;  
Or through the World the business of each State,  
From the mean trifling heads of a Gazett.  Past. 
Your Criticisms I oft have weighed before,  
But can have patience; pray go on, what more?  Mor. 
The next that from my Spleen did Laughter draw,  
Is your Ridiculous Jargon about Law;  
As for Example, Legal powers declare, 
Vid. Vind. page 11.   
That powers with Law-concurring Legal are:  
But then there are strange different kinds of Law,  
Which not confirmed, whoever Legal saw:  
And when we speak of Law and Legal Powers,  
Unless we know what Law that Law assures.  
We never shall from thence Conclusions draw,  
Nor Judge of Legal powers from powerful Law.  Past. 
As you have made i●, 'tis strange Stuff indeed,  
You've quite exchanged my Flower, and brought a Weed.  Mor. 
If with this Sense you think to baffle ours,  
And your Tautologies must pass for Flowers,  
‛ Take this as from a Friend, where e'er they grew,  
'tis the worst Nosegay e'er decked your Pew.  Past. 
True Controversy in each Line appears,  
And every Paragraph sound Judgement bears.  
There are more Notions than the Case does need;  Mor. 
'Tis true, much more than any one will read:  
Unless he'll sit six hours to dose and poor,  
And be as Wise just as he was before.  
For in Opinion almost all the Nation  
Agree, it ne'er was Writ for Confutation;  
But for the Profit as the Sale begins,  
To make your Court, and treat your Spouse with Pins.  Past. 
Your Raillery turns Spite and Nonsense now,  
That I can Argue, all the Town allow.  
And though my Logic bears too deep a Sense,  
It will Confound, if it can ne'er Convince:  
Dispute's a Gem to which I've long pretended,  Mor. 
Defending too, what cannot be defended,  
Is equally your Talon; for let him  
That e'er had Sense and Reason in Esteem  
Turn o'er the Pages, and observe each place,  
'Twixt your ALLEGIANCE and RESISTANCE-Case.  
And let me be the Idiot of the Nation,  
If e'er he thinks 'tis fit for Vindication.  Past. 
Always one Tone is an ungrateful hearing.  Mor. 
'tis this I strike at, I ne'er mind your Swearing.  Past. 
Already I have stated plain my Case,  
I wrote according to the Time's Distress;  
Perhaps my Judgement was erroneous too.  Mor. 
Right, and perhaps it is erroneous now:  
Our Souls mean while are in a happy Station,  
To fix on what you preach for our Salvation;  
The Canons of our Church too well are known,  
Tenets and Methods are too plain set down,  
To cause Mistakes in a fair shiny Day  
In him, who long has travelled the same way;  
And if base Interest like a Cloud comes on  
To shade that Light which like a Planet shone:  
The Case is obvious, and must be thought  
Not as the Doctrin's, but the Doctor's Fault.  Past. 
Self-preservation the great Law of Nature,  
Gives us a fair Excuse upon this matter,  
Which at all Seasons will not let us do,  
Nor write the things we yet confess are true.  Moral. 
How much beyond you were the Ancients then;  
When th' Sacred Priesthood, those Immortal Men,  
Rather than from their pious Morals swerve,  
Would die a thousand Deaths, burn, hang and starve,  
Firm Conscience trusting in their great Creator,  
Thought preservation the worst Law of Nature;  
But some of you think to atone for sins,  
You must yourselves indulge, and save your Skins:  
Let's please ourselves, ye cry, whilst we're alive,  
'tis our best Moral to submit and Thrive.  Past. 
Tho amongst the famous Ancients some there were  
That did their Martyrdom with Glory bear;  
Tho some disdained a King or Conquerors Frown,  
Others there were that did Allegiance own,  
And like me to submit, themselves dispose,  
When e'er they found 'twas senseless to oppose.  
So Jaddus in his Pontisicial Robe,  
The Conqueror having half subdued the Globe,  
His Glittering Mitre veiled, and Homage paid,  
Nor more his late unhappy Prince obeyed;  
But Worship gave, as all the rest had done,  
Like a true Persian to the Rising Sun.  Mor. 
Tho with the Brave that gained but small esteem,  
The Case is somewhat more excused in him;  
Since in a Vision at his time of Need  
Th' Almighty told him how he should proceed:  
Sacred Decree! the Action did allow, 
Vid. Vind. page 20.   
And Providence in Whispers taught him how,  
From whose Commands Obedience right he knew.  
Did any Saint descend to whisper you?  Past. 
Tho Angels mix not with our human Life,  
Yet I had Whispers too.  Mor. 
From whom?  Past. 
My Wife;  
Sweet as when Beauty did at first appear,  
A Thousand Charms were sounding in my Ear;  
Her close Endearments all my Senses fired.  
Her Tongue, her Touch, her every part inspired;  
Nor Could I cease, but must in Judgement join,  
Crying, ah Love, my Sense and Soul is thine!  Mor. 
And so this Fondness and uxorious Passion  
Produced your Reason's first, than Vindication:  
Hot Blood in Nonage of our Time may rage,  
But should methinks be calmer at your Age;  
For sure a Man of Learning and of Wit,  
That had been bred at wise Gamaliel's Feet,  
Should well have weighed the Censure of the Town  
Oh his first Error, ere a second shown;  
And not in tedious Prose unprofitable,  
Fit only to amuse and dose the Rabble;  
Publish a Jest to all the Men of Sense,  
And ban●●● those it never can convince.  
The wise Theologist half angry now,  
Was answering sharply, when the Maid below  
Informed him in the Room that's next the Street  
Rogers stayed for him to correct a Sheet;  
The Business of Importance well he knew,  
And from his teizing Disputant withdrew:  
But how the rest o' th' the Argument went on,  
In the next Section shall at large be shown.  
The End of the First Section.   

THE MORALIST.  
The Argument of the Second Section.  
The Pastor whips the Vicious Age,  
And to a pious Life directs;  
The Moralist diverts his Rage,  
And th' Errors blames of differing Sects.  
SECTION II.  
AND now the Disputant with speed returned,  
Whilst Glowing Rage within his Bosom burned,  
Which though he stifled to appear more wise,  
The struggling Flame yet sparkled through his Eyes;  
Perplexed to see his blunt Antagonist  
Against him thus in Argument persist;  
And now perceiving that he had mistake  
The Text, in Vindication of his Book,  
Thought it the wisest way to shift the Scene,  
And tune his Mazor on another Strain,  
T' attack his Opposite; and thus begins  
To discipline with pious Rage his Sins.  Past. 
In coveting the Name of Moralist,  
Your mean Thoughts of the Priesthood is expressed,  
Partly through Ignorance, and partly Pride,  
Your own Opinion excels all beside;  
And tho' 'tis rather Atheistical,  
Then tends to true Morality at all,  
Since you usurp that Title for no Cause  
But thoughts that in our Doctrine you find Flaws,  
Which though is as erroneous as your Sense,  
And th' Wise or Pious never can convince;  
Yet the bare Name you think will win the day,  
And the weak Judgement of the Vulgar sway,  
Whilst the mean time 'tis only a Disguise,  
To cover (to the Church) your prejudice.  Mor. 
You vainly now your Breath in Error waste,  
I have no Prejudice, though some distaste,  
Received from some Opinions lately found,  
Whence I perceive you daily losing Ground:  
To stick to Morals then most safe must be,  
When Pastors Juggle with Divinity.  Past. 
What you call Juggling is no worse Offence,  
Then that our Doctrine does not suit your Sense;  
Vice in your depraved Hearts so rooted is,  
That even despairing of Eternal Bliss:  
To carp at Trifles you take each occasion,  
And th' only Reason is your Reprobation;  
And though upon a Title you insist,  
And gild the Atheist with the Moralist;  
Were your Offences throughly understood,  
I doubt there's little Room for Moral Good.  Mor. 
Kind Charity becomes a Churchman still.  Past. 
And too much, giveth Encouragement to ill;  
'Tis oft our Charity that whets your spite,  
And makes you think that we our Duty slight;  
Unhappy Times!  
When such as scarce are fit to be called Men,  
Brutish, and grown degenerate with sin,  
So learned in all Hell's Catalogue of Ills,  
That no new Mischief can corrupt their Wills,  
Should purge our Souls, and teach the Priesthood Grace,  
When in their own no goodness e'er took place,  
And if I said were Reprobate, 'tis true.  Mor. 
And Reprobate they may be still for you,  
Conversion lately takes so slow a course,  
They have no Will, and what you teach no, Force;  
The Fault is somewhere, you are learned and wise,  
Your Cause so good it cannot want Disguise,  
General your Knowledge, and your Method rare,  
And have the Knack of Preaching to a Hair;  
And yet 'tis thought by more than half the Nation,  
That you have lately lost some Reputation.  Past. 
Some few ill-wishers to the Government,  
That show their Spite.  Mor. 
No, something else is meant;  
Their common Interest that Thought controls,  
It must be something that concerns their Souls.  Past. 
The Care of Souls claimed my serenest Thought,  
Whom with my utmost Skill and Sense I taught;  
Nor surely was my Labour ill bestowed,  
Since to Salvation is one common road,  
Where when Morality does trudge along,  
Faith and good Works can never guide us wrong;  
This daily was my Theme, this still I teach,  
This Text with Candour and good Conscience Preach,  
And by this Tenet all that err convince.  Mor. 
But will you hold this Tenet three years hence?  
If Heaven thought fit to make a Change again,  
Would you not waver in another Reign?  
As late you have ('tis thought) from th' Church's Rules,  
For Interest sake, and to confirm us Fools,  
Who to your Principles did Altars raise,  
And echoed what you taught in former days.  Past. 
My Judgement in the Function of a Priest  
Takes off desire of Worldly Interest;  
A simple plainness, and a Soul sincere  
In my Converse and well-spent Life appear;  
The Vulgar talk indeed of my great hopes,  
Of Mytered Crowns and Pontificial Copes,  
As if my best Celestial Thoughts could prise  
The gilded Trash of sublunary Joys;  
But dimly do their Eyes my Heart behold,  
Or see my scorn of Wealth, my hate of Gold;  
And till my Pen has fixed me in this state,  
'Tis vile to say it does prevaricate;  
Let me the Honour, ere they rail, receive,  
When it does happen I can give 'em leave.  Mor. 
'Tis thought indeed you aim at Dignity.  Past. 
Mere spite, I find your Aim is not at me  
Alone, but at our whole Fraternity.  Mor. 
You know I have denied that once before,  
My satire Lashes none because they swore,  
But as I sound base Gain their Senses lead,  
For that convineed, more than the Book you read;  
The Sacred Sons of true Divinity  
Untouched, shall always be revered by me;  
But where I with a pampered Dielate meet,  
Contriving Treason without fear or Wit,  
That to promote Rebellion shall be drawn,  
And in the Nation's Ruin slain his Lawn;  
That shall pretend the Apostles to succeed,  
Yet follow 'em in no one virtuous Deed,  
In Prayer unwieldy, and too fat to Preach,  
Neglect his Function Politics to teach,  
State-Butcher turn, endeavouring all he could  
His hapless Country to involve in Blood.  
A Reverend Hypocrite, whose Sighs and Tears,  
Staining the Awful Sacred Robe he wears,  
As Perjured Sinon the Trojans did of Old,  
Poisoning the Crowd with hopes of Fame and Gold,  
Shall wish his Country to a Tyrant sold.  
When such a Sanctity in Masqacrade  
Is found, and to the Nation public made,  
The Ephod, and the Satin, ●hat before  
Adorned the Fiend, shall be in pieces tore;  
Whilst o'er his Head its lash the satire rears,  
And th' abused Crosier breaks about his Ears.  Pastor. 
Where such you find, your worst abuse is right.  Moral. 
Or where I see a Canti●●, Hypocrite,  
With whites of Eyes turned up, and s●eaking Tone,  
Haing and Humming like a Bagpipe Drone,  
That Nonsense shall for three long Hours rehearse,  
And Divine Worship turn into a Farce.  
That shall like B—gis in the Pulpit say,  
Where are my Pretty Ladies all to day;  
In Bed I warrant, Sluggards as they are;  
Oh fie upon't, would I were with 'em there,  
I'd read a Lecture should their Zeal renew,  
And make them mind the Church more than they do.  
Then round the Room, his Gogling Eyeballs throw,  
Whilst stiff Devotion warms him from below.  
Monsters like this who can forbear to hate,  
Or if I sinned 'em meddling in the State,  
And steepled Churches to their Tribe run down;  
Because the Houses were they Cant have none:  
Offend true Doctrine with malicious Harm,  
And rail at Orthodox religious Form;  
Contemn the Law, and the Church Liturgy  
Call by the hated Name of Popery,  
And by the Curse of stubborn Will increase  
Vile Faction, and disturb the public Peace,  
Till Ruin does their Native Land o'erflow,  
And private Feuds engenders common Woe;  
On such as these the Lash should reach the Blood.  Past. 
'Tis equal Reason, and I own it should.  Moral. 
Or if I see a Crew of sullen Brutes,  
In Wisdom Idiots, and in Action Mutes;  
That ne'er can vent Abhorrency of Sin,  
Till the Spirit first is conjured from within;  
But being moved with horrid Tone shall gabble,  
And with incongruous stuff amuse the Rabble;  
For simple plainness greedy to be prized,  
Tho nothing else but Villainy disguised,  
And sneaking Phiz by Nature stigmatised.  
For should Court Honour send her proud command,  
Or Profit beckon with her golden Hand;  
The groaning Saint straightway a Fiend appears,  
And Hell's broad Mark upon his Forehead wears,  
Almighty Gain his Reason does trapan,  
Gain charms both inward and the outward man;  
And Honesty is always valued best,  
When most concurring with their Interest:  
Interest the supreme Blessing of their Souls,  
That even the Joys of Providence controls,  
Provokes the Spirit, rarefies the Sense,  
Enlightens some, and others does convince;  
For this they cheat, lie, snuffle, pray and cant,  
This hour act Belial, and the next a Saint;  
To lash this Tribe Heaven does my Muse inspire,  
And moral Justice knots the Whip with Wire;  
For though Religion is sincere and plain,  
Their comic Methods are absurd and vain.  Past. 
All this is right, and Praises should belong  
To such sound Truths, if from another Tongue;  
But who Instruction can from you receive,  
That weighs well how licentiously you live;  
Your erring Soul o'ergrown with Vanity,  
Ruined, does like unweeded Gardens lie,  
Choked with Impiety and rank Offence,  
The Tares once sown were never weeded thence;  
What Vice is extant that you have not known?  
Whose Crimes more vile and numerous than your own:  
In all the deadly Catalogue, who e'er  
With weighty Sins had Burdens more severe;  
How then without a Blush, a lasting Red,  
Our little Venial Crimes can you upbraid?  
Which seem, if with your own you them display,  
But as a drop of Water to the Sea.  Moral. 
I own the Errors of my Human Nature,  
And know some of your Tribe are little better;  
Only your Envy, Avarice, and Pride,  
Under the black Robe you may better hide,  
And open Crimes have still a less degree,  
Than those hid under base Hypocrisy.  Past. 
Then you believe yourself a Moralist.  Moral. 
That I pretend to't shall appear in this,  
Justice and Honour with regard I prise,  
And Virtues Laws have still before my Eyes;  
And though Offences cannot be withstood  
By the frail Government of Flesh and Blood,  
Yet Reason daily glittering in my Sight,  
Still makes me take in Folly less delight.  
I would not wrong my Neighbour of his Coin,  
Nor with the Tyrant in oppression join;  
Th'unhappy Poor I would not rudely treat,  
Nor let vain Pride affront the Man of Wit.  
Pursue my Foe with an unmanly Hate,  
Nor to be great, be factious in the State;  
Rebellious Tenets too I would not try,  
Nor swear to things I could not justify:  
My Oath as sacred to my Soul should be,  
As my Devotion to the Deity;  
And since Regard which to my Soul is due,  
Must principally be considered too,  
To my Creator with an awful care,  
I would confess my Sins, and pay my Prayer;  
Reflect on the srail Bliss of mortal Station,  
And never seek by Proxy for Salvation.  
Humanity is frail, your sacred Gown  
In all Obedience I allow and own;  
Revere the Morals of the pious sort,  
And take their Counsels with a thankful Heart,  
But since the general Error of Mankind,  
As well your Tribe, as ours, may chance to blind,  
Since you but weakly can yourselves descend  
From Vices, which you daily reprehend;  
I must believe an Interest may be made  
In Heaven, and Souls be saved without your Aid.  Past. 
Without all scruple, moral Virtue is  
A great step to the Souls immortal Bliss;  
But why you should believe our help to bring  
You there, is an unnecessary thing,  
I can't imagine, if you don't confess,  
'Tis done to make the Priesthoods Fame the less,  
For when by Heaven's decree, Priest's first were made,  
'Twas doubtless thought, some Souls might want their aid.  Moral. 
The Brood of Priests first were of Aaron's strain,  
Their Sense refined, their Doctrines wise, and plain,  
A Soul might reach Seraphical degree,  
Without being bantered by sly Sophistry.  
What once they preached was Orthodox they knew,  
No Convocations lacked to prove it true,  
But solid Reason guiding their designs,  
Instructed all and made 'em true Divines.  Past. 
Are they less skilful then, in these our days?  Moral. 
Yes, if 'tis true. what half the Nation says.  Past. 
The People still have some by-ends for Railing,  
Some other Sect that hopes to be prevailing,  
In expectation to exalt their own,  
Unite their Force to throw our Fabric down;  
Which yet will hardly fall at their command,  
Some Pillars yet have strength enough to stand;  
And the high Building firmly will sustain,  
Spite of the Power that would the Conquest gain.  
Of Jarrs, and Civil Strife, this is the Cause,  
'Tis this our Country to its Ruin draws;  Moral. 
If th' Church occasions this Intestine Rout.  
Pray grant me then, to save my Soul without,  
If from your Tribe, instead of Righteous Peace,  
Cursed Feuds and Animosities increase;  
If still about your Worship, and your Forms,  
The tortured Nation is Involved in Harms;  
And proud Pre-eminence is still the thing,  
That to us all does this Confusion bring;  
Which though it shows much Malice, and more Pride,  
The Jarring Party never can decide,  
I think to stick to true Morality,  
As precious a Soulsaving Grace must be:  
And I, as soon to Heaven, may find my way,  
As if I framed my Heaven from what you say.  
For Doctrine oftentimes Erroneous is;  
Faith and good Works are certain Rules to Bliss.  Past. 
Your Argument, because it looks like Sense,  
May tempt the Rabble, and much ill commence;  
And Atheistical Opinions be,  
Drawn from your Tenets of Morality.  
For if the People, what you say, should own,  
'Twould be a means to cry our Function down:  
Thus he that styles himself a Moralist,  
Will vilely think he does not need a Priest,  
And argue why our Stipends he should pay,  
Since he to Heaven has found an easier way.  Moral. 
To hinder that, take heed still what you do,  
Look what you Preach, and what you Write, be true.  
Be not to Pride nor Avarice inclined,  
But give a good example to Mankind;  
Consider you are always looked upon  
With more regard than any other Man,  
And any Vices that appear in you,  
Look much more Horrid than in us they do.  
But above all, Write less; yet if you cant  
Forbear, though now you no such profit want,  
For our Instruction, henceforth, use your Pen,  
And if you'd rank amongst the Prudent Men,  
ne'er try to Vindicate your last again.   

POSTSCRIPT  
IS only Necessary, at present, to let the Reader know, that though the Moralist makes bold to Censure a certain Learned and Religious Pastor, for wasting his precious time, about the worst piece of Work (as most People believe) that ever he took in hand, yet I must inform him, it was not the only Reason for setting his Morals against the others Arguments; nor, indeed, could that alone, give cause enough for the solid design of Morality, though it might, for matter of Dispute and Argument. But to deal Genuinely, there was a double reason for Writing this satire, first meeting with the Vindication of some Logical, Divine, and Historical Tracts, at first ill enough Stated, and then worse Resolved, especially by leaving the main matter unanswered, of which that Author is principally Accused, viz. The reconciling the Case of Resistance with the Case of Allegiance. And in the second place, having the Misfortune, lately, to observe some, who pretend to be Sons of the Church of England, so Negligent of their Duty, and Careless of their great Office, that they are rather sit to be exposed as Scandals to their Holy Mother, than to serve at her Altars; particularly one, that I am sure will find himself out when he views this Page, and whom I could Uncase like a Rabbit, and show his Hypocrisy bare and naked to the World, if the respect I had for some others of the Reverend, and the Coat in general, did not, through good Manners, hinder my Intentions, for where I am sensible that a Preacher abounds in Malice, Detraction, Pride, Lust, and Hypocrisy, 'tis very difficult for me, that profess myself a Satirist, and know myself wronged, to spare him upon the account of good Breeding, or think him a good Teacher of the Congregation, in general; that I, as well as others, have observed to make a whole Sermon for no other purpose but to influence a pretty young Gentlewoman how necessary it was for her Soul's salvation to cleave to him and his feeling doctrine.  
Now what the rest of his Flock had to do with his Amours, I leave the Reader to judge, who I know will only laugh as the Lady did to see him make his Grimaces, and tell an Out-of-the-Way story, so little satisfactory to the People, and so very insignificant to her. I confess, I cannot well follow that Toping Country Vicar's Advice, who bid me not do as he did, but do as he taught. For my own part, I love a good example, and such, to the great disgrace of the Church, 'tis believed, have been very much wanted of late; those that do show it, are not concerned here, I'm sure, and those that do not, 'tis reason should have a gentle Reprimand, for 'tis that which causes our Enemies to get so much ground, and makes Religion so little esteemed; and 'tis this chiefly, not Malice nor Impiety, that has drawn this from the Pen of the Moralist.  
FINIS.