Flatter me not with your Predestination,
Nor sink my spirits with your Reprobation.
From all your high disputes I stand aloof,
Your Pres and Res, your Destiny, and your Proof;
And formal Calvinistical pretence,
That contradicts all Gospel, and good sense.
When God declares, so often, that he wills
All sort of blessings, and no sort of ills;
That his severest purpose never meant
A sinner's death, but that he should repent:
For the whole world, when his beloved Son
Is said to do whatever he has done;
To become man, to suffer, and to die,
That all might live, as well as you, and I:
Shall rigid Calvin, after this, or you,
Pretend to tell me that it is not true?
But that eternal, absolute decree
Has damn'd before-hand either you, or me,
Or any body else? That God design'd,
When he created, not to save mankind;
But only some? The rest, this man maintain'd,
Were so decreed, Damnation pre-ordain'd.
No, Sir; not all your metaphysic skill
Can prove the Doctrine, twist it as you will.
I hate the man for Doctrine so accurst,
In Book the third, and Chapter twenty-first;
Section the fifth - a horrid, impious lore,
That one would hope was never taught before;
How it came after to prevail away,
Let them who mince the damning matter say;
And others judge, if any Christian fruit,
Be like to spring from such a pagan root.
