THE TRIBE of LEVI. A POEM.  

SInce Plagues were ordered for a Scourge to Men,  
And Egypt was chastised with her Ten,  
No greater Plague did any State molest,  
Than the severe, the worst of Plagues, a Priest.  
Some Savage Beasts, by Laws of Nature bound,  
Only in Woods and desert Lands are found,  
No Land, no Climate, can this Monster bind,  
But like some Hydra multiplys his kind,  
Through th' extended Orb directs his Course,  
And is at best a Universal Curse.   

Ah happy Albion, to the Gods most dear!  
How bright thy Rocks and fertile Lands appear?  
The Ocean's glory, and its Nymphs delight,  
The Nation's Terror by thy Men of Might:  
Thrice happy Albion! had there ne'er possessed  
Thy spacious Kingdoms, the consuming Priest!  
Who Locust-like the Nations overspread,  
In every place a Priest erects his Head,  
These, as the Fishes in the Water breed,  
And on the Fat of all the Pastures feed.  
Nor are they satisfied to have a Power  
To drain the Nations and its Fat devour,  
But like the Devil always bend on ill,  
They plot new Mischiefs and Devices still,  
Their unknown Virtues do the Crowd deceive,  
What Priestly Knaves report, dull Fools believe;  
Nor is a Prince (how great so 'ere he be)  
From their deceit and studied Malice free,  
Like Fiends ascending from the House of Smoak  
They all around the gilded Palace flock,  
And in the Ears of Monarchy they sing,  
That had they not been Priests He had ne'er been King,  
Set off with Titles and a Specious name,  
They quickly set the wondering World on flame:  
Methinks I hear its burdened Axles break,  
And of the Priests dead weight distinctly speak;  
The senseless Elements together moan,  
And all around the vast Creation groan.  
Ye juster Deities are Friends to Men,  
Assist my Muse, and guide my fainting Pen;  
A generous Passion raise within my Breast,  
That may affect the vilest Monster Priest,  
Let my Muse lash, the strokes be bold and good,  
As if my Pen were Steel, my Ink were Blood.   

Close by those Banks, the Banks were Siver Themes  
Still glides along with unpoluted Streams,  
A Fabric stands, no Storm of Fate molests,  
From its Foundation 'twas possessed by Priests;  
Here Levi lives, o'er grown with sin and Years:  
Good God what Lewdness lurks in hoary Hairs!  
As chief of Priests imperial sway does bear,  
For he alone is God's Vicegerent here;  
His lesser Villains of the Church are Slaves,  
For he that's chief of Priest is chief of Knaves.  
'Twas this same Levi did our James enthrone,  
And when he had done as basely pulled him down:  
The Levites first his Sovereign will declared,  
The Levites first his Sovereign will debarred;  
And thus old Levi, through mistaken fame,  
Had got a Patriots and a Martyr's name;  
Him th' unstable Mob with praises graceed,  
And thus his humour, for his Conscience past,  
Morose and Peevish, insolently proud,  
Levi would stoop to none but to the Crowd,  
Who,  the Rabble could his Blessings crave,  
His Apostolic Benedictions gave.  
Unhappy James! Preposterous was thy Fate!  
That brought on thee the Clergys' frown and hate,  
Hadst thou our Civil Rights and Charters took  
Not half a word the Clergy then had spoke;  
But to molest the Church, was to depose  
God's holy Blockheads, and set up his Foes.  
Now Foreign Troops invited o'er the Main,  
Come to disturb the Scenes of thy short Reign,  
Grown mad with fear when thou hadst lost the Day,  
And in inglorious haste didst run away.  
Our pious Levi, loyally came down  
T' invite our future Monarch to the Town.  
How beggerly's the Crown? how mean the State,  
That does depend on Bishop's love or hate!  
Nor can Conventions now make him a King,  
Till Levi does the Regal Vestments bring:  
In vain's your reasoning, in vain your toil,  
If Levi but keep back the anointing Oil.  
'Twas not for this the Hero was brought o'er,  
Only to settle Church as was before,  
To beat his Dad, and call his Mother Whore.  
Should he be crowned, Levi's Designs are crossed,  
The juggle too of the Succession lost,  
If James be reinthroned we must ascribe  
His Restoration unto Levi's Tribe:  
And thus the Hierarchy of course bears Rule,  
And the weak Monarch is the Bishop's Tool;  
None but the Church should keep their Civil Rights,  
And all Dissenters be but Gibeonites.  
So much these Arguments with Levi swayed  
That he aside his Faith and Conscience laid.  
At once the Sanhedrim and God forsook,  
And to his own pernicious Councils took,  
Rather than have his Priests left in the lurch,  
Would damn himself only to save the Church.  
Thus in a Fret he to his Cell retires,  
To plot new Mischiefs and blow up new Fires.  
Had this retirement, been well designed,  
Only to ease the Plague of human kind,  
Levi, thy absence than we ne'er could mourn,  
Nor been ambitious of thy loathed return;  
But since thy Den's become the Lion's Court,  
Whether in Black the Beasts of Prey resort,  
May'st thou from thence thy final Journey take,  
And on some Gibbet thy just Exit make.  
Nor shalt thou Corah, now my hand is in,  
Escape the justest censure of my Pen;  
Corah, in the lewd List, must next take place,  
To Man and to Religion a disgrace.  
In him, when Young, the Priestly Sign appears,  
Did promise Mischief in his tender Years,  
No cost was wanting to provide him Tools,  
To pass the learned drudgery of the Schools,  
Where Youth is with the Laws Corruption fed,  
Where Priests are formed and holy Cheats are bred.  
Their cursed Tenants much our Corah loved,  
And in the Tricks of Priesthood soon improved:  
He from the Pulpit did his Doctrine breath,  
And shed his Venom on the Crowd beneath:  
He taught, That Kings might Govern by their Will,  
And like the Gods themselves could ne'er do ill;  
That Princes had an uncontrolled Power,  
And might their Subjects, when they pleased, devour;  
That God all Reason gave to Kings and Priests,  
And that all men besides were only Beasts:  
But when his Lion from the Throne was driven,  
Disowned by all good men and juster Heaven,  
A King set up the Nations all approved  
A King, that God and all the People loved,  
Our treacherous Corah had his Faith forgot,  
And turned his famed Obedience to a Plot;  
His scruplous Conscience would not let him swear,  
(Whilst Father lived) Obedience to the Heir;  
But, in the head of a Rebellious Race,  
As void of moral Virtues as of Grace,  
Corah the new made Monarch did disown,  
And, since the other went, each Action done.  
Until King William's Fate resounds from far,  
His great Success and Enterprise in War,  
And Fame aloud does of his Fortunes tell,  
How by his hand the Sons of Corah fell;  
Now Corah is become a milder Priest,  
And swears as well as any of the rest;  
Priests are like Spaniels ne'er inclined to good,  
No longer than they see or feel the Rod.  
Ah William had I but thy Sceptre Royal!  
By Heaven, i'd beat the Dogs, till they were Loyal.   

Ungrateful Corah! I'll bid the adieu!  
Since God hath left thee, I will leave thee too!  
Nor shall my satire 'ere disturb thy Life,  
Since thou hast got a satire in a Wife.   

Dathan must next be from Oblivion freed,  
Who in the Field obtained the Bishop's meed,  
Was bred a Soldier, now by Trade a Priest,  
Though not so wise or learned as the rest,  
He seldom does to preaching make pretence,  
But does excuse it by his want of sense.  
Yet Dathan never like his Tribe was mad,  
Nor were his Crimes so great or half so bad;  
Dathan did never question his Belief,  
But pinned his Faith upon his Father's Sleeve,  
Sometimes was in the right, but varied soon,  
And chaned his Opinion with the Moon.  
Dathan did with King William's Interest close,  
Yet like a Sot encouraged his Foes;  
Who but wise Dathan would his sense prefer,  
And take the part of a Petitioner?  
Favour the City Mob so lately famed,  
For Murderers and Evidences named;  
Yet Dathan, though thy Crimes too far exceed,  
I'll pardon all thy Faults for one good Deed.   

But damned Abiram, must my Anger feel,  
Whose lewdness is as deep, as black as Hell,  
Such as a Muse, scarce as Old Nick can tell.  
Abiram did late Jimmy's will control,  
And made a Seventh in the famous Roul;  
Abiram with 'em entered his Protest,  
And grew as saucy as did all the rest:  
But now his Conscience does by Levi's square,  
And his lewd Thoughts with Levi's Notes Compare  
Levi, to God nor to the Kingdom true,  
The Elder Brother of the Factious Crew;  
He chose Abiram out of all the Tribe,  
To be his Secretary and his Scribe,  
Who best to Mr. Redding might present  
The strength and weakness of the Government,  
How stiff the Levites to his Interest stood,  
As true as Steel and firm as Oaken Wood;  
But poor Abiram does the toil endure,  
Whilst Levi in his Cell does sit secure:  
Levi of freedom knew the worth and price,  
And therefore sent the Fools to break the Ice;  
Though some in forming Plots may well agree,  
Yet few think good to hang for Company▪  
But poor Abiram! it would vex a stone,  
To Plot in number and to Hang alone;  
Yet never at thy Destiny repine,  
hang's the fittest Death for a Divine:  
For who does ever at the Gallows swing,  
But 'ere he's turned off a Psalm does sing;  
And though thou art a dire Example made,  
Thou'lt leave the World but in thy way of Trade.   

Nor must Abiathar be here forgot,  
For he that will, can write, can make a Plot:  
Of any Faith he never maketh doubt,  
But like the Wind his Conscience veers about.  
In lofty strains he Tyrant Noll did praise,  
And to his Fame a lasting Statue raise;  
Who in Usurpers praise employ their Pens,  
Have no Affection to their Lawful Prince,  
What e'er pretence to Priesthood may belong,  
Gold is their God and Glory guides their Tongue;  
These even Belzebub have quite out done,  
In Priest, thy Athen's Plagues are crammed in one.   

But now my Muse another Story tells,  
Pray here the sound of Pious Aaron's Bells,  
Whose strength of Zeal suppresses that of Sense,  
Where Flesh does fail, Devotion does commence;  
Tired with Age, of Youthful Vigour free,  
He is devout of mere necessity;  
His great Austerity his Tribe does suit,  
He sometimes rides, but oftener walks on foot;  
Such pagean Zeal attendeth Bishoprics,  
He well may walk, where follows Coach and Six;  
Nor can he pray but where his Pictures stand,  
To fix his Zeal and wand'ring Thoughts command;  
Those Images do pious heats Confer,  
And raise Devotion up, the Lord knows where;  
He soars so high and to the Clouds does grow,  
He quite forgets all Lowalty below,  
Can take no Oath nor swallow any Test,  
But must be stubborn as are all the rest.   

Let lasting Infamy Cursed Zadoc damn,  
Who maketh all Religion but a shame;  
Zadoc, who boasts of Fight, Drinking, Roaring,  
And above all his mighty strength in Whoreing;  
Yet to debauch his Conscience ' is loath,  
And swears by God, he cannot take the Oath;  
Let Radoc to his Sins stand firm and stiff,  
Till Triple Tree shall take the Triple F—   

Next; in the List, must Eleazar come,  
A Foe to England, and a Friend to Rome:  
Priests in Divinity take little Pains,  
And with Religion seldom crack their Brains:  
This Want of Sense made Eleazar run  
The first to worship the arising Sun.  
When Brother Priest arrived here from Rome,  
Good Eleaxer did invite them Home:  
He took his Coach, and mighty Stir he made  
To be assistant at the Cavalcade;  
But yet thy Coachman, as the Act expressed,  
By most was thought the better sort of Priest,  
He would not drive, nor Rome's black Fiends adore,  
When thou were't but Postilion to the Whore,  
Whilst honest Slash did for his Freedom strive,  
Thou, like the Devil, unto Rome didst drive;  
Thy Brethren banished by the present Reign,  
Thou longest to view and welcome here again,  
Not the lewd Levites, which arrive from Rome,  
Are greater villains than our Priests at home;  
The Church's Warriors of thy pybald Band,  
That Plague the Natives of this wretched Land,  
That blow the Coals and warmer Blood ferment,  
To cause a Fever in the Government   

I'll mention but one more and then have done,  
'Tis fight Josuah the Son of Nun,  
Though he to Men of Sense is a Buffoon,  
He serves to make a Spiritual Dragoon;  
What though he cannot Preach, or Pray, or Writ,  
He 'gainst his Country and his King can fight;  
He's strongly armed with a double Sword,  
To fight God's Battles, and to preach his Word:  
What Wonders in the Field were lately done,  
By fight Josuah the Son of Nun?  
He bravely Monmouth and his Force withstood,  
And made the Western Land a Field of Blood;  
There Josuah did his reaking heat assuage,  
On every Signpost Gibbet up his Rage,  
Glutted with Blood like some most Christian Turk,  
And scarce out done by Jefferies or K irk;  
Yet now the Priest is grown a Rebel too,  
And, what Monmothians did, himself can do;  
Since thou like them art equally to blame,  
Their Fate was to be hanged, be thine the same.   

Should I of all the lesser villains tell,  
It would a great, a bulky Volume fill,  
Fit for the Devil's Library in Hell.  
Should I their lewdness and their crimes relate,  
Their Lust, their Perjuries, their Envy, Hate,  
Their filthy Drunkenness, their height of Pride,  
Their Avarice yet Luxury beside;  
Their want of Goodness and their want of Sense,  
And their Repentance in the future Tense;  
Their new coined Tenets, which the Pulpits fill,  
Would tyre Pelling's Passive Lungs to tell.  
Hophine of old laid down his Rampant Whore,  
And thumped her Carcase at the Temple-Door;  
But who can tell what Tricks our Priests do use  
Behind the Altar, and within the Pews?  
The ancient Levites (as the times then stood)  
Were Men of Cruelty and Men of Blood,  
The former harmless Bulls they did surprise,  
And near the Altar slew the Sacrifice;  
Although the Butcher now does not take place,  
The Cruelty's entailed upon the Race:  
Our Priests are all descended from that Stem,  
Nero and Aretine are Saints to them;  
They oft the Blood of War in Peace have spilled,  
How many Prisons has their Malice filled?  
How many Widows have they made a Prey?  
What Goods the holy Guzman's stole away!  
Well may they grieve, now having lost the Power,  
By which they Widows Houses did devour,  
That Land's accursed, hath reason to lament  
Where Priests are made a piece of Government;  
They damn our Souls and lead us weary Lives,  
Misled our Daughters and debauch our Wives;  
Whatever show of Zeal the Priesthood paints,  
They are at best but Cucoldizing Saints;  
The Pious Vermin, that molest a State,  
The Scource of all Disorder and Debate:  
The bane of Princes, a Tumultuous Crew,  
Not satisfied with what is old or new:  
For James they underwent a wondrous Toil,  
And greased his Head with their Anointing Oil;  
But when he to the Jesuits tacked about,  
They as the Devil with Prayer cast him out;  
Nor are they with their new made Monarch glad,  
(The Priests have still a privilege to be mad)  
Though easy, gentle and averse to Blood,  
His only Crime, he's to his Foes too good;  
Well may he have the Priests to be his Foes,  
They even God Almighty would Depose.   
FINIS.   

LONDON: Printed 1691.