In times o'ergrown with rust and ignorance, 370 A gainful trade their clergy did advance: When want of learning kept the laymen low, And none but priests were authorised to know: When what small knowledge was, in them did dwell; And he a god, who could but read and spell: Then Mother Church did mightily prevail; She parcell'd out the Bible by retail: But still expounded what she sold or gave; To keep it in her power to damn and save. Scripture was scarce, and as the market went, 380 Poor laymen took salvation on content; As needy men take money, good or bad: God's Word they had not, but th' priest's they had. Yet, whate'er false conveyances they made, The lawyer still was certain to be paid. In those dark times they learn'd their knack so well, That by long use they grew infallible. At last a knowing age began to inquire If they the Book, or that did them inspire: And making narrower search, they found, though late, 390 That what they thought the priest's, was their estate; Taught by the will produced, the written Word, How long they had been cheated on record. Then every man who saw the title fair, Claim'd a child's part, and put in for a share: Consulted soberly his private good, And saved himself as cheap as e'er he could. 'Tis true, my friend, (and far be flattery hence), This good had full as bad a consequence: The Book thus put in every vulgar hand, 400 Which each presumed he best could understand, The common rule was made the common prey; And at the mercy of the rabble lay. The tender page with horny fists was gall'd; And he was gifted most that loudest bawl'd. The spirit gave the doctoral degree: And every member of a company Was of his trade, and of the Bible free. Plain truths enough for needful use they found; But men would still be itching to expound: 410 Each was ambitious of the obscurest place, No measure ta'en from knowledge, all from grace. Study and pains were now no more their care; Texts were explain'd by fasting and by prayer: This was the fruit the private spirit brought; Occasion'd by great zeal and little thought. While crowds unlearn'd, with rude devotion warm, About the sacred viands buzz and swarm. The fly-blown text creates a crawling brood, And turns to maggots what was meant for food. 420 A thousand daily sects rise up and die; A thousand more the perish'd race supply; So all we make of Heaven's discover'd will, Is, not to have it, or to use it ill. The danger's much the same; on several shelves If others wreck us, or we wreck ourselves.