He duly watch'd his Flock by Night and Day;
And from the prowling Woolf redeem'd the Prey,
But hungry fent the wily Fox away.

The Proud he tam'd, the Penitent he chear'd,
Nor to reprove the rich Offender fear'd;

His Preaching much, but more his Practice wrought,
(A living Sermon of the Truth he taught)

Thus all might fee the Doctrine which they heard:
For Priefts, he said, are Patterns for the reft,
The Gold of Heav'n, who bear the God imprefs'd:
If they be foul, on whom the People truft,
Well may the bafer Brafs contract à Ruft.
With what he beg'd, his Brethren he reliev'd,
And gave the Charities himself receiv'd:
Gave, while he taught, and edify'd the more,
Because he fhew'd by Proof, 'twas eafy to be poor.
Quoth Ralpho, you mistake the Matter,
For in all Scruples of this Nature,
No Man includes himself, nor turns
The Point upon his own concerns.
As no Man of his own felf catches
The Itch, or amorous French Aches;
So no Man does himself Convince
By his own Doctrine of his Sins.
And 'tis not what we do, but fay,

In Love and Preaching, that muft fway.
Priesthood that makes a Merchandize of Heav'n:
Priesthood that fells ev'n to their Pray'rs and Bleffings,
And forces us to pay for our own Coz'nage.

Nay, cheats Heav'n too with Entrails and with Offals,
Gives it the Garbage of a Sacrifice,

And keeps the best for private Luxury.

Dryd. Troil. & Creff.

The Gods are, theirs, not ours; and when we pray...

For happy Omens, we their Price must pay:
In vain at Shrines th'ungiving Suppliant ftands:
In vain we make our Vows with empty Hands.
Fat Off'rings are the Priesthood's only Care:

They take the Money, and Heav'n hears the Pray'r:
Without a Bribe their Oracles are mute,

And their inftructed Gods refuse the Suit.

Dryd, Cleom.

The pious Priesthood the fat Goose receive,

And they once brib'd, the Godhead muft forgive:
For Gain has wonderful Effects,

Dryd. Juv.

T'improve the Factory of Sects;
The Rule of. Faith in all Profeffions,
And great Diana of th'Ephefians.

Hud:

For

For Priests of all Religions are the fame:
Of whatfoe'er Defcent' their Godhead be,
Stone, Stock, or other homely Pedigree;
In his Defence his Servants are as bold,
As if he had been born of beaten Gold.
For 'tis their Duty, all the Learned think,
T'efpoufe his Caufe by whom they eat and drink.
I tell thee, Mufti, if the World were wife,
They would not wag one Finger in your Quarrels:
Your Heav'n you Promife, but our Earth you covet;
The Phaetons of Mankind, who fire that World,

(& Achit

Dryd. Abf.

Which you were fent by Preaching but to warm. Dryd.Don Seb. For whether King or People feek Extreams,

Still Confcience and Religion are the Themes.

And whatsoever Change the State invades,
The Pulpit either forces, or perfwades.
Others may give the Fuel or the Fire,

But Priefts the Breath, that makes the Flame, infpire. Denh.Soph.
We know their Thoughts of us; that Laymen are

Lag Souls, and Rubbish of remaining Clay,

Which Heav'n, grown weary of more perfect Work,
Set upward with a little Puff of Breath,

And bid us pafs for Men.

We know their holy Jugglings,

Dryd. Don Seb.

Dryd, Don Seb

Things that would ftartle Faith, and make us deem
Not this, or that, but all Religions falfe.

You want to lead

My Reafon blindfold, like a hamper'd Lion,

Check'd of its noble Vigour: Then when baited

Down to obedient Tamenefs, make it couch

And fhew ftrange Tricks, which you call Signs of Faith:

So filly Souls are gull'd, and you get Money.

If we muft pray,

Rear in the Streets bright Altars to the Gods,.
Let Virgins Hands adorn the Sacrifice;
And not a grey-Beard forging Priest come there,
To pry into the Bowels of the Victim,
And with their Dotage mad the gaping World.
Why feek we Truth from Priefts?

Otw. Ven. Pref.

The Smiles of Courtiers, and the Harlots Tears,
The Tradefmans Oath, and Mourning of an Heir,
Are Truths to what Priests tell:

Oh why has Priefthood Privilege to lie,

And yet to be believ'd?

Is not the Care of Souls a Load fufficient? Are not your holy Stipends paid for this? Were you not bred apart from worldly Noife,

Lee Oedip.

Lee Oedip

Το

Then Helymus, whom young Diores ply'd,
Step after Step, and almoft Side by Side:
His Shoulders preffing, and in longer Space
Had won, or left at leaft a dubious Race.
Now fpent, the Goal they almost reach at laft,
When eager Nifus, hapless in his Hafte,
Slipt first, and flipping, fell upon the Plain,
Soak'd with the Blood of Oxen newly flain.
The careless Victor had not mark'd his Way,
But treading where the treach'rous Puddle lay,
His Heels flew up, and on the graffy Floor
He fell, befmear'd with Filth and holy Gore.
Not mindless then, Euryalus, of thee,
Nor of the facred Bonds of Amity,

He ftrove th'immediate Rival's Hope to cross,
And caught the Foot of Salius as he rofe ;
So Salius lay extended on the Plain,

Euryalus fprings out the Prize to gain,

And leaves the Crowd: Applauding Peals attend

(Virg

The Victor to the Goal, who vanquifh'd by his Friend. Dryd RAGE. See Anger.

Rage is the shortest Paffion of our Souls.

Like narrow Brooks, that rife with fuddain Showr's,

It fwells in Hafte, and falls agen affoon.

Still as it ebbs the fofter Thoughts flow in,

And the Deceiver Love fupplies its Place.

Row. Fair Pen.

Dryd.

His Breaft with Fury burn'd, his Eyes with Fire,
Mad with Defpair, impatient with Defire.
Reftlefs his Feet, diftracted was his Walk,
Mad were his Motions, and confus'd his Talk;
Mad as the vanquifh'd Bull when forc'd to yield
His lovely Miftrefs, and forfake the Field,

He found his Veins with Indignation fwell,
And felt within the Fire and Rage of Hell.
Legions of spleenful Spirits fill'd his Breaft,
And dire Revenge his troubled Soul poffefs'd.
As the vaft Rage of vanquifh'd Lucifer,
When dreadful Thunder charg'd his flying Rear:
When by th' Almighty's conqu'ring Squadrons driv'n
O'er the blue Plains and from the Brow of Heav'n,
Rush'd into Hell, he faw his ruin'd Hoft
Plung'd in hot Vengeance, and for ever loft.
Tempefts and Whirlwinds thro' his Bofom move,

Heave up, and madly mount the Soul above
The Reach of Pity, or the Bounds of Love.

Dryd. Ovid.

Blac.

Dryd. Cleom.

At first Her Rage was dumb, and wanted Words, But when the Storm found way, 'twas wild and loud:

}

Mad

Mad as the Prieftefs of the Delphick God,
Enthufiaftick Paffion fwell'd her Breast,
Enlarg'd her Voice, and ruffled all her Form.

Think you beheld him like a raging Lion,
Pacing the Earth, and tearing up his Steps,
Fate in his Eyes, and roaring with the Pain
Of burning Fury.

My Mind, and its Intents are favage, wild,
More fierce, and more inexorable far,
Than empty Tigers, or the roaring Sea.

Oh give me Daggers, Fire, or Water!

Row. Fair Pen.

Otw. Orph.

Otw. Cai. Mar.

How I could bleed! how burn! how drown! the Waves
Hizzing and booming round my finking Head,
Till I defcended to the peaceful Bottom.
Oh there all's quiet; here all Rage and Fury:
The Air's too thin, and pierces my weak Brain,
I long for thick fubftantial Sleep: Hell! Hell!
Burft from the Centre, rage and roar aloud,
If thou art half so hot, so mad as I am.
Patience! Oh I've none !

Go bid the moving Plains of Sand lie ftill,

And ftir not when the ftormy South blows high;
From Top to Bottom thou haft toft my Soul,
And now 'tis in the Madness of the Whirl,
Requir'ft a fuddain Stop.

Patience! Preach it to the Winds,

To roaring Seas, or raging Fires: The Knaves,

Otw. Ven. Pref.

Dryd. Don Seb.

That teach it, laugh at you when you believe 'em. Otw. Orph.
Madness! Confufion! let the Storm come on:

Let the tumultuous Roar drive all upon me,
Dash my devoted Bark, ye Surges break it;

Away! be gone! and.give a Whirlwind room!

'Tis for my Ruin that the Tempest rises.

Row. Fair Pen,

Or I will blow you up like Duft ! Avaunt!
Madness but meanly reprefents my Toil!

Eternal Discord,

Fury, Revenge, Difdain and Indignation

Tear my fwoln Breaft; make Way for Fire and Tempeft:
My Brain is burft; Debate and Reafon quench'd.
The Storm is up, and my hot bleeding Heart

Splits with the rack; while Paffions, like the Winds;
Rife up to Heav'n, and put out all the Stars.
Rage has no Bounds in flighted Womankind.
Oppofe not Rage, while Rage is in its Force;

Lee Alex. Dryd. Cleom;

But give it way awhile, and let it waste :
The rifing Deluge is not stopp'd with Dams,
Thofe it o'erbears, and drowns the Hope of Harvest:

Cc z

But

But wifely manag'd, its divided Strength
Is fluic'd in Channels, and fecurely drain'd.
And when its Force is fpent and unfupply'd,
The Refidue with Mounds may be reftrain'd,

And dry-fhod we may pafs the naked Ford. Shak. Troil. & Cr
RAINBOW.

Thus oft the Lord of Nature, in the Air

Hangs Ev'ning Clouds, his fable Canvass, where
His Pencil, dip'd in heav'nly Colours, made
Of intercepted Sun-beams, mix'd with Shade
Of temper'd Æther, and refracted Light,
Paints his fair Rainbow charming to the Sight.
RAPE.

Force is the laft Relief which Lovers find ;
And 'tis the best Excuse of Womankind :
It is Refiftance that inflames Defire,
Sharpens the Darts of Love, and blows his Fire
Love is difarm'd that meets with too much Eafe,
He languishes, and does not care to please:
And therefore 'tis your golden Fruit you guard,
With fo much Care, to make Poffeffion hard.

:

Who'd be that fordid, foolish Thing, call'd Man,
To cringe thus, fawn, and flatter for a Pleafure,
Which Beafts enjoy fo very much above him?
The lufty Bull ranges thro' all the Field,
And from the Herd fingling his Female out,
Enjoys her, and abandons her at Will.

It fhall be fo! I'll yet poffefs my Love;

Wait on, and watch her loofe unguarded Hours;

Blac

Dryd. Auren.

Then when her roving Thoughts have been abroad,
And brought in wanton Wishes to her Heart,
I'th'very Minute when her Vertue nods,

I'll rush upon her in a Storm of Love,

Beat down her Guard of Honour all before me,

And furfeit upon Joys, till ev'n Defire grows fick. 'Tis nobler, like a Lyon, to invade,

Otw. Orph.

Where Appetite directs, and fieze my Prey,
Than to wait tamely, like a begging Dog,

Till dull Confent throws out the Scraps of Love.
I'll plunge into a Sea of my Defires,

I'll tear up. Pleasure by the Roots;

And quench my Fever, tho' I drown my Fame.
To what a Height did Infant Rome,

Rech. Val

By ravishing of Women come?

When Men upon their Spouses fiez'd,
And freely marry'd where they pleas'd.
They ne'er forfwore themfelves, nor ly'd,
Nor, in the Minds they were in, dy'd:

Not