English Puritan & Reformed

A Congratulatory Poem to John Tillotson

John Tutchin (1661-1707) · 1,473 words · 7 min

The source for this document is https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo2/A63958.0001.001

Project Note

This is licensed under Creative Commons CC BY-NC-ND. This license allows reusers to copy and distribute the material in any medium or format in unadapted form only, for noncommercial purposes only, and only so long as attribution is given to the creator.

The source of this document is the Early English Books Online (EEBO-TCP) website. Those books were transcribed in a character for character manner and can be very cumbersome to read since there was no standard spelling during that time. Many spelling variations such as "unlesse", "vnlesse", and "vnles" regularly appear.

This project was conceived to clean up those books as much as possible and make them more accessible to the interested reader, leading to the creation of a massive list of variant spellings and their corrections. This was used to clean up the text, but is of course only as complete as the list itself. Because of the nature of the original transcription, some words have missing characters or places where the original language (e.g., Greek) was not transcribed. This effort does not change that. Be aware that the original transcription can also be faulty and in some cases entire sentences may be missing.

Although this is no substitute for a properly compared, proofed, and scholarly edition, I believe that the result is a document which is far more accessible, particularly for searching for terms using standard spelling. The document has been cleaned and presented in what I hope is a pleasing and useful format for the vast majority of Christian brothers and sisters who just want access to read these spiritually nourishing works.

However, a word of warning: The Puritans were a very diverse group of people and their age was characterized with godliness, but also much upheaval, disputation and strife. They disagreed on many doctrines and some of these works contain less orthodox or Scriptural views than others. The reader is strongly advised to read with discernment, particularly if it is unknown whether author is trustworthy.

This project took a huge amount of time and skill to bring to fruition. I would particularly like to thank David Jonescue for the initial list of Puritans he found on EEBO and the concept behind this project as well as the continuous, unceasing efforts toward seeing this complete. Without his labor, this would not be available. Alex Sarrouf was invaluable in providing the initial list of over 7,000 spelling variations he had identified and corrected, as well as continuing to review more than 16,000 additions to that list for any typos.

Logan West
(with David Jonescue and Alex Sarrouf)
www.puritansearch.org

A CONGRATULATORY POEM To the REVEREND Dr. John Tillotson, UPON HIS PROMOTION TO THE ARCH-EPISCOPAL-SEE OF CANTERBURY.

By Mr. TUTCHIN.

LONDON, Printed for W. Haite. MDCXCI.

A Congratulatory POEM, &c.

        WHilst Priestly Pens the Glorious Theam decline,
       
        And at their Loss, or at your Fate repine;
       
        And College-Wits no Tuneful Notes express,
       
        Are drunk in Faction, or unskill'd in Verse;
       
        I, who the
        
         Levite
        
        seldom did adore,
       
        And scarce e're knew a Priest I loved before,
       
        Do to your Fame a juster Tribute bring,
       
        At once the Prelate and his Virtues sing.

        'Twas but of late my Warbling Lute I strung,
       
        And Mighty
        
         Orange
        
        in just Numbers sung;
       
        Did with the wondering World in Notes rejoice,
       
        And Prais'd our Makers and the Peoples Choice;
       
        Now the dear sweets of fresher Joys commence,
       
        And for the Prelate we must bless the Prince.
       
        Methinks the Virtue of our Land appears
       
        After the Luxury of Thirty Years,
       
        When close Opinions set the Prelate forth,
       
        And 'twas his Faction raised him, not his worth.
       
        A juster Path our Righteous Prince did tread,
       
        Destin'd the Mitre for a Nobler Head:
       
        He shall Unvanquish'd on the Plain Command,
       
        When such a Bishop does support his Hand:
       
        Home from the Wars shall lasting Trophies bear,
       
        For Heaven will grant a Righteous Prelate's Prayer.
       
        On you, Great Sir, our Pious Hopes depend,
       
        Your Learning must our Rational Faith defend;
       
        We fear no Fate, resolved to overcome,
       
        Beneath your Banner, who have Conquer'd
        
         Rome.
        
        Whilst Mighty
        
         William
        
        draws his Shining Sword,
       
        To Fight God's Battels, you Maintain his Word;
       
        He Skill'd in War, with Manly Prowess Arm'd,
       
        Has each Good Man and every Nation Charm'd;
       
        Your Skill in Argument is not unknown,
       
        Nor the great Feats your Artful Pen has done;
       
        Although Religion seemed to bid adieu,
       
        It's Resurrection we expect from you.
       
        Religion first with dazzling Rays did Shine,
       
        Her Shape was Comely, and her Face Divine,
       
        Her Native Beauty each Admirer warmed,
       
        E're Stains of Error had her Meen deformed,
       
        And Clouds of Ignorance, that Truth o'respread,
       
        Hover'd in Gloomy Circles round her Head.
       
        You are the Sun that must dispel these Mists,
       
        Revive Religion, and Reform our Priests;
       
        Curb all our Vices, and Impede their Growth,
       
        So long Debauch'd in Luxury and Sloth.
       
        You are the
        
         Moses
        
        must our Factions quell,
       
        And stop the Murmuring of our
        
         Israel.
        
        At your Advancement Pious Souls Rejoice,
       
        No more the Monarchs than the Peoples Choice.
       
        Before the King's Decree was fully known,
       
        Methought each Look Declar'd for
        
         Tillotson:
        
        But when 'twas known, each Man his Joy Exprest,
       
        And Thank'd the Monarch for so good a Priest.
       
        Each distant place received the joyful sound,
       
        Where the glad News a Hearty Welcome found.
       
        Tho' diff'rent Sects too much infest our Land,
       
        And with hot Zeal for either Party stand;
       
        Tho' the Devotes too Mad and Rigid are,
       
        There never appeared a Rash Dissenter here.
       
        The Prelate all approve, the Man Caress,
       
        And for his Choice their Rightful Monarch Bless.

        Let Envious Priests your Glories strive to blast,
       
        Fixt as some Rock your Memory shall last.
       
        No stubborn
        
         Levite
        
        shall molest your Fame,
       
        But yours shall grow, as Mighty
        
         William
        
        's Name.
       
        The Stubborn
        
         Levites
        
        are our Land's disgrace,
       
        A Haughty, Proud, and a Contentious Race;
       
        Bias'd in Judgment, Turbulent in Mind,
       
        No King can Please, nor Acts of Grace can Bind;
       
        Promote our Wars with vast Expence of Blood,
       
        Prefer their Humour to their Countries Good;
       
        If these Reproach, the Venom of their Gall
       
        Beneath the weight of your Contempt must fall.
       
        All the Reproaches of the Wicked must
       
        Tend to the Praises of the Good and Just.
       
        Who knows the Vice to Envy does belong,
       
        Wou'd loathe the Slanders of a Railing Tongue:
       
        The Glory of your Virtue shines more bright,
       
        And scorns the Darkness of approaching Night:
       
        'It is not the Tainted Breath of Envious Fame,
       
        Can Blast the Beauties of your Spotless Name;
       
        You need not value what the Gloomy say,
       
        The Clouds may Darken, not Obstruct the day.
       
        The Lofty Pine, with Head Erect, does grow,
       
        Nor heeds the Motion of the Shrubs below.
       
        On in its course the constant Moon still jogs,
       
        Disdains the Barking Neighbourhood of Dogs.
       
        When Virtue is opposed by Vicious Might,
       
        It shows its force, and shines with double Light.
       
        Virtue, like
        
         Camomile
        
        oppressed, still lives,
       
        The more 'tis trampled on, the better Scent it gives.
       
        What though you're Hated and Contemn'd by Few,
       
        The Many to your Cause and Faith are true;
       
        In vain the Bad their weak disgust expressed,
       
        Since you are Lov'd, Supported by the Best.
       
        Scarce had our Royal Pair a greater Train,
       
        To give the Scepter of a Gentle Reign,
       
        Than that the Prelate has so lately graced,
       
        Who gave the
        
         Crosier
        
        and the
        
         Miter
        
        placed;
       
        The Noble Throng led the Imperial Way,
       
        Scarce could
        
         Moria
        
        's Charms Command their Stay;
       
        To see the Rites performed they all Resort,
       
        Less'ning the Numbers of the Crowded Court.

        From every part the glad Admirers throng,
       
        And Bless the Prelate as they pass along.
       
        Thus once the Ransom'd People filled the Strand,
       
        O'respread the Beach, to see Great
        
         ORANGE
        
        Land;
       
        He brought Ten Thousand Blessings to the Shoar,
       
        Great as the Miseries we felt before,
       
        Remov'd our Scourges, and Destroy'd our Rods,
       
        And Triumph'd over our Wooden Priests and God's.
       
        The joyful People soon his Praises sing,
       
        With one united Shout Proclaim him King.
       
        Scarce did they more Rejoice to see the Crown
       
        Plac'd on a Head was Chosen by their own,
       
        Than now they Triumph when the
        
         Miter
        
        's given,
       
        To one approved by People, Prince, and Heaven.
       
        But now, my Lord! the Mighty Work is done,
       
        And Heaven with Blessings does the Action Crown;
       
        The joyful News fills every distant Plain,
       
        And glads the Heart of every Humble Swain.
       
        We from your Learning do expect the Truth,
       
        To help the Aged, and Instruct the Youth;
       
        And hope your good Example will afford,
       
        The same Success as Mighty
        
         WILLIAM
        
        's Sword:
       
        Conquer the Lusts and Vices of the Age,
       
        Asswage their Fury, and appease their Rage:
       
        To stop a Torrent, when the Waves combine,
       
        Requires a Courage and a Heat Divine:
       
        To dare their Force, and with address withstand
       
        The Impious Fury of a Sinful Land:
       
        Such Mighty Actions never can be done,
       
        But by the Hands of such as
        
         Tillotson;
        
        'It is not an easy step to mount a Throne,
       
        And pull an old Imperious Tyrant down.
       
        Sin, like a Tyrant, with its Scepter Reigns,
       
        And all the Pious Strength of Man disdains;
       
        A num'rous Train does to its Courts belong,
       
        Its Slaves are Valiant and its Vot'ries strong:
       
        Just like a Rightful Monarch it appears,
       
        And pleads Succession of some Hundred Years;
       
        Does for all Lewdness and each Vice declare,
       
        And against Grace Proclaims an open War:
       
        All its strong holds with Art does fortify,
       
        And forms a Train of its Artillery:
       
        Of Lust, Ambition, and Insatiate Pride,
       
        Of Malice and Ten Thousand Ills beside;
       
        Longing for Death, and Thirsting after Blood,
       
        And the destruction of each thing that's Good.
       
        This is the Enemy, my Lord, you must
       
        Destroy, and lay its Honor in the Dust;
       
        Retrieve the Praise of Thread-bare Virtue's Fame,
       
        And giveit a Glorious and Immortal Name.
       
        'It is true, the Business and the Work is hard,
       
        But great's your Help, and great is your Reward.
       
        The Mighty
        
         WILLIAM
        
        did the Scepter Sway,
       
        When Men were Stubborn, and refused toObey;
       
        A Moody People in a Nation Rul'd,
       
        Had been with Folly and with Lewdness gull'd,
       
        So Good, so Mild, so Gentle was his Sway,
       
        The major part soon learned to Obey.
       
        Nor is the Hierarchy, where you Command,
       
        Much less Infested with the Sins o'th' Land;
       
        Despotick Sway of late o'recame the Law,
       
        And we the Ruins of our Freedoms saw:
       
        Then Grave Divinity became a Cheat,
       
        And fell and dwindled to I know not what:
       
        Some for Preferment had their Faith forgot,
       
        And gave their Hand to carry on the Plot;
       
        Some Braves indeed (and these were not a few)
       
        Kept to their Doctrines and their Country true,
       
        Oppos'd our Foes, and our Restorer served,
       
        And never yet have from his Interest swerv'd.
       
        The Glory of our Faith you must retrieve,
       
        And a new Life must to Religion give,
       
        And make our Clergy good Examples live.
       
        Thus by your Sway we hope for better times,
       
        Men shall hate Vice, and shall abandon Crimes;
       
        The Shame of Sinning shall its use unlearn,
       
        And Men by Virtue shall their Worth discern,
       
        The Priests no longer shall be steep'd in Sloth,
       
        Andit shall be Scandal to refuse the Oath;
       
        Nor shall Opinion one another blame,
       
        The
        
         Wolf
        
        shall slumber with the tender
        
         Lamb;
        
        Our Tuneful Bards exalted Notes shall raise,
       
        And Sing the Monarch's, and the Bishop's Praise.

FINIS.