A SCOURGE for the LIBELER OR A sober Vindication of DOCTOR WILD, AND The Memory of Mr. CARYL, from the Rude Aspersions of a Scandalous Sheet Entitled, The MOCK-ELOGIE, etc.  Memoria Justi in AEternum. 

BLess thee! heavens Thunder rather dread  
Darted on thy Impious Head,  
Who dar'st with black unhallowed Tongue  
These Reverend Asbes basely wrong;  
In vain thou Leavy'st Dunghill Verse,  
To Sully Caryl's graceful Hearse;  
Whose precious name like spices bruised,  
More fragrant smells being thus abused;  
So pure Crystal without disgrace,  
Dashes back Filth i'th' Flingers face.  
Profane Screerh-Owl! thy croakings cease  
he's Anchored in Eternal peace;  
From whence with pity he beholds  
The state of such malicious souls,  
On Earth he did this Precept Live,  
His causeless Foes still to forgive;  
Knowing his Master's blessings there  
Where we all false Reproaches bear;  
But tell us Libeler? what bribe  
Did the Ranting Atheist Tribe,  
Bestow on thee for that lend paper,  
Those belchings of a Hellish vapour  
A thing so vain, and dully writ  
Equally void of Grace and wit;  
Scandal to Ballading, and shame,  
Of all that e'er wore Pamphlets name;  
Each man of sense disdained to buy't.  
The very Hawkers blushed to cried;  
The noble Art of Printing (found  
No sooner, but it Rome did wound;  
And ever since with nimble Ray,  
Spreads Knowledge to a perfect day)  
With indignation swelled to see  
Itself Drudge to such Trumperee;  
Has not the grave Learned J. O.  
Already fought with Beasts enough  
At Ephesus, but you must come  
Yelping to add unto the sum?  
Speak Kiffin low— He may be Sheriff  
And thou 'tis like may'st want repreive;  
Sad Age! when every paltry Pen  
Dares Scandalise such worthy men;  
But in the name of wonder, how  
Comes Wild and's Gout engaged now?  
Can no Fatherless sheet be thrown  
Abroad, but He the Brat must own?  
Must he answer for all your pranks  
Your Panegyriques; and your Thanks?  
Have Tales as many, and as silly;  
Imposed upon him, as on Lily;  
No sooner forth is Rhymer wincht  
But straight poor Boreale's pinched,  
That Boreale which shall last  
In spite of Envies threatening blast;  
Longer than all Rome's Books of Mass  
Or Heathen Pyramids of Brass;  
What though perhaps it may be true,  
When whilom fatal Bartholomew;  
Refreshing Parsonage withdrew,  
Sometimes the old unbusied Swain  
On Oaten Reed might pipe a strain  
Yet since Indulgence now decrees  
Him Flock again, (though not the Fleece)  
He hopes better to spend his Time  
Than in vain Frolliqueings of Rhyme;  
Not but he willingly would come  
A Mourner unto Caryl's Tomb  
Wishing he could but tune a Verse  
Worthy of so blest a Hearse  
Whose soul now bears a part in those  
Ravishing Notes Angels compose;  
Let scoffers mock on whilst we bless  
Heaven for this Symptom of our peace  
That several Sects did mix their cries  
Bewailing of his obsequies;  
In Zions Road divers paths lie,  
But all Centre in Charity,  
Heaven seems itself t'admit degrees  
Angels have their Hierarchies;  
Why then should we so Rigid prove  
To let Opinions strangle Love?    

LONDON Printed in the Year 1672.