---------------------------------------------------------------------------- This file was prepared by Keygen Ltd LLC for The Proud Reader™ project. https://theproudreader.com/ https://k3y93n.com/ https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHnUg4W9wkn2ISDoCxucd_A https://www.bitchute.com/theproudreader/ https://rumble.com/c/TheProudReader https://odysee.com/@TheProudReader:c https://www.minds.com/TheProudReader https://gab.com/TheProudReader https://parler.com/profile/TheProudReader https://www.patreon.com/TheProudReader https://www.subscribestar.com/theproudreader https://www.paypal.com/biz/fund?id=5GFSVWEHUPK66 This document is released under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International license (CC BY-SA 4.0) https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/ Keygen Ltd LLC provides no warranty as to the accuracy of the information or text included in this document. It is provided "as is" and is for entertainment purposes. However, the text below this paragraph is in the public domain, is not subject to the above license, and may be used freely on its own as you see fit—for commercial and non-commercial purposes. Only this document as a whole falls under the CC BY-SA 4.0. If you do use the below text, we would still appreciate a nod since we did the hard work and fixed OCR errors in many cases, but attribution is only required if you modify and redistribute this file. Enjoy! ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Apostate Will Thomas Chatterton written April 14, 1764 published in Poems by Thomas Chatterton, page 50-52 London : Charles Griffin, 1865 Note: This poem was taken from an old pocket-book of Thomas Chatterton. IN days of old, when Wesley's power Gather’d new strength by every hour, Apostate Will, just sunk in trade, Resolved his bargain should be made; Then strait to Wesley he repairs, And puts on grave and solemn airs. Then thus the pious man addressed: “Good sir, I think your doctrine best; Your servant will a Wesley be, Therefore the principles teach me.” The preacher then instructions gave How he in this world should behave. He hears, assents, and gives a nod— Says every word’s the word of God; Then, lifting his dissembling eyes, “How blessed is the sect!” he cries; “Nor Bingham, Young, nor Stillingfleet Shall make me from this sect retreat.” He then his circumstances declared, How hardly with him matters fared, Begg’d him next morning *for* to make A small collection for his sake. The preacher said, “Do not repine, The whole collection shall be thine.” With looks demure, and cringing bows, About his business strait he goes. His outward acts were grave and prim,— The Methodist appear’d in him; But, be his outward what it will, His heart was an apostate’s still. He’d oft profess an hallow’d flame, And every where preach’d Wesley’s name: He was a preacher, and what not, As long as money could be got; He’d oft profess, with holy fire, The labourer’s worthy of his hire. It happen’d once upon a time, When all his works were in their prime, A noble place appear’d in view; Then——to the Methodists adieu— A Methodist no more he’ll be, The Protestants serve best for *he*. Then to the curate strait he ran, And thus address’d the reverend man: “I was a Methodist, ’tis true— With penitence I turn to you. Oh that it were your bounteous will That I the vacant place might fill! With justice I’d myself acquit, Do every thing that’s right and fit.” The curate straightway gave consent— To take the place he quickly went. Accordingly he took the place And keeps it with dissembled grace.