I wish the cause were on that issue try'd:
Much less the Scripture; for, suppose debate
Betwixt pretenders to a fair estate,
Bequeath'd by some legator's last intent,
(Such is our dying Saviour's Testament)
The will is proved, is open'd, and is read;
The doubtful heirs their differing titles plead;
All vouch the words their interest to maintain,
And each pretends by those his cause is plain:
Shall then the testament award the right;
No, that's the Hungary for which they fight;
The field of battle, subject of debate;
The thing contended for the fair estate.
The sense is intricate; 'tis only clear
What vowels and what consonants are there;
Therefore 'tis plain its meaning must be try'd
Before some judge appointed to decide.
Suppose, the fair Apostate said, I grant
The faithful flock some living guide should want,
Your arguments an endless chase pursue;
Produce this vaunted leader to our view,
This mighty Moses of the chosen crew.
The Dame, who saw her fainting foe retired, With force renew'd, to victory aspired; And, looking upward to her kindred sky, As once the Saviour own'd his Deity, Pronounced his words" She whom you seek am Nor less amazed this voice the Panther heard Than were those Jews to hear a God declared. Then thus the Matron modestly renew'd; Let all your prophets and their sects be view'd, And see to which of them yourselves think fit The conduct of your conscience to submit: Each proselyte would vote his doctor best, With absolute exclusion to the rest : Thus would your Polish diet disagree, And end as it began in anarchy. Yourself the fairest for election stand, Because you seem crown-general of the land, But soon against your superstitious lawn Some Pesbyterian sabre would be drawn. In your establish'd laws of sovereignty The rest some fundamental flaw would see, And call rebellion Gospel-liberty. To church-decrees your articles require Submission mollified, if not entire. Homage denied, to censures you proceed; But when Curtana will not do the deed, You lay that pointless clergy-weapon by, And to the laws, your sword of justice, fly. Now this your sects the more unkindly take, (Those prying varlets hit the blots you make) Because some ancient friends of yours declare Your only rule of faith the Scriptures are, Interpreted by men of judgment sound, Which every sect will for themselves expound, Nor think less reverence to their doctors due For sound interpretation than to you. If then by able heads are understood Your brother prophets who reform'd abroad, Those able heads expound a wiser way, That their own sheep their shepherd should obey But if you mean yourselves are only sound, That doctrine turns the reformation round, And all the rest are false reformers found; Because in sundry points you stand alone, Not in communion join'd with any one, And therefore must be all the church or none. Then, till you have agreed whose judge is best, Against this forced submission they protest, While sound and sound a different sense explains, Both play at hardhead till they break their brains, And from their chairs each other's force defy, While unregarded thunders vainly fly.
I pass the rest, because your church alone
Of all usurpers best could fill the throne:
But neither you nor any sect beside
For this high office can be-qualified
With necessary gifts required in such a guide:
For that which must direct the whole must be
Bound in one bond of faith and unity;
But all your several churches disagree.
The consubstantiating church and priest
Refuse communion to the Calvinist :
The French reform'd from preaching you restrain,
Because you judge their ordination vain :
And so they judge of yours; but donors must or
In short, in doctrine or in discipline,
Not one reform'd can with another join;
But all from each as from damnation fly;
No union they pretend but in Non-popery:
Nor, should their members in a synod meet,
Could any church presume to mount the seat
Above the rest their discords to decide;
None would obey, but each would be the guide;
And, face to face, dissensions would increase,
For only distance now preserves the peace:
All, in their turns, accusers and accused,
Babel was never half so much confused.
What one can plead the rest can plead as well;
For amongst equals lies no last appeal,
And all confess themselves are fallible.
Now, since you grant some necessary guide,
All who can err are justly laid aside:
Because a trust so sacred to confer
Shows want of such a sure interpreter ;
And how can he be needful who can err?
Then granting that unerring guide we want,
That such there is you stand obliged to grant ;
Our Saviour else were wanting to supply
Our needs, and obviate that necessity.
It then remains, that church can only be
The guide which owns unfailing certainty;
Or else you slip your hold and change your side,
Relapsing from a necesary guide.
But this annex'd condition of the crown,
Immunity from errors, you disown:
Here then you shrink, and lay your weak pretensions down.
For petty royalties you raise debate;
But this unfailing universal state
You shun, nor dare succeed to such a glorious
And for that cause those promises detest
With which our Saviour did his church invest;
But strive t' evade, and fear to find them true,
As conscious they were never meant to you;
All which the mother church asserts her own,
And with unrivall'd claim ascends the throne:
So when of old th' Almighty Father sate
In council to redeem our ruin'd state,
Millions of millions at a distance round,
Silent the sacred consistory crown'd,
To hear what mercy, mix'd with justice, could pro-
All prompt with eager pity to fulfil
The full extent of their Creator's will:
But when the stern conditions were declared,
A mournful whisper through the host was heard,
And the whole hierarchy, with heads hung down,
Submissively declared the ponderous proffer'd
Then, not till then, th' eternal Son from high
Rose in the strength of all the Deity,
Stood forth t' accept the terms, and underwent
A weight which all the frame of heaven had bent,
Nor he himself could bear, but as Omnipotent.
Now, to remove the least remaining doubt,
That e'en the blear-eyed sects may find her out,
Behold what heavenly rays adorn her brows!
What from his wardrobe her beloved allows
To deck the wedding-day of his unspotted Spouse!
Behold what marks of majesty she brings,
Richer than ancient heirs of eastern kings!
Her right hand holds the sceptre and the keys,
To show whom she commands and who obeys;
With these to bind, or set the sinner free,
With that t' assert spiritual royalty.
One in herself, not rent by schism, but sound,
Entire, one solid shining diamond,
Not sparkles, shatter'd into sects, like you;
One is the church, and must be, to be true
One central principle of unity,
As undivided, so from errors free,
As one in faith, so one in sanctity.
Thus she, and none but she, th' insulting rage
Of heretics opposed from age to age:
Still when the giant-brood invades her throne,
She stoops from heaven, and meets them half-way
And with paternal thunder vindicates her crown. But like Egyptian sorcerers you stand
And vainly lift aloft your magic wand,
To sweep away the swarms of vermin from the
You could, like them, with like infernal force.
Produce the plague, but not arrest the course:
But when the boils and blotches with disgrace
And public scandal, sat upon the face,
Themselves attack'd, the Magi strove no more,
They saw God's finger, and their fate deplore;
Themselves they could not cure of the dishonest
Thus one, thus pure, behold her largely spread, Like the fair ocean from her mother-bed;
From east to west, triumphantly she rides,
All shores are water'd by her wealthy tides:
The gospel sound diffused from pole to pole,
Where winds can carry, and where waves can roll
The self-same doctrine of the sacred page
Convey'd to every clime in every age.
Here let my sorrow give my satire place,
To raise new blushes on my British race;
Our sailing ships like common sewers we use,
And through our distant colonies diffuse
The draught of dungeons and the stench of stews;
Whom, when their home-bred honesty is lost,
We disembogue on some far Indian coast:
Thieves, panders, paillards, sins of every sort,
Those are the manufactures we export,
And these the missioners our zeal has made;
For, with my country's pardon, be it said
Religion is the least of all our trade.
Yet some improve their traffic more than we,
For they on gain, their only god, rely,
And set a public price on piety.
Industrious of the needle and the chart,
They run full sail to their Japanian mart;
Prevention fear, and, prodigal of fame,
Set all of Christian to the very name,
Nor leave enough of that to hide their naked shame.
Thus of three marks which in the Creed we
Not one of all can be applied to you; [view,
Much less the fourth: in vain, alas! you seek
Th' ambitious title of apostolic:
Godlike descent! 'tis well your blood can be
Proved noble in the third or fourth degree;
For all of ancient that you had before,
(I mean what is not borrow'd from our store)
Was error fulminated o'er and o'er ;
Old heresies condemn'd in ages past
By care and time recover'd from the blast.
'Tis said with ease, but never can be proved, The church her old foundations has removed, And built new doctrines on unstable sands; Judge that, ye Winds and Rains! you proved her, yet she stands.
Those ancient doctrines charged on her for new, Show when and how, and from what hands, they grew.
We claim no power, when heresies grow bold,
To coin new faith, but still declare the old :
How else could that obscene disease be purged
When controverted texts are vainly urged?
To prove tradition new, there's somewhat more
Required than saying 'Twas not used before.
Those monumental arms are never stirr'd
Till schism or heresy call down Goliath's sword.
Thus what you call Corruptions are in truth
The first plantations of the Gospel's youth.
Old standard faith: but cast your eyes again,
And view those errors which new sects maintain,
Or which of old disturb'd the church's peaceful
reign,
And we can point each period of the time
When they began, and who begot the crime;
Can calculate how long th' eclipse endured,
Who interposed, what digits were obscured:
Of all which are already pass'd away
We know the rise, the progress, and decay.
Despair at our foundations then to strike,
Till you can prove your faith apostolic;
A limpid stream drawn from the native source,
Succession lawful in a lineal course.
Prove any church, opposed to this our head,
So one so pure, so unconfinedly spread,
Under one chief of the spiritual state,
The members all combined, and all subordinate;
Show such a seamless coat, from schism so free,
In no communion join'd with heresy.
If such a one you find let truth prevail;
Till when your weights will in the balance fail;
A church unprincipled kicks up the scale.
But if you cannot think (nor sure you can
Suppose in God what were unjust in man)
That he, the fountain of eternal grace,
Should suffer Falsehood, for so long a space,
To banish Truth, and to usurp her place;
That seven successive ages should be lost,
And preach damnation at their proper cost;
That all your erring ancestors should die,
Drown'd in th' abyss of deep idolatry.
If piety forbid such thoughts to rise,
Awake and open your unwilling eyes:
God hath left nothing for each age undone,
From this to that, wherein he sent his Son; [done.
Then think but well of him, and half your work is
See how his church, adorn'd with every grace,
With open arms, a kind forgiving face,
Stands ready to prevent her long lost son's embrace.
Not more did Joseph o'er his brethren weep,
Nor less himself could from discovery keep,
When in the crowd of suppliants they were seen,
And in their crew his best-beloved Benjamin.
That pious Joseph in the church behold,
To feed your famine, and refuse your goid;
The Joseph you exiled, the Joseph whom you sold!
Thus while with heavenly charity she spoke,
A streaming blaze the silent shadows broke,
Shot from the skies, a cheerful azure light;
The birds obscene to forests wing'd their flight,
And gaping graves received the wandering guilty
spright.
Such were the pleasing triumphs of the sky
For James his late nocturnal victory;
The pledge of his almighty Patron's love,
The fireworks which his angels made above.
I saw myself the lambent easy light
Gild the brown horror and dispel the night;
The messenger with speed the tidings bore;
News which three labouring nations did restore;
But Heaven's own nuncios was arrived before.
By this the Hind had reach'd her lonely cell,
And vapours rose, and dews unwholesome fell;
When she, by frequent observation wise,
As one who long on heaven had fix'd her eyes,
Discern'd a change of weather in the skies.
The western borders were with crimson spread,
The moon descending look'd all flaming red;
She thought good manners bound her to invite
The stranger dame to be her guest that night.
'Tis true, coarse diet and a short repast,
She said, were weak inducements to the taste
Of one so nicely bred, and so unused to fast:
But what plain fare her cottage could afford,
A hearty welcome at a homely board,
Was freely hers; and, to supply the rest,
An honest meaning and an open breast:
Last, with content of mind, the poor man's wealth,
A grace-cup to their common patron's health.
This she desired her to accept, and stay,
For fear she might be wilder'd in her way,
Because she wanted an unerring guide,
And then the dewdrops on her silken hide
Her tender constitution did declare,
Too lady-like a long fatigue to bear,
And rough inclemencies of raw nocturnal air;
But most she fear'd that travelling so late,
Some evil-minded beasts might lie in wait,
And without witness wreak their hidden hate.
The Panther, though she lent a listening ear, Had more of lion in her than to fear; Yet wisely weighing, since she had to deal With many foes, their numbers might prevail, Return'd her all the thanks she could afford, And took her friendly hostess at her word, Who entering first her lowly roof, a shed, With hoary moss and winding ivy spread, Honest enough to hide an humble hermit's head, Thus graciously bespoke her welcome guest: So might these walls, with your fair presence blest, Become your dwelling-place of everlasting rest, Nor for a night, or quick revolving year, Welcome an owner, not a sojourner: This peaceful seat my poverty secures; War seldom enters but where wealth allures. Nor yet despise it; for this poor abode Has oft received and yet receives a god;
A god victorious of a Stygian race,
Here laid his sacred limbs, and sanctified the place.
This mean retreat did mighty Pan contain,
Be emulous of him, and pomp disdain,
And dare not to debase your soul to gain.
The silent stranger stood amazed to see
Contempt of wealth and wilful poverty:
And though ill habits are not soon controll'd,
Awhile suspended her desire of gold,
But civilly drew in her sharpen'd paws,
Not violating hospitable laws,
And pacified her tail, and lick'd her frothy jaws.
The hind did first her country cates provide,
Then couch'd herself securely by her side.
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER.
PART III.
MUCH malice, mingled with a little wit,
Perhaps may censure this mysterious writ;
Because the Muse has peopled Caledon
With panthers, bears, and wolves, and beasts un-
known,
[own.
As if we were not stock'd with monsters of our
Let Esop answer, who has set to view
Such kinds as Greece, and Phrygia never knew:
And Mother Hubbard, in her homely dress,
Has sharply blamed a British lioness;
That queen, whose feast the factious rabble keep,
Exposed obscenely naked and asleep.
Led by those great examples may not I
The wanted organs of their words supply?
If men transact like brutes, 'tis equal then
For brutes to claim the privilege of men.
Others our Hind of folly will endite,
To entertain a dangerous guest by night:
Let those remember that she cannot die
Till rolling time is lost in round eternity;
Nor need she fear the Panther, though untamed,
Because the lion's peace was now proclaim'd;
The wary savage would not give offence,
To forfeit the protection of her prince;
But watch'd the time her vengeance to complete,
When all her furry sons in frequent senate met.
Meanwhile she quench'd her fury at the flood,
And with a lenten sallad cool'd her blood.
Their commons, though but course, were nothing
Nor did their minds an equal banquet want.
For now the Hind, whose noble nature strove
T'express her plain simplicity of love,
Did all the honours of her house so well,
No sharp debates disturb'd the friendly meal:
She turn'd the talk, avoiding that extreme,
To common dangers past, a sadly-pleasing theme;
Remembering every storm which toss'd the state,
When both were objects of the public hate, [fate.
And dropt a tear betwixt for her own children's
Nor fail'd she then a full review to make
Of what the Panther suffer'd for her sake;
Her lost esteem, her truth, her loyal care,
Her faith unshaken to an exiled heir,
Her strength t' endure, her courage to defy,
Her choice of honourable infamy.
On these prolixly thankful, she enlarged,
Then with acknowledgment herself she charged; For friendship, of itself an holy tie,
Is made more sacred by adversity.
Now should they part, malicious tongues would say
They met like chance-companions on the way,
Whom mutual fear of robbers had possess'd:
While danger lasted, kindness was profess'd;
But that once o'er, the short-lived union ends;
The road divides, and there divide the friends.
The Panther nodded when her speech was done,
And thank'd her coldly in a hollow tone;
But said her gratitude had gone too far
For common offices of Christian care.
If to the lawful heir she had been true,
She paid but Cæsar what was Cæsar's due.
I might, she added, with like praise describe
Your suffering sons, and so return your bribe;
But incense from my hands is poorly prized;
For gifts are scorn'd where givers are despised.
I served a turn, and then was cast away;
You like the gaudy fly your wings display,
And sip the sweets, and bask in your great patron's
This heard, the Matron was not slow to find
What sort of malady had seized her mind:
Disdain, with gnawing Envy, fell despight,
And canker'd Malice stood in open sight;
Ambition, Interest, Pride without control,
And Jealousy the jaundice of the soul;
Revenge, the bloody minister of ill,
With all the lean tormentors of the will.
"Twas easy now to guess from whence arose
Her new-made union with her ancient foes,
Her forced civilities, her faint embrace,
Affected kindness with an alter'd face;
Yet durst she not too deeply prob the wound,
As hoping still the nobler parts were sound;
But strove with anodynes t' assuage the smart,
And mildly thus her med'cine did impart.
Complaints of lovers help to ease their pain;
It shows a rest of kindness to complain;
A friendship loath to quit its former hold,
And conscious merit may be justly bold;
But much more just your jealousy would shew
If others' good were injury to you:
Witness, ye Heavens! how I rejoice to see
Rewarded worth and rising loyalty.
Your warrior offspring that upheld the crown,
The scarlet honour of your peaceful gown,
Are the most pleasing objects I can find,
Charms to my sight, and cordials to my mind.
When Virtue spumes before a prosperous gale,
My heaving wishes help to fill the sail;
And if my pray'rs for all the brave were heard,
Cæsar should still have such, and such should still
reward.
The labour'd earth your pains have sow'd and 'Tis just you reap the product of the field: [till'd Yours be the harvest; 'tis the beggar's gain
To glean the fallings of the loaded wain.
Such scatter'd ears as are not worth your care
Your charity for alms may safely spare;
For alms are but the vehicles of pray'r.
My daily bread is lit'rally implored;
I have no barns nor granaries to hoard.
If Cæsar to his own his hand extends,
Say, which of yours his charity offends:
You know he largely gives to more than are his
friends.
Are you defrauded when he feeds the poor?
Our mite decreases nothing of your store.
I am but few, and by your fare you see
My crying sins are not of luxury.
Some juster motives sure your mind withdraws,
And makes you break our friendship's holy laws;
For barefaced envy is too base a cause.
Show more occasion for your discontent;
Your love the Wolf would help you to invent:
Some German quarrel, or, as times go now,
Some French, where force is uppermost, will do.
When at the fountain's head, as merit ought
To claim the place, you take a swilling draught,
How easy 'tis an envious eye to throw,
And tax the sheep for troubling streams below,
Or call her (when no farther cause you find)
An enemy profess'd of all your kind;
But then perhaps the wicked world would think
The Wolf design'd to eat as well as drink.
This last illusion gall'd the Panther more, Because indeed it rubb'd upon the sore; [pain'd, Yet seem'd she not to wince, though shrewdly But thus her passive character maintain❜d.
I never drudged, whate'er my foes report,
Your flaunting fortune in the Lion's court.
You have your day, or you are much bely'd,
But I am always on the suffering side:
You know my doctrine, and I need not say
I will not, but I cannot, disobey.
On this firm principle Í ever stood;
He of my sons who fails to make it good,
By one rebellious act renounces to my blood.
Ah! said the Hind, how many sons have you
Who call you Mother, whom you never knew?
But most of them who that relation plead
Are such ungracious youths as wish you dead:
They gape at rich revenues which you hold,
And fain would nibble at your grandam Gold.
Inquire into your years, and laugh to find
Your crazy temper shows you much declined.
Were you not dim and doted, you might see
A pack of cheats that claim a pedigree,
No more of kin to you than you to me.
Do you not know that, for a little coin,
Heralds can foist a name into the line?
They ask you blessing but for what you have,
But, once possess'd of what with care you save,
The wanton boys would piss upon your grave.
Your sons of latitude that court your grace,
Though most resembling you in form and face,
Are far the worst of your pretended race;
And, but I blush your honesty to blot,
Pray God you prove them lawfully begot;
For in some Popish libels I have read
The Wolf has been too busy in your bed;
At least her hinder parts, the belly-piece,
The paunch, and all that Scorpio claims, are his.
Their malice too a sore suspicion brings:
For though they dare not bark they snarl at kings:
Nor blame them for intruding in your line;
Fat bishoprics are still of right divine.
Think you your new French proselytes are come
To starve abroad because they starved at home?
Your benefices twinkled from afar ;
They found the new Messiah by the star :
Those Swisses fight on any side for pay,
And 'tis the living that conforms, not they.
Mark with what management their tribes divide;
Some stick to you, and some to t'other side,
That many churches may for many months provide.
More vacant pulpits would more converts make;
All would have latitude enough to take;
The rest unbeneficed your sects maintain
For ordinations without cures are vain,
And chamber practice is a silent gain.
Your sons of breadth at home are much like these ;
Their soft and yielding metals run with ease;
They melt, and take the figure of the mould,
But harden, and preserve it best in gold.
Your Delphic sword, the Panther then reply'd,
Is double-edged, and cuts on either side.
Some sons of mine, who bear upon their shield
Three steeples argent in a sable field,
Have sharply tax'd your converts, who unfed
Have follow'd you for miracles of bread;
Such who themselves of no religion are,
Allured with gain, for any will declare;
Bare lies with bold assertions they can face,
But dint of argument is out of place:
The grim logician puts them in a fright;
'Tis easier far to flourish than to fight.
Thus our eighth Henry's marriage they defame;
They say the schism of beds began the game,
Divorcing from the church to wed the dame:
Though largely proved, and by himself profest,
That conscience, conscience would not let him
I mean not till possess'd of her he loved, [rest;
And old uncharming Catherine was removed.
For sundry years before he did complain,
And told his ghostly confessor his pain;
With the same impudence, without a ground,
They say that, look the reformation round,
No Treatise of Humility is found;
But if none were, the Gospel does not want;
Our Saviour preach'd it, and I hope you grant
The sermon on the mount was Protestant.
No doubt, reply'd the Hind, as sure as all
The writings of St. Peter and St. Paul;
On that decision let it stand or fall.
Now, for my converts, who, you say, unfed
Have follow'd me for miracles of bread;
Judge not by hearsay, but observe at least
If since their change their loaves have been in-
The Lion buys no converts; if he did, [creas'd.
Beasts would be sold as fast as he could bid.
Tax those of interest who conform for gain,
Or stay the market of another reign;
Your broad-way sons would never be too nice
To close with Calvin if he paid their price.
But, raised three steeples higher, would change
their note,
And quit the cassock for the canting coat.
Now, if you damn this censure as too bold,
Judge by yourselves, and think not others sold.
Mean-time my sons, accused by Fame's report,
Pay small attendance at the Lion's court,
Nor rise with early crowds, nor flatter late,
For silently they beg who daily wait.
Preferment is bestow'd that comes unsought;
Attendance is a bribe, and then 'tis bought.
How they should speed their fortune is untry'd,
For not to ask is not to be deny'd.
For what they have their God and king they bless,
And hope they should not murmur had they less;
But if reduced subsistence to implore,
In common prudence they would pass your door.
Unpity'd Hudibras, your champion friend,
Has shown how far your charities extend:
This lasting verse shall on his tomb be read,
"He shamed you living, and upbraids you dead."
With odious Atheist names you load your foes;
Your lib'ral clergy why did I expose?
It never fails in charities like those.
In climes where 'true religion is profest,
That imputation were no laughing jest;
But imprimatur, with a chaplain's name,
Is here sufficient license to defame.
What wonder is't that black detraction thrives?
The homicide of names is less than lives,
And yet the perjured murderer survives!
This said, she paused a little, and suppress'd
The boiling indignation of her breast:
She knew the virtue of her blade, nor would
Pollute her satire with ignoble blood:
Her panting foe she saw before her eye,
And back she drew the shining weapon dry.
So when the generous lion has in sight
His equal match he rouses for the fight;
But when his foe lies prostrate on the plain,
He sheaths his paws, uncurls his angry mane,
And, pleased with bloodless honours of the day,
Walks over, and disdains th' inglorious prey.
So James, if great with less we may compare,
Arrests his rolling thunderbolts in air,
And grants ungrateful friends a lengthen'd space, Timplore the remnants of long-suffering grace.
This breathing-time the Matron took, and then Resumed the thread of her discourse again. Be vengeance wholly left to powers divine, And let Heaven judge betwixt your sons and mine: If joys hereafter must be purchased here With loss of all that mortals hold so dear, Then welcome infamy and public shame, And last, a long farewell to worldly fame. 'Tis said with ease, but, oh, how hardly tried By haughty souls, to human honour tied! O sharp convulsive pangs of agonizing pride! Down then thou rebel, never more to rise, And what thou didst, and dost, so dearly prize, That fame, that darling fame, make that thy sa
'Tis nothing thou hast given; then add thy tears For a long race of unrepenting years: 'Tis nothing yet, yet all thou hast to give ; Then add those may-be years thou hast to live; Yet nothing still; then poor and naked come; Thy Father will receive his unthrift home, And thy bless'd Saviour's blood discharge the mighty
Thus (she pursued) I discipline a son, Whose uncheck'd fury to revenge would run; He champs the bit, impatient of his loss, And starts aside, and flounders at the cross. Instruct him better, gracious God! to know, As thine is vengeance, so forgiveness too; That, suffering from ill tongues, he bears no more Than what his sovereign bears, and what his Sa viour bore.
It now remains for you to school your child, And ask why God's anointed he reviled. A king and princess dead! did Shimei worse? The curser's punishment should fright the curse. Your son was warn'd, and wisely gave it o'er ; But he who counsell'd him has paid the score; The heavy malice could no higher tend, But wo to him on whom the weights descend. So to permitted ills the demon flies; His rage is aim'd at him who rules the skies: Constrain'd to quit his cause, no succour found, The foe discharges every tire around, In clouds of smoke abandoning the tight, But his own thundering peals proclaim his flight. In Henry's change his charge as ill succeeds; To that long story little answer needs: Confront but Henry's words with Henry's deeds. Were space allow'd, with ease it might be proved What springs his blessed reformation moved. The dire effects appear'd in open sight, Which from the cause he calls a distant flight, And yet no larger leap than from the sun to light. Now last your sons a double pean sound, A Treatise of Humility is found: "Tis found, but better it had ne'er been sought Than thus in Protestant procession brought. The famed original through Spain is known, Rodriguez' work, my celebrated son, Which yours, by ill translating, made his own; Conceal'd its author, and usurp'd the name, The basest and ignoblest theft of fame. My altars kindled first that living coal; Restore or practise better what you stole: That virtue could this humble verse inspire; 'Tis all the restitution I require.
Glad was the Panther that the charge was close And none of all her favourite sons exposed; For laws of arms permit each injured man To make himself a saver where he can. Perhaps the plunder'd merchant cannot tell The names of pirates in whose hands he fell, But at the den of thieves he justly flies, And every Algerine is lawful prize. No private person in the foe's estate Can plead exemption from the public fate; Yet Christian laws allow not such redress; Then let the greater supersede the less; But let th' abe:ters of the Panther's crime Learn to make fairer wars another time. Some characters may sure be found to write Among her sons; for 'tis no common sight A spotted dame, and all her offspring white.
The Savage, though she saw her plea controll'd, Yet would not wholly seem to quit her hold. But offer'd fairly to compound the strife, And judged conversion by the convert's life. 'Tis true, she said, I think it somewhat strange So few should follow profitable change,
For present joys are more to flesh and blood
Than a dull prospect of a distant good.
'Twas well alluded by a son of mine,
(I hope to quote him is not to purloin)
Two magnets, heaven and earth, allure to bless,
The larger loadstone that, the nearer this;
The weak attraction of the greater fails;
We nod awhile, but neighbourhood prevails;
But when the greater proves the nearer too,
I wonder more your converts come so slow :
Methinks in those who firm with me remain
It shows a nobler principle than gain.
Your inference would be strong, the Hind replied,
If yours were in effect the suffering side;
Your clergy's sons their own in peace possess,
Nor are their prospects in reversion less:
My proselytes are struck with awful dread;
Your bloody comet-laws hang blazing o'er their
The respite they enjoy but only lent, [head;
The best they have to hope protracted punishment.
Be judge yourself, if interest may prevail,
Which motives, yours or mine, will turn the scale.
While pride and pomp allure, and plenteous ease,
That is, till man's predom'nant passions cease,
Admire no longer at my slow increase.
By education most have been misled;
So they believe because they so were bred:
The priest continues what the nurse began,
And thus the child imposes on the man.
The rest I named before, nor need repeat;
But interest is the most prevailing cheat,
The sly seducer both of age and youth;
They study that, and think they study truth.
When interest fortifies an argument,
Weak reason serves to gain the will's assent;
For souls already warpt receive an easy bent.
Add long prescriptions of establish'd laws,
And pique of honour to maintain a cause,
And shame of change, and fear of future ill,
And zeal, the blind conductor of the will,
And, chief among the still-mistaking crowd,
The fame of teachers obstinate and proud,
And more than all, the private judge allow'd,
Disdain of Fathers, which the dance began,
And last uncertain whose the narrower span,
The clown unread, and half-read gentleman.
To this the Panther, with a scornful smile;
Yet still you travel with unwearied toil,
And range around the realm without control,
Among my sons for proselytes to prowl,
And here and there you snap some silly soul.
You hinted fears of future change in state;
Pray heaven you did not prophesy your fate.
Perhaps you think your time of triumph near,
But may mistake the season of the year;
The swallow's fortune gives you cause to fear.
For charity, replied the Matron, tell ⚫
What sad mischance those pretty birds befell.
Nay, no mischance, the savage dame replied,
But want of wit in their unerring guide,
And eager haste, and gaudy hopes, and giddy pride,
Yet wishing timely warning may prevail,
Make you the moral, and I'll tell the tale.
The Swallow, privileged above the rest
Of all the birds, as man's familiar guest,
Pursues the sun in summer, brisk and bold,
But wisely shuns the persecuting cold;
Is well to chancels and to chimneys known,
Though 'tis not thought she feeds on smoke alone;
From hence she has been held of heavenly line,
Endued with particles of soul divine.
This merry chorister had long possess'd
Her summer-seat, and feather'd well her nest,
Till frowning skies began to change their cheer,
And Time turn'd up the wrong side of the year;
The shedding trees began the ground to strow
With yellow leaves, and bitter blasts to blow;
Sad auguries of winter thence she drew,
Which by instinct or prophecy she knew;
When prudence warn'd her to remove betimes,
And seek a better heaven and warmer climes.
Her sons were summon'd on a steeple's height,
And, call'd in common council, vote a flight:
The day was named, the next that should be fair;
All to the general rendezvous repair, [in air:
They try their fluttering wings, and trust themselves
But whether upward to the moon they go,
Or dream the winter out in caves below,
Or hawk at flies elsewhere, concerns us not to know
Southwards, you may be sure, they bent their
flight,
And harbour'd in a hollow rock at night:
Next morn they rose, and set up every sail;
The wind was fair, but blew a mack'rel gale:
The sickly young sat shivering on the shore.
Abhorr'd salt water, never seen before,
And pray'd their tender mothers to delay
The passage, and expect a fairer day.
With these the Martin readily concurr'd,
A church-begot and church-believing bird;
Of little body but of lofty mind,
Round-belly'd, for a dignity design'd,
And much a dunce, as Martins are by kind;
Yet often quoted canon-laws and code,
And Fathers which he never understood;
But little learning needs in noble blood:
For, sooth to say, the Swallow brought him in
Her household-chaplain, and her next of kin;
In superstition silly to excess,
And casting schemes by planetary guess.
In fine, short-wing'd, unfit himself to fly,
His fear foretold foul weather in the sky.
Besides, a Raven from a wither'd oak,
Left off their lodging, was observed to croak.
That omen liked him not; so his advice
Was present safety bought at any price,
A seeming pious care, that cover'd cowardice.
To strengthen this he told a boding dream
Of rising waters and a troubled stream,
Sure signs of anguish, dangers, and distress,
With something more, not lawful to express,
By which he slily seem'd to intimate
Some secret revelation of their fate:
For he concluded, once upon a time,
He found a leaf inscribed with sacred rhyme,
Whose antique characters did well denote
The Sibyl's hand of the Cumæan grot:
The mad divineress had plainly writ,
A time should come, (but many ages yet)
In which, sinister Destinies ordain,
A dame should drown with all her feather'd train, And seas from thence be call'd the Chelidonian main.
At this some shook for fear; the more devout
Arose, and bless'd themselves from head to foot.
'Tis true, some stagers of the wiser sort
Made all these idle wonderments their sport:
They said their only danger was delay,
And he who heard what every fool could say
Would never fix his thought, but trim his time
away.
The passage yet was good; the wind, 'tis true,
Was somewhat high, but that was nothing new,
No more than usual equinoxes blew.
The sun, already from the Scales declined,
Gave little hopes of better days behind,
But change from bad to worse of weather and of
Nor need they fear the dampness of the sky
Should flag their wings, and hinder them to fly
'Twas only water thrown on sails too dry.
But least of all philosophy presumes
Of truth in dreams from melancholy fumes;
Perhaps the Martin, housed in holy ground,
Might think of ghosts that walk their midnight
Till grosser atoms, tumbling in the stream"[round,
Of fancy, madly met, and clubb'd into a dream:
As little weight his vain presages bear
Of ill effect to such alone who fear:
Most prophecies are of a piece with these,
Each Nostradamus can foretel with ease:
Not naming persons and confounding times,
One casual truth supports a thousand lying rhymes.
Th' advice was true, but fear had seized the
And all good counsel is on cowards lost.
The question crudely put, to shun delay,
'Twas carried by the major part to stay.
His point thus gain'd, Sir Martin dated thence
His power, and from a priest became a prince.
He order'd all things with a busy care,
And cells and refectories did prepare,
And large provisions laid of winter-fare;
But now and then let fall a word or two
Of hope that Heaven some miracle might show,
And for their sakes the sun should backward go,
Against the laws of Nature upward climb,
And mounted on the Ram, renew the prime,
For which two proofs in sacred story lay,
Of Ahaz' dial and of Joshua's day.
In expectation of such times as these,
A chapel housed them, truly call'd of Ease;
For Martin much devotion did not ask;
They pray'd sometimes, and that was all their task.
It happen'd (as beyond the reach of wit
Blind prophecies may have a lucky hit)
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