How zealous crab the sacred image bore,
And swam a catholic to the distant shore:
With shams like these the giddy rout mislead,
Their folly and their superstition feed.
''Twas found a good and gainful art of old
(And much it did our church's power uphold)
To feign hobgoblins, elves, and walking sprites,
And fairies dancing salenger[1] o' nights;
White sheets for ghosts, and will-a-wisps have passed
For souls in purgatory unreleased,
And crabs in churchyard crawled in masquerade,
To cheat the parish, and have masses said.
By this our ancestors in happier days,
Did store of credit and advantage raise:
But now the trade is fallen, decayed, and dead,
E'er since contagious knowledge has o'erspread;
"With scorn the grinning rabble now hear tell
Of Hecla, Patrick's Hole, and Mongibel,
Believed no more than tales of Troy, unless
In countries drowned in ignorance, like this.
Henceforth be wary how such things you feign,
Except it be beyond the Cape or Line,
Except at Mexico, Brazil, Peru,
At the Moluccos, Goa, or Pegu,
Or any distant and remoter place,
Where they may current and unquestioned pass,
Where never poaching heretics resort,
To spring the lie, and make 't their game and sport.
'But I forget (what should be mentioned most)
Confession, our chief privilege and boast,
That staple ware, which ne'er returns in vain,
Ne'er balks the trader of expected gain.
'Tis this that spies through court intrigues, and brings
Admission to the cabinets of kings;
By this we keep proud monarchs at our becks,
And make our footstools of their thrones and necks,
- ↑ One of the oldest dances in England was called Sellinger’s Round.
