Part 34

The priests of all religions are And will be still the same, And all, tho’ in a different way, Are playing the same game.

At this the gentleman stood up,— Cobbler, you run too fast; By thus condemning all the tribe You go beyond your last.

Much mischief has by priests been done, And more is doing still; But then to censure all alike Must be exceeding ill.

Too many, I must needs confess, Are mightily to blame, Who by their wicked practices Disgrace the very name.

But, cobbler, still the major part The minor should conclude; To argue at another rate’s Impertinent and rude.

By this time all the neighbours round Were flock’d about the door, And some were on the vicar’s side, But on the cobbler’s more.

Among the rest a grazier, who Had lately been at town To sell his oxen and his sheep, Brim-full of news came down.

Quoth he, The priests have preach’d and pray’d, And made so damn’d a pother, That all the people are run mad To murther one another.

By their contrivances and arts They’ve play’d their game so long, That no man knows which side is right, Or which is in the wrong.

I’m sure I’ve Smithfield market used For more than twenty year, But never did such murmurings And dreadful outcries hear.

Some for a church, and some a tub, And some for both together; And some, perhaps the greater part, Have no regard for either.

Some for a king, and some for none; And some have hankerings To mend the Commonwealth, and make An empire of all kings.

What’s worse, old Noll is marching off, And Dick, his heir-apparent, Succeeds him in the government, A very lame vicegerent.

He’ll reign but little time, poor fool, But sink beneath the State, That will not fail to ride the fool ’Bove common horseman’s weight.

And rulers, when they lose the power, Like horses overweigh’d, Must either fall and break their knees, Or else turn perfect jade.

The vicar to be twice rebuked No longer could contain; But thus replies,—To knaves like you All arguments are vain.

The Church must use her arm of flesh, The other will not do; The clergy waste their breath and time On miscreants like you.

You are so stubborn and so proud, So dull and prepossest, That no instructions can prevail How well soe’er addrest.

Who would reform such reprobates, Must drub them soundly first; I know no other way but that To make them wise or just.

Fie, vicar, fie, his patron said, Sure that is not the way; You should instruct your auditors To suffer or obey.

Those were the doctrines that of old The learned fathers taught; And ’twas by them the Church at first Was to perfection brought.

Come, vicar, lay your feuds aside, And calmly take your cup; And let us try in friendly wise To make the matter up.

That’s certainly the wiser course, And better too by far; All men of prudence strive to quench The sparks of civil war.

By furious heats and ill advice Our neighbours are undone, Then let us timely caution take From their destruction.

If we would turn our heads about, And look towards forty-one, We soon should see what little jars Those cruel wars begun.

A one-eyed cobbler then was one Of that rebellious crew, That did in Charles the martyr’s blood Their wicked hands imbrue.

I mention this not to deface This cobbler’s reputation, Whom I have always honest found, And useful in his station.

But this I urge to let you see The danger of a fight Between a cobbler and a priest, Though he were ne’er so right.