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 parcelled 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, Poor laymen took salvation on content, As needy men take money, good or bad. God's word they had not, but the priest's they had; Yet whate'er false conveyances they made, The lawyer still was certain to be paid. In those dark times they learned their knack so well, That by long use they grew infallible. At last, a knowing age began to enquire If they the book, or that did them inspire; And, making narrower search, they found, though late, 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, Claimed 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, 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 galled, And he was gifted most, that loudest bawled; 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; 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 explained by fasting and by prayer: This was the fruit the private spirit brought, Occasioned by great zeal and little thought. While crowds unlearned, with rude devotion warm, About the sacred viands buz and swarm; The fly-blown text creates a crawling brood, And turns to maggots what was meant for food.[35] A thousand daily sects rise up and die; A thousand more the perished race supply; So all we make of heaven's discovered 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. What then remains, but, waving each extreme, The tides of ignorance and pride to stem; Neither so rich a treasure to forego, Nor proudly seek beyond our power to know? Faith is not built on disquisitions vain; The things we must believe are few and plain: But since men will believe more than they need, And every man will make himself a creed,