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That yields us twice the squib’s net price,
We save, if we are not mistaken,
Both the churl’s soul and our own bacon.
His faith flares up to heaven a tow-ball,
Our gains roll downward like a snowball,
At every revolution doubling,
And win both worlds without more troubling.
Such outlays for the Church’s glory
Place, then, in special category:
Like new wine on the cellar shelves
Because they more than pay themselves.”
Delightful system surely this is!
Perpetual fireworks for the sheep,
And for the shepherds endless fleeces,
Rolling themselves up heap on heap,
Perfect in theory, alack! ’tis
Not quite so workable in practice
Nor for poor grovelling human clay meant,
For when the husbandmen ran dry,
With not a sou fresh seed to buy,
In pawn the pig and winter’s raiment,
Their faith dried too, and they stopped payment.
Fobs empty may by faith be tempted
But not the fobs that faith has emptied.
And lastly to the aforesaid causes
Which emptied Popery’s money vases:
To wit, the lavish waste engendered
By Pat’s too liberally tendered
Reserves, when trade and toil were flourishing
And Rome’s ingenuous mode of nourishing
Her sweating bags on poor men’s earnings
