Y' had best (quoth RALPHO) as the ancients Say wisely, Have a care o' th' main chance, And look before you ere you leap; For as you sow, y' are like to reap: And were y' as good as George-a-Green, 505 I shall make bold to turn agen Nor am I doubtful of the issue In a just quarrel, and mine is so. Is't fitting for a man of honour To whip the Saints, like Bishop Bonner? 510 A Knight t' usurp the beadle's office, For which y' are like to raise brave trophies. But I advise you (not for fear, But for your own sake) to forbear; And for the Churches, which may chance, 515 From hence, to spring a variance; And raise among themselves new scruples, Whom common danger hardly couples. Remember how, in arms and politicks, We still have worsted all your holy tricks; 520 Trepann'd your party with intrigue, And took your grandees down a peg; New modell'd th' army, and cashier'd All that to legion SMEC adher'd; Made a mere utensil o' your Church, 525 And after left it in the lurch A scaffold to build up our own, And, when w' had done with't, pull'd it down Capoch'd your Rabbins of the Synod, And snap'd their Canons with a why-not; 530 (Grave Synod Men, that were rever'd For solid face and depth of beard;) Their classic model prov'd a maggot, Their direct'ry an Indian Pagod; And drown'd their discipline like a kitten, 535 On which they'd been so long a sitting; Decry'd it as a holy cheat, Grown out of date, and obsolete; And all the Saints of the first grass As casting foals of Balaam's ass. 540