So thou wouldst tempt me, pretty neophyte,
Me, bred in those learnéd halls whose sons erst broke,
With arm polemic, Rome's usurpé yoke,
Though all unfit to wage--with eyes so bright
And smiles so sweet--the controversial fight;
Me, whom no few as Methodist a**ail,
Me thou wouldst tempt to quit the happy pale
Of England's Church, to pope and priest my right
Of thought resigning.
Cherish, gentle friend,
The new-found light, if light it be, and tread
Thy clouded path to heaven: and let me wend
My way, with difficulty sore bested,
Nor needing more incumbrances, alone,
Free from thy Church's fetters, and thy own!