est honour can't acquit
That _Pensioner_, who once was _P----_.
Instance on instance to my view
Come rushing, of the changeling crew,
That I could quarrel with my Nature,
To think that Man is such a Creature--
And are we all a fickle tribe,
Venal to ev'ry golden bribe?
Is there not one of honour found,
In all the List of _Placemen_ found?
Yes--_one_ there is, in perils tried,
Yet never known to _change his Side_,
Or _Principles_--nor think it strange,
He ne'er had _Principles_ to change,
And for a _Side_ (the proof is new)
He's _none_, because that _he has two_.
Throw him from _Party_'s giddy heights,
A _Cat in Politics_ he lights
Ever upon his feet; his heart
Clings both to _Whig_ and _Tory-part_;
Is _this_, is _that_, is _both_, or _neither_,
And still keeps shifting with the Weather.
Who does not know that _T--s--d_'s he,
That reads the _Book of Ministry_?

Thus let us turn where'er we will,
_Each Machiavel_'s a _Changeling_ still.
But tho' among all _Nature_'s works
The seed of foul _Corruption_ lurks,
Yet no where is it known to bear
So vile a Crop on Ground so fair,
As when upon _Religion_'s root
_It raises Diabolic Fruit_.

When the Almighty Father's Love
Call'd Things to Being, from above
Millions of winged _Blessings_ flew,
Sent from his right hand, to bedew
The new-born Earth, and from their wings
Shed good on all _created Things_.
Precious and various tho' the store
Which down to Earth these Legates bore,
That _Heav'nly Spark_ we _Reason call_,
Was far the richest boon of all.

By _this_ we find _th' Almighty Cause_
From whom the World its Being draws;
_By whom Earth_'s plenteous Table's spread,
At which each living Creature's fed;
_Who_ gave the _Breath of Life_, and whence
This fine _Variety_ of _Sense_;
_Whose Hands_ unfold the azure sky,
Sublimely pleasing to _the Eye_;
_Who_ tun'd the feather'd Songster's throat,
Giving such softness to his note,
To fill the _Ear_ with dulcet sound,
And pour sweet Music all around;
Who on the teeming Branches plac'd
Such various Fruit to please the _Taste_;
What bounteous Hand perfum'd the _Rose_,
And ev'ry scented Flow'r that blows,
And wafts its fragrance thro' the Vale,
Courting the _Smell_ in ev'ry gale,
To _who