Rome does right well to censure all the vain Talk of Jansenius, and of them who preach That earthly joys are damnable!‘ T is plain We need not charge at Heaven as at a breach;
No, amble on! We‘ ll gain it, one and all; The narrow path's a dream fantastical, And Arnauld's quite superfluously driven Mirth from the world. We‘ ll scale the heavenly wall.
Escobar makes a primrose path to heaven! He does not hold a man may well be slain Who vexes with unseasonable speech, You may do murder for five ducats gain,
Not for a pin, a ribbon, or a peach; He ventures ( most consistently ) to teach That there are certain cases which befall When perjury need no good man appal,
And life of love ( he says ) may keep a leaven. Sure, hearing this, a grateful world will bawl, “Escobar makes a primrose path to heaven!” “For God's sake read me somewhat in the strain
Of his most cheering volumes, I beseech!” Why should I name them all? a mighty train — So many, none may know the name of each. Make these your compass to the heavenly beach,
These only in your library instal: Burn Pascal and his fellows, great and small, Dolts that in vain with Escobar have striven; I tell you, and the common voice doth call,
Escobar makes a primrose path to heaven! SATAN, that pride did hurry to thy fall, Thou porter of the grim infernal hall — Thou keeper of the courts of souls unshriven!
To shun thy shafts, to‘ scape thy hellish thrall, Escobar makes a primrose path to heaven!
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