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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=499104" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Progress Of A Divine: Satire</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">All priests are not the same, be understood!<br>Priests are, like other folks, some bad, some good.<br>What's vice or virtue, sure admits no doubt;<br>Then, clergy, with church mission, or without;<br>When good, or bad, annex we to your name,<br>The greater honour, or the greater shame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Mark how a country Curate once could rise;<br>Tho' neither learn'd, nor witty, good, nor wise!<br>Of innkeeper, or butcher, if begot,<br>At Cam or Isis bred, imports it not.<br>A Servitor he was-Of hall, or college?<br>Ask not-to neither credit is his knowledge.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Four years, thro' foggy ale, yet made him see,<br>Just his neck-verse to read, and take degree.<br>A gown, with added sleeves, he now may wear;<br>While his round cap transforms into a square.<br>Him, quite unsconc'd, the butt'ry book shall own;<br>At pray'rs, tho' ne'er devout, so constant known.<br>Let testimonials then his worth disclose!<br>He gains a cassock, beaver and a rose.<br>A Curate now, his furniture review!<br>A few old sermons, and a bottle-screw.<br>A Curate?-Where? His name (cries one) recite!<br>Or tell me this-Is pudding his delight?<br>Why, our's loves pudding-Does he so?-'tis he!<br>A Servitor;-Sure Curl will find a key.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>His Alma Mater now he quite forsakes;<br>She gave him one degree, and two he takes.<br>He now the hood and sleeve of Master wears;<br>Doctor! (quoth they)-and lo! a scarf he bears!<br>A swelling, russling, glossy scarf! yet he,<br>By peer unqualify'd, as by degree.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>This Curate learns church-dues, and law to tease,<br>When time shall serve, for tithes, and surplice-fees;<br>When 'scapes some portion'd girl from guardian's pow'r,<br>He the snug licence gets for nuptual hour;<br>And rend'ring vain her parent's prudent cares,<br>To sharper weds her, and with sharper shares.<br>Let babes of poverty convulsive lie;<br>No bottle waits, tho' babes unsprinkled die.<br>Half-office serves the fun'ral, if it bring<br>No hope of scarf, or hatband, gloves, or ring.<br>Does any wealthy fair desponding lie,<br>With scrup'lous conscience, tho' she knows not why?<br>Would cordial counsel make the patient well?<br>Our priest shall raise the vapours, not dispel.<br>His cant some orphan's piteous case shall bring;<br>He bids her give the widow's heart to sing:<br>He pleads for age in want; and while she lingers,<br>Thus snares her charity with bird-lime fingers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Now in the patron's mansion see the wight,<br>Factious for pow'r-a son of Levy right!<br>Servile to 'squires, to vassals proud his mien,<br>As Codex to inferior Clergy seen.<br>He flatters till you blush; but, when withdrawn,<br>'Tis his to slander, as 'twas his to fawn.<br>He pumps for secrets, pries o'er servants' ways,<br>And, like a meddling priest, can mischief raise;<br>And from such mischief thus can plead desert-<br>'Tis all my patron's int'rest at my heart.<br>Deep in his mind all wrongs from others live;<br>None more need pardon, and none less forgive.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>At what does next his erudition aim?<br>To kill the footed and the feather'd game:<br>Then this Apostle, for a daintier dish.<br>With line or net, shall plot the fate of fish.<br>In kitchen, what the cookmaid calls a cot;<br>In cellar, with the butler, brother sot,<br>Here too he corks; in brewhouse hops the beer,<br>Bright in the hall, his parts at whist appear;<br>Dext'rous to pack; yet at all cheats exclaiming:<br>The priest has av'rice, av'rice itch of gaming,<br>And gaming fraud:-But fair he strikes the ball,<br>And at the plain of billiard pockets all.<br>At tables now!-But oh, if gammon'd there,<br>The startling echoes learn, like him, to swear!<br>Tho' ne'er at authors in the study seen,<br>At bowls sagacious master of the green.<br>A connoisseur, as cunning as a fox,<br>To bet on racers, or on battling cocks;<br>To preach o'er beer, in boroughs, to procure<br>Voters, to make the 'squire's election sure:<br>For this, where clowns stare, gape, and grin, and baul,<br>Free to buffoon his function to 'em all.<br>When the clod justice some horse-laugh wou'd raise,<br>Foremost the dullest of dull jokes to praise;<br>To say, or unsay, at his patron's nod;<br>To do the will of all-save that of God.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>His int'rest the most servile part he deems;<br>Yet much he sways, where much to serve he seems;<br>He sways his patron, rules the Lady most,<br>And, as he rules the Lady, rules the roast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Old tradesmen must give way to new-his aim<br>Extorted poundage, once the steward's claim.<br>Tenants are rais'd; or, as his pow'r increases,<br>Unless they fine to him, renew no leases.<br>Thus tradesmen, servants, tenants, none are free;<br>Their loss and murmur are his gain and glee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Lux'ry he loves; but like a priest of sense,<br>Ev'n lux'ry loves not at his own expence.<br>Tho' harlot passions wanton with his will,<br>Yet av'rice is his wedded passion still.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>See him with napkin o'er his band tuck'd in,<br>While the rich grease hangs glist'ning on his chin;<br>Or as the dew from Aaron's beard declines,<br>Ev'n to his garment hem soft-trickling shines!<br>He feeds, and feeds, swills soop, and sucks up marrow;<br>Swills, sucks, and feeds, till leach'rous as a sparrow.<br>Thy pleasure, Onan, now no more delights,<br>The lone amusement of his chaster nights.<br>He boasts-(let Ladies put him to the test!)<br>Strong back, broad shoulders, and a well-built chest.<br>With stiff'ning nerves, now steals he sly away;<br>Alert, warm, chuckling, ripe for am'rous play;<br>Ripe to caress the lass he once thought meet<br>At church to chide, when penanc'd in a sheet.<br>He pants the titillating joy to prove,<br>The fierce, short sallies of luxurious love.<br>Not fair Cadiere and Confessor than they,<br>In straining transports, more lascivious lay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Conceives her womb, while each so melts and thrills?<br>He plies her now with love, and now with pills.<br>No more falls penance cloath'd in shame upon her;<br>These kill her embryo, and preserve her honour.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Riches, love, pow'r, his passions then we own:<br>Can he court pow'r, and pant not for renown?<br>Fool, wise, good, wicked-all desire a name:<br>Than him, young heroes burn not more for fame.<br>While about ways of heav'n the schoolmen jar,<br>(The church re-echoing to the wordy war)<br>The ways of earth, he (on his horse astride)<br>Can with big words contest, with blows decide;<br>He dares some carrier, charg'd with cumb'rous load,<br>Disputes, dismounts, and boxes for the road.<br>Ye hooting boys, Oh, Well-play'd parson, cry!<br>Oh, Well-play'd parson, hooting vales reply!<br>Winds waft it to Cathedral Domes around!<br>Cathedral Domes from inmost choirs resound!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The man has many meritorious ways:<br>He'll smoak his pipe, and London's prelate praise.<br>His public pray'rs, his oaths for George declare;<br>Yet mental reservation may forswear;<br>For, safe with friends, he now, in loyal stealth,<br>Hiccups, and, stagg'ring, cries-King Jemmy's health.<br>God's word he preaches now, and now profanes;<br>Now swallows camels, and at gnats now strains.<br>He pities men, who, in unrighteous days,<br>Read, or, what's worse, write poetry and plays.<br>He readeth not what any author saith;<br>The more his merit in implicit faith.<br>Those, who a jot from mother church recede,<br>He damns, like any Athanasian creed.<br>He rails at Hoadley; so can zeal possess him,<br>He's orthodox, as Gibson's self-God bless him.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Satan, whom yet, for once, he pays thanksgiving,<br>Sweeps off th' incumbent now of fat-goose living.<br>He seeks his patron's Lady, finds the fair,<br>And for her int'rest first prefers his prayer-<br>You pose me not (said she) tho' hard the task;<br>Tho' husbands seldom give what wives will ask.<br>My dearee does not yet to think incline,<br>How oft your nest you feather, priest, from mine.<br>This pin-money, tho' short, has not betray'd;<br>Nor jewels pawn'd, nor tradesmen's bills unpay'd;<br>Mine is the female, fashionable skill,<br>To win my wants, by cheating at quadrille.<br>You bid me, with prim look, the world delude;<br>Nor sins my priest demurer than his prude.<br>Least thinks my Lord, you plant the secret horn,<br>That yours his hopeful heir, so newly born.<br>'Tis mine to tease him first with jealous fears,<br>And thunder all my virtue in his ears:<br>My virtue rules unquestion'd-Where's the cue<br>For that which governs him to govern you?<br>I gave you pow'r the family complain;<br>I gave you love; but all your love is gain.<br>My int'rest, wealth-for these alone you burn;<br>With these you leave me, and with these return:<br>Then, as no truant wants excuse for play,<br>'Twas duty-duty call'd you far away;<br>The sick to visit-some miles off to preach:<br>-You come not, but to suck one like a leach.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Thus Lady-like, she wanders from the case,<br>Keeps to no point, but runs a wild-goose chase.<br>She talks, and talks-to him her words are wind:<br>For fat-goose living fills alone his mind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>He leaves her, to his patron warm applies:-<br>But parson, mark the terms! (his patron cries)<br>Yon door you held for me, and handmaid Nell:<br>The girl now sickens, and she soon will swell.<br>My spouse has yet no jealous, odd conjecture:<br>Oh, shield my morning rest from curtain-lecture:<br>Parson, take breeding Nelly quick to wife,<br>And fat-goose living then is yours for life!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Patron and spouse thus mutually beguil'd,<br>Patron and priest thus own each other's child.<br>Smock simony agreed-Thus Curate rise;<br>Tho' neither learn'd, nor witty, good nor wise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Vicars (poor wights!) for lost impropriation,<br>Rue, tho' good protestants, the reformation.<br>Prefer'd from Curate, see our soul's protector<br>No murm'ring vicar, but rejoicing rector;<br>Not hir'd by laymen, nor by laymen shown,<br>Church-lands now theirs, and tithes no more his own!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>His patron can't revoke, but may repent:<br>To bully now, not please, our parson's bent.<br>When from dependence freed (such priestly will!)<br>Priests soon treat all, but first their patrons, ill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Vestries he rules-Ye lawyers, hither draw!<br>He snacks-His people deep are plung'd in law!<br>Now these plague those, this parish now sues that,<br>For burying, or maintaining foundling brat.<br>Now with churchwardens cribs the rev'rend thief,<br>From workhouse-pittance, and collection brief;<br>Nay, sacramental alms purloins as sure,<br>And ev'n at altars thus defrauds the poor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Poor folks he'll shun; but pray by rich, if ill,<br>And watch, and watch-to slide into their will;<br>Then pop, perchance, in consecrated wine,<br>What speeds the soul, he fits for realms divine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Why cou'd not London this good parson gain?<br>Before him sepulchres had rent in twain.<br>Then had he learn'd with sextons to invade,<br>And strip with sacrilegious hands the dead;<br>To tear off rings, e'er yet the finger rots;<br>To part 'em, for the vesture-shroud cast lots;<br>Had made dead skulls for coin the chymist's share,<br>The female corpse the surgeon's purchas'd ware;<br>And peering view'd, when for dissection laid,<br>That secret place, which love has sacred made.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Grudge heroes not your heads in stills inclos'd!<br>Grudge not, ye fair, your parts ripp'd up expos'd!<br>As strikes the choice anatomy our eyes;<br>As here dead skulls in quick'ning cordials rise;<br>From Egypt thus a rival traffic springs:<br>Her vended mummies thus were once her kings;<br>The line of Ninus now in drugs is roll'd,<br>And Ptolemy's himself for balsam sold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Volumes unread his library compose,<br>Gay shine their gilded backs in letter'd rows.<br>Cheap he collects-His friends the dupes are known;<br>They buy, he borrows, and each book's his own.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Poor neighbours earn his ale, but earn it dear;<br>His ale he trafficks for a nobler cheer.<br>For mugs of ale some poach-no game they spare;<br>Nor pheasant, partridge, woodcock, snipe, nor hare.<br>Some plunder fishponds; others (ven'son thieves)<br>The forest ravage, and the priest receives.<br>Let plenty at his board then lacquey serve!<br>No-tho' with plenty, penury will starve.<br>He deals with London fishmongers-His books<br>Swell in accompts with poult'rers and with cooks.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Wide, and more wide, his swelling fortune flows;<br>Narrower, and narrower still, his spirit grows.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>His servants-Hard has fate their lot decreed:<br>They toil like horses, like camelions feed.<br>Sunday, no sabbath, is in labour spent,<br>And Christmas renders 'em as lean as Lent.<br>Him long, nor faithful services engage;<br>See 'em dismiss'd in sickness or in age!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>His wife, poor Nelly, leads a life of dread;<br>Now beat, now pinch'd on arms, and now in bread.<br>If decent powder deck th' adjusted hair;<br>If modish silk, for once, improve her air;<br>Her with past faults, thus shocks his cruel tone;<br>(Faults, tho' from thence her dow'ry, now his own)-<br>Thus shall my purse your carnal joys procure,<br>All dress is nothing, but a harlot's lure.<br>Sackcloth alone your sin shou'd, penanc'd wear;<br>Your locks, uncomb'd, with ashes sprinkled stare.<br>Spare diet thins the blood-if more you crave,<br>'Tis mine, my viands, and your soul to save.<br>Blood must be drawn, not swell'd-then strip, and dread<br>This waving horsewhip circling o'er my head!<br>Be yours the blubb'ring lip, and whimp'ring eye!<br>Frequent this lash shall righteous stripes supply.<br>What, squall you? Call no kindred to your aid!<br>You wedded when no widow, yet no maid.<br>Did law Mosaic now in force remain,<br>Say to what father durst you then complain?<br>What had your virtue witness'd? Well I know,<br>No bridal sheets could virgin tokens shew;<br>Elders had sought, but miss'd the signing red,<br>And law, then harlot, straight had ston'd you dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Nor former vice alone her pain insures;<br>Nelly, for present virtue, much endures;<br>For lo, she charms some wealthy, am'rous 'squire!<br>Her spouse would let her, like his mare, for hire.<br>'Twere thus no sin, shou'd love her limbs employ:<br>Be his the profit, and be hers the joy!<br>This, when her chastity, or pride denies;<br>His words reproach her, and his kicks chastise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>At length, in childbed, she, with broken heart,<br>Tips off-poor soul!-Let her in peace depart!<br>He mourns her death, who did her life destroy;<br>He weeps, and weeps-Oh, how he weeps-for joy!<br>Then cries, with seeming grief, Is Nelly dead?<br>No more with woman creak my couch or bed!<br>'Tis true, he spouse nor doxy more enjoys;<br>Women farewel! He lusts not-but for boys.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>This priest, ye Clergy, not fictitious call;<br>Think him not form'd to represent ye all.<br>Should satire quirks of vile attornies draw;<br>Say, wou'd that mean to ridicule all law?<br>Describe some murd'ring quack with want of knowledge,<br>Wou'd true physicians cry-You mean the college?<br>Blest be your cloth!-But, if in him, 'tis curst,<br>'Tis as best things, corrupted, are the worst.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>But lest with keys the guiltless Curl defame,<br>Be publish'd here-Melchisedeck his name!<br>Of Oxford too; but her strict terms have dropp'd him:<br>And Cambridge, ad eundem, shall adopt him.<br>Of Arts now Master him the hood confirms;<br>'Scap'd are his exercises, 'scap'd his terms.<br>See the degree of Doctor next excite!<br>The scarf, he once usurp'd, becomes his right.<br>A Doctor! cou'd be disputants refute?<br>Not so-first compromis'd was the dispute.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>At fat-goose living seldom he resides;<br>A Curate there, small pittance well provides.<br>See him at London, studiously profound,<br>With bags of gold, not books, encompass'd roun!<br>He, from the broker, how to jobb discerns;<br>He, from the scriv'ner, art of usury learns;<br>How to let int'rest run on int'rest knows,<br>And how to draw the mortgage, how foreclose;<br>Tenants and boroughs bought with monstrous treasure,<br>Elections turn obedient to his pleasure.<br>Like St'bb'ng, let him country mobs support,<br>And then, like St'bb'ng, crave a grace at court!<br>He sues, he teases, and he perseveres:<br>Not blushless Henley less abash'd appears.<br>His impudence, of proof in ev'ry trial,<br>Kens no polite, and heeds no plain denial.<br>A spy, he aims by others' fall to rise;<br>Vile as Iscariot U--n, betrays, belies;<br>And say, what better recommends than this?<br>Lo, Codex greets him with a holy kiss;<br>Him thus instructs in controversial stuff;<br>Him, who ne'er argu'd, but with kick and cuff!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>My Weekly Miscellany be your lore;<br>Then rise, at once, the champion of church-pow'r!<br>The trick of jumbling contradictions know;<br>In church be high, in politics seem low:<br>Seek some antagonist, then wound his name;<br>The better still his life, the more defame;<br>Quote him unfair; and, in expression quaint,<br>Force him to father meanings never meant!<br>Learn but mere names, resistless is your page;<br>For these enchant the vulgar, those enrage.<br>Name Church, that mystic spell shall mobs command,<br>Let Heretic each reas'ning Christian brand;<br>Cry Schismatic, let men of conscience shrink!<br>Cry Infidel, and who shall dare to think?<br>Invoke the Civil Pow'r, not Sense, for aid;<br>Assert, not argue; menace, not persuade;<br>Shew discord and her fiends would save the nation;<br>But her call Peace, her fiends a Convocation!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>By me, and Webster, finish'd thus at school,<br>Last for the pulpit, learn this golden rule!<br>Detach the sense, and pother o'er the text,<br>And puzzle first yourself, your audience next:<br>Ne'er let your doctrine ethic truth impart;<br>Be that as free from morals as your heart!<br>Say faith, without one virtue, shall do well;<br>But, without faith, all virtues doom to hell!<br>What is this faith? Not what (as Scripture shows)<br>Appeals to reason, when 'twou'd truth disclose;<br>This, against reason, dare we recommend;<br>Faith may be true; yet not on truth depend.<br>'Tis mystic light-a light which shall conceal;<br>A Revelation, which shall not reveal.<br>If faith is faith, 'tis orthodox-in brief,<br>Belief, not orthodox, is not belief;<br>And who has not belief, pronounce him plain<br>No Christian-Codex bids you this maintain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Thus with much wealth, some jargon, and no grace,<br>To seat episcopal our Doctor trace!<br>Codex, deceiving the superior ear,<br>Procures the Congè(much miscall'd) D'Elire.<br>(Let this the force of our fine precept tell,<br>That faith, without one virtue, shall do well.)<br>The Dean and Chapter, daring not t' enquire,<br>Elect him-Why?-to shun a Premunire.<br>Within, without, be tidings roll'd around;<br>Organs within, and bells without resound.<br>Lawn-sleev'd, and mitred, stand he now confest:<br>See Codex consecrate!-A solemn jest!<br>The wicked's pray'rs prevail not-pardon me,<br>Who, for your Lordship's blessing, bend-no knee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Like other priests, when to small sees you send 'em,<br>Let ours hold fat-goose living in commendam!<br>An officer, who ne'er his King rever'd;<br>For trait'rous toasts, and cowardice cashier'd;<br>A broken 'pothecary, once renown'd<br>For drugs, that poison'd half the country round;<br>From whom warm girls, if pregnant ere they marry,<br>Take physic, and for honour's sake miscarry:<br>A lawyer, fam'd for length'ning bills of cost,<br>While much he plagu'd mankind, his clients most,<br>To lick up ev'ry neighbour's fortune known,<br>And then let lux'ry lick up all his own;<br>A Cambridge Soph, who once for wit was held<br>Esteem'd; but vicious, and for vice expell'd;<br>With parts, his Lordship's lame ones to support,<br>In well-tim'd sermons fit to cant at court;<br>Or accurately pen (a talent better!)<br>His Lordship's senate-speech, and past'ral letter:<br>These four, to purify from sinful stains<br>This Bishop first absolves, and then ordains.<br>His chaplains these? and each of rising knows<br>Those righteous arts, by which their patron rose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>See him Lord Spiritual, dead-voting seated!<br>He soon (tho' ne'er to heav'n) shall be translated.<br>Wou'd now the mitre circle Rundle's crest?<br>See him, with Codex, ready to protest!<br>Thus holy, holy, holy Bishop rise;<br>Tho' neither learn'd, nor witty, good, nor wise!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Think not these lays, ye Clergy, would abuse;<br>Thus, when these lays commenc'd, premis'd the muse-<br>All priests are not the same, be understood!<br>Priests are, like other folks, some bad, some good.<br>The good no sanction give the wicked's fame;<br>Nor, with the wicked, share the good in shame.<br>Then wise free-thinkers cry not smartly thus-<br>Is the priest work'd?-The poet's one of us.<br>Free-thinkers, Bigots are alike to me;<br>For these misdeem half-thinking, thinking free;<br>Those, speculative without speculation,<br>Call myst'ry and credulity salvation.<br>Let us believe with reason, and in chief,<br>Let our good works demonstrate our belief;<br>Faith, without virtue, never shall do well;<br>And never virtue, without faith, excel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Richard+Savage">Richard Savage</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=499104" data-title="The Progress Of A Divine: Satire de Richard Savage" data-description="All priests are not the same, be understood!
Priests are, like other folks, some bad, some good.
What's vice or virtue, sure admits no doubt;
Then, clergy, with church mission, or without;
When good, or bad, annex we to your name,
The greater hono..."></div>
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