AN ENQUIRY AFTER RELIGION: OR, A View of the Idolatry, Superstition, Bigotry and Hypocrisy of all Churches and Sects throughout the World. Also some Thoughts of a late Ingenious Gentleman of the Royal Society concerning Religion. Religion stands on tiptoe in our Land, Ready to pass to the American strand. Herbert. Dic quibus in Terris— & eris mihi magnus Apollo. LICENCED, April 23. 1691. R. M. LONDON, Printed for Richard Baldwin at the Oxford-Arms in Warwick-lane 1691. SOME Thoughts concerning RELIGION. THere is nothing in which Mankind have been, in any comparison, so out of their Wits, as in what they have abusively called by this Sacred Name, Religion! In all Countries it has been died with Humane Blood, and swollen with Spoil and Rapine; written on the Heads of Tyrannies and Usurpations, and pleaded as the Cause, the Cause of prosperous Villainies: 'Tis divided into Atoms of Sects, and disputed into Air of Opinions; entitled to all the Vanities of sick Imagination, and claimed by all the folly of zealous Ignorance. If we attend to the Zeal and the Confidence, the loud Talk and bold Claims of each of the Pretenders, all are in the truth, and all mistaken: Every Sect is in the right, if it may be judged by the fondness of its own assurance; and every one is out by the sentence of all the rest: Here is Religion, says the Church of England; nay, but 'tis here, says the Dissenter; and the Papist gives the Lie to them both; and then they scuffle and contend till they have talked themselves out of Sense, out of Charity, and out of Breath: And when they would say on, but know not what, when their Passions are raised, but their Reasons lost; they fall to pelt each other with hard Names; they squabble and strive, and damn one another by turns; they gather Parties to help up the cry, and fill all places with the noise of their quarrels, and triumph and crow after a Conquest in Imagination: And after all this bustle, and all this ado, they sit down where they begun; nothing is gained on either side but an addition of Malice and bitter Zeal, more rancour and more damning sentences, while they are, for the most part, as far from Truth as from Agreement. This is the state of the Contending World, nor can we expect it should be otherwise, while Ignorance and Malice, Interest and Passion inspire the quarrels. Or if the Controversies should be ended, the Vote would doubtless be cast on the side of Folly and Falsehood, for their adherents are more numerous, and most loud, while the friends of Truth and Reason are meek and modest, thinly scattered among the Herd, and still liable to be overborne and out-noised by the Tumult. But though Religion is thus exposed and scorned, though it is made ridiculous by some, and laughed at by others, yet 'tis no Creature of Melancholy or Design, but a great Reality, and not cunningly devised Fable; no dream of Imagination, or interest of any lust, but as simple as Innocence, and as clear as the Virgin Light. Religion is a plain thing, and easy to be understood; 'tis no deep subtlety, or high-strained Notion; 'tis nogilded Fancy or elaborate exercise of the brain; 'tis not placed in the Clouds of Imagination, nor wrapped up in mystical clothing; but 'tis obvious and familiar, easy and intelligible; first preached by Fishermen and Mechanics, without pomp of speech, or height of speculation; addressed to Babes and Plebeian Heads, and intended to govern the Wills of the honest and sincere, and not to exercise the Wits of the Notional and Curious: So that we need not mount the Wings of the Wind to fetch Religion from the Stars, nor go down to the Deep to fetch it up from thence; for 'tis with us and before us, as open as the Day, and as familiar as the Light. The great Precepts of the Gospel are clothed in Sunbeams, and are as visible to the common Eye as to the Eagle upon the highest perch. 'Tis no piece of Wit or Subtilty to be a Christian, nor will it require much Study or learned retirement to understand the Religion we must practise. That which was to be known of God, was manifest to the very Heathen, Rom. 1.19. The Law is light, saith Solomon, Prov. 6.13. And 'tis not only a single passing glance on the Eye, but 'tis put into the Heart, and the Promise is, That we shall all know him, from the greatest to the least. Our Duty is set up in open places, and shone upon by a clear Beam; 'twas written of old upon the plain Tables of Habbakkuk, Hab. 2.2. so that the running Eye might see and read: And the Religion of the Holy Jesus, like himself, came into the World with Rays about its head. In fine, Religion is clear and plain, and what is not so, may concern the Theatre, or the Schools; may entertain men's Wits, and serve the Interest of Disputes; but 'tis nothing to Religion, 'tis nothing to the Interest of men's Souls. Those things that we count Mysteries are plainly enough discovered as to their being such as we believe them, though we cannot understand the manner how; and 'tis no part of Religion to inquire into that; but rather it enjoins us meekly to acquiesce in the plain Declarations of Faith, without bold scrutiny into hidden things. The sum is, Religion lies not in Systems of Opinion, but in Faith and Patience, Innocence and Integrity, in Love to God, and Charity to all the World. Mica 6.8. He hath showed thee, O Man, what is good, and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do Justice, and to love Mercy, and walk humbly with thy God? James 1.7. Pure Religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, to visit the Widows and Fatherless in their Affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the World. AN ENQUIRY, etc. THe, beauteous UNA, (a) True Religion. Vid. Spencer's Fairy Queen. of a Race Divine, The first, the best of all heavens Royal Line: Through the wide World the Muse resolves to seek, Farther than ever went the wand'ring (b) Ulysses Greek.. The Golden Fleece did Jason's Search employ, Aeneas sailed to find another Troy: Not the wild Deserts of th' Atlantic Main Could fright the brave Columbus back again. Our aims more high, our Enterprise more bold, Our search for something more refined than Gold. Veer the Main-sheet of Fancy, till we're born To th' utmost Chambers of the rising morn: Where Infant day its blushing Forehead rears, And either World the Sun's kind bounty shares: Encircled round with a small Troop of Friends, See where the Goddess from the Ark descends, On Ararats proud Top they Altars raise, And with her sing their mighty Saviour's praise. The Good old Man, who knew no guilt or sin, All white without, and Innocent within; Noah himself was then the Priest, as he The King and Father of the Family. No long distracting Systems then were taught For Fundamental Truths, no Cobwebs wrought In thin Scholastic Brains, each morn they rise, And on the Mountain pray and Sacrifice: A Turf their Altar, Heaven their Temple then, Their Congregation all the Race of Men. Here dwelled Religion long, with all her Train Of Joys, nor wished to fly to Heaven again. To Noah's Sons a few short Rules did give, While his Example taught 'em how to live. Justice and Prudence, mutual Peace and Love, Just thoughts of man below, and those above; Reverence of Parents, whatsoever they be, Pursuit of Virtue, flight of Cruelty: But Error soon did this blessed Troop invade, And in their little Church disturbance made. 'Twas cursed Cham who first began to stray, No longer he'd his Doting Sire obey, But led one third of all the World away. Error they for Religion with 'em take, Their homely Turfs, and Sky-light Roofs forsake, And glittering Robes, and gaudy Temples make; By her direction Babel's Turrets rise, And Story after Story pierce the Skies; Till through calm Aether now the labourers go, And fearless see the Clouds and Storms below: Th' Almighty saw, and with an angry frown He thunders all their Molehill Labours down, Compels 'em soon to leave that hated place, Scattering Confusion round the faithless Race; Some dregs remained, Who in their cursed Father's footsteps trod, Their Faith they changed before and now their God, Their Grandsire * The Original of Idolatry Belus. must be he or none, He fills the Shrine, who lately filled the Throne. Still Errors here, altho' she took her flight, With every wrangling tongue, and well she might, For Truth is one, but Error infinite; Scattered through every Nation, Age and Place, Or she herself, or her unnumbered Race, Yet still Religion's mask adorns their Face. And while their foul deformities they hid, They only ' are true, and all are cheats beside. They in a thousand various shapes appear, A thousand odd fantastic forms they wear. Those by their Reason's glimmering Light proceed, These lean on lame Traditions broken Reed, A third who only Senses aid implore, The Sun and all his glittering Host adore: Others, whom conscious Gild and Fear pursue, Worship the Devil, that he no harm may do, Their Idols all an ugly ghastly crew. Tho' many monstrous Beasts hot afric sees, Asia can boast more monstrous Detites. * Religions of Asia. Say ancient China what thy Temples hold Thy Gods of Iron and thy Gods of Gold. Tremendous Forms whose looks i'll Horror bear, And like true Daemons, fright the burdened air. And well they may, whose hungry Scent and Eyes † The Chinese Priests offer the steam of the Meat to their Gods, and eat it themselves. Are only feasted in a Sacrifice. Since fed with nought but smoke, well may they lowr, That all the meat their own fat Priests devour; Nay most unmercifully use the ‖ They also whip their Idols when they obtain not what they desire. Rod, And when they please lay on their naughty God. If well their Shelf of Porcelan, he'll not guard, Nor their Devotion with Rupies * A sort of Coin in sue in the Eastern Countries. reward. No wonder true Religion won't abide In Realms so full of Ignorance and Pride; Yet many you'll like the Chinese find, Who only see, and think all others blind. Of great Chufu † Their great Philosopher called by the Jesuits Confus●●s. their mouth are ever full, Tho' good and prudent he, they lewd and dull. Should we go on i'th' tract we late began, And search the Temples of remote Japan, What Idols ancient India ever knew, What Malabar, or Ceylon, or Pegu; What numerous droves of Gods and Monkeys rove Through each fair Plain, thick Wood, or Sacred Grove; Of ever getting home we must dospair, The Sun would first drive round and find us there: Yet Ganges must we not forget thy fall Revered by th' rich Natives of Bengale; Not Nile was worshipped by fat Egypt more, Nor Crete of old could her own Jove adore: Upon the reedy Banks in vain they pray, Not all thy waves can wash their guilt away: How many glittering Pagods may be told By thy wide streams? how daubed with Gems and Gold! With humane or with brutal victims fed, While thou for fear shrinkest back thy conscious Head: While the distracted Faquirs The Indian Priests. still invent Themselves by some new methods to torment What Pains the wretches for Damnation take! Not half the ado our Western † The Romish Priests Faquirs. make; Tho' they so much to mortify pretend, In what distorted shapes themselves they bend; What cords, what wounds, what heat, what cold they bear, Exposed to all th' Inclemencies o'th' Air! How many years in the same posture stand † See Herbert's Travels. , Nor move tho' the Mogul himself commands! This to his Idol vows silence profound, Half plunged in Lakes, or buried in the ground; That perches like a Bird on some tall Tree, From mortal Conversation to be free, And wait the whispers of his Deity. Thus those who once possessed the self same place, The Predecessors of their foolish Race; The fond Gyinnosophists * Vid. Quint. Curt. would gazing stand, Their Eyes the San did burn, their feet the sand: Thought all their Sense must lose who Reason find, And none could walk or see till lame and blind. With these the Squeamish Bramins let us rank, Who like their Cattle graze on Ganges bank: They from all Food but milk and herbs abstain, And think that half the World was made in vain. Their holy Cows propitious aid implore, So her kind Udders full they ask no more; What 'ere their Conscience is, they are not nice, A blessed Religion 'tis for Fleas and Lice † They make it a piece of their Religion to Kill nothing. . Not a lame Dog whose Cries their Succours call, But they'll relieve and send to th' Hospital. Shame to our World, we Men like Beasts do serve, While their wide Care will Beasts like Men preserve, Unless when Error prompts to Cruelty And makes 'em mad and barbarous (c) The Western Bigots, Papists, etc. as we: A false Religion at no mischief stands, But dies in Blood its Votaries guilty hands, No difference makes, promiscuous Victimgs brings, Their own, their Friends, their Fathers or their Kings. Let this Narsing as horrid Rites declare When the poor Wretch high mounted in the Air, Raised to the frightful Idols frowning brow, On dreadful Tenters hung performs his Vow. Where the proud Pagods Chariot rolls along, Guarded by an innumerable throng, Happy they think the Wretch, and Martyr call, Who to their devilish gods a Victim fall; Who coming Death with Joy and Rapture feels, His Soul orusht out beneath the ponderous Wheels. Let's cross the Gulf, my Muse, and hasten o'er To search at seven-mouthed Nile's uncertain shore; There sure in vain we shan't Religion seek, As common as the Onion or the Leek. A goodly stock of gods, a numerous breed! There lies a Deity in every Seed. Kinder Divinities the World ne'er saw, You how you please may eat 'em, boiled or raw. Some Gods they eat on the soft Banks of Nile, Others eat them— the dreadful Crocodile Whom Egypt serves, as th' Indians Fiends revere, Or Europe Tyrants, not for love but fear. To some to still their Children they're devout; Divine Anubis with his ugly snout, Hound's head, and Ears which to the Earth incline With humane Trunk; and Apis more divine, Nay, some wise Towns in zealous Battle join. Whether the Crocodile or Monkey (a) Vid. Juvenal. be All things well weighed the greater Deity: Their hideous Typhon we'll not here describe, Nor all their huge unnamed, unnumbered Tribe Of Gods, still new and new each morn As fast as Nile's imperfect Mice are born. But hence we'll to Arabia's Sands repair, And search if true Religion's wand'ring there; Who of her only this pretend to know — She that way passed two thousand years ago. More of the matter how d'ye expect they should Who ever since no Trade but Theft pursued, And rob to get an honest Livelihood. To fruitful Palestine let's next proceed, Where by her Track we find she has lived indeed, Whose very Stones and Hills her Footsteps bear, Each Field, each River owns she once was there, But now of an eternal Loss complain; We Hermon's fragrant top may search in vain, Or ahab's neighbouring Mount or lovely Plain; Both that and her once boasted Balm are gone, Nor dwells she in forsaken Lebanon; Nor even on ancient Zions sacred brow, Once sacred, but profane and common now: Long scorned and injured by that stiff-necked race The Dove could bear no more, but left the Place, Nor more will fix on some peculiar ground, But far away wings the wide World around. She scatters Blessings with her where she flies, An Olive branch she bears, which Peace implies, The flaming Sword's removed from Paradise. Clean and Vnclean's no more, the Ark is free, Whoever comes may now admitted be. Religion now no longer we'll despair To find thee out, since thou art every where! Yes— we too soon may find her— see— she's there: 'Tis she, her face all covered with a flood Of briny Tears, her Garments rolled in Blood: Circled with Flames and Lions, bound in Chains, I'th' midst of Racks, Tormentors, Deaths and Pains, Yet spite of all her Constancy retains. Sure Sorrow never looked with better grace— Celestial Odours fill the happy place; An Angel comes, and wipes her heavenly Face, Then lifts the Banner of the Cross on high, See the bright Signal glittering in the Sky: See Heaven above which wards each threatening blow, Heaven there, and generous Constantine below; With whom the Pagans to their cost did try The Christians now could fight as well as die; (a) Cedebant non cedebantur as the Writer of those times relate it. With her the Conqu'rer did the World divide, And placed her close by his triumphant side; In the Imperial Purple made her shine, And kissed her Wounds, and bathed in Tears and Wine. True she was humble still, though this she allowed To keep her from Contempt among the Crowd; But soon her foolish Sons grew vain and proud, Contend and strive all round the conquered Globe, And rend and tear their Mother's seamless Robe: Was it for this the Idol Temples fell, And every Daemon left his Oracle? They taught and ruled the World almost as well. Nay, wiser they, and much, much more i'th' right Since whatsoever their dreaming Poets write, They never did against each other fight. First subtle Heads new Faiths, new Creeds devise, And threadbare old simplicity despise. The Apostles had not Metaphysics read, Their Sense was dull, their Notions cold and dead And too confused— Religion's course and plain, We'll quickly show the World a purer Vein, And teach her how to reach a loftier strain. Proud Arrius first begun the fatal Game, And big with Plagues from Alexandria came; Confusion, Mischief and Distraction hurled Before him, scattering Poison round the World: Against him soon did the warm Saint (b) St. Athana. arise With zealous Thunder in his Voice and Eyes; The Gospel in the Quarrel ne'er were mist, But Plato grew a fifth Evangelist: Parties were made, Councils with Councils vied, Vnerring Number must the Cause decide. He that has fewest Hands in Hell he burns, — And thus they Vote Damnation round by turns. So loud, their Mother's Voice they neither mind, Tho' she so sad, so tender and so kind: Herself she throws between, to part the Fray, And begs 'em by her Tears and Wounds to stay: Deaf as the Winds when struggling Tempests rage, They'd through her sides each other fain engage, She's trampled down by their contending might, Whilst over her the unnatural Wretches fight: And when they found that damning would not do, At last they went to work with killing too: Empires and Kings engage in the dispute, Each other banish, vex and persecute; Religion wounded from the Dust ascends, No more to reconcile 'em now pretends, But how it pleased, begs Heaven to make 'em Friends. Who from the East th' Arrabian † Mabomet Monster. sends An Abject Slave, who Desolation brings In his broad Sword, where e'er his Arm he flings, Where e'er his Feet he sets he tramples Kings. Whatever's sacred there before him flies, Or crushed in miserable ruins lies. No Faith, no Word he keeps— ah Wretch accursed, On Rapine fed, in Blood and Murders nursed. All the fair Fields of Greece a Desert made, And every stately Town in ashes laid, The ancient Nurseries of wit and sense, The Seats of Learning and of Eloquence. All his Religion was, to do him right As others since, only to whore and fight. Unbounded Liberty to Lust he gave, Which made the hot-veined Saracen his Slave. A nearer way than Industry he'd shown To wealth, kill the Possessor all's your own. Seek not Religion there, alas 'tis fled, Or else with all good Arts besides it, dead; Whilst he its ravished vacant place supplies With Rhapsodies of Nonsense, Folly, Lie. Conceive a piled Confusion he that can, A heap of Nothings, that's the Koran, A System of flat Incongruities, And incoherent dull Absurdities, Supplying want of Reason, Wit and Sense, With empty pompous bloated Eloquence; Cunning not wise the wretch himself has shown, Of all Religions, yet indeed of none; Of every Sect and Heresy he takes, Not composition but confusion makes, Jew, Christian, Heathen jumbles in one Law, The greatest Monster Nature ever saw. He placed no Padlock on their Lechery, All had as many Concubines as he: The hoped success th' Impostor quickly found, His Doctrine all Luxurious Asia owned. Persia reveres her Sacred Fire † The Persians anciently (and some few at present) worship the Fire. See Sir John Chardin 's Voyages. no more, But this new Ignis Fatuus now adore, Yet quarrel for his lawful Succeslor. Homar they bait and damn to endless Fire, 'Tis blessed Italy they alone admire. Through the wide East this Poison creeps along, And to th' Impostors Tomb whole Nation's throng: India, Arabia, Africa's Deserts wild, Nay, Europe's fertile Fields more civilised and mild: Nature itself had fixed 'em bounds in vain, Nor could the narrow Hellespont contain Their numerous swarms— the fatal stream is crossed, And, Constantine, thy glorious towers are lost. The Crescent rises, and the Cross goes down; And Europe now they reckon all their own. Not to the Mufti * The Pope. on th' Italian side, Who'd not lose all, but willingly divide: They need not for their shares keep much ado, 'Tis hard, or all the World's enough for two. 'Tis true, the Roman Caliph cannot bear Two holy Cheats at once to fill one Chair, Preserves his high unrivalled Dignity; Nor is there other Antichrist but he. Outdoes dull Mahomet and all his Crew, Contrives a Worship more sublime and new, Which Christ and his Apostles never knew: In the old Pagan grafted, more refined, And some new profitable Doctrines joined, Convenient Articles, which Service do, Not only in this world, but t'other too; Tho Pagan Temples now are blest and crossed, Not one good serviceable hint was lost, Which from the Roman Flamens might be learned: Thus far Pantheon wisely they discerned. For every Idol did a Shrine provide, In whate'er Place or Country dignifyed: Nor made Enquiry what they were before, Mercury, or Venus, Thief, or Bawd, or Whore; Civil to Strangers whenceso'ere they came, And who'd a piece of such good Nature blame? No Traveller entered on this happy Coast, But here might find their Gods where ever lost. And if with a good Heart and Purse they come. Might pray and pay as well as if at home. Thus the old Romans did, and thus new Rome: It liked the Humour well, and was content To copy from so fair a Precedent. An All Saint's Church of old Pantheon made; Thus the Sign's changed, tho' th' House still keeps the Trade. Mahomet was a stupid Sot, nor knew The Feats an Image might be taught to do. He thought it an unprofitable Sin, And threw 'em out, Rome wiselier kept 'em in: Cuts off the Horns which did of old disgrace Her Gods, and grafted Glories in their place, Venus and Cupid which the Pagans use To adore, their Temples can't a place refuse, Those pretty Deities they must not lose. Take Mars from one, and take his Bow from tother, They'll make a very decent Son and Mother. J●ve needs but little mending, he that will Find fault! the Thunderer is a Thunderer still. Castor and Pollux have at Sea the same Due Reverence paid, only 've chang'dtheir Name, With Chrism and Holy-water exorcised, Their's into Christianity surprised, As Indians by a Spanish Priest baptised. But who i'th' name of Wonder did prefer Some lusty Rebel in the Grants War, To be that Swinger of a Christian Saint, Whom those at Rome like Polyphemus paint; Who all the World on his broad Back did bear, (His Feet the while two Angels held i'th' Air,) That huge unmerciful St. Christopher: If Catholic Religion that we'll call, Which has the largest Arms, and takes in all; Rome claims the Title, superstitious, lewd, Profane, debauched, vain, , bad or good; It welcomes all, or all except the last, And different Baits throws out for every Taste. Music and Songs for those that Music crave, For Women, Children, Fools, they Babbies have; For traitorous Friars a Halter they provide, That still hangs gently dangling by their Side. Poor hungry Mob with heavenly Dishes treat, Gape, gape, you Rogues! such Food you ne'er did eat, A muss of Gods— their taste, no doubt, divine; Be thankful then— but not one soop of Wine! Not one dear drop the thirsty Priest will spare, Poor Wretch— his Lips must needs be dry with Prayer. Won't all this do? then t'other trick begin, 've warrant for't— compel 'em to come in: Goad all the restive Souls, who fond wait Without, and will not pass the Church's Gate; Torment and worry them into Salvation, Rack, hang, or damn to save 'em from Damnation. This Rome's Religion was, and is so still, This did of old our great Forefathers feel Her Arguments, the Whip, the Fire, the Wheel; To all dareed true Religion entertain, Who fled for aid to the cold Alps * The Country of the Piemontois, etc. in vain: In vain she hoped in safety there to dwell 'Midst Hills and Valleys inaccessible; Error pursues, now only does not stray, But to those deep Recesses where she lay, Like Hannibal did make, or find a way: Devotion and true Zeal her high pretence, And often torn and wounded, forced her thence; Tho in those Rocks she left a sacred Race, And Monuments, which Rome shall ne'er deface. From place to place she like her Master fled, Like him she knew not where to hid her head. With Wickliff here did for a while sojourn, Or o'er brave Cobham's valiant Ashes mourn, Till following Error forced her to return: Amongst devoted Albigenses strayed, Or in Bohemian Villas wept and prayed. With Huss and Prague to Constance did repair, The Emp'rors' Royal Word her safeguard there: But Error quickly had found out 'twas she, And with her Friend's Falsehood and Perjury, Voted all Faith to Heretics null and void, Made only to be taken and destroyed. Hereby she escapes, her dear Companions lost In Martyr's Flames; by various Tempests tossed; Till with brave Zisca and his Favourites Residing, she not only prays, but fights: Till the bold Germane Monk † Luther. , who long enquired For her abode, found her at last retired From the rude World and places of Resort, Found her, and brought her to the Germane Court, The Princes kissed her Wounds, her wrongs deplore, And her to Thrones and high Tribunals bore, Scarce could her first loved Constantine do more: Loved and caressed by these illustrious Friends, By their kind aid new Columns she sends Throughout the World, the stubborn North obey, Throw off Rome's Iron Yoke for her more gentle sway. With these rich Albion sees with glad surprise Her Idol-Temples fall, and Churches rise. The helpless rotten Rood a Bonfire makes, Each cheating Fiend his Oracle forsakes, Their Miracles are lying wonders found, Their sacred Ducks-blood † Vid. Fox of the Dissolution of Abbeys. scattered on the ground: From the Familiar Samuel's Mantle fell, And back he fled again to Rome and Hell. Learning and all good Arts with speed revive, And by Religions kind Protection live: The Golden Age returns, and who'd admire The Dross should be removed by Martyr's Fire? Nay Jove himself, 'tis said, had Orders given That blessed Astraea should return from Heaven: But ah, some Seeds of ancient Fraud remain, Which made the wondrous Change almost in vain; And when old Arts would now no longer do, Too— fruitful Error soon invented new; Demands Recruits from Hell, the Fiends obey; Th' Enchantress waves her Wand, they hast away From baleful Caves, and intercept the Day: See in what Troops they to her aid advance, Malice and Discord, Pride and Ignorance. Black, foul-mouthed Blasphemy, whose forked tongue Hisses at Heaven, and thinks its Thunder long Before it strikes, Injustice, Rapine, Wrong, Oppression on the Hearts of Orphans fed, Tyrannick-Rule, by Will, not Justice led, And foul Rebellion with her Hydra-head: New fangled-Faith, and worse than all the rest Hypocrisy, in Sheeps-fair-Cloathing dressed Within a Wolve's ficrce Paws, a Tygar's Breast. The hellish Train she views with barbarous Joy, And doubts not to disgrace, if not destroy Religions Colonies, to blast their Fruit, If not prevail against the stubborn Root. Go then, she said, my loved Companions go, Act what may Envy raise in those you leave below: Haunt all the Enemies to us and you, If they'll reform, be you Reformers too! She said— like Locusts round the World they flew, And each fair Field through which their Armies passed, Not only with their odious weight lay waste, But striving to perpetuate their kind, They leave a fruitful numerous Spawn behind; No Place, no Age, from their Vexation free, No Church or Sect, from spacious Germany, To thee, O wretched Albion! tortured more With this than all thy other Plagues before. The Bigotts first, who if their Cause is right, No thanks to them, they only blindfold fight The largest Catholic Church that e'er was found, Wide stretched through all the universal Round; But none to a greater height of madness come (They'd have you call it Zeal) than ours at home: A foul black humour which not all the Flood Of Thames can wash away, still sours their Blood. The poisonous Juice still grumbles in their Veins, And as the Moon directs it, turns their Brains: Then like mad Indians, rambling through the Street They run-a-muck, and murder all they meet. Thus Aetna's horrid Caverns ever glow With sullen subterranean Fires below; But when contending winds through some sinal chink Or cranny rush, or its hot Entrails drink, Trinacrian Waves, it rises to the brink, And liquid Flames in dreadful Currents fall, Loud bellowing on Catania's neighbouring Wall. What Strife, what Jars, what an impetuous Flood, Wide rolling down, of Mischief, Wars and Blood Derive their Origine and Spring from thee Firebrand of England, hated Bigottrie? Practised by all, and yet by all decried, Hated by all— but still of t'other side: As Tradesmen will their cheating Neighbours blame, Who only Occasion want to do the same. Was not the last sad Age thy Vengeance cloyed, Three flourishing Kingdoms more than half destroyed By thy wild Fury, that the same disgrace Thou strivest to entail on their unhappy Race? But that we know thou dost unjustly bear Religious Name, the World would that forswear, And turn mere Atheists in despite of thee; Even a more silly Sect if that can be. Fools leave one Vice, and choose its contrary. And such thy Followers are, still on they run, Nor value where, so they each other shun: In towering Topknots these Religion dress, Those even her Hair pull off, and some confess They like her best in Rags or Nakedness. This Fate uneasy Scotland ever mourns, Where every Sect each other plagues by turns: Bonnet or Mitre be't that fills the Chair, Woe to the Wretch whose Lot it is to bear: They never knew what 'twas a Friend to spare; Or Church or Kirk when once they get astride, While Arms and Whip, and Leather hold they ride: The Malice even of Fables they'll outdo And for their Foes one Eye they'll forfeit two. Not that at home we much behind 'em fall, Rather than fail, we'll forfeit Head and all. Each Sect pretends Infallibility, They only true, the rest a Cheat and Lye. Maggots which in Religion's Carcase breed, When in the last sad Age she lost her head; Whence numerous swarms of various Infects rise, Deafen the Air, and fill the darkened Skies; Of different casts, of different shape and wing, A warlike Race, all armed with claws and sting, Like Earthborn Brethren, meet with equal spite And rage, for they no sooner live but fight. Some came from Foreign Shores, which we'd be loath To wrong, (but most of our own natural growth;) Hungry and lean they came, tho' since 'tis clear They're very much improved and battened here. For such a crop but little Labour needs, 'Tis a rank Soil, and wondrous kind to weeds: From distant Poland came the fruitful Seeds Long since by sly Socin●s scattered there, Which but too soon a large increase did bear. They rose to Plants, which to our Fields conveyed, And rooted here by monstrous Biddle's aid, Projected far away their deadly shade. Socinus is believed instead of Christ, And Crellius makes a Fifth Evangelist. For true Religion they false Reason take, Of Man a God, of God a Man they make: Idolaters Idolatry to shun Two Gods adore, while they believe but one: Forsaken by that Saviour they abuse, Left by that sacred Guide they scorn to use, Their boasted Reason in wild Nonsense lose; So vain is Man, so gross his Errors be, Who more than him who gave him Eyes would see And boast to comprehend the Deity! But though so loud they Persecution blame, If bade their Faith, their Charity's the same: Witness Cracovian Fields, and that wild Flood Which conquered all, of Error mixed with Blood. O had the spreading Poison there remained, Or in one Age, if not one Place contained Its hated growth, we that had neither had Nor Antidotes which are almost as bad. Orthodox Zeal where it too warmly burns, Seizes the Brain and a Vertigo turns; Christ's Doctrines would like Antichrist defend, The Gospel plant by Writ of Comburend ': Or Books or Men the same; nay, more unkind, They in Repentance scarce relief shall find, But must be burnt while they be in a good mind. 'Twixt these Extremes Religion tortured stands, Weeps Tears of Blood, her Side, her Feet, her Hands Torn, wounded, pierced, yet pierced with shame far more, As was her Master 'twixt two Thiefs before. All madness some with the Socinian Race Would tolerate, all Blasphemies embrace; Others Infallibility defend, Yet rail at Rome's, and since too good to mend, Would neither Tolerate, nor Comprehend. By each his Adversaries Face is shown So ugly that they never mind their own. These Moderation hate, and these no less Immoderately for Moderation press: Some Honour at a distance keeps, some fear Their Cheats should be descried if viewed too near; Some think the Breach too great, and some too small To ' admit or need a Cure, some loudly bawl That Interest, Interest is the Cause of all: Whether men pass for Moralists or Saints 'Tis true— perhaps, too of their own Complaints. What makes two Combatants stand off, but Fear Each should the advantage get if once too near? Yet sure they would unite, tho' ne'er so loath Should a third man come in to kill 'em both. Even the mad Jews awhile adjourned their Hate When they the Romans saw before the Gate; But madder we keep up our Rage and Spite, And leave our Enemies with our Friends to fight: Fall out upon the Breach, and to pull down Our Neighbour's House will gladly fire our awn. Ah grieved Religion whither art thou fled? Or say what Desert hides thy blushing Heed; Blushing for thy lewd Sons, with conscious shame, That they will not leave their Folly or their Name? Shall we with those whofe Race from Munster * Anabaptists. came Seek in the Waves for thy secure abode, Where like some Water-Nymph or River-God They say thou thy Majestic Court dost hold, And for thy Treasures dive like Shipwrecked Gold? Pretend heavens Patent to engross the Trade, And all besides have Interlopers made; Upon that Coast they nothing have to do, And therefore them with Fire and Sword pursue: To these let's reckon Venners hot-brained crew, Who like an Amazon Religion dressed Armed Cap-a-pe in Helmet, Back and Breast: Each knotty point decide with their broad Sword, And murder all they meet ' i'th' name o'th' Lord. But tho' all Sects their headlong madness blame, Show me another would not do the same, That safely might— not even the trembling † Quakers Race,. With whom an Ague— fit's a mark of Grace; But if too heavy on their Toes you tread, Or chance to break their Shins— will break your Head. The Flesh is strong, they Vow by Yea and Nay, 'twill sometimes with the Spirit run away. Tho' that too has its turn; and the new Light Leaves Sense and Reason often out of sight, And mounts, like Lanterns with a paper Kite. 've God himself within 'em— tell not them Orh ' Man that suffered at Jerusalem! Bull and mouth Gospels only Orthodox, They no Apostles own like Pen and Fox. All their Religion, (such as please their Trade May call't) of mere Antipathies is made: Timon of Athens, if alive, would be A Doctor in their sour Divinity: And snarling Aphemantus make another, As right as their lost Pensylvanian Brother. But most commend me to that jovial Crew Who think Mankind has nothing else to do, Formed for no nobler, higher Undertaking, Than singing Doggrel Psalms † Sweet-singers of their own making. With open mouth they Dame Religion paint, And ever choose a Songster for a Saint; By that their strength of Judgement you may guests, We know a Singing-man is seldom less: But why themselves sweet Singers would they call? Creaking of Wheels is Music when they bawl: The Shrieks of Owls, the Inish-man's Ohone, Toads when they croak, or Quakers when they groan, If to their cursed Yells compared they be, Are little less than heavenly Harmony. What should we any further venture on, Or lose a Thought on doting Muggleton? Dull, sordid Nonsense, senseless Blasphemy, A heap of Filth the Ranters both and Herald With these the Adamites may find a Place Those Goats erect, a barbarous brutal Race, Their own, and all Humanity's disgrace. Fit Planters for the Californian * Cannibals. States, For Bridewell and for Bedlam Candidates. Tired with my search, upon a Mossy Bed I threw me careless down, and leaned my Head All pensive, on a gentle rising there Regretting the expense of Time and Care; Sunk deep in Thought, a Spark comes by the while, And proudly viewed me with a scornful smile: ‛ For what, nor is, nor ever was, he cries ' Th' Enquiry, O how grave, the search how wise? ‛ For his vain Toil you the fond Chemist blame, ‛ Who scatters real Gold in Smoak and Flame find a fancied mine— yet do the same; HE Shadow for a solid Substance choose, ‛ Religion Court, and Pleasures Charms refuse, ‛ For future idle Tales true present Joys you lose. ‛ What now here is, is not, direct me right find her, and you make a Proselyte: ' 'Tis all a Cheat— and then I think he swore, ‛ Where or what is she?— I could hear no more. But rising thus— you Sir in vain pretend To censure what you cannot comprehend; Strifes for Religion rather do imply There's something in it, than the contrary. Who would contend if neither side were right. Or for imaginary Kingdoms fight? we'll take a short Review, nor need despair To find some Footsteps of it every where. Natural Religion, which perhaps may do For those who never any better knew. Far off we need not seek, 'tis plain impressed, blotted out by Vice on every Breast: By this we all that's fair and just approve, Honour and Virtue, Honesty and Love: By this, altho' too weak, while 'tis concealed To find it out, we judge of Truth revealed: This by it self examines all the rest, And justly Votes the Christian Faith the best. knotty Metaphysics spoiled the Creed, Plain, simple, easy, those that ran might read: Believe what Truth reveals, do good to all! With pious Prayers on the first Being call! Relieve the Poor, the Innocent defend, Forgive your Enemy, and love your Friend, Your Country more, nor think your Life too dear, Frankly to sacrifice to Heaven or Her. This is Religion, this alone can save, And this you'll find in the few Wise and Brave. FINIS.