Now! Then! His monstrous penis today having terminated its earthly mission, Lancelot Blackburne, (absentee) Archbishop of York, bids his ladies farewell

23 March 1743: His monstrous penis today having terminated its earthly mission, Lancelot Blackburne, (absentee) Archbishop of York, bids his ladies farewell

Anon. 1743. Priest-craft and Lust. London: Printed for W. Webb. Verse satire on Lancelot Blackburne, Archbishop of York Get it:

Excerpt

For Armagh leads me to the shades below,
And when he calls, can York refuse to go?
A thousand weeping matrons wait his hearse,
And every sigh for him gives me a curse;
We’ve put between us all the world in tears,
And left none joyful but our gaping heirs;
Widows and orphans’ eyes bedew his urn,
For me the dames of Drury grieve and mourn,
And all the buxom damsels of the north,
Who knew my parts, lament their going forth.

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To facilitate reading, the spelling and punctuation of elderly excerpts have generally been modernised, and distracting excision scars concealed. My selections, translations, and editions are copyright.
Abbreviations:

ER: East Riding
GM: Greater Manchester
NR: North Riding
NY: North Yorkshire
SY: South Yorkshire
WR: West Riding
WY: West Yorkshire

Comment

Malcolm Redfellow provides some good entry points, but I couldn’t find a source for this until I read Matthew Parris’s Great Unfrocked (Parris 1999). I take it that the Armagh reference can be explained by some personal rivalry with the Primate of All Ireland, rather than by St Patrick’s Purgatory or whatever.

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Original

Since charitable B—l–r’s dead and gone,
Whom SWIFT so scourg’d in ev’ry new Lampoon;
As Fate has call’d me hence, I thought it best,
Lest CURLL shou’d print my Life and spoil my Rest;
To tell ye how the Fates have drench’d Me o’er,
And how they’ve us’d Me on the Stygian Shore;
Depriv’d of Flesh, I, in Idea, kiss,
And, in Mid-torments, think of earthly Bliss;
The Fire which (sometimes, when I us’d to preach)
Like others, I the antient H–ll did teach;
I find the Vigour of my Lust renews
(True Emblem of our modern British Stews!)
The Pain That gives, makes me repent and think–
—- How near are Vice and Virtue in a Link!
Be Parsons Whoremasters, be Doctors drunk,
So let all Learning, and all Skill be sunk.
Be Alma Mater quite dissolv’d in Port,
Nor Muses more to Isis’ Groves resort;
Lost be all Sense or Thought of Right or Wrong,
And no Distinction to Mankind belong;
For Armagh leads Me to the Shades below,
And when he calls, can Y-rk refuse to go?
A Thousand weeping Matrons wait his Hearse,
And ev’ry sigh for Him gives Me a Curse;
We’ve put between us all the World in Tears,
And left none joyful but our gaping Heirs;
Widows and Orphans’ Eyes bedew His Urn,
For Me the Dames of Drury grieve and mourn,
And all the buxom Damsels of the North,
Who knew my Parts, lament their going forth:
But now the Pleasures of the Flesh are done!
Reflection goads my wand’ring Spirit on:
Now I survey my former Scene of Joys,
And look with Horror on your female Toys,
Curse all the vain Delights of your false Sex,
Your feign’d Endearments, and your cold Neglects.
Now in your proper Shapes I see ye all;
Nor lustful Thoughts do longer Me enthrall.
No longer thro’ the Town I range with raging Flame
To seek the Virgin Nymph or married Dame:
Or Shame or Modesty no Ways retarding
To stand the Roman God [Priapus] of ev’ry Garden.
Then full in View I courted ev’ry Eye; —
—Who’s well prepar’d, all Scandal may defy.
The Man, whose PARTS are PERFECT, boldly meets
All he encounters in the open Streets;
Whether beneath the Cassock he’s disguis’d,
Or in the Lawyer’s Band and Gown compriz’d;
If he the Brawn of Ireland displays,
Aud haunts Assemblies, public Walks and Plays;
If backwards, like his Brother, he advances,
Who learnt, in Lincoln’s-Inn, some modish Dances
(Tho’ there the Parthian was mistaken quite,
And for false Pleasure held unequal Fight)
Or if he hovers round the Dancing School,
Thinking to win some youthful, pratling Fool,
Who wishes what she knows not, faints and dies
At Sight of such a Man—- of such a Size
Howe’er he’s fixt, undaunted he appears,
If ev’ry Thing a due Proportion bears;
Nor dreads he the discerning piercing Eye
Of any Maid or Matron that goes by;
Even the Widow, that has try’d before,
May read, at Pleasure, his Credentials o’er:
And pretty Miss may, like young В—ns, stare,
When she the Sentry ask’d–what TRUE MEN were?
Since, then, this Gift, bestow’d for publick Good,
Which thaws the cold, and fires the youthful Blood,
To some of ev’ry Rank alike is giv’n,
The Boon peculiar of indulgent Heav’n;
Since it in Council, Law and War presides,
And all Mankind by Nature’s Dictates guides,
Why shou’d the Priesthood be debarr’d a Bliss
That Beggars, under Hedges, seldom miss?
The rural Rake, at ev’ry Country Fair,
Revels secure with all the Damsels there,
Whilst the pert Fool, who ne’er saw one Campaign,
Reigns the great Thraso [a braggart soldier] of all Drury-Lane.
Shall Nymphs of Fleetstreet to the Temple flock,
And W–lIs fall down in Worship to a Sm–k?
Shall the grave Galenites of W—-ick-Lane
Find This a Panacea for all Pain?
Shall Statesmen quit the Bus’ness of the State
For Transports which This only can create?
Shall ev’ry Creature feed on the Repast,
And Nature’s Bounty in Profusion taste ?
And shall the Priesthood only be refus’d
What is by ev’ry lawless Brute abus’d ?
Think ye, whene’er the SACRED MAN surveys
The Congregation, that around him prays;
When brilliant Eyes concentred in one Point,
Thrill thro’ his Heart, and tremble ev’ry Joint;
When he a Thousand Beauties glancing o’er
Emits fresh blooming Love at ev’ry Pore;
Can ye believe he no Emotion feels?—-
Yes, ev’ry transient Look his Lust reveals:—-
Full in the Centre of the Ch—h he stands,
His Heart’s sad Anguish eas’d but by his Hands;
Which, spread industriously on either Side,
Pours forth Instruction in a florid Tide.
At W—ld thus the Dames around all groan,
And FORCE and POWER in their Teacher own:
And thus, at S–ls–’s Hall, the holy Dames
Fume out their Pray’rs—-the Smoke of am’rous Flames
Ascend where next the Mitre tops the Seat,
Where sits enshrin’d its Wearer, spruce and neat;
There, when the Beauty of the Place appears,
Sacred Devotion ev’ry Part uprears:
If there his long Attendance shou’d deny
Some servile Wife, or friendly Maid’s Supply,
His Passions mount to such prodigious Height,
As Joy, o’erstrain’d, breaks all the Strings outright,
Makes the Prunella [black smooth fabric used in gowns] of another Hue,
And sullies all the Lawn and Surplice thro’:
Happy! shou’d be (when thus the Sluices draw)
Judge like a MODERN PRACTISER of LAW;
Near him let Chairmen servilely attend,
And bear him to some fondling Female Friend;
There eas’d, he to his Duty may return,
Pursue his Office, and no longer burn:
So, it’s been said, an ermin’d Chief hath oft
In Lots and Love, by turns, fought hard and soft.
And when his Mistress was not to be seen,
The J—ge has d—–d the Cause thro’ Spite and Spleen,
Two Members good Dame Nature has took care,
Above the Rest, shou’d Curbs restrictive wear;
The female TONGUE, the worn-out Husband says,
By much too weak a Rein, and feeble, has;
In him the Termagant and witty Spouse
To what shou’d want a Rein no Curb allows;
That is, when to her proper Use apply’d,
And yet cries, Stop!— to all the World be side.
Your Sex the upper Member cannot guard;
Nor cou’d I, once, the lower One retard:
For vain’s th’ Attempt a Woman’s Tongue to stop,
Or That poor Member that’s a Parson’s Prop.
Without Distinction, like a headstrong Horse,
Pamper’d and proud I ran my holy Course:
Who sacred Orders takes with vicious Hands,
No Pow’r obeys, nor heeds divine Commands.
As at some Fun’ral of the Great and Brave,
He stalks in State, or prances to the Grave,
The lustful Priest thus awful NOTHINGS bears,
And dawbs in Dirt th’ Escutcheons that he wears;
Yet thro’ the Bench, what better Man appears?
Their Hopes Translations, and Disgrace their Tears;
Weak, dull or venal as the Fools they teach,
They scarce know how to V-te, and Few can preach.
Traders in Morals, by a mean Retale,
They sell themselves, and put their G-d to Sale;
Yet all, now I am gone, will brand my Name
With Scandal, Whoredom, Infamy and Shame.
No Brother in our Sin, will Sin allow;
No Courtier, but will Brib’ry disavow;
Each Judge denies Corruption on the Bench;
Yet why shou’d White Sheets purge each falling Wench?
This only Reason must be giv’n, or none,
That W—res of all kinds are the B—p’s own;
Alike in Colour, and so near allied,
The Chr-ch selects them merely for its Side:
Depicted Emblems, there they stand in White,
A Robe of Innocence, but Souls of Night.
As o’er the Black a whiter L-wn is spread,
So Virtue we profess, tho’ Vice lies hid:
Why, then, shou’d they who’re equal in their Crimes
Reproach my Mem’ry in these impious Times?
Is there amongst the Number ONE can say,
He has not somehows basely gone astray?
Whether is worse—to vote a Nation down,
Or now and then bring up fresh Whores to Town?
Say, ye Protesters, and ye Hirelings say
(I wh—’d, ’tis true—Your COUNTRY ye Betray)
Whilst ye were brib’d, I only kiss’d my Lass;
I got a B—ard, Ye the Land Tax pass.
Ye voted foreign Troops in British Pay;
I rais’d Recruits in my own nat’ral Way;
And ’twas but fit, whilst ev’ry Speech ye made
So many Subjects to their Death betray’d;
That as ye were depeopling thus the Earth,
One of the Cloth shou’d give some young ones Birth:
For this in all Capacities I strove,
Then write it on my Tomb–He LIV’D FOR LOVE.
Love was my sole Delight, my only Aim,
Ye knew my Power, and ye felt my Flame;
Oft have ye quench’d it, and as oft repell’d
My Wrath, when ye the OAK OF CUPID fell’d
Hard was your Labour, and the Forest Bed
Shook at each Stroke, and moan’d the Conqu’ror dead;
Short-breath’d and panting ye receiv’d each Thrust,
And wept my FALL, but ’twas in Tears of Lust;
The Obsequies We, mutual, mutter’d o’er,
Were–Ok, be quiet–I can bear no more.
Like Souls departing in supreme Delight,
On Gales of Balmy Breath We took our Flight;
In all I did but right, for Churchmen hold
UNCTIO EXTREMA o’er the Body’s cold,
Which plentifully I dispens’d around
Whene’er a sighing, dying Girl I found.
Thus in my pious Office I behav’d—
—What Soul wou’d not, by such a Priest, be sav’d?
Say, Lydia, when I won you to my Arms,
Fresh reeking from the Kitchen, full of Charms,
Did I not act the truly manly Part,
And pierc’d the Dart of Love into your Heart?
Reeking from thence the Homilies I fought,
Heav’n in my Mouth, all Letchery in Thought;
Forestal’d my Sins, and so a Pardon stole,
For what I shou’d commit, upon Parole:
From you, my Lydia, I to Dolly flew;
And well I might, you know her Face was new;
None of my Brethren sought Translations more
Than I a buxom, slanting, jolly Wh–e.
One I ne’er thought sufficient for my Choice;
Between ye Both ye’ve made me oft rejoice.
Cou’d I with Lydia in Affection join,
And yet to Dolly at the Time incline;
When one was loving, t’other was asleep,
—A Priest the MIDDLE WAY shou’d always keep.
‘Twixt Scylla and Charibdis who can steer?
Who surfeits on One Joy, the Other near?
From this to that I turn’d, uncertain quite,
Which first shou’d give the Field of soft Delight;
Both form’d for Bliss, as I was form’d for Love;
One had her Charms below, and One above:
So I together blended either Bliss,
Lydia I lay on, Dolly had my Kiss.
And whilst with ye the Moments flew too fast;
My Palace and my Garden ran to Waste;
The Country Clowns my falling Chimnies jeer’d,
Because no Smoke from thence their Wishes chear’d
My Neighbours round ne’er once my Bounty knew,
For Luxury and Lust was all my View;
I liv’d for Girls, as by their Tricks I dy’d,
And left ’em, like Hyenas, by my Side.
Yet, in the Midst of all the Pains I feel,
Of all the World can say, or I reveal;
Others more stain the sacred Cloth they wear,
And with more Follies much more Favour share:
For search ’em round, and put ’em to the Test,
Scandal the Worst will reach, Censure the Best:
P—-r fought Learning, H–dl-y Party Strife,
B—t his Lawn begrim’d in Prime of Life;
A—ph, that falsify’d his Hand and Word,
(The Emblem of hang’d Judas to his Lord)
For his Offences humbled an his Knees,
Yet in the P—-t still can preach and please.
Then why shou’d I so much submit to Shame?
Why shou’d Anathemas attend my Name?
My Girls—This past’ral Letter now I write—
—Revel in Transports, wanton in Delight;
Let all be Dalliance, Joy, and flaming Lust;
So shall Ye still RE-ANIMATE MY DUST.