THE SEEKER.

BY MR. MATTHEW GREEN.

Wh

hen I first came to London, I rambled about
From sermon to sermon, took a slice and went outs
Then on me, in divinity batchelor, try'd
Many priests to obtrude a Levitical bride;
And urging their various opinions, intended
To make me wed systems, which they recommended.
Said a letch'rous old fry'r skulking near Lincoln's Inn,
Whose trade's to absolve, but whose pastime's to sin;
Who, spider like, seizes weak protestant flies,
Which hung in his sophistry cobweb he spies;
Ah pity your soul, for without our church pale,
If you happen to die, to be damn'd you can't fail;
The bible, you boast, is a wild revelation;

Hear a church that can't err if you hope for salvation.
Said a formal non-con, whose rich stock of grace
Lies forward expos'd in shop-window of face,
Ah! pity your soul, come, be of our sect,

For then you are safe, and may plead you're elect;
As it stands in the Acts, we can prove ourselves saints,
Being Christ's little flock ev'ry where spoke against.
Said a jolly church parson devoted to ease,

While penal law dragons guard his golden fleece,
If
you pity your soul, I pray listen to neither;
The first is in error, the last a deceiver:

That ours is the true church, the sense of our tribe is, And surely in medio tutissimus ibis.

Said a yea and nay friend with a stiff hat and band, Who while he talk'd gravely would hold forth his Dominion and wealth are the aim of all three, [hand, Tho' about ways and means they may ali disagree; Then prithee be wise, go the quaker's by-way, Tis plain, without turnpikes, so nothing to pay.

Capricious W- a Sonnet needs must have;

I ne'er was so put to 't before:-A Sonnet! Why, fourteen verses must be spent upon it; 'Tis good howe'er t' have conquer'd the first stave.

Yet I shall ne'er find rhymes enough by half,

Said I, and found myself i' th' midst o' th' second.
If twice four verses were but fairly reckon'd,
I should turn back on th' hardest part and laugh.

Thus far with good success I think I've scribbled,

And of the twice seven lines have clean got o'er ten. Courage! another'll finish the first triplet.

Thanks to thee, muse, my work begins to shorten, There's thirteen lines got through driblet by driblet. 'Tis done! count how you will, I warrant there's fourteen.