HUDIBRAS On Calamy's Imprisonment, and Wild's Poetry.  
To the Bishops.  
MOst Reverend Lords, the Church's Joy and Wonder,  
Whose Lives are lightning, and whose Doctrine Thunder,  
The rare Effects of both in this are found,  
Ye break men's Hearts, yet leave their Bodies sound;  
And from the Court, (as David did, they say)  
Do with your Organs fright the devil away:  
Awake: (for though you think the Day's your own)  
The Cage is open, and the Bird is flown:  
That Bird (whom though your Lordships do despise)  
May shit in Paul's, and Pick out Sheldon's Eyes:  
'Tis He who taught the Pulpit and the Press  
To mask Rebellion in a Gospel-dress:  
He who blew up the Coals of England's Wrath,  
And Picked men's Pockets by the Public Faith:  
He who the Melting Sister's Bounty tried,  
And Preached their Bodkins into Caesar's side:  
That Crocodile of State, who wept a Flood,  
When he was Maudlin-drunk with CHARLES his Blood;  
Is by the Sister's Gold, and brethren's Prayer,  
Become a Tenant to the open Air:  
For some were grieved to see that Light expire,  
That lately helped to set the Church on fire;  
And when their Ghostly Father was perplexed,  
Could wrest an Act, as he had done a Text.  
Now enter Wild, who merrily lets fly  
The Fragments of his Pulpit-Drollery:  
Though his Seditious Ballad pleased the Rout,  
The Verses (like the Author) had the Gout:  
Yet he proclaims the Show, invites the Crew;  
(The Presbyters have their Jack-Puddings too)  
He tells you of a Beast (had lately been  
Within the Walls of Newgate to be seen)  
That with a Throat (wide as the Way to Hell)  
Could swallow Oaths would choke the Idol Bel,  
And burst the Dragon: yet he could not swear  
Obedience to the King, and House of Prayer.  
Ingenious Wild, 'tis thy unhappy Fate  
That Iter Boreale's out of date;  
Love's Tragedy's forgot: for (Oh Disgrace!)  
Peter's succeeds him in his Martyr's place:  
Publish the Legend of that Reverend Brother,  
And act the one, as thou hast writ the other.  
For when St. Hugh did mount the Fatal Tree,  
He left his Coat a Legacy to thee.  
O may the Gout no more disturb thy ease,  
But Bishop Halter take his Diocese;  
And now thouart dead in Law, (though Zealots laugh)  
Impartial Truth shall write this Epitaph:  
This Presbyterian Brat was born and cried,  
Spit in his Mother's face, and so he died.  
He died, yet lives; and the unhappy Elf,  
Divides Beelzebub against himself;  
Abuses Calamy, that Tail of Smec,  
And shoots the Prelates through his Brother's Neck.  
Bishop's awake! and see a Holy Cheat;  
The Enemy sows Tares among your Wheat:  
Do ye not hear the Sons of Edom cry,  
Down with the Act of Uniformity?  
We will compound, and worship God by th' halves:  
Take you the Temples, and give us the Calves.  
Thus you behold the Schismatics Bravadoes;  
Wild speaks in Squibs, but Calamy Granado's.  
Kirk, still these Bearns, lest under Tyburn-hedge,  
The Squire of Newgate rock them on a Sledge.  
FINIS.