C[oke] in his spritely youth for Honor tried
And fair Preferment—on the Church’s side,
For Church and King the valiant Champion fought,
And from the powerful Great a Living sought:
But sick of hope delay’d, he turn’d his coat,
Rail’d at “the Antichristian Church,” and wrote;
Abjur’d his King, on Congress fawn’d so civil,
And cring’d, and held a candle to the Devil.
Resolving now a nobler Prize to gain,
The Curate views a Living with disdain:
On meaner souls her Gifts let Fortune shower
His Object is Authority and Power;
A supple Courtier, an obsequious Tool,
He creeps to climb, and humbly stoops to rule,
Till curst with his imaginary power
He swells, a spurious Bishop for an hour
Destroys a Church, to consequences blind,
Goes out in smoak,—and leaves his Stink behind.
So when Erostratus, with fruitless aim
By virtuous Action had aspir’d to fame,
He chang’d his plan; and better to succeed
Determin’d by some bold, atrocious Deed:
Th’ Ambitious Wretch, the daring Felon fir’d
A Temple thro’ the universe admir’d,
By sacrilege immortaliz’d his Name,
And damn’d himself—to everlasting Fame.