"Then I heard one saint speaking, and another saint said unto that saint,"
St. Sinclair rose and declared in smooth,
That he wouldn't give sixpence to Maynooth.
He had hated priests the whole of his life,
For a priest was a man who had no wife,
And, having no wife, the Church was his mother,
The Church was his father, sister and brother.
This being the case, he was sorry to say
That a gulf 'twixt Papist and Protestant lay,
So deep and wide, scarce possible was it
To say even "how d' ye do?" across it:
And tho' your Liberals, nimble as fleas,
Could clear such gulfs with perfect ease,
'Twas a jump that naught on earth could make
Your proper, heavy-built Christian take.
No, no,--if a Dance of Sects must be,
He would set to the Baptist willingly,
At the Independent deign to smirk,
And rigadoon with old Mother Kirk;
Nay even, for once, if needs must be,
He'd take hands round with all the three;
But as to a jig with Popery, no,--
To the Harlot ne'er would he point his toe.
St. Mandeville was the next that rose,--
A saint who round as pedler goes
With his pack of piety and prose,
Heavy and hot enough, God knows,--
And he said that Papists were much inclined
To extirpate all of Protestant kind,
Which he couldn't in truth so much condemn,
Having rather a wish to extirpate them;
That is,--to guard against mistake,--
To extirpate them for their doctrine's sake;
A distinction Churchman always make,--
Insomuch that when they've prime control,
Tho' sometimes roasting heretics whole,
They but cook the body for sake of the soul.
Next jumpt St. Johnston jollily forth,
The spiritual Dogberry of the North,
A right "wise fellow, and what's more,
An officer," like his type of yore;
And he asked if we grant such toleration,
Pray, what's the use of our Reformation?
What is the use of our Church and State?
Our Bishops, Articles, Tithe and Rate?
And still as he yelled out "what's the use?"
Old Echoes, from their cells recluse
Where they'd for centuries slept, broke loose,
Yelling responsive, "What's the use?"