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          Black upon Blue :


A Purging-Potion for Father Ch--pp--n.

                Neſcit vox miſſa reverti.

WELL; Ch--pp--n, is it come to this ?
And are your Projects gone amiſs ?
Are all thy Quæries and Bravadoes,
Reduc'd to Dreams and Empty Shadows?
Have all thy Frauds and Holy Shiſts
Of Loyalty, and Goſpel-Gifts,
Thy Cants and Pleas unwarrantable,
To Flatter and Seduce the Rabble ;
Thy crying publick Juſtice Down,
To eaſe the Grievance of the Town
And Advertiſements, ſo exhortive,
Prov'd Unſucceſsful and abortive ?
Such Managements among the Godly
Will favour, Now, but very oddly,
And thou wilt ſeem a puny Prelate,
Who lately wer't ſo hot a Zealot ;
Timing your Lawleſs Impudence,
Juſt like your Pulpit-Eloquence,
By the Bour-Glaſs, and that of Brandy,
Which ſhews your Bottom to be ſandy,
And that the Spirit, which you Boaſt,
Is owing to the Liquor moſt ;
Which paſſing thro' ſome private cranny,
Into the Brain of Saint (if any)
And blended in a rapid Eddy,
With Vapours pent therein already,
Quite turns his Senſes turvy-topſy,
And ſo begets Fanatick Dropſy,
Which, with the Brethren, goes for Merit,
And pious workings of the Spirit,
As if they thought, in ſober ſadneſs,
That Prophecy conſiſts in Madneſs;
And Goſpel-Light does chiefly blaze in
Thoſe Men, that Loſe the Light of Reaſon.
As ſome Philoſophers of old did                             
Suppoſe the Infant VVorld was moulded
Out of a medly of Subſtratttms,
Fortuitous con-courſe of Attoms ;
So by the fulfom ſumes of Drink
And Vapours pent, in Noddle-chink,

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