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Could I from Factious Inſolence be free,
And live unſtain’d, without an Enemy,
(But that, till thou art cruſh’d, can never be)
Then Church, and State might happily Unite,
To Mankinds Safety, and to Heav’ns Delight:
But you, by Pride, are ſwell’d to ſuch a Rage,
(Fed by the Vice of a Corrupted Age)
That now you ſtrike, with Envy, at my Pow’r,
And aim’ſt above my Sacred Head to tow’r;
But all in vain
For that Bleſt Edifice can never drop,
Which, when aſſail’d, good Heaven’n is ſtill the Prop.
You urge a Barn, or Stable, where you Meet,
A Field, a Coffee-Houſe, Dancing-School or Street,
Are fit for Heav’nly Worſhip, and for Prayer
Sacred, as unpoluted Temples are.
Rare Arrogance indeed, ſo vilely prone,
To juſtify Irreverence to a God-head done.
A Room where Men their common Luſts purſue,
Drink, Swear, Lye, Cheat, all Worldly-buſineſs do,
In Chriſtian Reaſon, is a hopeful Place
To beg God’s Preſence, or expect His Grace;
Whilſt His own Houſe, for Holy uſe ordain’d,
To Him Erected, by our Sins unſtain’d,
Shall be Deſpis’d, and Unregarded ſtand,
A uſeleſs Fabrick, in an Impious Land:
Yet do’ſt thou grumble in oppreſſive tones,
And rail at me for Perſeutions.
