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When Satan chain'd below should cease to roar,
Nor durst the wicked as they wont before
Come to the Church for pastime, nor durst laugh
To hear the non-plust Doctor faign a cough.
The Devil himself, alas! now durst not stand
Within the switching of the Sextons wand,
For so a while the Priests did him pursue,
That he was fain to keep the Sabboth too,
Lest being taken in the Elders lure,
He should have paid his crown unto the poor;
And lest he should like a deceiver come
'Twixt the two Sundays inter stitium,
They stuft up Lecturers with texts and straw,
On working-days to keep the Devil in awe.
But strange to think, for all this solemn meekness,
At length the Devil appeared in his likeness,
While these deceits did but supply the wants
Of broken unthrifts, and of thread-bare Saints.
Oh what will men not dare, if thus they dare
Be impudent to Heaven, and play with Prayer!
Play with that fear, with that religious awe
Which keeps men free, and yet is mans great law:
What can they but the worst of Atheists be,
Who while they word it 'gainst impiety,
Affront the throne of God with their false deeds,
Alas, this wonder in the Atheist breeds.
Are these the men that would the Age reform,
That Down with Superstition cry, and swarm
This painted Glass, that Sculpture to deface,
But worship pride, and avarice in their place.
Religion they bawl out; yet know not what
Religion is, unless it be to prate.
Meekness they preach, but study to controul;
Money they'd have, when they cry out your soul.
And angry, will not have Our Father said,
'Cause it prays not enough for daily bread.
They meet in private, and cry Persecution,
When Faction is their end, and State-confusion:
These
