XXXI. Distractions

Men, who have ceased to reverence, soon defy
Their Forefathers;—lo! Sects are formed—and split
With morbid restlessness—the ecstatic fit
Spreads wide; though special mysteries multiply,
The Saints must govern, is their common cry;
And so they labour; deeming Holy Writ
Disgraced by aught that seems content to sit
Beneath the roof of settled Modesty.
The Romanist exults; fresh hope he draws
From the confusion—craftily incites
The overweening—personates the mad—
To heap disgust upon the worthier Cause:
The Throne is plagued; the New-born Church is sad,
For every wave against her peace unites.