But he has found out a new way,
To do it with the blood of those
That dare his church's growth oppose,
Or her imperious canons disobey;
And strives to carry on the work,
Like a true primitive reforming Turk,
With holy rage, and edifying war,
More safe and powerful ways by far:
For the Turk's patriarch, Mahomet,
Was the first great reformer, and the chief
Of the' ancient Christian belief,

That mix'd it with new light, and cheat,
With revelations, dreams, and visions,
And apostolic superstitions,

To be held forth and carried on by war;
And his successor was a Presbyter,
With greater right than Haly or Abubeker 2.

For as a Turk that is to act some crime
Against his Prophet's holy law
Is wont to bid his soul withdraw,
And leave his body for a time;

So when some horrid action's to be done,
Our Turkish proselyte puts on

Another spirit, and lays by his own;

And when his over-heated brain

Turns giddy, like his brother Mussulman,

He's judged inspired, and all his frenzies held

To be prophetic, and reveal'd.

The one believes all madmen to be saints,
Which the' other cries him down for and abhors,
And yet in madness all devotion plants,

And where he differs most concurs;

2 The sons-in-law of Mahomet.

Both equally exact and just

In perjury and breach of trust;
So like in all things, that one brother
Is but a counterpart of the' other;

And both unanimously damn

And hate (like two that play one game)

Each other for it, while they strive to do the same.

Both equally design to raise

Their churches by the self-same ways;
With war and ruin to assert

Their doctrine, and with sword and fire convert;

To preach the gospel with a drum,

And for convincing overcome :

And though, in worshipping of God, all blood
Was by his own laws disallow'd,

Both hold no holy rights to be so good;

And both to propagate the breed
Of their own Saints one way proceed;
For lust and rapes in war repair as fast
As fury and destruction waste:
Both equally allow all crimes

As lawful means to propagate a sect;
For laws in war can be of no effect,

And license does more good in gospel-times.
Hence 'tis that holy wars have ever been
The horrid'st scenes of blood and sin;
For when religion does recede

From her own nature, nothing but a breed

Of prodigies and hideous monsters can succeed.

UPON MODERN CRITICS.

A PINDARIC ODE.

"TIs well that equal Heaven has placed
Those joys above, that to reward
The just and virtuous, are prepared,

Beyond their reach until their pains are pass'd;
Else men would rather venture to possess
By force, than earn their happiness;
And only take the devil's advice,
As Adam did, how soonest to be wise,
Though at the' expense of Paradise:
For, as some say, to fight is but a base
Mechanic handy-work, and far below
A generous spirit to' undergo;

So 'tis to take the pains to know,

Which some, with only confidence and face,
More easily and ably do;

For daring nonsense seldom fails to hit,

Like scatter'd shot, and pass with some for wit. Who would not rather make himself a judge, And boldly usurpate the chair,

Than with dull industry and care

Endure to study, think, and drudge,

For that which he much sooner may advance With obstinate and pertinacious ignorance?

For all men challenge, though in spite
Of Nature and their stars, a right
To censure, judge, and know;
Though she can only order who

Shall be, and who shall ne'er be wise:
Then why should those whom she denies
Her favour and good graces to,

Not strive to take opinion by surprise,
And ravish what it were in vain to woo?
For he that desperately assumes
The censure of all wits and arts,

Though without judgment, skill, and parts,
Only to startle and amuse,

And mask his ignorance (as Indians use
With gaudy-colour'd plumes

Their homely nether parts to' adorn)

Can never fail to captive some,

That will submit to his oraculous doom,
And reverence what they ought to scorn;
Admire his sturdy confidence

For solid judgment and deep sense;

And credit purchased without pains or wit, Like stolen pleasures, ought to be most sweet.

Two self-admirers, that combine
Against the world, may pass a fine
Upon all judgment, sense, and wit,
And settle it as they think fit

On one another; like the choice

Of Persian princes, by one's horse's voice:
For those fine pageants which some raise,
Of false and disproportion'd praise,
To' enable whom they please to' appear,
And
pass for what they never were,

In private only being but named,
Their modesty must be ashamed,
And not endured to hear,

And yet may be divulged and famed,

And own'd in public every where :
So vain some others are to boast
Their want of ingenuity, and club
Their affidavit-wits, to dub

Each other but a Knight o' the Post,

As false as suborn'd perjurers,

[ears.

That vouch away all right they have to their own

But when all other courses fail,

There is one easy artifice

That seldom has been known to miss,

To

cry

all mankind down, and rail:

For he whom all men do contemn,

May be allow'd to rail again at them,
And in his own defence

To outface reason, wit, and sense,

And all that makes against himself condemn ;
To snarl at all things right or wrong,

Like a mad dog, that has a worm in his tongue :
Reduce all knowledge back of good and evil
To' its first original, the devil;

And, like a fierce inquisitor of wit,

To spare no flesh that ever spoke or writ;
Though to perform his task as dull,
As if he had a toadstone in his skull,
And could produce a greater stock
Of maggots than a pastoral poet's flock.

The feeblest vermin can destroy
As sure as stoutest beasts of prey,
And only with their eyes and breath
Infect and poison men to death;

But that more impotent buffoon

That makes it both his business and his sport