THE ART OF Preaching, To a PARSON.
Cant. I.
STill you continue,
Preaching, to Profess;
Then pack your Labour'd Follies, to the Press:
But,
Parson, You'l at length be fain to own,
'Tis the most Irksome, Crabbed Trade in Town.
What's
Hardship? You reply, to Me, Inspir'd,
To Natural Parts, who Science have acquir'd;
More luckily ne're did
M— in the Hall,
His Brother
Serjeant Interrupting baul:
My Graceful Person long has took at Court,
Of which, the
Fifty Chaplains All came short:
My Postures, well-shap'd Hand, and sparkling Eye,
Command Attention from the Laiety:
My Voice strikes quite, to the Circumference
Of all my Numerous, Thronging Audience.
I speak pure English, and the Methods know,
To handle a Discourse, and Vary too:
Waller I Top, on
Dryden I refine,
Whose clever Style, more properly is Mine:
More than
Ben. Johnson, does to me belong,
To make a
Grammar for the
English Tongue.
I
Rapin's Learned Volumes have read o're,
Which makes me know my self an Orator:
I, in his Pages, nothing have descry'd,
What Nature had not in my self supply'd.
A Score of Chaplains, with less Sense than Me,
Have leapt from Benefice to Prelacy.
My Sermons do Expect the like Reward;
In order To't next Sunday I'll be heard.
Ere with the
People, you being, I sue,
That my
Instructions may begin with you;
And since, You're fixt, I am oblig'd to say,
Your Ease will cheat you, You must Toyl all day.
'Twill be the last Thing I'll to you prescribe,
T'Increase the Number of the
Tiresome Tribe,
No certain
Maximes are laid down to Preach,
Of
Humane Science, 'tis above the reach:
Heav'ns Master does alone the Secret know;
And, where He pleases, does the Gift bestow.
Your
Air, your
Voice, your
Meen, have won you Fame,
All these are Serviceable to Declaim:
These helps set off an Actor on the Stage;
With These, the Pleader does the Judge engage:
To these Endowments, Learning, and deep Sence,
F— has the most ensuring Eloquence:
By his neat Style, and Judgment most exact,
Clears confus'd Causes, which thick Sculls protract;
In
Evidence, Prolixity declines,
And Summs up their Ten Pages, in five Lines.
These Qualities accomplish Trades profane,
But on the Ministry, are Lost and Vain;
In them the perfect Character is found,
Where th'
Art of pleasing does with Grace abound;
'Tis
Preaching, where the Alarmed Soul betakes
Its self to a New Life, Old Sins forsakes;
For he no Sermon, who no Convert makes.
In hardned Errours when 'twas prepossest,
Its Ways are Chang'd, and by the change finds Rest.
Shew me, whence may this Prodigy proceed,
Faith points out th'
Author of the Mighty Deed;
He keeps that Soveraign Pow'r in his own hand,
Gives Man Commission but to reprimand:
From Exhortation is his Pow'rs Extent,
To denounce Justice, and sure Punishment.
What ever Doctrine from his Lips goes forth,
Is down right Vanity, and nothing Worth,
Unless to Heav'n he does his Thoughts resign,
And all his meanings are become Divine,
Wanting Credentials, Him the World will find,
No Emissary to convert Mankind.
This,
Parson, Doctors needs must let you know;
And
Common Reason their Superiour too;
You long t' appear in Publick; but beforehand,
Consult Your self, Your self to Understand;
Search if that
Pulse, that
Ardour Heav'n imparts,
Which quickned Zeal in the
First Christians Hearts?
If so, Preach on in
God Almighty's Name,
Immortal War to Sin, and Vice proclaim,
That by Your Voice Triumphant over Sin,
The load Men may grow weary to keep in,
And to Repentance go in Crowds begin.
If sordidly base interest be Your bait,
Or You for Popular Applause do wait,
Indifferent as the Faith to propagate:
If you on
God, fix your pretended Theme,
Your Words regarding more your self, than Him:
Irreverent Impudence, in Church, to dare,
That which the drooping Playhouse would not bare.
Goodman a figure makes of a much better sort,
Has better pleas'd, and less to answer for't.
Who knows, You answer, if the fire Divine,
Burn brighter in a Humane Brest than Mine:
Or the Supream, whose Choice was always free
For
Healing Souls, has not allotted me?
The Doubt will not perplex Us long I guess,
If Parson, You'll ingeniously confess,
That since you have so narrowly descry'd,
Our failings, Your own life you've rectify'd?
If in the Holy Week, we should produce,
Lent Preachers Preach't, which is not now in use,
Their Sermons would back on Themselves Recoyl,
And their Own Reasons their Own Nests defile.
A Preacher, whose Deportment did Imply,
A sense Internal of Divinity,
Against Excess, and th' Ages Lux'ury spoke.
That to the very Heart a Cit was struck,
Strait goes home to his Wife, and says, I have
Resolved to leave All, my Soul to save:
All, says She! Yes, the Parson makes it out,
There's no Salvation with above one Sute.
I'll keep but One, though I've at present Two,
Th' other to th' Prisoners, or the Poor shall go.
Poor Spouse by All means would the Preacher see,
If He'd persist, or cancel his Decree?
Attempts a Visit: To the Door being come,
Demands, if Mr. Parson be at home:
The saucy Foot-man snaps her up, and says;
My Master can't dine for you now adays;
Excuse me, Sir, till he has din'd, I'll wait:
Then by my Troth, You'll tarry pretty late.
I'll go, and come again; Sir, go or stay
'Tis the same Thing; for e're since Yesterday,
T'My certain knowledge, He's engag'd to play.
To morrow think you, he will be at home?
Yes, but take care too Early not to come.
To speak with him next Morning she repairs.
Wait in the Hall, H'll quickly come down stairs:
The Servant bids her. She desires to know
Whither He may be stirring yet, or no?
Yes, He's got up a little while ago.
He's in his Wardrobe tumbling up and down,
Changing his Cloaths just to ride out of Town.
Changing his Cloaths! Then I shall pack away!
If he hath Two Snits, I have nought to say.
A Narrative, her Tongue in full Carriere,
Makes of his Wardrobe, Gaming, and good Cheer:
By his example is the Cheat disclos'd,
The Sermon on the Scrupulous Cit Impos'd:
Such blighted Preacing to the ground must fall,
Though We such Sermons edifying call;
The bad Example, does unravel All.
With Rhetorick adorning Holy Writ,
In Vain Your Sermons play the Hypocrite:
If me You'd move, let me see Fruits in Thee,
Which by Your Words You seek to plant in me:
Thus the Apostles Preacht, in Ages past,
Their Holy Patterns shall for ever last;
He drives another Road, and in the wrong,
Whose Heart goes not togeather with his Tongue.
You know the means t'obtain th' Heav'nly Grace,
Get T— to preach then in your Place;
Him with attention hear, you'll soon discern
From Him You'll best
The Art of Preaching learn:
No man has got the knack of speaking well,
But can the proper Times for silence Tell.
Three Years to
Oxford Converse fix Your mind,
To Lectures, and to Libraries confin'd:
There from
Chimaeras wean'd, vain fancies free,
You may the Slightness of your Projects see;
There Meek, Sincere, Devout, and Wiser grown,
Your Nei'bors Faults, less censuring than your own,
Of
Vice, which you cry'd down without reproach,
I'll then believe you don't on Heav'n encroach,
But that you have divine unquestion'd Right:
You, Sir, my Counsel, I perceive, does fright?
Three whole Years in a close Retirement stay:
That's fine indeed, I'll not put off my Day,
For I shall Preach as sure as I shall Pray,
Who think You I to Preach my Course shall get?
The Princess must be serv'd by —
Besides You know my Word's already took,
My Name is mark't down in the Vestry Book:
How if in this more solemn Time of Lent,
I failing, should my Parents discontent;
And disoblige my Friends; who did not spare
For my preferment, journeys, purse, or care:
And now I'm in possession, I'll make bold,
Since there are but few Richer, This to hold:
To the Apostle-like, I don't pretend;
But am an honest Man, and there's an End;
Crowds by the Nose, my much Inferiours lead,
And few the beaten paths of Virtue tread.
Since You'r determin'd on the Enterprise,
Communicate but where the Motive lies:
What makes the Gentry Flock about You thus?
What's the device, You know no more than Us.
You'll scarce presume upon Your own desert;
That You must leave to Preachers more expert.
To pack an Audience, You've more ways indeed'
Only the Sleepers, Hearers do exceed.
Of my Sharp Muse, I guess You are afraid,
Lest of Your Gang, the Shifts should be betray'd,
And on what score should plainly make appear,
To Preaching Man so often lends his Ear:
On such a Subject so for Satyr fit,
To Your cost, Parson, I could shew my Wit,
On Your deep Art, though I with malice fall,
Your self believe not an Original:
Most Mens successful
Insufficiencies
By Parties back't pass for Abilities;
Some Great Men ne're are wanting, to Protect:
Dulness the very Parish would eject;
To Hear their
Pastor they would hardly Meet,
Unless He did, in the
Conclusion, Treat.
After this Vice, the
Gown has over-spread,
Do You, t'increase the general Grievance, dread?
Turn
Preacher of the Times, get Friends enough;
Nothing like Trusty Lads, to bring you off.
How ill strives Modesty against the Mode?
What's common grown, Men cautiously explode.
— Should be, in my Opinion, prais'd;
His Family He by this Method rais'd:
For at Two thousand Pounds a Year they rate,
Jewels apart, his visible Estate:
Good Mortgages his ready Cash secur'd;
Which, to scrape up, Eternal Toyls endur'd.
Two Boys were only his Apparent Heirs,
Whose Riches seemed, in Reversion, theirs.
Two thousand Pounds a Year to serve for Two,
Now I think better on't, it will not do:
I care not much my Capital to divide,
My Youngest shall be from the
Church supply'd;
And shall with study, by his Trade in time,
Or to a Bishoprick by Favour climb.
But, Does the Bishoprick give Eloquence?
Or Parts improve, or give us deeper Sense?
'Tis Heav'n exalts Us to that high Degree.
If Heav'n call'd any Man, my Son is He:
He must be Prelate, being last begot;
For That, by Course of Nature, is his Lot.
We'll for the
Church Train up his Tender Age;
He shall not be Defective, I engage:
He shall have Parts, if Parts are so requir'd;
And he shall Preach, if Preaching is desir'd.
The Day long-look't-for, did at last appear;
The Kindred all the Novice flock to hear:
But, Did you well remark their
Panick Fear?
To see him one Man's Air, One's Voice affect;
And the stole
Sermon best its self detect.
What mean these Coaches rattling up and down?
A New
Rhinoceros arriv'd in Town?
Sure, You can tell th'Occasion of this Throng!
P— Preaches; You have known him long?
Is it — Son, I swear,
His Father's my good Friend; I must be There,
Be but took Notice of my self to show;
For Men to
Sermons, as to
Musters, go.
However He comes by it, such a Crowd
Puffs up the
Preacher, makes him wondrous proud.
One Half, if You perchance enquire, pretends
To be
Relations, and the Other,
Friends.
If
Company was Summon'd, on pretence
To give raw, bashful Youth, just Confidence;
If our
Young Preacher Kind Applause, did move
His Parts in Time, by Studies to Improve:
This proves not only an
Inceptor's Art;
None fail for Proselytes, to do their Part.
— Up and Down;
He's oft at
Windsor, oft about the
Town.
My prying Friend would know, what He can mean,
To shew his grisly Face, and Carkass lean?
Perhaps, He thinks, by's flattering
Tongue, t'advance
At
Court, his most unflattering Countenance:
Though, with a Cassock, He does not despair
T'attempt the Favours of the
Fickle Fair.
Ladies, and
Lords, (says He) on
Sunday next,
I'll at St.
Giles's Preach, on such a
Text.
My Friend was
There, found Him the very same,
By Figure, Character, as well as Name.
Affected Language, and Conception vain,
His
Audience, long be-spoke, did entertain.
Of his Intrigues do You perceive the Drift?
But list a while, I apprehend his Shift.
This,
Parson, This is was, that gave Offence:
Does not his Anger justly this incense?
That
Holy Gospel has been used thus,
Tradition has not yet informed Us.
The Pious, Antient
Preachers did not rove,
From Parish-Church, to Parish-Church remove:
In their own Provinces were only Heard;
And inno Pulpit, but their Own, appear'd.
Their Fame did o're the Universe extend,
Their
Christian Doctrine All did comprehend:
With greatest
Sinners were Acquainted best;
With Those most Intimate, who most
Confess't.
Contrition did Acquaintance recommend;
In
Pray'r, and
Study, only did contend.
Our
Idle Drone with
Sextons is in League,
And with
Church-Wardens, works for his Intrigue.
But, let That pass; His Wants such Tools demand,
Which may be ev'ry where got to his Hand:
Let him to griping, sordid
Vermin creep,
With Them a sneaking Correspondence keep;
That He a Velvet Cushion may procure:
We shall be forc'd, this Grievance to endure.
But to hear so much Stuff, so little Sense,
Such gaudy
Nothings, tip't with Impudence;
His
Morals, cover'd o're with
Ising glass,
All put together, for a
Sermon pass:
This is Abomination, Horror breeds,
As ev'n the Sense of all our Faults exceeds.
My angry Friend luggs out; and after, I,
Finding him in the Right, for Company.
You,
Parson, who do only beat your Brain,
Before
Whom, When, Where, You shall
Preach again;
Do You at my
Comrade's Departure, wink:
Or in his
Anger, had He
Wit, d'ye think?
Cant. II.
IF
Self-Conceit get not the Upper-hand,
Tell Us, If the True Style you understand,
By which the
Gospel is most Pow'rful made,
That sinful
Mortals may turn
Retrograde.
Can You Words apt for
Promulgation choose?
Rank them by Art, their Force they shall not lose.
One thinks, he has the Elegance of
Style,
And can speak very well; when all this while,
He with a
Modish Phrase, Terms Quaint and Pat,
Has garnish't a
Discourse all over flat.
One to a Word an
Epithete has tack't;
For
Eloquence this passes most Exact:
One with stitch't Words, together edg'd with
Rhime,
Has both
Sham-Style, Sham-Muse alike Sublime.
The
Genius of our Tongue, try to discern;
Study the
Force and
Weight of Words to learn.
At
Modesty in all your Writings aim,
Discourse Uneven does a
Treatise shame.
Be Noble; but forbear to Stain at all;
And be undespicably Natural:
For that
Perfection is the most esteem'd,
Which by You slighted and neglected seem'd.
In a pure Style, from Affectation free,
Maintain, with Elegance,
Simplicity.
Form to your slef, in Reading
Scripture, This,
Which
Nature never Painted yet amiss.
By This from
Nature, is distinguish't
Art;
This speaks to, and is answer'd from the
Heart.
The
Bible labour first to understand;
Exact
Composures your next Pains demand:
For that
Exactness, the
True Preacher knows,
'Twixt
Orators, and
Scribes, the Difference shows.
When
Tully Lawless
Anthony Arraign'd,
Or against
Verres bold Attempts, complain'd;
His Method of Harranguing differ'd far
From That, when
Culprit Arm'd came to the Bar.
Would You an Amorous Dialogue design,
Make
Lovers both on Wit and Tongue refine;
Then imitate a
French Romancer's Style:
For such Exactness will a
Sermon spoyl.
For one harsh
Word, good
Thoughts w
ch. won't admit,
But makes to
Euphony subservient Wit.
In
Pulpit Set-Discourses breed Dislike;
The
Soul Divine Reflexions only strike.
Far from hence Elegant
Preachers I desire,
Whose
Cadence does like Jarring
Jews-Harps tire:
This Musical Style does rock Me fast asleep.
You must within some Rules and Limits keep;
Not, ignorantly, Helps of Art decline,
And talk without
Connexion or
Design.
You to the
Laws of
Preaching are confin'd;
And barr'd the making New Ones to your Mind.
All Art to use, no Freedom is deny'd;
The Business is, the
Artifice to hide.
Begin not with an Air, thta does amaze,
And make Me, big with Expectation, gaze:
With eager Haste the World that
Preacher flies,
Who his Design, forestalling, Magnifies:
Says, 'Tis of vast Importance; and what's more,
Some thing that's New, You never heard before.
But 'tis not now a Thing stupendious,
The
Labouring Mountain should bring forth a Mouse;
Or Men of Matter full, at Coming-up,
Their Stocks exhausted, ere
Conclusion, droop.
Himself the Prudent, ere he ventures, tries,
And well examines his own faculties:
Abstains from Manners haughty and absurd,
And never promises, but keeps his word;
Medlys of Scred Stories, and profane,
Take notice now, are much against the Grain:
Yet One to be applauded has the luck,
For his
Exordium, who
Cambyses took.
Those fine Atchievements, from Historians cull'd,
For Excellecies long the People gull'd.
A Thousand Men like these are still cry'd up,
Ev' in the Pulpit we may find a Fop;
At easy Rates pass Learned Men; I've heard,
Works of this Nature swarm in
Pauls-Church-Yard.
And few so stupid are remaining yet,
Who cannot Cart-loads on occasion get.
Glitt'ring Exordiums so with some have wrought,
That from the
subject they have turn'd their
thought.
Their flights too lofty, in the foremost place,
The flatness of what follows must disgrace.
Close to Your Subject Matter still provide,
The whole Discourse is to its Subject ty'd.
Th'
Exordium ended, Heav'n assistance ask;
You t'as much purpose may omit the task,
As make t'a Saint an eloquent address:
Upon Your Subject Your design express.
A Subject chuse, You may begin and end;
Yet promise not the Whole to comprehend.
It often happens, when Your Hour is past,
Much Substance to be Treated of does last;
And You Your Spirits do but spend in Vain,
When You'd a Weary'd Auditor detain.
Keep to the Points which most material are,
Which with Equality must diff'rence bear.
Antithesis did often Them divide;
But Jingling Words are now quite laid aside.
Solid and Flashy, are not coupled now,
Sterling and Tinsel won't together go.
Some Preacher may perhaps in Time contrive,
Sermons may Christian's Liberty revive:
The Gospel from strict Laws and Customes freed;
For which ador'd Antiquity does plead.
Division sure the Antients never knew,
Nor ever pinch't Themselves, as we do now.
Of Orators in
Rome or
Athens bred,
In ne're so much as enter'd in the head:
With Art their Subject, to divide, propos'd;
The Members opposite, at first disclos'd.
Each point in'ts proper place it self did shew;
They without
Coughing First from Second knew.
The Subject should but one design include,
Without Deviation be, or Pause pursu'd.
Of Preachers, Unity's the Chiefest part,
Who for One, must not Two Discourses start.
Thus long with the same Object entertain'd,
Th' Impression stronger on the Soul remain'd.
The People left the Orator Alarm'd,
Tyrannick Fury instantly disarm'd.
Strait
Philip of his Army dispossest,
And gave
Greece, in an uproar, present Rest.
But with Our
Preacher, now, Invention fails;
Division most exceedingly prevails;
On which he so affectedly does go,
That with his Points his Matter's changed too.
All Your
Points should one perfect
Whole compose,
Without
Redundance, and Connected close.
Your Genius I'le not curb; I'd gladly see,
If 'tis Your Talent, a bare Homily.
The Gospel-Truths to all Objectors, Solve,
Which in Your mind at leisure did revolve.
The Fathers thus to Preach were understood;
Schollars most deep, but for the Common Good.
Blest were our Times, sh'd they such
Preachers bring;
A Race of Saints might from their Sermons spring.
Promiscuously Them to hear would Crowd
The Nobles, Gentry, and the Multitude.
I'd quit my Pen, and bid my Art adieu,
Which had however useless prov'd to You.
I'th' front of Hearers for Instruction go,
And at their Feet, my self would prostrate throw.
Some no near Kin to Saints, the Pulpit mount;
Of Those I mean to give some small Account:
They're for my purpose; and perhaps, their Crimes
May make my Verses proper for the Times.
If they will not the
Reader influence,
There's little to be said in my defence.
As I shall run Them o're, my Maxims mind;
Shun ev'ry similary Phrase you find,
Which on th' Analogy of Words but plays,
And says the same Thing, varied, Twenty Ways.
Such tasteless-Plenty shews a Barren-Brain;
But if with Ease You'd ev'ry Point retain,
Unlade Your Cargo, Your great Mass of Words,
Good Thought most clear Expression still affords.
Want of Expression, want of Wit betrays,
The Tongue our Understanding open lays:
For when the Head conceives a Notion well,
The Tongue as roundly does the Business tell.
Your Stile and Matter care not to adorn;
For We the Flourishes of Schollars scorn.
To Rhetorick I never Fancy took;
'Tis in my Nature, it to over-look.
Words are but Letters joyn'd, our Thoughts to vent;
But when the placing gives the Ornament,
The whole Discourse does but our mind amuse,
And we for Flow'rs do Fruit expected loose.
Let not the Passion of a Heart enrag'd,
To be described be to Art engag'd.
Nature paints its own Agitations best,
But does the Art of Varnishing detest:
Forbear that useful Art to Vilifie,
Which Orators t' improve in Schools, do try.
So careless let it seem from You to fall,
As if You had not Study'd it at all.
All over full of Matter, solid, clear,
Your Unaffected
Sermon does appear.
And be upon Your Guard, t' avoid the Cheat,
Which has the Shadow of a fine Conceit;
W
ch.
true Light does, with glimmering, counterfeit.
To search the
Truth, o're all the
Scriptures range,
Whose
Natural Beauty loses by the Change.
Composing, You must vary your Discourse;
For some of Affection, by meer Force,
Will the same
Method, the same
Ways retain.
— is an Example very plain:
For ev'ry
Matter He alike does Treat;
And He does still make
Three Points, Opposite,
With Three
Divided, in their Station, meet.
This
Ʋniformity does tire me quite:
So we a
Painter's feeble
Genius slight.
If the same
Fancy in all Pieces reigns,
And but one
Shadow serves for all Designs;
Such Daubing every
Coppier may know:
But neater Strokes an Able
Master show.
He's still the same, but with Variety;
Discern'd by none, but a Judicious Eye.
Discourse Pathetick with the Glittering joyn;
This will the Hearts of
Auditors encline;
And Men shall, unbespoke, themselves resign.
Your
Sermons their Fatigue shall take away,
And make them, what they Tremble at, Obey.
Of Times most proper, to Instruct take care;
Speak boldly out, and no
Transgression spare:
Your
Arguments will not fail to Edifie,
Back't both with
Reason and
Authority.
Avoid the
School-men's Language, Terms obscure;
Such
Pedantries no
Audience can endure.
Sometimes a
Pedant, at a
County-Feast,
May Please: And I was told, among the rest,
An Excellent
Sermon — chanc'd to make;
Which, for the very Plainness, would not Take.
Against Him they excepted: But, says He,
Be silent at a
Feast? that cannot be.
Next Time I doubt not, but to give Content.
To keep his Word, was resolutely bent:
And for his Subject, chose the
Trinity.
On which
Mysterious Point He soar'd so high,
On Word obscure an
Emphasis He laid,
So many Things about
Subsistance said,
That of Terms learned, He a Gibb'rish made.
He charm'd raw Heads, who nothing understood;
Noise only ravishesthe unthinking
Crowd.
The Learned, skilful on your Side to get:
If You do aim, and please the Men of Wit,
And would at
City-Lectures Females please;
For there are, doubtless,
Critiques amongst These,
As well as Greater
Ladies, wrre They try'd,
Can
Sermons judge, and other Things beside;
With neat Exactness ev'ry Thing express,
We from
Philosophy expect no less.
When we
Discourses find of different Hue,
We wish the
Author ne're his
Horn-Book knew.
Latin Quotations were long since belov'd;
And to have One at least, is still approv'd:
But quite to be Abolish'd, is their Fate;
All but plain
English, now, are out of Date.
To Please the
Ladies, present Custom has
Brought
Jesus Christ to speak the Modish Phrase;
Which to make
Him speak, is as great Offence,
As we t' use
Scripture with Irreverence.
Let your
Discourse be Rev'rently Polite:
You may, in
Latin, Allegations cite;
Quotations close, and shortest
Merit praise;
Variation will debase their Consecrated Phrase.
If
Latin be Your
Text, no further seek;
You must take other Measures for the
Greek:
Greek more does nauseat, does not well agree;
It smells rank of the
Ʋniversity.
Whatever from
Greek Fathers You alledge,
To tell in
English, You have Priviledge.
Words, Parson, weigh not much; we
Matter crave;
Which pray dispose Your self, to let us have:
For on his
Words it is a
Preacher's Charge,
To bring our Minds to Comment and Enlarge.
But This, in vain, He thinks to bring about,
If
Learning only serves to help him out.
The
Author was no Fool, who did Rehearse
First to's
Maid-servant all his Works in Verse;
A Critique, very ignorant, would endure,
Rather than Publish but one
Line, obscure.
This makes You rally, very pleasant makes:
He who
Haragues in Publick undertakes,
After our
Author, must his Course direct,
And should on
Human Ignorance reflect.
Some say, That — is Learn'd and deep;
Others, What makes him such a Pudder keep?
And though abandon'd, yet both Proud and Pert;
Incessantly cries up his own
Desert:
Desertors He does
Brutish Rabble style,
And seems at their
Stupidity to smile.
It is not, if I know my self, my Lot
To gratisie the Taste of ev'ry
Sot;
A Wiser
Audience must for Me be got.
This bald Excuse to
Fifty does belong;
The
Audience must be always in the Wrong.
But,
Parson, You're deceiv'd in this Dispute;
For I can make You Your own self Confute,
And shew, why You're of
Hearers destitute.
Resolve on Silence, and the
Trade to quit,
For
Vulgar Ʋnderstandings if unfit.
The
Vulgar? No.
Great Men shall be my Care.
That is, according as They
Sinners are:
The
Ʋseful Science is, as we are told,
The
Mystery of
Deadly Sin t' unfold.
The
Sinner always Ignorance does plead;
Your
Learning serves for Him alone indeed.
Each
Passage pick, each
Reason well deduce;
Form Noble, Great-
Ideas to the
Mind:
These
Hearers will, of ev'ry sort, produce;
The
Art They can't discern, their
Hearts will find.
They ask not why or how a
Work is Good?
By Them 'tis
Relish't, as 'tis
Ʋnderstood.
'Tis
Good, and They're
Attentive; That's enough:
With Them a
Good Discourse ne're came ill off.
But
You, whose Wit, Train'd up in
Sciences,
Can well distinguish betwixt all Degrees:
Confusion shun! We'd by Distinction see
Better from
Good; from
Good, Mediocrity.
Still to the
Better Part employ Your
Mind;
All
Orators, by Labour, are Refin'd.
Imperfect
Talents should not
Pulpit mount;
For less than
Excellent, is of no Account.
Your
Genius to advance. Your Forces weigh;
Ambition does an
Orator betray.
Of his First
Sermon, He th'Opinion has,
It does — surpass.
Know Your self Better, and more Cautious be;
To Your own
Works, try to turn Enemy.
Much more Content
Mediocrity does give,
So we can call't our own, and Primitive,
Than what from Greater
Authors we derive.
The shameful Scandal of no
Genius shun;
And try to shew Us something of Your Own.
Give not the World occasion You to call,
Ill Copy of a Good Original.
From Best of
Preachers do proceed the Worst,
When They've to Imitate, their
Talents forc't.
Of late, the
Pedants Tribe is numerous grown,
Who with
Inspipid Drafts have tir'd the
Town:
Whil'st One Those to Correct has done his Part,
And skilfully has drawn the Perfect
Heart.
Who can but Imitate, can never Please;
Theirs to
Purloining, is the next Disease.
Of them there is a Bold and Lazy
Tribe,
Who for their Own, Preach all they can
Transcribe.
In
England, there are many Hundred Men,
Who owe their
Eloquence to their Neighbour's Pen.
How many hear we Preaching, Fifty Mile
From
London, that do dwell There all the while.
Great
Preachers ill Fate often does befall:
Though — moves the Conscience at
White-hall,
The
Gospel teaches, and
Vice over-rules,
He's less than Nothing in the Mouth of
Fools.
Parson, Your
Sermon to Your
Learning owe,
And solid
Sense on Your
Discourse bestow.
Some times You may, with
Similies, enforce
Your
Reasons, and with
History Your
Discourse.
Think not with over Delicacy blind,
That This will argue Meanness of the
Mind.
Though These the Nicer sort, deluded, scorn;
The Style sublime they frequently adorn.
A
Fable once well manag'd, did produce,
Though Ratify'd, the Rupture of a
Truce.
The
Orator, who well his
Art did know,
Though not he took his
Simile too low.
Parson, All's Admirable, could we find
Prudence, and
Zeal to
Eloquence conjoyn'd.
Preach You but well, All shall be Heard by Me;
And Pardon'd, if I'm in an Eestasie.
To that Effect we should Aspire in vain,
If the
Conclusion don't the
Point maintain.
Learn to Conclude, if You would learn to Move;
Forces, in th' End, united stronger prove.
Your
Matter You for Him should briefly close,
Who does your Total
Victory oppose.
Then back your Strongest
Arguments recall:
But lest You into
Tediousness should fall,
Hints will do better.
Repetitions shun;
And do not your Prescribed Bounds out-run.
Your
Hearer make, with deep Regret, retire,
Full of your
Works, that fan
Devotion's Fire:
Then with deep Silence, and with Eyes down-cast,
To
Voluntary Penitence in haste
He runs, and blames the
Time without it past:
Incens'd, that He so long had trusted
Fate,
Death-bed Contrition to Anticipate;
Lest it should seem Constrain'd, if come so late.
By
Meditation deep, on
Faith may learn
At what Expence, what Pains Men
Bliss must earn.
Then, shall he judge, justly become severe;
Diversions, indiscreet, are bought too dear.
To
Hide-Park, and Balls, no
Ogling Ladies trudge;
Henceforth no
Poet shall for
Play-house drudge:
No more shall
Gamester's Precious Time be sold
To flattering Hopes, and sacred Thirst of
Gold.
Nor
Love on
Youth more Miracles shall shew;
Vaunting its Force, and
Lover's Weakness too.
'Twill be by th'useless
Christian understood,
He's guilty of much
Ill, who does no
Good:
Who'll soon perceive, that
Mispent Time will mount,
To which he's bound to make a large Account.
This
Alteration in your
Hearers make;
At least, to bring't about, the
Method take.
The
World is Confident, and Positive,
Tho' we to Preach, with all our Forces strive,
That this
Stupendious Change will ne're arrive:
And all your
Fervency, and
Zeal, is vain;
For
Man, Convinced, will Rebel again.
Alike Your
Sermons, and My
Verses do;
Yours are on Them, and Mine are lost on You.
Cant. III.
AN Unconceited
Writer I respect,
Whose Pen is always eager to Correct.
Your
Sermons rigorous Correction need;
This Place You think in Nobleness t' exceed.
The
Manner Charming, the
Expression bold;
Your
Genius hatch't it; and you're pleas'd, I'm told:
Which Twenty times, at least, You do Repeat;
And still starts up some New, or fine Conceit.
That flattering, blinding Pleasure apprehend;
Publish it not, till view'd o're by your
Friend:
And closely watch the
Gestures of Him too,
Whether That Place delighted Him, or no:
If not, Retrench it; and, before his Eyes,
Let your
Dear Idol fall a Sacrifice.
Of all Things, shun a
Censurer's Disdains;
Be Pliant, and deserve his useful Pains.
But think him not your
Friend, who cries
Take Care;
And for a
Critique, of a
Fool beware.
You need a
Censurer no further Trust,
Than he Instructs You, and You find him Just:
But when his
Reasons have Convinced yours,
The
Truth Embrace, and its Resistless Pow'rs.
Men blush not to give
Reason the Right Hand;
But at a
Panegyrick, Trembling stand.
Of those
Impostures, the Rank Poyson fear;
Praise pleases You, it plainly does appear:
And You shall have from every one enough;
Some to be kind, will Praise You, most to scoff.
Your
Enemies, like
Friends, have Complaisance;
And Both together joyn, your Faults t'enhance.
Once
Benson Preach'd, (where I devoutly went)
Bespoke his
Congregation to Augment:
Scarce had He whining, with a School-Boy's Tone,
And quaking Limbs, his whole
Exordium done,
But Stammers, Hesitates, and is quite out;
Then for his
Notes he searches all about:
Which having, at a Time so fatal, lost,
Says any Thing next that comes uppermost:
Like
Marriner, having his Compass lost,
At all Adventures, up and down is tost.
I was afflicted to perceive Him so;
And when He Trembled, I did Tremble too.
Half sunk, at last, his Treacherous
Memory
On the Plank casts Him off
Eternity.
There he Concludes: But, as I marcht away,
Won't You, says One, t' Congratulate him, stay?
I, out of Breath, to make Resistance strove;
But was, by Force, into his Chamber drove:
There
Benson lolling on a Couch, I found;
Whom several soothing
Coxcombs did surround:
He kindly the
Fool's Complements receiv'd;
For All he swallow'd, None were disbeliev'd.
Jesus, says One, the
Sermon Curious was:
Your
Memory does all Mens else surpass.
Another, in plain
English, That is Good,
Which to be so, by All is understood.
Then, fauningly, Embracing him; My Dear,
Says He, You out-do — I swear:
Less Exact — Less Delicate;
Less Elegant — and less Charming —
The Good Man, 'midst his
Glories, did not fail,
With Modesty, his
Memory to bewail;
And 'bating the few
Stumbles which He made,
One of his Best the
Sermon was, He said.
Then I can't tell,
Sir, what You
Stumbling call;
But, by my
Faith, You Stumbled not at all:
He lies, that says You did. I swear again,
You of your
Mem'ry, without Cause, complain.
Your
Memory for once Defective grant?
That but demonstrates, You no
Wit do want.
At that Discourse,
Benson cheers up again;
No longer can to Praise himself, contain:
For soothing
Words, which do afford
Relief,
He'll not pay back his
Friends with
Ʋnbelief.
You might a Wager venture, chosen He
Would for a
Visitation-Sermon be.
My self I into a Close Corner got;
And Blush't, to see the
Company did not.
I by my sneaking, down-cast Look might pass,
Of all that
Gang, to be the only
Ass.
At last, broke loose, I wish't the Devil, and all
Plagues might on
Benson, and his
Flatterers, fall.
Self-Flattery all bewitches of That
Trade;
Ill
Preacher's Blemishes are Publick made:
'Gainst Them, when
Auditors in Judgment rise,
Some
Flatterer at a dead Lift supplies.
Let such as These his Confidence maintain,
He will to yield to
Orators disdain;
And will the
World, Blind as
Himself, perswade,
Those follow Him He has
Desertors made.
These Shamms are ev'ry Day in
London seen;
Which, when I mention, I know who I mean:
Names I shall spare, since Men themselves perswade
They are
Infallible in their own
Trade.
Wou'd you be sure t'know how your
Sermons please?
Closely observe the
People's Visages:
They the
Intrinsick Value will Reveal;
What
charms their
hearts, their
eyes will ne'r conceal.
Mark well those Places, where the Longing
Town
Their
Ears, resigning to your
Voice, bow down;
Where, when their
Bodies fixt, like Statues are,
Their greedy
Eyes their
Heart's Delight declare.
This Proof alone suffices to maintain,
These
Points are Best, which most
Attention gain;
For when the
Voice does Influence the
Ear,
The
Heart an equal Influence does share:
Yet You those Places, for the worst, condemn;
And say, The rest have far more Wit than
Them;
Are better Turn'd, more Charming, more Polite.
Let
These the Rule to all your
Sermons give;
Those Carelesly are done, but Well,
Sir, by your leave.
If at the main End of your
Trade you drive,
On your Own Self to be a
Critique strive:
For
Friends, where Kissing does by Favour go,
Reject, and our Wise
Author's Rule pursue.
In Preaching, You must say,
Vice I'll beat down,
And level, with the Earth, its pow'rful Throne.
What would be said by
Paul, or
Chrysostom,
If They should
Hearers to my
Sermons come?
Did thus Hell's Spight to
Them, confounded, yield?
Was
Paul Tryumphant thus in
Mars his Field?
Did
Chrysostom the
Miser thus perswade,
When over to the
Poor his
Wealth he made?
Those
Noble Models keep before your Eyes;
Their
Works their
Voices do Immortalize.
In Reading
Them, find out Their
Pow'r Divine:
From
Him who Theirs bestow'd, obtain thou
Thine.
Do, as They did: Always before your
Pray'r,
The
Subject you'll Proceed upon, declare.
Then
Heav'n Implore, You to Illuminate;
And We'll
Digest on what You
Meditate.
Take Time enough, and well Your self Prepare;
But Rash,
Extempore Sermons, pray forbear:
Unless on some unlook't-for
Exigent,
You could a
Congregation's Loss prevent;
Concluding what
Another had Begun,
As if the Choice of
Subject was your Own:
On the same Points, divided, to the last,
Sequels deduce the Other had fore-cast;
In that Case, You
Extempore may Preach;
But must not, otherwise, your
Talent stretch.
Count not the Time your
Sermon making cost;
Merit it be not on the
Hearers lost.
In all your Subjects, choose the
Better Part;
To choose discreetly,
Reason, with your
Heart:
For what in
Reason moves, and pleases You,
By the same
Reason, must please Others too.
Hence the Designs of all your
Sermons lay:
On Different
Theams choose an Indifferent
Way:
Here an
Encomium, There a
Mystery;
Here
Vertue to the Life must painted be:
Here
Sinners must, by sharp
Invectives, smart;
All diff'rently must be Toucht; yet All with
Art.
If to the Purpose,
Morals you'd Exhort,
Then study well the
City, and the
Court:
Do not a
Merchant, like a
Lord, disguise;
Nor set on
Subjects, Royal Qualities.
Make Greedy
Citizens for Riches yawn;
Paint
Lords Fantastick, and make
Courtiers Fawn:
Yet,
Parson, have a care, while You Correct,
Vices, lest We
Philosophy detect,
When We do pure
Christianity expect.
The
Chair from
Heathenish Vertues is exempt;
And Nothing, in their Praise, should You attempt,
Unless with
True Religion burnish'd o're;
And
Christian turn, what
Pagan was before.
Let Them, at their Discretion,
Justice teach;
Humility You, with St.
Paul, should Preach.
From worthless
Honesty alone, desist;
And on the
Just impose the
Cross of Christ.
Paint not
Men but what they really are;
Attack not
Vices, which are very rare:
Those
tricks are amongst
Preachers common grown,
Who set up
Whimsies, but to pull 'em down.
His Strokes all miss, and He, in vain, assaults;
Of different People, paint the different Faults.
Mind not the
Fool, who o're the Country roves,
Reforming
Great Men's Tables, and their Train;
Verrio's fine
Ceelings, Gibbon's carv'd
Alcoves;
Names, which the
Ign'rant Audience can't retain.
In all your Drafts, let
Nature coppy'd be;
That We the
Heart may, through the Picture, see:
But too plain
Colours, prudently forbear;
Name not the
Sinner in the
Character.
Let not the Pulpit
Satyrs e're infest,
For fear
Damnation should attend the Jest.
Shun
Rhetorick, which Improvement does bereave,
And does our
Mind but just diverted, leave.
Preaching thus — does the World content;
Yet They return no Wiser, than They went.
All This is vain: 'Tis not a
Preacher's Part,
To Please the
Mind, unless He Strike the
Heart.
Jumbled together, Pieces different,
By blind Chance, into One of large Extent,
The
Sermon to our Senses does present:
Where He should fix his doubtful
Mind, can't tell;
Yet He's conceited, that He Preaches well.
When one by one, the Frailties of the
Heart,
Mirth, Honour, Vanity, He does impart;
At random, to his
Sermons, All comes in:
No
Grounds, no
Art, no
Proofs, or very Thin.
By
Inference He Matters running o're,
With too much Light but blinds my
Eyes the more.
When of Those, He presents, among the rest,
I on that
Object fix, that Pleases best;
Strait comes Another, which does drive That out:
From This, to That, He wanders still about.
The
Mind can hardly what He says, retain;
The
Heart grown tir'd, the
Mind pursues in vain.
Sometimes confines his
Matter to a few;
And what He blames, affected does pursue.
Proud in his very
Sermons to expose,
That of the
World the Ways, and Fashions knows;
Jilts, and
Intrigues, He sticks not to disclose.
The Ordering of a
Ball, exactly paints;
In proper Terms to scandalize, acquaints.
The Art to Please at
Court, He does abridge;
And likely too, to lay an
Amorous Seige.
Prophane Interpreter of Vile Intrigues,
Blaming and Loving
Vice, creates Colleagues.
The
Vice he would Explode, he makes belov'd;
Or at his own Expence, is Laughter mov'd.
In Preaching then, think of your latter End:
For with such Crimes a Sinner may offend,
Whose Ign'rance does a
Preacher recommend.
Or if 'tis requisite, He should know All;
Discretion will not Ev'ry thing let fall.
Let Vices Image be so neatly wrought,
It may disturb the Heart, not wound the Thought.
Make not the Innocent Cheeks with Blushing glow,
Of deadly Crimes only the Horrour show:
Vice with Art Painted, is not much at best,
The Loathsom Sight my Heart must needs detest.
Paint it as fatal, foolish as you please:
So you produce the Cure for the Disease.
Most Wretched, Brutal, Infamous am I,
The Sinner to th' Accuser can reply.
You plainly read my Heart, and by 't are told,
That in your Pictures, I that Heart behold.
I am a sinner, Great and Greivous too;
Why repeat you what I already know?
Then pray no more the Argument renew?
I know my Own Sins better far than you:
But 'twill not serve Our Miseries to confess,
The Vertue Contrary must them redress.
To grasp that Knowledg, bring my Clouded Mind,
Of Sinners make my feet the new Road find.
This from your Preaching is to Sinners due,
Till They Instructed are, Depart not you:
To Crimes add Counsel which described are,
Just on the Wound the Plaister lay with care.
Open, and close your Lips, make his Concerns,
The Sinner at ill usage chafes and spurns;
Him Gently Treat, Sick Men in Frenzy took,
On their Physitians do as Ruffians look:
But chiefly if for Church your Zealous rage,
Makes you against Fanaticism engage:
Let not the
Whigg want of Respect resent,
A Combatant should not grow insolent.
Against Impostures Charity does Arm,
Seeks to repell, but not to offer harm.
The Zealous Christian does from wrongs refrain,
He blames the Sin, but would the Sinner gain,
And with Respect in Lists
Phanaticks entertain.
All Men surprising Orators neglect,
When They do Preach on what we least expect;
They quite forget the Gospel for the Day,
And from its Mistery hurry Us away.
On
Christmas Day the Birth should be your Theme,
Then you think fittest
Railing to condemn:
When Heav'n its Ofspring did to th' Manger bring.
Which Wonder through the Universe does ring.
You only on the Subject silent are,
Mankind against your Preaching will declare.
Keep to the Mistery, and don't fly off:
One Mist'ry has for One Sermon scope enough.
Many have thus propos'd, but ere They'd done,
Forgetting That, on something else did run.
This
Parson to the
People's a Rank Cheat;
In you for Ignorance passes, not Deceit:
The Greatness of the Myst'ry did you know,
'Twould make its Order and Conclusion too:
The
Thing Deep Meditation does demand,
Which if the Preacher don't well understand,
Leaving the Subjects which such pains would cost,
And shifting where his Needs require him most;
His Sermons nothing to the Purpose makes;
His Voice like Thunder Church & Pulpit shakes,
And a loud Noise the People Threatning makes:
For all this Bustle you may yet remarque;
As to their Faith They still are in the Dark.
They could not tell, if ask't at th' End of
Lent,
What by True Christianity is meant:
And They perhaps know not one Jot the more,
What to think of the God which They Adore.
If on
Faiths Misteries you Discourses hold,
Make them some Great Important Truth unfold:
Quote both the Scripture and the Fathers too;
If needful, those Quotations we allow:
In Trivial Things, speak Latin Ev'ry where,
Your making Great St.
Austin, I can't bear.
Nor quoting Scripture much in Matters plain,
Such Lectures, and their Praises, are but Vain.
We aukward Palats and Cross Wits detect,
Who think They Preach, if They can but collect.
Ev'n in Collections too They're at a loss,
Where Gold is plenty, They present you Dross:
I smoke those Preachers, when I hear 'em first;
Yet to the Fathers Doors they lay the worst
Places of all their Sermons: When the Thought
Is false, a Father to maintain't is brought;
Says He, When we do find him
Reason wrong,
This does t' a Father, not to me, belong.
a Father, — Rouz'd then I depart with Rage,
The
Bishop with
Remonstrance trye t' Engage,
These false Purloiners may suspended Be,
And thus the
Fathers from the Scandal free.
The Inte'rests of
Condemned Faction quit,
And to the Edicts of the church submit.
Well understand what you for
Faith delare;
Men are seduced often unaware:
And for Positions, which the Church does hold,
Zeal is broaching damn'd Opinions Bold.
Yet Zeal does not for Ignorance atone,
For Ignorance does seldom reign alone.
But its lage Empire often does divide,
With a
Phanaticks more unruly Pride.
Confounds the Truth, but for distinction sake,
Thinks He does in a Schism a Conquest make.
With false Zeal the
Fanatick always Blind;
Makes Fools to His Rebellious Boldness Kind.
No sooner can his Wire-drawn Thoughts unfold,
But by the Crowd is for a Saint enroll'd,
Worthy Restorer of the Gospels Light,
He only the Old Discipline can set right.
Friends, Strangers, Neuters, when his Name is up,
Into the Church striving for places drop,
Coaches do one anothers passage stop.
The Church too little for the Crowd is made,
And Auditors the Entry Barricade;
Till he
Phanatick is declar'd at last,
And the
Just Censure by the
Bishop past:
The Law does him due punishment enjoyn,
To
Newgate for his holding-forth confine:
These are the Rocks on which these Preachers split,
Whose Pride transcends their Modesty, and Wit.
— to Gain Proselytes turns Presbyter,
But for a
Deanery does the Church prefer:
On this side now, on that side then did lean;
At last he neither Preacher is, nor Dean.
The Pulpit many several Dreamers knows,
Who Their Wild Fancies would for Faith Impose:
Other Interpreters so head-strong are,
As to make Faith a Castle in the Air.
Those strange Excesses argue self-conceit,
Of Him whom grossy does self-flattery Cheat;
Too stiff to doubt, and to believe too shy,
On his own Judgment solely does rely.
Adhere You to the
Church, the surer Guide;
And those
Debates attempt not to decide,
With which Her self forbears to have to do;
This would be High Presumption sure in You:
In Points hard to be clear'd, Your Faith Resign,
And thank the
Pow'rs, who those commands injoyn.
Into the middle Path of Christians fall,
'Twixt doubting Nothing, and suspecting All:
For to what purpose in a doubtfull Thing,
Should We a
Scrupulous Soul disturbed bring?
Since many Articles, and Points
Made out,
Do leave
A Sinner Room enough to
Doubt.
Truth always Perseveres in being strict,
The
Gospel does a Rigid Life Inflict.
In vain Man fishes for soft Pleasures there,
Which thick set, We discover ev'ry where,
Does only
Crowns of Thorns, and
Crosses bear.
If wanting Innocence Man
Heav'ns loss deplores,
Repentance only that Great Loss restores.
This Gospel-Oracle will prove too true,
Sinners to Heav'n, but in this Road can go:
Your Rigorous Maximes still support with Truth,
Make
Venial Sins, not
Mortal in your Mouth:
When with
Grimace the Truth you over-act,
I leave you, and do wish you more Exact.
Condemning the
Luxurious, and
Profuse,
Wishing
Brocades, and
Points were less in use.
Forbear the Mode with Anguish to Controul;
And for a
Ribband, Damn a
Harmless Soul:
Patches and Paint, let — talk about;
But plunge Rich
Mammon in a deeper doubt:
To Him the Forlorn Mans Gondition show,
Wh' Oppress'd with Hunger, Empty to and fro;
Life to maintain for Daily Bread does go.
The Dismal Figure of an Alms-House Paint,
Expiring Brethren's Groans, and dire complaint;
Till of Attire Superfluous weary grown,
The Wretches with Compunction does bemoan:
Lays on his Pride the Cause of all Their Wrong,
And owns what fed it did to them belong.
This Prospect will Dead Nature Quicken best,
And make him his vain Ornaments divest;
And then reflcting on Expences past,
Shall send his
Trimming to the Poor at last.
To
Truth stick always, as I did advise,
Truth only in a Sermon Edifies:
That here you Proofs from their true Meanings wrest,
And there what's fettled you with force contest;
The fence of Plainest Passages distort,
Your Reputation greatly suffers for't.
You Me, for Your Vain Eloquence must lose,
And I Your Malice, or
Defects, accuse.
However, Novelties do Charm the Town,
Severity with — best goes down.
A
Preacher that
Damns with full pow'r may pass,
For a Great
Doctor, though a very Ass.
Though in his Life, a Rake-Hell he appears,
He will not fail of Zealous Followers:
Some Preachers now there are, who've no pretence
To Wit, or Parts, beside Bare Confidence;
Who only have the Gift of being frank,
And please the World, just like a Mountebank.
This Preacher merrily sends Souls to Hell;
This on Sin rallies like an Infidel:
Nothing amiss does to his Sermons come.
Billinsgate Jests, or
Stories of
Tom Thumb;
Does Figures without any meaning take,
And does a Farce of Vice, and Vertue make:
Mark how he on the Morals does Encroach,
And for a Trivial Thing Mankind reproach:
You'd think that only He was Sanctify'd,
Heaven to Him only did its Will confide;
That He alone the Gospel Understands,
And has the Pow'r of Heaven in his Own Hands.
Suppose the World thus after Him did run,
What mighty Wonders have his Sermons done?
The People ev'ry Thing in Time does tire,
They into Our Apostles Life enquire.
If at His Neighbours Cost He should make sport,
On him his Neighbour would the Jest retort:
With the Dreads, and Ills, which Jesting brings;
The World delights to Ridicule such Things:
And if I should be hang'd, I cann't forbear
T' insert a very Comick Passage here.
One of that Class, by this Description known,
Preach't pretty often very near the Town:
His spleen did oft against those Sinners Vent,
Who for their Ease to Church in Coaches went:
Exclaim'd at Them, at least a Hundred times,
Said a Coach was one of the Mortal Crimes.
In hsi Friends Coach to Church his Reverence came;
His Memory there was very much too Blame,
His Friend so on a sudden to forget,
Who did under his Nose a Hearer sit:
Zeal often does the Memory betray.
The Sermon ended, all strait march away;
The Friend forthwith into his Coach does step,
Where the Good Preacher did attempt to leap;
Putting him by, most gently with his hand,
The Friend says, What's your Pleasure to command
My Place, the Preacher presently replies:
Your Place, Sir? his Dear Friend surprized, cryes;
What, shall I make you such a Sin commit?
Troth, Sir, my Conscience will not suffer it;
And since I cann't with safety put you to't,
For my part, you must e'en march home on foot.
Cant. IV.
FRom Flattery free those days thrice happy were,
When without peril Men might be sincere:
When Liberty all o're the World did Reign,
When Hopes and Fears did not make Mortals Vain.
Those Happy Days Wealth too soon chas'd away,
Ambition, and
Base Fear then came in Play:
Then a Professed Cheat came first in Vogue,
And Men would Compliment the Cringing Rogue.
Truth was defy'd, and made the Jesters sport,
Was buffeted from Pulpit and from Court:
For that Excited by a Pungent Zeal,
Disguis'd Delinquents ready to unveil.
Great Men were kept in awe of being bit;
Yet
Flattery found the Trick to stiffle it.
The Timorous Pulpit has been very Nice,
And mighty shy in Reprehending Vice.
For a Sinners Honour stickles after Fate,
His Memory in a Sermon Celebrate,
Become in Praising Him Immoderate.
Against Old Customes how dare I declaim?
Out of
Oblivions ashes rake some Great Mans Name:
In that Deep Science — Imitate,
And to your self a Fame, like His, Create.
That Talent
Heroes in request admire,
Who sure of Praise in Quiet can expire;
you tell me, Parson, on that Art I droll,
I must your Lying Faculty Controul.
Which makes you ev'n before the Altar dare,
Notorious Sinners for Blest Saints declare.
That Flatt'ring Art to Poets then Bequeath,
Write no Great Mans
Memoires just after Death.
If his low merit leave no pledge beside,
The Word of Partial Friends, or Kindreds Pride;
The Publick first should his
Memoires proclaim:
For you in Vain trace his Forefathers Fame,
And stile him Galant, Liberal, and Brave;
Titles, to which He no pretence could have;
That Panegyrick which your Heart does wrong,
Damns both the
Hero, and your Flatt'ring Tongue.
Give me
A Hero with more than one Name,
Equal with Mighty
JAMES, or
Monk in Fame;
Whose Fame by publick Acclamations Rais'd,
The Commons first in Panegyrick prais'd;
But rather of a Saint in Heaven make Choice,
One there Exalted by the Churches Voice,
Whose Sufferings, and Repentance shall dispence
On your Discourse, a Happier Influence,
Give Greater Lustre, to your Eloquence:
Then stick not
Panegyrick, to design;
But to your Saint, your whole Discourse confine:
Out of the Road of Common Places strike;
None but the
Hero, draw the Figure like.
Praises and Morals are much better spar'd,
Which any other Man than Ours regard:
A Man, in an Oration's much the same
Thing, as a Picture in Guilded Frame;
Which taken off, and for a time laid by,
Another will as well the place supply.
The Preacher a Course little different Takes,
And of one Panegyrick Fifty makes;
There's scarce a Colledge, Alms-House, Hospital,
But he can on Occasion preach them All,
Though He their Founders Lives, or Names don't know,
Two or three Sermons will his business do:
Alwayes provided, ready to be Hir'd,
In
Abby, Chappel, Parish-Church, desir'd:
Nay,
Dean and Chapter, for our Preacher strives,
Who with One alter'd to serve All contrives.
On different Saints, his Sermon is the same
In several Places, changing but the Name;
He dares Preach on the self-same Subject took,
This Day St.
Matthew, and the next St.
Luke:
What then is he the less Esteem'd for this?
Among his Fellows he cann't do amiss.
Then for the Misteries, your Sermons make;
And in Designing, juster Measures take:
Be more Religious in your Enterprize,
Do not the
Saints Cloath in a mean Disguise:
Their Virtues on their Holy-day Exalt,
But Fall not into that Unchristian Fault,
Of one who'd all the Saints from Heaven pull down,
With more Convenience there to place his own:
Mention no Act of Theirs, but what shall raise
A just Esteem for Their deserved praise:
For in those Panegyricks, 'tis most fit,
That sinful Souls should Reap the benefit:
Then let him pitch upon what
Theam he will,
The
Sinful Soul must be instructed still:
When to Great Lords you Preach, oblig'd to pay
Homage, you pleasure for that Mode betray.
If
M— you into the Chappel bring,
A Complement make Worthy of the
KING.
Do not your Noble Character disgrace,
Nor the
High Royal Ministry debase.
Our Pious
JAMES does not to you resort,
That in the
Pulpit you should make your Court;
Expects not, That you should the Gospel joyn
To
Fields, and
Battels, where his
Valour shines.
Nor should his Subjects in the
Church detain,
With his
Batavian Triumphs on the
Main.
Nor time, nor place, these Figures will permit,
They're for the
Brittish History more fit.
To Him the most Renowned Warriours yield;
Give different Laurels in a different Field:
Against
More dreadful Enemies excite,
Than are already vanquish't, Him to Fight;
Seperate the
Conqu'ror, from the
Christian;
Leave the
Great Prince, and shew the
Worthy Man.
Now by His Care,
Phanatacism goes down,
And the
Church-Militant's
Triumphant grown:
Having the
Rebels in the
West subdu'd,
The
Nation has its
Happy Ease Renew'd;
And by the Strength of His
New-Levied Bands,
The
Common-Wealth on a
Firm Basis stands.
Fears now, nor
Jealousies among Us dwell;
His ARM hath
Plots, and
Factions struck to Hell.
He's the most Great of Kings, who Mortals are:
And they till Death, do very hardly fare;
Who to be watchful, Sentinels must indure,
Their Vertues from Temptations to secure:
Show that He bears
God's Image, but in vain;
That he the Style of
Great and
Wise does gain;
His Subjects, His
Profound Adorers made,
And at His Feet, their
Lives and
Fortunes laid.
If with the
Graces which His
Soul receives,
From
Christian Duties, He His
Hours, bereaves;
And for himself, that
Peace do's not in Heav'n ensure,
Which his
Great Strength to
Europe does procure.
Let a short Complement be finely wrought,
In a few Words, Include a Pious Thought:
A
Christian Complement, with solid Sence,
Need never to seek
Protection, or
Defence.
Whilst, at the Court with Vanity You steer
That Place where
hundreds have bin
shipwrack't, fear;
Whom in that
Dangerous Field we don't admire;
Must, Blushing at his Rash Attempts, retire.
'Tis difficult that
Ticklish Course to tread;
Nought for your
Voice, Air, Style, can Intercede:
Your
Words, or
Actions, There All will be scann'd;
And are, if not in
Great Perfection, Damn'd.
Sincerity, and
Christian Vertues, There
Very Unwelcome, and Uneasy, are.
And yet the
Orator no Good can do,
Who's not both
Censurer, and
Christian too.
Each Man for th'
Image of his
Vices looks;
Whose
Giddy Humour the Thing done, provokes:
Then They in question, his
Discretion call,
For having, in Resemblance, pleas'd them All.
Go in those Places
Heav'n does You command;
Appear Conducted by th'
Almighty Hand:
Confine your
Wishes, and with
Patience bear,
To Preach to Them, who follow You to Hear.
Cook at
Court Preaches,
Hook in
Country-Town;
Which is the Best, in your Opinion?
Cook makes us Sleep, we Weep when we hear
Hook;
Hook then we needs must judge worth Ten of
Gook,
If your
Starrs prove Malignant, and unkind;
If with
Great Lords You no Beception find,
Your wonted Importunity forbear;
Trouble not Them, who have no Mind to Hear.
For
Propagation of the
Faith, to show
Your Ardent Zeal, an
Emissary go.
In Remote, untaught
Desarts, raise your
Voice;
Do by Necess'ty, what One did by Choice.
YOur
Talent useless, 'tis too long to keep;
To tire the
Town, and Lull the
Court Asleep:
Poor
Sinners, who from
Life's Refreshment stray,
Might quench their
thirst, with what you cast away.
Parson, The
Imputation's chiefly due,
And
Scandal of their
Ignorance, to you.
Of You do I, for want of This, complain;
You whom
Heav'n form'd
great Lords to entertain.
On then, perform what
Heaven for You decreed;
With your enchanting
Eloquence, proceed:
'Tis high Time; therefore, get into the
Chair.
Stay 'till I've Powder'd, and curl'd up my Hair,
Took off my Beard, says He, I'le strait be There.
O
Parson, Who do You design to please
With such Fantastick, Foppish Pains, as these?
Is't possible so
Worldly an Out-side
Can be to
Gospel-Truth so near Ally'd?
Fasting, do your Plump, Ruddy Cheeks promote?
Or
Penitence, your Powder'd Hair denote?
Happy is He, whom
Nature, in the
Chair,
Freely Endow'd with a
Delightful Air:
'Tis necessary thought but by a
Fop;
But there are Other Ways to be cry'd up.
It is not your
Affected Air does move;
But as the
Sermon is, the
Hearers prove.
Neglect in
Pulpit no beseeming
Grace;
Ascend, with
Modesty, the
Sacred Place:
And, by your
Venerable Carriage, show,
That You the
Reverence of your
Function know.
At your First Entry, be not over-loud;
And Elevate your
Subjects to the Clouds.
Speak out with Force; What boots it You to cry?
At last, You Passionate may, if justly, be.
The People's
Genius no Controulment bear:
Words please the
Great Ones Best, the
People, Tears.
To Please by Turns, their different Palates seek;
Cry at St.
Margets, at the
Abby Speak.
Manage your
Voices, Force and Latitude,
That without Pain, You may be understood.
This shunning Slowness
Gallops on Post-haste;
The Other
Jades, in fear to march too fast:
One I can't
Follow, nor for T'other
Stay;
And Neither pleasing Me, I go my way.
Too Fast their
Sermons, or too Lagging go,
When
they'd by
heart, say what by
halv's they
know.
Their
Mem'ry then falls from full Speed to Trot;
What You'd say, should in
Readiness be got:
To be got
Ready, well be
Study'd must;
Ev'n then You should your
Memory distrust.
'Tis a great Blot, when in its Place too late,
A
Word arrives, that makes Youi Hesitate;
And of a
Natural Expression fail,
We, in concern, Sweat, Tremble, and grow Pale.
Without Book, Word for Word, your
Sermon get;
But let your
Mem'ry to your
Thought submit:
Not to Constrain, or Bridle it, pretend;
But
Thought admit, and
Words, when You can mend.
Extempore with Repeated Words abounds;
There
Phrases never keep within their Bounds.
Words spoke at
Random, have not half the Grace,
As a
Word ranked in its
Proper Place:
But
Plain Discourse, of
Oder void, and
Art,
Is Better than a
Startcht One, got by
Heart.
Manage your
Fires; for some conceive they charm,
When
Toils and
Travels their
Chil'd Fancies warm:
Defective of that
Necessary Fire,
Help from their
Neighbour They for Need require.
So under
Heroes, Trembling Souldiers stand,
Guessing the Battle to be near at hand;
Their slumb'ring Valour by Degrees retrieve,
When Unconcern'd Their Leader They percieve,
And by his Looks, strikes Terror in his Foes:
Then from the Field in Glorious Tryumph goes.
Valour was never Judged by a
Noise,
Nor Eloquence beholding to a
Voice.
In vain to kindle Fires the
Preacher tries,
Which want of Zeal to his own Breast denies:
And tho' he strives with
Warmth drawn up by
Art,
Seems Ice to me, and cannot warm my Heart.
To put hard stress upon your Voice refrain,
Nor t' incommode your Health, your Body strain:
To
Regular Motions let your Hand be brought,
To shew Your
Meaning, and express Your
Thought.
You'd swear, That into sinful Souls our
Priest
Would beat deep sorrow in with's doubled Fist:
Be You more Wife, and let not your
Address,
Your frequent
Posture-Practising confess.
Nature does Guide
the Hand, the Voice, the Eye,
And fuitable to the Discourse all Three.
Upon That Subject One has Verses Writ;
And you may read 'em o're, if you think fit.
To all your faults be Rigorous as you can,
I nam'd you
Snipson, a down-right honest Man:
Learned by Nature, fitted for the
Chair,
His Wit's Obstruction was his
Rustick Air.
His Friends outragious, tho' in Vain, were grown,
Correct your
Air, cry'd They, & Change your
Tone.
In answer, He more Clownish, does reply,
Your Dainty, Fine-Mouth'd Preachers I defy:
Far from Faults mending which reproved were;
In Them, He was well pleas'd to persevere.
Says He, For my part, I the
Gospel Preach,
And shall not mind what some pretend to Teach:
So
London cast him off thus Unrefin'd,
And He no Audience could in
Village find.
At This Discourse a Citizen in pet,
I hear cry out, What would you, Sir, be at?
Must no Man ever Preach, but what's
Polite?
Why Pray so sharply the dead
Collins bite?
But rashly my Intentions you Accuse,
And Slander my Discreet and Cautious
Muse:
For you shall find in my Descriptions still,
Vice real is, The rest is what you will.
Let's Talk of
Collins, since that Man you name:
The Clownishness which you in
Snipson blame,
As much to
Collins to belong is known;
And yet he had the knack to Charm the Town.
If you the least of his Success should doubt,
His
Bishoprick most plainly makes it out?
I doubt it not, But where Tends your Discourse?
To shew That Void of
Art, by
Natures force,
In Pulpit a meer Clown may have success.
Why, did not I my self as much confess?
You of your
Harpur do the Carriage blame;
Why may not I of
Snipson's do the same?
If He is for his Clownishness forfook,
Must We on This, as on a Wonder, look?
Let's leave Our waspish
Cit whom I offend:
But one Word more, and I will make an End.
All That does please is Good, and should be fought;
The contrary Retrench, for 'tis a fault.
When Clowns can please so well, What need of
Art;
But
Justness pleases still the
Major Part.
Study hard to acquire it, and forbear
To think it,
Bigot-like, an Impious care.
For Our Conversion, not Diversion, Aim.
The
Citizens your Artless
Sermons Love;
The
Lords no lefs the Contrary approve.
Say not that Zeal at Court is useless grown;
For Sin does Reign in
Court as well as
Town:
And there is many an honest Christian
Heart,
Which may be Touch't, if th'
Preacher does his part.
There — expert,
Do many Souls from custom'd Sins convert.
There ev'ry day He shews the Truth bare-fac'd,
By many made perhaps to be Embrac'd.
A hundred more I easily could name:
Whose
Zeal no way Inferiour to their
Fame;
Sent the
Creators purpose to effect,
Will tread the Course where
Heav'n did
them direct.
To Me in Private Villages forlorn,
Their Names, on Wings of Echoes, shall be borne;
Pleas'd their
Court-Sermons are on Vertue made,
I free from Envy, which attends That Trade,
Am as contented, my Acquaintance shou'd
Silenc'd, or follow'd be, for th'
Publick GOOD.
FINIS.