He first did place that wreath about thy head, } Kindly relieved thy wants, and gave thee bread. } Here 'twas thou mad'st thy bells of fancy chime, And choked the town with suffocating rhyme; Till heroes, formed by thy creating pen, Were grown as cheap and dull as other men. Flushed with success, full gallery and pit, Thou bravest all mankind with want of wit; Nay, in short time wer't grown so proud a ninny, As scarce to allow that Ben himself had any; But when the men of sense thy error saw, They checked thy muse, and kept the termagant in awe. To satire next thy talent was addrest, Fell foul on all, thy friends among the rest: Those who the oft'nest did thy wants supply, Abused, traduced, without a reason why; Nay, even thy royal patron was not spared, But an obscene, a santring wretch declared. Thy loyal libel we can still produce; Beyond example, and beyond excuse. O strange return to a forgiving king! But the warmed viper wears the greatest sting. Thy pension lost, and justly without doubt; When servants snarl, we ought to kick 'em out; They that disdain their benefactor's bread, No longer ought by bounty to be fed. That lost, the visor changed, you turn about, And straight a true blue Protestant crept out. The "Friar" now was writ; and some will say, They smell a mal-content through all the play. The Papist too was damned, unfit for trust, } Called treacherous, shameless, profligate, unjust; } And kingly power thought arbitrary lust. } This lasted till thou didst thy pension gain, And that changed both thy morals and thy strain. If to write contradictions nonsense be, Who has more nonsense in their works than thee? We'll mention but thy Layman's Faith and Hind: Who'll think both these, such clashing do we find, Could be the product of one single mind! Here thou wouldst charitable fain appear, Find fault that Athanasius was severe; Thy pity straight to cruelty is raised, And even the pious inquisition praised, And recommended to the present reign, "O happy countries, Italy and Spain!" Have we not cause, in thine own words, to say, } Let none believe what varies every day, } That never was, nor will be, at a stay? } Once heathens might be saved, you did allow, But not, it seems, we greater heathens now. The loyal church, that buoys the kingly line, Damned with a breath, but 'tis such a breath as thine. What credit to thy party can it be, To have gained so lewd a profligate as he, Strayed from our fold, makes us to laugh, not weep; We have but lost what was disgrace to keep. By them mistrusted, and to us a scorn; For 'tis but weakness at the best to turn. True, hadst thou left us in the former reign, } Y'had proved it was not wholly done for gain; }