But, when they smelt such foul corruptions round him,
Away they fled, and left him as they found him.
Thus, when a greedy sloven once has thrown
His snot into the mess, 'tis all his own.
ON THE IRISH BISHOPS[1]. 1731.
OLD Latimer preaching did fairly describe
A bishop, who rul'd all the rest of his tribe;
And who is this bishop? and where does he dwell?
Why truly 'tis Satan, archbishop of Hell.
And He was a primate, and He wore a mitre
Surrounded with jewels of sulphur and nitre.
How nearly this bishop our bishops resembles!
But he has the odds, who believes and who trembles.
Could you see his grim grace, for a pound to a penny.
You'd swear it must be the baboon of Kilkenny:
Poor Satan will think the comparison odious;
I wish I could find him out one more commodious,
But, this I am sure, the most reverend old dragon
Has got on the bench many bishops suffragan;
And all men believe he resides there incog.
To give them by turns an invisible jog.
Our bishops, puft up with wealth and with pride,
To Hell on the backs of the clergy would ride.
They mounted and labour'd with whip and with spur,
In vain — for the devil a parson would stir.
- ↑ Occasioned by their endeavouring to get an act to divide the church-livings; which bill was rejected by the Irish house of commons.
