“You are one who has been travelling over all countries, to establish _new-fangled societies_; _heads and spiritual directors_, _hot-brained cobblers_, and the meanest class of men; _fellows that have nothing to lose_, all big with venom against the clergy of the _present Establishment_, and _despising the laws_ of the State, and the _peaceful constitution_ of the realm. You are perpetually sowing divisions, and urging on the bigotry of your disciples, and their implacable malice, by your belying, railing, and scandalising the ministers of the Church, as well as by treating as heathens and reprobates of the infinitely good Being, all others, who dare despise your hellish doctrines and practices. You exactly copy after Cromwell, the _Whitefield of the last century_, in _artfully compounding_ Churchmen and Dissenters, people of all sorts and denominations, to bring about your design of ruining the present constitution. When I see a man, of your _vast importance_, _railing_, _hectoring_, and _bullying_ your superiors, I cannot help thinking of a _pert_ liquor amongst us, which foams, and bounces, and sputters, and makes a mighty ado; and yet all the while is but _bottled small-beer_. “Your _favourite method_ of wounding characters in a scrip of prayer, to shew the world how kindly you can forgive, after you have been publicly railing at them for _nothing_, puts me in mind of Jack in the _Tale of a Tub_; who was mighty fond of falling down on his knees, and turning up his eyes in the midst of a kennel, as if at his devotions; but who, when curiosity attracted men to laugh or to listen, would, of a sudden, bespatter them with mud.” Much more of the same kind of scurrility, and of even worse, might be given; but the last paragraph in the “Gentleman’s” ill-mannered pamphlet must suffice. “Thus ends your railing; and, like a woman that has _fought herself out of breath_, when you can _spit no more of your malice_, you tell us, you would ‘not bring a railing accusation against any.’ What a monstrous fib is that! ‘Neither would I,’ you add, ‘when giving a reason of the hope that is in me, do it any otherwise than with meekness and fear.’ There you fib again most desperately! Why, _my dear meek soul, of a sudden_, you have certainly forgot yourself; and your darling _spirit of bitterness, that has possessed you through the whole Letter_, at length, seems to be _jaded_. However, it cannot help _fibbing still_; and there is not a more remarkable instance of this, than in your _last Judas’ kiss_, where you would have their lordships believe, you are ‘_their most dutiful son and servant_.’”