That _Satan_ better might succeed, Of _other Agents_ he had need, His _Country-Int'rest_ to support, While _Dodd_ was _preaching_ to the Court. The Town was left, and now his Flight Bore to the _North_ the horrid _Sprite_; Now had he travers'd many a League, And felt, as _Spirits_ feel, Fatigue, When, in a dark, romantic Wood, In which an antique Mansion stood, He spied, close to a Hovel-door, A _Saint_ conversing with his _Whore_. Double he seem'd, and worn with Age, Little adapted to engage In _Love_'s hot War, too dry his Trunk To cope with a lascivious Punk; So humble too he seem'd, You'd swear, _Humility_ herself was there; So like a _Sawyer_ too he _bows_, You'd think that he was _Meekness'_ Spouse; But _Satan_ read his _Visage-lines_, And found some favourable Signs, That this _meek Saint_ might, _in the Dark_, Make his _Infernalship_ a _Clerk_; Tho' muffled in _Religion_'s Cloak So close, that it might almost choak A _Pharisee_, it might be still Only a _Cloak_ to doff at Will; His _Speech_ might be an acted Part, A Language foreign to his _Heart_. He knew, that tho' upon his _Tongue_, _Religion_, a mere _Cant-word_, hung, He might forget it in his _Work_, And be at _Heart_ a very _Turk_. _Finesse_ and _Trick_ wou'd ne'er succeed, If Men wou'd only learn to read, To read the Lines of _Nature_'s Pen, Drawn in the _Countenance of Men_, Where Truth speaks out distinct and clear, If we had but the Trick to hear. So far'd it with _our Saint_, while He Wou'd seem downright _Humility_, Some honest Features cry'd aloud, "Our Master is of Spirit proud." Pass him with Bonnet on, his Lip Will hang as low as to his Hip; His bloated Eye its Venom darts, And from its gloomy Socket starts; And if the _Body_'s frame we scan, He cannot be an _upright Man_. And there are Proofs, from which we see His _Body_ and his _Soul_ agree. Altho' he is as fond of _Pray'rs_, As Country Girls of Country Fairs; Yet shou'd he in the Church-yard spy Some _tempting Wanton_ passing by, E'en at the Moment that his Knee Is bent in Sign of _Piety_, Quick his _Devotion_ leaves the _Heart_, And settles in some _other Part_; The Book of _Pray'r_ is shut, and _Heav'n_ For the dear Charms of _Coelia_ giv'n.