| |
| OUR 1 Hero’s happy in the Plays Conclusion; | |
| The holy Rogue at last has met Confusion; | |
| Though Arius all along appeared a Saint, | |
| The last Act showed him a true Protestant. | |
| Eusebius (for you know I read Greek Authors) | 5 |
| Reports, that, after all these Plots and Slaughters, | |
| The Court of Constantine was full of Glory, | |
| And every Trimmer turn’d Addressing Tory. | |
| They follow’d him in Herds as they were mad: | |
| When Clause was King, then all the World was glad. | 10 |
| Whiggs kept the places they possest before, | |
| And most were in a way of getting more; | |
| Which was as much as saying, Gentlemen, | |
| Here’s Power and Money to be Rogues again. | |
| Indeed, there were a sort of peaking Tools, | 15 |
| Some call ’em Modest, but I call ’em Fools; | |
| Men much more Loyal, tho’ not half so loud; | |
| But these poor Devils were cast behind the Croud. | |
| For bold Knaves thrive without one grain of Sense, | |
| But good Men starve for want of Impudence. | 20 |
| Besides all these, there were a sort of Wights, | |
| (I think my Author calls them Teckelites), | |
| Such hearty Rogues against the King and Laws, | |
| They favour’d even a foreign Rebel’s Cause, | |
| When their own damn’d Design was quash’d and aw’d; | 25 |
| At least they gave it their good Word abroad. | |
| As many a Man, who for a quiet Life | |
| Breeds out his Bastard, not to nose 2 his Wife, | |
| Thus ore their Darling Plot these Trimmers cry, | |
| And, tho’ they cannot keep it in their Eye, | 30 |
| They bind it Prentice to Count Teckely. | |
| They believe not the last Plot; may I be curst, | |
| If I believe they e’er believ’d the first. | |
| No wonder their own Plot no Plot they think, | |
| The Man that makes it never smells the Stink. | 35 |
| And now it comes into my Head, I’ll tell | |
| Why these damn’d Trimmers lov’d the Turks so well. | |
| The Original Trimmer, though a Friend to no Man, | |
| Yet in his Heart ador’d a pretty Woman; | |
| He knew that Mahomet laid up for ever | 40 |
| Kind Black-eyed Rogues for every true Believer; | |
| And, which was more than mortal Man e’er tasted, | |
| One Pleasure that for threescore Twelve-months lasted. | |
| To turn for this, may surely be forgiven: | |
| Who’d not be circumcis’d for such a Heaven? | 45 |
