THE Unjust Judge's CREED, REPLIED To Mr. EZEKIEL EDGEWORTH, Archdeacon of Newgate.  Qui Bavium non odit, amet tua carmina Maevi. J. 
YOu rambled once, and seemed to say,  
That Judges must be judged one day;  
T' would fix on us such foul Disgraces,  
To th' mighty less'ning of our Places.  
Is't fit for Us to be controlled  
By slavish Fear, so want bright Gold  
From dangers distant, but how far  
Could ne'er be proved yet by you Sir?  
What! shall not we Men hang, or quit,  
Or Witness shame, as we think fit?  
I tell thee, Priest, I've Authors read,  
And know as much as can be said;  
Nought's after Death, Death's but a Puff,  
A Groan, when Nature plays us off.  
Let's all lay by both Hope and Fear,  
Of future State let's take no Care,  
For we shall be but as we were.  
Time still devours us, spite of Art,  
And Death destroys our thinking part.  
So th' tale of Hell and th' old grim Sir,  
'Bout which you Black-Coats keep such stir,  
Are but vain, empty, idle Dreams,  
Arising from distempered Brains.   

The Arch-Deacons ANSWER.  
IF that be true your Lordship says,  
You may, like Bulls, live Jovial Days:  
Bulls only have the better on't,  
You sometimes fear, which they do not.  
Their Fronts are curled, though not with Care  
Nor Choice, yet they've their entire share.  
They court their Miss, their Meat, their Drink;  
Thrice happy Brutes, they never think  
Of Peace, or War, or Dutch, or French,  
Or new Intrigue of Madam-Wench.  
They careless are, how bought, how sold;  
Or whether Tagus' sands be Gold.  
Hereafter (although) Death should be  
An Inlet to Eternity,  
Then your Lordship pays t'a farthing,  
Both for Justice and your—  
Howe'er, if't be as you divine,  
The Hermit's as well's the Libertine.  
For its Futurity of State,  
Distinguishing our unknown Fate,  
That good from bad doth separate.  
Live then, My Lord, that you may've room  
To hope, not fear, a State to Come.   
FINIS.