Page:Elegy in memory of that valiant champion, Sir Robert Grierson of Lag; who died Decem. 23d, 1733.pdf/22

 Unto the priest, that greedy slave.

For he had neither pith nor power

To keep my friend from me an hour.

For when I heard that he was dead,

A legion or my den did lead

Him to my place of residence,

Where still he'll stay and not go hence.

For Purgatory, I must tell,

It is the lowest place in hell;

Well plenish'd with the Romish fort,

Where thousands of them do resort.

There many a Prince and Pope do dwell,

Fast fetter'd in that lower cell.

And from that place they ne'er win free,

Tho' greedy priests for gain do lie.

In making ignorants conceive,

They'll bring them from the infernal cave.

Such as do bribe them well with gold,

As heaven with pelf were bought and sold.

Sure that is but a vain deceit,

Contriv'd, by Antichrist of late;

To keep the worshippers of the Whore

Senseless in sin, blind and secure;

And to make priests look fat and fine,

Who nought but carnal things do mind,

For this is what I truly know,

They come not back from whence they go.

They who take their abode with me,

From that place they are never free.

This will know, and all the rest

Who of my lodging are possest.

On earth no more they can serve me,

But still I'll have their companie.

With this I must my grief allay,

So I no more of will say.