THE
High-Church Bully:
OR,
The Praises of Mr. HIGGINS.
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HAD I but, Sir, Ability and Skill,
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To speak thy Praises, equal to my Will,
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My forward Pen wou'd lift thy Memory
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Beyond the wrathful Silence of Envy.
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Shall Ravillac his then first Fame Commence,
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From basely murd'ring a Brave Christian Prince?
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And don't our Presses owe thee far much more,
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Who wou'dst thy Exil'd K------g, kindly restore?
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Shall Herostratus still Survive in Story,
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Who won, by Burning the Heathen Fane, such Glory?
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And dost not thou Deserve a Kinder Turn,
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Who wou'dst both Whiggs and Whiggish Temples Burn?
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Thy Brother Harrys Opportune Essays,
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Exalt his Name, and spread his Swelling Praise:
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Equal Encomiums sure thou canst not miss,
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Thy Flaming Tongue has said as much as his.
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Hail mighty Priest! Heroick Son of Aaron,
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What Daring Feats hast thou perform'd thy Share on?
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With Hostile Brav'ry, Damn'd the Revolution,
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And brought the Gasping Whiggs almost to Dissolution.
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True to thy Cause, Irresolute to flinch,
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Witness thy Awful Conquest of the Bench;
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Where with uplifted Hand thou foil'd the Board,
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Confusion to Dissenters was the Word:
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Oh! how they shrunk, and Trembling took Alarm,
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At Brandishing thy Thunder-bearing Arm!
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Untaught, to yield, brave Stand-fast, ever strong,
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Great ne plus ultra of the Whiggish Throng!
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They dread thy Weighty Arm and Fulminating Tongue.
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Mirror of Courage mixt with Manly Pride,
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Thou bravely layst Unmanly Grace aside,
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As quite unfit to Stem th' Unpassive Tide,
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Of Whiggish Factions, that must needs o'erwhelm thee,
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Hadst thou but bare Unfighting Grace, wherewith to helm thee.
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But stung with Daring Rage thou wilt prevail,
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By Volleys of Gigantick roaring Zeal:
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Thy Warlike Boldness doth all Foes subdue,
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Where Peaceful Grace, alas! cou'd little do.
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Thus Rome, whose Footsteps you so closely Tread,
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Great Rome! thy Mother-Church, and Darling Head;
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When all her Arguments are wanting Force,
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To more Convincing Fire and Faggot, hath recourse;
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And that thou'rt Ally'd to the Triple Crown,
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Thy Brother Laughton can Inform the Town:
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Back'd by the Pope thou never canst be Poor,
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Whilst thou stands Bully for the Scarlet Whore;
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What tho' the stiff-neck'd Whiggs sometime retard thee,
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Her Whoreship (certainly) will well reward thee,
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For Preaching Non-Resistance to her Son,
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Who's by Resisting Whiggs almost undone;
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If thy Bold Truths 'gainst A---ne cost thee a Prison,
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What's Loyalty to him, to her is Treason.
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Thou boldly prov'd before the City Praetor
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That Liberty and Right, have a pernicious Nature;
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That they're made use of as a stalking Stallion,
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For Trooping Whiggs to Ride on to Rebellion;
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These bloody Watch-words lost old J------s his Throne,
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And the same Whiggish Cant, destroys the Son.
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The Gown and Smock are thy equal Admirers;
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The Convocation proves the Jury Liars;
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The Friendly Junto's satisfy'd, and knows,
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Thou art a Sober Priest, as ever pluck'd Man's Nose;
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And tho' thy Sermon happen'd to be Burn'd,
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'Twas in Resisting Days before the Times were Turn'd.
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Now for the Nymphs; thy Doctrine there prevails,
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They tamely turn to thee their Non-Resisting Tails;
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Whene'er thy Rising Cod-Piece falls a working,
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They lift their Smocks, and Passively take Jerking;
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There's no Resisting there, they must comply,
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The Hero Conquers sure, who mounts so high.
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A Universal Name thou merits fully,
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At once a Priest, a Champion, and a Bully.
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If such there be as bid thee a Defiance,
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Thy frightful Paws soon scare 'em to Compliance.
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Thou hast a Conq'ring Arm, and Conq'ring Tool,
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How dare then Whiggs call thee an Hair-brain'd Fool?
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Thou art the Gayest Fellow e'er was whelped,
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When in thy State thou Climbs the Passive Pulpet;
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Puff'd with some furious Pow'r, thy Lungs do Roar,
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Vengeance and Death to all that will not Soar,
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As high as thee, Scotus, or Doctor Suazez,
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Against whose Gain-sayers thy constant War is.
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Thy Fist, when't makes the Suffering Pulpit crack,
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Methinks, I see a Peal of Light'ning break;
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Thy fiery Words with cutting Kenness fly,
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Like painted Rockets darting to the Sky;
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Now Damn'st our Dutch Redeemer and his Cause,
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Then cursest Anti-Arbitrary Laws;
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Now loudly Raves against Soft Moderation,
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Then leaps upon the Hanover-Succession;
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Now mightily extols all High-Church Ranters,
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Now lashes all False Brethren and Dissenters.
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A Pulpit Comit, thou, a Blazing Star,
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With Pestilential Breath, denouncing Civil War.
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No matter what the Text says, thou'll apply't,
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No matter how, so as thy Cause gains by't.
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Thou know'st thy Stickling for Proud Tyranny,
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Will, with thy hop'd for Change, bring thee a Bishop's See.
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Fear not Oblivion when thou'rt dead and gone,
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Thy Speaking Dust will assail ANNAs Throne,
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And Rome and France will their Dead Agent own.
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And if thy Soul should fly as high as Heaven,
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By Peters Keys thy Entrance will be given;
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Of if it rather fly to Shades Below,
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Thy Friendships made with Pluto e'er thou Go.
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