Thyself with stories, more fanciful and vain
Than e'er thy poetry could ever fain;
Or sing the lives of thy own fellow saints,
'Tis a large field, and thy assistance wants;
Thence copy out new operas for the stage,
And with their miracles direct the age.
Such is thy faith, if faith thou hast indeed,
For well we may suspect the poet's creed,
Rebel to God, blasphemer o' the king,
Oh tell whence could this strange compliance spring?