The Methodist

by Evan Lloyd

Such the commands Religion gave,
When first she came the World to save,
Such the attendants in her Train,
When She began her holy Reign.
And when Messiah’s gracious Love
Urg’d him to leave the Realms above,
Urg’d him to quit his heav’nly Throne,
His People’s Trespass to atone,
And, tho’ so long they had withstood
His Will, to wash them with his Blood;
The great Command he did renew,
To give to God, and Man his due;
Bade the bright Sun of Faith arise,
And open’d Heav’n to mortal eyes,
Leaving Religion on the Earth,
More fair and pure than at her Birth.—

How mutilated now and marr’d,
Deform’d, distorted, mangled, scarr’d!
Thro’ modern Conventicles trace
The Goddess, you’ll not know her face:
The holy Genii all are fled,
And Sprites and Dev’ls come in their stead.
And now a counterfeiting Dame
Usurps Religion’s sacred Name,
But no more like in Heart or Face,
Than F—x’s deeds to deeds of Grace.
Visit her at her T-tt—m Seat,
You’ll find she is an errant Cheat.
For Satan, Man’s invet’rate foe,
Whose greatest joy is human woe,
Repining at the heav’nly Plan,
That promis’d so much Good to Man,
Us’d all his Malice, Wit, and Pow’r,
The World’s great Blessings to devour.
Well the malicious Spirit knew
Whence Man his chief resources drew
Of Happiness, and saw confest,
Where all was good, Religion best;
And at her unpolluted Heart
He aim’d his most envenom’d Dart.
He knew the Interest of Hell
Cou’d never on the Earth go well,
While pure Religion did maintain
O’er Man a sanctimonious reign.
With her he wag’d malicious War,
He might, if not destroy her, mar
Her Face; might with false Lights misguide,
And make her Combat on his side.
Highly did his Ambition burn
Heav’n’s Arms against itself to turn.
Nor would his Malice triumph less,
To damn where God design’d to bless.

For this the Fiend to Earth ascends,
To try his Int’rest with his Friends.
Long in his fiery Chariot hurl’d,
He had explor’d the pendent World;
Long had he search’d without avail,
Each Meeting, Dungeon, Court, and Jail,
Each Mart of Villainy, where Vice
Presides, and Virtue bears no Price,
Where Fraud, Hypocrisy, and Lies
Are selling while the Devil buys.
Long had he search’d, but could not find
An Agent suited to his Mind,
Who cou’d transact his Business well,
And do on Earth the work of Hell;
That he might at his leisure go,
And manage his Affairs below.—

Tir’d and despairing of a Friend
On whom he safely might depend,
At T-tt—m he alights from Air—
Magus, that Sorcerer, was there.
Pleas’d Satan somewhat nearer drew,
Look’d thro’ him at a single view,
Bless’d his good Luck, and grinn’d aghast—
“’Tis well, for I have found at last,
The Thing I long have sought, in Thee,
An Agent in Iniquity.
Thus let me mark Thee for my own,
And from henceforth for mine be known.”

Then with out-stretched claws his Eyes
He twisted diff’rent ways—the Skies
Are watch’d by one, and (strange to tell!)
The other is the Guard of Hell.
Then thus—“’Tis fit thy Eyes shou’d roll,
Cross as the purpose of thy Soul,
Fit that they look a diff’rent way,
Like what You do, and what You say;
Thy Eye-balls now are pois’d and hung,
As even as thy Heart and Tongue—
Prosper—to me, to Hell (he cried)
Be true, but false to all beside.
Riches are mine—I will repay
For ev’ry Soul you lead astray—
Give out thyself a Light to shew
Which way ’tis best to Heav’n to go;
But lead the Pilgrims wrong, and shine
An Ignis fatuus of mine—
Draw them thro’ bog, thro’ brake, thro’ mire,
I’ll dry them at a rousing Fire.”

Magus complacent smil’d—his Eyes
Twinkled with signs of Joy, one flies
Upward, and t’other down, like Scales,
Where this ascends, when that prevails—
Then thrice he turn’d upon his heel,
And swore Allegiance to the De’el—

Right faithfully his Oath he kept,
And might each Night before he slept
Boast of his labours to maintain,
And spread abroad his Master’s Reign;
Might boast the magic of his Rod
To whip away the Love of God,
For all of God he makes appear
Has nought to love, but all to fear.
That debt, which Gratitude each day
Paying, wou’d still own much to pay;
Instead of Duty freely paid,
A Tyrant’s hard Exaction’s made.
Fitted the simple to cajole,
First of his Wits, and then his Soul,
He urges fifty false Pretences,
Preaching his Hearers from their Senses.
He knows his Master’s Realm so well,
His Sermons are a Map of Hell,
An Ollio made of Conflagration,
Of Gulphs of Brimstone, and Damnation,
Eternal Torments, Furnace, Worm,
Hell-Fire, a Whirlwind, and a Storm,
With Mammon, Satan, and Perdition,
And Beelzebub to help the Dish on;
Belial and Lucifer, and all
The nick-Names which old Nick we call—
But he has ta’en especial care,
To have nor Sense nor Reason there.
A thousand scorching Words beside,
Over his tongue as glibly slide,
Familiar as a glass of wine,
Or a Tobacco-pipe on mine;
That You wou’d swear he was compleater,
Than Powell, as a Fire-Eater.

Virgins he will seduce astray,
Only to shew the shortest Way
To Heaven, and because it lies
Above the Zodiac in the Skies,
That they may better see the Track,
He lays them down upon their Back.
Domestic Peace he can destroy,
And the confusion view with Joy,
Children from Parents he can draw,
What’s Conscience?—he is safe from Law—
The closest Union can divide,
Take Husbands from their Spouses’ side,
But it turns out to better Use,
Wives from their Husbands to seduce;
And as their Journey lies up-Hill,
Ev’ry Incumbrance were an Ill;
And lest their Speed shou’d be withstood,
He takes their Money—for their Good.

Such is the Agent Satan chose,
Religion’s Progress to oppose—
Too great the Task for one was thought,
And under-Agents must be sought—
On this high Enterprize intent,
A troop of evil Sprites he sent,
Commission’d, wheresoe’er they found
Hearts hollow, rotten, and unsound,
Within those Breasts accurs’d to dwell,
Teaching the Liturgy of Hell.
Big with the Charge th’ infernal Crew
To their belov’d Appointment flew;
With busy search thro’ ev’ry Class,
Thro’ ev’ry Rank of Men they pass,
In ev’ry Class of Men they find
Some Hearts corrupted to their Mind,
Ev’ry Profession they explore,
Ev’ry Profession gives them more;
The higher Functions ransack’d, now
Each vulgar Trade, each sweaty Brow
Is search’d, and in them all were found,
Some hollow, rotten, and unsound.
In each depraved Bosom dwell
These Sprites, nor miss their native Hell.
Hence ev’ry Blockhead, Knave, and Dunce,
Start into Preachers all at once.
Hence Ignorance of ev’ry size,
Of ev’ry shape Wit can devise,
Altho’ so dull it hardly knows,
Which are its Fingers, which its Toes,
Which is the left Hand, which the Right,
When it is Day, or when ’tis Night,
Shall yet pretend to keep the Key
Of God’s dark Secrets, and display
His hidden Mysteries, as free
As if God’s privy Council He,
Shall to his Presence rush, and dare
To raise a pious Riot there.

Lawyers (a Commutation strange!)
Coke Littleton for Bible change;
Quit their beloved wrangling Hall,
More loudly in a Church to bawl:
Statutes at large are thrown aside,
And now the Testament’s their guide;
And full as fervent, on their Knees,
For Heav’n they pray, as once for Fees;
Plaintiff, Defendant, and my Lord,
Are banish’d, and now Faith’s the Word,
Of Briefs no longer now they dream,
Religion is the only Theme.
The Physic-Tribe their Art resign,
And lose the Quack in the Divine;
Galen lies on the Shelf unread,
A Pray’r-Book open in its stead;
Salvation now is all the Cant,
Salvation is the only Want.
“Throw Physic to the Dogs,” they cry,
’Twill never bring you to the Sky.
Of a New-birth they prate, and prate
While Midwifry is out of Date;
Let Fevers, Agues, take their turn,
To freeze the Patient, or to burn,
In vain he seeks the Physic Tribe,
No Recipe will they prescribe,
But what is sovereign to controul
The Maladies that hurt the Soul.
And tho’ while Body-quacks, with Pill
Or Bolus, ’twas their Trade to kill,
More miserably still, alack!
For the diseased Soul they quack.