No, no-it isn't right-line Kings,

(Those sovereign lords in leading-strings
Who, from their birth, are Faith-Defenders,)
That move my wrath-'tis your pretenders,
Your mushroom rulers, sons of earth,
Who-not, like t'others, bores by birth,
Establish'd gratiâ Dei blockheads,
Born with three kingdoms in their pockets-
Yet, with a brass that nothing stops,

Push up into the loftiest stations,
And, though too dull to manage shops,
Presume, the dolts, to manage nations!

halter,

Before it lay stabb'd at the foot of the shrine.

The right, humanity, and fitness
Of sending eighty thousand Solons,
Sages, with muskets and lac'd coats,

creature,

"Be thus offer'd up to a blue-bottle Fly?"

"No wonder❞—said t'other-"you stare at the sight,

"But we as a Symbol of Monarchy view it"That Fly on the shrine is Legitimate Right, "And that Bullock, the People, that's sacrific'd to it."

FABLE V.

CHURCH AND STATE.

PROEM.

"The moment any religion becomes national, or established, its purity must certainly be lost, because it is then impossible to keep it unconnected with men's interests; and, if connected, it must inevitably be perverted by them."-SOAME JENYNS.

THUS did SOAME JENYNS-though a Tory,
A Lord of Trade and the Plantations;
Feel how Religion's simple glory
Is stain'd by State associations.

When CATHERINE, ere she crush'd the Poles,
Appeal'd to the benign Divinity;
Then cut them up in protocols,
Made fractions of their very souls1____

All in the name of the bless'd Trinity;
Or when her grandson, ALEXANDER,
That mighty Northern salamander,2
Whose icy touch, felt all about,
Puts every fire of Freedom out-
When he, too, winds up his Ukases
With God and the Panagia's praises-
When he, of royal Saints the type,

In holy water dips the spunge,
With which, at one imperial wipe,

He would all human rights expunge; When LOUIS (whom as King, and eater, Some name Dix-huit and some Des-huîtres,)

1 Ames, demi-âmes, &c.

2 The salamander is supposed to have the power of extinguishing fire by its natural coldness and moisture.

Down the poor struggling Spaniards' throatsI can't help thinking, (though to Kings I must, of course, like other men, bow,) That when a Christian monarch brings Religion's name to gloss these thingsSuch blasphemy out-Benbows Benbow! 3 Or-not so far for facts to roam, Having a few much nearer homeWhen we see Churchmen, who, if ask'd, "Must Ireland's slaves be tith'd, and task'd, "And driv'n like Negroes or Croäts,

"That you may roll in wealth and bliss?" Look from beneath their shovel hats

With all due pomp, and answer "Yes!" But then, if question'd, "Shall the brand "Intolerance flings throughout that land,

"Shall the fierce strife now taught to grow "Betwixt her palaces and hovels, "Be ever quench'd?"-from the same shovels Look grandly forth, and answer “ No."Alas, alas! have these a claim To merciful Religion's name? If more you seek, go see a bevy Of bowing parsons at a levee(Choosing your time, when straw's before Some apoplectic bishop's door,) Then, if thou canst, with life, escape That rush of lawn, that press of crape, Just watch their rev'rences and graces, As on each smirking suitor frisks, And say, if those round shining faces

To heav'n or earth most turn their disks?

This, this it is-Religion, made,

"Twixt Church and State, a truck, a tradeThis most ill-match'd, unholy Co.,

From whence the ills we witness flow;

The war of many creeds with one

The' extremes of too much faith, and none-
Till, betwixt ancient trash and new,
"Twixt Cant and Blasphemy-the two
Rank ills with which this age is curst-
We can no more tell which is worst,
Than erst could Egypt, when so rich
In various plagues, determine which
She thought most pestilent and vile,
Her frogs, like Benbow and Carlisle,

3 A well-known publisher of irreligious books.

FF

Those sapient wits of the Reviews, Who make us poor, dull authors say,

Not what we mean, but what they choose; Who to our most abundant shares

Of nonsense add still more of theirs,
And are to poets just such evils

As caterpillars find those flies, 1
Which, not content to sting like devils,
Lay eggs upon their backs likewise-
To guard against such foul deposits

Of other's meaning in my rhymes, (A thing more needful here, because it's A subject, ticklish in these times) — I, here, to all such wits make known, Monthly and Weekly, Whig and Tory, 'Tis this Religion - this alone

I aim at in the following story:

FABLE.

When Royalty was young and bold,
Ere, touch'd by Time, he had become
If 'tisn't civil to say old,

At least, a ci-devant jeune homme ;

One evening, on some wild pursuit Driving along, he chanc'd to see Religion, passing by on foot,

And took him in his vis-à-vis.

This said Religion was a Friar,

The humblest and the best of men, Who ne'er had notion or desire

Of riding in a coach till then.

"I say "-quoth Royalty, who rather Enjoy'd a masquerading joke"I say, suppose, my good old father, "You lend me, for a while, your cloak."

The Friar consented-little knew

What tricks the youth had in his head; Besides, was rather tempted too

By a lac'd coat he got in stead.

Away ran Royalty, slap-dash,

Scamp'ring like mad about the town;

"The greatest number of the ichneumon tribe are seen settling upon the back of the caterpillar, and darting at different

But short this calm; - for, just when he
Had reach'd the' alarming age of three,

When Royal natures, and, no doubt,
Those of all noble beasts break out-
The Lama, who till then was quiet,
Show'd symptoms of a taste for riot;
And, ripe for mischief, early, late,
Without regard for Church or State,
Made free with whosoe'er came nigh;
Tweak'd the Lord Chancellor by the nose,
Turn'd all the Judges' wigs awry,

And trod on the old Generals' toes:
Pelted the Bishops with hot buns,
Rode cockhorse on the City maces,
And shot from little devilish guns,

Hard peas into his subjects' faces. In short, such wicked pranks he play'd, And grew so mischievous, God bless him! That his Chief Nurse- with ev'n the aid Of an Archbishop — was afraid,

1 Quand il étoit occupé d'aucune essoine, il envoyoit Novelle, sa fille, en son lieu lire aux escholes en charge, et, afin que la biaûté d'elle n'empêchât la pensée des oyants, elle avoit une petite courtine devant elle. Christ. de Pise, Cité des Dames, p. 11. cap. 36.

2 See Turner's Embassy to Thibet for an account of his interview with the Lama.—“Teshoo Lama (he says) was at this time eighteen months old. Though he was unable to speak a word, he made the most expressive signs, and conducted himself with astonishing dignity and decorum."

But that, of late, such pranks, and tricks, And freaks occurr'd the whole day long, As all, but men with bishopricks,

Allow'd, in ev'n a King, were wrong. Wherefore it was they humbly pray'd That Honourable Nursery, That such reforms be henceforth made, As all good men desir'd to see ;— In other words (lest they might seem Too tedious), as the gentlest scheme For putting all such pranks to rest, And in its bud the mischief nippingThey ventur'd humbly to suggest

His Majesty should have a whipping!

When this was read, no Congreve rocket, Discharg'd into the Gallic trenches, E'er equall'd the tremendous shock it Produc'd upon the Nursery benches. The Bishops, who of course had votes, By right of age and petticoats, Were first and foremost in the fuss"What, whip a Lama! suffer birch "To touch his sacred - infamous ! "Deistical! assailing thus "The fundamentals of the Church!"No-no- such patriot plans as these, "(So help them Heaven and their Sees!) They held to be rank blasphemies."

The' alarm thus given, by these and other
Grave ladies of the Nursery side,

Spread through the land, till, such a pother,
Such party squabbles, far and wide,
Never in history's page had been
Recorded, as were then between
The Whippers and Non-whippers seen.
Till, things arriving at a state,

Which gave some fears of revolution,
The patriot lords' advice, though late,
Was put at last in execution.
The Parliament of Thibet met-

The little Lama, call'd before it,
Did, then and there, his whipping get,
And (as the Nursery Gazette

Assures us) like a hero bore it.

And though, 'mong Thibet Tories, some
Lament that Royal Martyrdom
(Please to observe, the letter D

In this last word 's pronounc'd like B),
Yet to the' example of that Prince

So much is Thibet's land a debtor,
That her long line of Lamas, since,
Have all behav'd themselves much better.

Was shock'd to find he had, for neighbours,
Close to his gate, some rascal Ghebers,
Whose fires, beneath his very nose,

In heretic combustion rose.
But Lords of Persia can, no doubt,

Do what they will-so, one fine morning, He turn'd the rascal Ghebers out,

First giving a few kicks for warning. Then, thanking Heaven most piously,

He knock'd their Temple to the ground, Blessing himself for joy to see

Such Pagan ruins strew'd around. But much it vex'd my Lord to find, That, while all else obey'd his will, The Fire these Ghebers left behind,

Do what he would, kept burning still. Fiercely he storm'd, as if his frown Could scare the bright insurgent down; But, no-such fires are headstrong things, And care not much for Lords or Kings. Scarce could his Lordship well contrive

The flashes in one place to smother, Before-hey presto!—all alive,

They sprung up freshly in another.

At length when, spite of prayers and damns, "Twas found the sturdy flame defied him. His stewards came, with low salams,

Offring, by contract, to provide him