Nor Lucifer, when all his Imps broke loose,
To win, by force of Arms, celestial Sway,
But, unsuccessful, lost the fatal Day:
And if its Name by any shou’d be ask’d,
It is a Presbyterian unmask’d.
His Eyes at Vice look sad, and full of Woe,
Yet Heart and Tongue together never go;
His Words in Conventicles virtuous be,
But nauseous, when at Home, to Modesty.
To seem Dovout, he hates all common Whores,