His office of intelligence,
His oracles, are ceas'd long since;
And he knows nothing of the Saints,
But what some treach'rous spy acquaints.
This is some petty-fogging fiend,
Some under door-keeper's friend's friend,
That undertakes to understand,
And juggles at the second hand:
And now would pass for spirit Po,
And all men's dark concerns foreknow.