He'd turn his nose up at them all, And shove his Saviour from the wall! Who was so mean (Meanness and Pride Still go together side by side) That he would cringe, and creep, be civil, And hold a stirrup for the Devil; If in a journey to his mind, He'd let him mount and ride behind; Who basely fawn'd through all his life, For patrons first, then for a wife: 140 Wrote Dedications which must make The heart of every Christian quake; Made one man equal to, or more Than God, then left him, as before His God he left, and, drawn by pride, Shifted about to t' other side) Was by his sire a parson made, Merely to give the boy a trade; But he himself was thereto drawn By some faint omens of the lawn, 150 And on the truly Christian plan To make himself a gentleman,-- A title in which Form array'd him, Though Fate ne'er thought on 't when she made him. The oaths he took, 'tis very true, But took them as all wise men do, With an intent, if things should turn, Rather to temporise, than burn; Gospel and loyalty were made To serve the purposes of trade; 160 Religions are but paper ties, Which bind the fool, but which the wise, Such idle notions far above, Draw on and off, just like a glove; All gods, all kings (let his great aim Be answer'd) were to him the same. A curate first, he read and read, And laid in, whilst he should have fed The souls of his neglected flock, Of reading such a mighty stock, 170 That he o'ercharged the weary brain With more than she could well contain; More than she was with spirits fraught To turn and methodise to thought, And which, like ill-digested food, To humours turn'd, and not to blood. Brought up to London, from the plough And pulpit, how to make a bow He tried to learn; he grew polite, And was the poet's parasite. 180 With wits conversing, (and wits then Were to be found 'mongst noblemen) He caught, or would have caught, the flame, And would be nothing, or the same. He drank with drunkards, lived with sinners, Herded with infidels for dinners; With such an emphasis and grace Blasphemed, that Potter[141] kept not pace: He, in the highest reign of noon, Bawled bawdy songs to a psalm tune; 190 Lived with men infamous and vile, Truck'd his salvation for a smile; To catch their humour caught their plan, And laugh'd at God to laugh with man; Praised them, when living, in each breath, And damn'd their memories after death. To prove his faith, which all admit Is at least equal to his wit, And make himself a man of note, He in defence of Scripture wrote: 200 So long he wrote, and long about it, That e'en believers 'gan to doubt it: He wrote, too, of the inward light, Though no one knew how he came by 't, And of that influencing grace Which in his life ne'er found a place: He wrote, too, of the Holy Ghost,