I must be subtle, for they cannot know;
Even the best of them would not believe.
The seeds their crazy founders chose to sow
Are sprouted, and continue to deceive
Their followers, who spouting Scripture claim
To be the vicars of an unreal God.
They call their founders by the blasphemed name
Of angels, and they do not spare the rod
For those who follow truth. Therefore I must
By secret means encourage in this nation
Which seems a model, honest, brave, and just,
The quiet seeds of hidden innovation
So they may find the truth. Should I fail here
The human race may die and disappear.
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