Next him, let railing Rabfheka have place,
So full of zeal he has no need of grace;
A faint that can both flesh and spirit use,
Alike haunt conventicles and the stews:
Of whom the question difficult appears,
If most i' th' preachers or the bawds arrears.
What caution cou'd appear too much in him
That keeps the treasure of Jerufalem!
Let David's brother but approach the town,
Double our guards, he cries, we are undone.
Protesting that he dares not fleep in's bed
Left he fhou'd rife next morn without his head.
"Next thefe, a troop of bufy fpirits prefs,
Of little fortunes, and of conscience less;
With them the tribe, whofe luxury had drain'd
Their banks, in former fequeftrations gain'd;
Who rich and great by past rebellions grew,
And long to fish the troubled ftreams anew.
Some future hopes, fome prefent payment draws,
To fell their confcience and efpouse the cause,
Such ftipends those vile hirelings best befit,
Priests without grace, and poets without wit.
Shall that falfe 1 Hebronite escape our curse,
Judas that keeps the rebels penfion-purse;
Judas that pays the treafon-writer's fee,
Judas that well deferves his namesake's tree;
Who at Jerufalem's own gates erects
His college for a nursery of fects.
Young prophets with an early care fecures,
And with the dung of his own arts manures.
1 Shall that falfe Hebronite efcape our curfe, Robert Ferguson, a Scotch independent preacher, fubtle, plaufible, bold, and daring; had for many years preached and writ against the government with great animofity.
Who at Jerufalem's own gates erects
His college for a nursery of fects.
Ferguson had a chapel near Moorfields, in which he preached to as great multitudes as now follow Whitefield.
What have the men of Hebron here to do?
What part in Ifrael's promis'd land have you!
Here Phaleg the lay-Hebronite is come,
'Cause like the reft hé cou'd not live at home;
Who from his own poffeffions cou'd not drain
An omer ev'n of Hebronitish grain,
Here ftruts it like a patriot, and talks high
Of injur'd fubjects, alter'd property:
An emblem of that buzzing infect juft,
That mounts the wheel, and thinks fhe raifes duft.
Can dry bones live? or skeletons produce
The vital warmth of cuckoldizing juice?
Slim Phaleg could, and at the table fed,
Return'd the grateful product to the bed.
A waiting-man to trav'ling nobles chofe,
He his own laws wou'd faucily impose,
'Till baftinado'd back again he went,
To learn thofe manners he to teach was fent.
Chaftiz'd he ought to have retreated home,
But he reads politics to Abfalom.
For never Hebronite, tho' kick'd and fcorn'd,
To his own country willingly return'd.
-But leaving famifh'd Phaleg to be fed,
And to talk treason for his daily bread,
Let Hebron, nay let hell produce a man
So made for mifchief as Ben-Jochanan,
A Jew of humble parentage was he,
By trade a Levite, tho' of low degree:
His pride no higher than the desk afpir'd,
But for the drudgery of priests was hir'd
To read and pray in linen ephod brave,
And pick up fingle fhekels from the grave.
Married at laft, but finding charge come fafter,
He could not live by God, but chang'd his master:
Infpir'd by want, was made a factious tool,
They got a villain, and we lost a fool.
Still violent, whatever caufe he took,
But most against the party he forfook.
For renegadoes, who ne'er turn by halves,
Are bound in confcience to be double knaves.
So this profe-prophet took most monftrous pains,
To let his masters fee he earn'd his gains.
But as the devil owes all his imps a fhame,
He chofe th' apoftate for his proper theme;
With little pains he made the picture true,
And from reflection took the rogue he drew.
A wond'rous work, to prove the Jewish nation
In every age a murmuring generation;
To trace 'em from their infancy of finning,
And fhew 'em factious from their first beginning.
To prove they could rebel, and rail, and mock,
Much to the credit of the chofen flock;
A ftrong authority which must convince,
That faints own no allegiance to their prince.
As 'tis a leading-card to make a whore,
To prove her mother had turn'd up before.
But, tell me, did the drunken patriarch blefs
The fon that fhew'd his father's nakedness?
Such thanks the prefent church thy pen will give,
Which proves rebellion was fo primitive.
Muft ancient failings be examples made?
Then murderers from Cain may learn their trade.
As thou the heathen and the faint haft drawn,
Methinks th' apoftate was the better man:
And thy hot father, waving my respect,
Not of a mother-church but of a fect.
And fuch he needs mult be of thy inditing,
This comes of drinking affes milk and writing,
If Balack fhould be call'd to leave his place,
As profit is the loudeft call of grace,
His temple difpoffefs'd of one, would be
Replenish'd with feven devils more by thee.
Levi, thou art a load, I'll lay thee down,
And fhew rebellion bare, without a gown;
Poor flaves in metre, dull and addle-pated,
Who rhime below ev'n David's pfalms tranflated,
Some in my speedy pace I must out-run,
As lame Mephibofheth the wifard's fon:
To make quick way I'll leap o'er heavy blocks,
Shun rotten Uzza as I would the
pox; And haften Og and Doeg to rehearse,
Two fools that crutch their feeble fenfe on verfe;
Who by my mufe to all facceeding times,
Shall live in fpight of their own dogrel rhimes.
Doeg, tho' without knowing how or why,
Made till a blund'ring kind of melody;
Spurr'd boldly on, and dafh'd thro' thick and thin,
Through fenfe and nonsense, never out nor in;
Free from all meaning, whether good or bad,
And in one word, heroically, mad:
He was too warm on picking-work to dwell,
But fagotted his notions as they fell,
And if they rhim'd and rattled, all was well,
Spiteful he is not, tho' he wrote a fatire,
For ftill there goes fome thinking to ill-nature:
He needs no more than birds and beafts to think,
All his occafions are to eat and drink.
If he call rogue and rascal from a garrat,
He means you no more mischief than a parrat:
The words for friend and foe alike were made,
To fetter 'em in verfe is all his trade.
For almonds he'll cry whore to his own mother:
And call young Abfalom king David's brother.
Let him be gallows-free by my confent,
And nothing fuffer fince he nothing meant;
Hanging supposes human foul and reason,
This animal's below committing treafon :
Shall he be hang'd who never could rebel?
That's a preferment for Achitophel.
The woman that committed buggary,
Was rightly fentenc'd by the law to die;
But 'twas hard fate that to the gallows led
The dog that never heard the statute read.
Railing in other men may be a crime,,
But ought to pass for mere inftinct in him:
Inftinct he follows and no farther knows,
For to write verfe with him is to tranfprofe.
"Twere pity treafon at his door to lay,
Who makes heaven's gate a lock to its own key:
Let him rail on, let his invective muse
Have four and twenty letters to abuse,
Which, if he jumbles to one line of fenfe,
Indict him of a capital offence.
In fire-works give him leave to vent his fpite,
Those are the only ferpents he can write;
The height of his ambition is, we know,
But to be master of a puppet-show,
On that one stage his works may yet appear,
And a month's harvest keeps him all the year.
Now ftop your nofes, readers, all and fome,
For here's a tun of midnight-work to come,
Og from a treafon-tavern rowling home.
Round as a globe, and liquor'd every chink,
Goodly and
great he fails behind his link;
With all this bulk there's nothing loft in Og,
For every inch that is not fool is rogue:
A monftrous mafs of foul corrupted matter,
As all the devils had spew'd to make the batter,
When wine has giv'n him courage to blafpheme,
He curfes God, but God before curft him;
And if man could have reafon, none has more,
That made his paunch fo rich and him fo poor.
With wealth he was not trufted, for heav'n knew
What 'twas of old to pamper up a Jew;
To what would he on quail and pheafant fwell,
That even on tripe and carrion could rebel?
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