Of a turbulent preacher, who, cursedly hot,
Turn’d the fifth of November, even the gun-powder plot,
Into impudent railing, and the devil knows what: 
Exclaiming like fury—­it was at Paul’s, London—­
How church was in danger, and like to be undone, And so gave the lie to gracious Queen Anne; And, which is far worse, to our parliament-men: 
      And then printed a book,
      Into which men did look: 
      True, he made a good text;
      But what follow’d next
Was nought but a dunghill of sordid abuses, Instead of sound doctrine, with proofs to’t, and uses. 
      It was high time of day
      That such inflammation
should be extinguish’d without more delay:  But there was no engine could possibly do’t, Till the commons play’d theirs, and so quite put it out. 
      So the man was tried for’t,
      Before highest court: 
      Now it’s plain to be seen,
      It’s his principles I mean,
Where they suffer’d this noisy and his lawyers to bellow: 
      Which over, the blade
      A poor punishment had
      For that racket he made. 
      By which ye may know
      They thought as I do,
That he is but at best an inconsiderable fellow. 
      Upon this I find here,
      And everywhere,
That the country rides rusty, and is all out of gear: 
      And for what? 
       May I not
       In opinion vary,
      And think the contrary,
      But it must create
      Unfriendly debate,
      And disunion straight;
      When no reason in nature
      Can be given of the matter,
      Any more than for shapes or for different stature? 
If you love your dear selves, your religion or queen,
Ye ought in good manners to be peaceable men: 
      For nothing disgusts her
      Like making a bluster: 
      And your making this riot,
      Is what she could cry at,
Since all her concern’s for our welfare and quiet. 
      I would ask any man
      Of them all that maintain
      Their passive obedience
      With such mighty vehemence,
      That damn’d doctrine, I trow! 
      What he means by it, ho’,
      To trump it up now? 
      Or to tell me in short,
      What need there is for’t? 
      Ye may say, I am hot;
      I say I am not;
Only warm, as the subject on which I am got. 
      There are those alive yet,
      If they do not forget,
May remember what mischiefs it did church and state: 
      Or at least must have heard
      The deplorable calamities
      It drew upon families,
About sixty years ago and upward. 
      And now, do ye see,
      Whoever they be,
      That make such an oration
      In our Protestant nation,
As though church was all on a fire,—­
      With whatever cloak
      They may cover their talk,
      And wheedle the folk,
      That the oaths