The Hind and the Panther
Dryden, John
The Hind and the Panther
John Dryden
The Hind and the Panther
A Poem, In Three Parts
––– Antiquam exquirite matrem.
Et vera, incessu, patuit Dea.–––
Virg.
To the Reader
The Nation is in too high a Ferment, for me to expect either fair War, or even so much as fair Quarter from a Reader of the opposite Party. All Men are engag'd either on this side or that: and tho' Conscience is the common Word, which is given by both, yet if a Writer fall among Enemies, and cannot give the Marks of Their Conscience, he is knock'd down before the Reasons of his own are heard. A Preface, therefore, which is but a bespeaking of Favour, is altogether useless. What I desire the Reader should know concerning me, he will find in the Body of the Poem; if he have but the patience to peruse it. Only this Advertisement let him take before hand, which relates to the Merits of the Cause. No general Characters of Parties, (call 'em either Sects or Churches) can be so fully and exactly drawn, as to Comprehend all the several Members of 'em; at least all such as are receiv'd under that Denomination. For example; there are some of the Church by Law Establish'd, who envy not Liberty of Conscience to Dissenters; as being well satisfied that, according to their own Principles, they ought not to persecute them. Yet these, by reason of their fewness, I could not distinguish from the Numbers of the rest with whom they are Embodied in one common Name: On the other side there are many of our Sects, and more indeed then I could reasonably have hop'd, who have withdrawn themselves from the Communion of the Panther; and embrac'd this Gracious Indulgence of His Majesty in point of Toleration. But neither to the one nor the other of these is this Satyr any way intended: 'tis aim'd only at the refractory and disobedient on either side. For those who are come over to the Royal Party are consequently suppos'd to be out of Gunshot. Our Physicians have observ'd, that in Process of Time, some Diseases have abated of their Virulence, and have in a manner worn out their Malignity, so as to be no longer Mortal: and why may not I suppose the same concerning some of those who have formerly been Enemies to Kingly Government, As well as Catholick Religion? I hope they have now another Notion of both, as having found, by Comfortable Experience, that the Doctrine of Persecution is far from being an Article of our Faith.
'Tis not for any Private Man to Censure the Proceedings of a Foreign Prince: but, without suspicion of Flattery, I may praise our own, who has taken contrary Measures, and those more suitable to the Spirit of Christianity. Some of the Dissenters in their Addresses to His Majesty have said that He has restor'd God to his Empire over Conscience: I Confess I dare not stretch the Figure to so great a boldness: but I may safely say, that Conscience is the Royalty and Prerogative of every Private man. He is absolute in his own Breast, and accountable to no Earthly Power, for that which passes only betwixt God and Him. Those who are driven into the Fold are, generally speaking, rather made Hypocrites then Converts.
This Indulgence being granted to all the Sects, it ought in reason to be expected, that they should both receive it, and receive it thankfully. For at this time of day to refuse the Benefit, and adhere to those whom they have esteem'd their Persecutors, what is it else, but publickly to own that they suffer'd not before for Conscience sake; but only out of Pride and Obstinacy to separate from a Church for those Impositions, which they now judge may be lawfully obey'd? After they have so long contended for their Classical Ordination, (not to speak of Rites and Ceremonies) will they at length submit to an Episcopal? if they can go so far out of Complaisance to their old Enemies, methinks a little reason should perswade 'em to take another step, and see whether that wou'd lead 'em.
Of the receiving this Toleration thankfully, I shall say no more, than that they ought, and I doubt not they will consider from what hands they receiv'd it. 'Tis not from a Cyrus, a Heathen Prince, and a Foreigner, but from a Christian King, their Native Sovereign: who expects a Return in Specie from them; that the Kindness which He has Graciously shown them, may be retaliated on those of his own perswasion.
As for the Poem in general, I will only thus far satisfie the Reader: That it was neither impos'd on me, nor so much as the Subject given me by any man. It was written during the last Winter and the beginning of this Spring; though with long interruptions of ill health, and other hindrances. About a Fortnight before I had finish'd it, His Majesties Declaration for Liberty of Conscience came abroad: which, if I had so soon expected, I might have spar'd my self the labour of writing many things which are contain'd in the third part of it. But I was alwayes in some hope, that the Church of England might have been perswaded to have taken off the Penal Lawes and the Test, which was one Design of the Poem when I propos'd to my self the writing of it.
'Tis evident that some part of it was only occasional, & not first intended. I mean that defence of my self, to which every honest man is bound, when he is injuriously attacqu'd in Print: and I refer my self to the judgment of those who have read the Answer to the Defence of the late Kings Papers, and that of the Dutchess, (in which last I was concerned) how charitably I have been represented there. I am now inform'd both of the Author and Supervisers of his Pamphlet: and will reply when I think he can affront me: for I am of Socrates's Opinion that all Creatures cannot. In the mean time let him consider, whether he deserv'd not a more severe reprehension then I gave him formerly; for using so little respect to the Memory of those whom he pretended to answer: and, at his leisure look out for some Original Treatise of Humility, written by any Protestant in English, (I believe I may say in any other Tongue:) for the magnified Piece of Duncomb on that Subject, which either he must mean or none, and with which another of his Fellows has upbraided me, was Translated from the Spanish of Rodriguez: tho' with the Omission of the 17th, the 24th, the 25th, and the last Chapter, which will be found in comparing of the Books.
He would have insinuated to the World that Her late Highness died not a Roman Catholick: He declares himself to be now satisfied to the contrary; in which he has giv'n up the Cause: for matter of Fact was the Principal Debate betwixt us. In the mean time he would dispute the Motives of her Change: how prepostrously let all men judge, when he seem'd to deny the Subject of the Controversy, the Change it self. And because I would not take up this ridiculous Challenge, he tells the World I cannot argue: but he may as well infer that a Catholick can not fast, because he will not take up the Cudgels against Mrs. James, to confute the Protestant Religion.
I have but one word more to say concerning the Poem as such, and abstracting from the Matters either Religious or Civil which are handled in it. The first part, consisting most in general Characters and Narration, I have endeavour'd to raise, and give it the Majestick Turn of Heroick Poesie. The second, being Matter of Dispute, and chiefly concerning Church Authority, I was oblig'd to make as plain and perspicuous as possibly I cou'd: yet not wholly neglecting the Numbers, though I had not frequent occasions for the Magnificence of Verse. The third, which has more of the Nature of Domestick Conversation, is, or ought to be more free and familiar than the two former.
There are in it two Episodes, or Fables, which are interwoven with the main Design; so that they are properly parts of it, though they are also distinct Stories of themselves. In both of these I have made use of the Common Places of Satyr, whether true or false, which are urg'd by the Members of the one Church against the other: At which I hope no Reader of either Party will be scandaliz'd; because they are not of my Invention: but as old to my knowledge, as the Times of Boccace and Chawcer on the one side, and as those of the Reformation on the other.
The First Part
A Milk white Hind, immortal and unchang'd,
Fed on the lawns, and in the forest rang'd;
Without unspotted, innocent within,
She fear'd no danger, for she knew no sin.
Yet had she oft been chas'd with horns and hounds,
And Scythian shafts; and many winged wounds
Aim'd at Her heart; was often forc'd to fly,
And doom'd to death, though fated not to dy.
Not so her young, for their unequal line
Was Heroe's make, half humane, half divine.
Their earthly mold obnoxious was to fate,
Th' immortal part assum'd immortal state.
Of these a slaughtered army lay in bloud,
Extended o'er the Caledonian wood,
Their native walk; whose vocal bloud arose,
And cry'd for pardon on their perjur'd foes;
Their fate was fruitfull, and the sanguin seed
Endu'd with souls, encreas'd the sacred breed.
So Captive Israel multiply'd in chains
A numerous Exile, and enjoy'd her pains.
With grief and gladness mixt, their mother view'd
Her martyr'd offspring, and their race renew'd;
Their corps to perish, but their kind to last,
So much the deathless plant the dying fruit surpass'd.
Panting and pensive now she rang'd alone,
And wander'd in the kingdoms, once Her own.
The common Hunt, though from their rage restrain'd
By sov'reign pow'r, her company disdain'd:
Grin'd as They pass'd, and with a glaring eye
Gave gloomy signs of secret enmity.
'Tis true, she bounded by, and trip'd so light
They had not time to take a steady sight.
For truth has such a face and such a meen
As to be lov'd needs onely to be seen.
The bloudy Bear an Independent beast,
Unlick'd to form, in groans her hate express'd.
Among the timorous kind the Quaking Hare
Profess'd neutrality, but would not swear.
Next her the Buffoon Ape, as Atheists use,
Mimick'd all Sects, and had his own to chuse:
Still when the Lyon look'd, his knees he bent,
And pay'd at Church a Courtier's Complement.
The bristl'd Baptist Boar, impure as He,
(But whitn'd with the foam of sanctity)
With fat pollutions fill'd the sacred place,
And mountains levell'd in his furious race,
So first rebellion founded was in grace.
But since the mighty ravage which he made
In German Forests, had his guilt betrayd,
With broken tusks, and with a borrow'd name
He shun'd the vengeance, and conceal'd the shame;
So lurk'd in Sects unseen. With greater guile
False Reynard fed on consecrated spoil:
The graceless beast by Athanasius first
Was chas'd from Nice; then by Socinus nurs'd
His impious race their blasphemy renew'd,
And natures King through natures opticks view'd.
Revers'd they view'd him lessen'd to their eye,
Nor in an Infant could a God descry:
New swarming Sects to this obliquely tend,
Hence they began, and here they all will end.
What weight of antient witness can prevail
If private reason hold the publick scale?
But, gratious God, how well dost thou provide
For erring judgments an unerring Guide!
Thy throne is darkness in th' abyss of light,
A blaze of glory that forbids the sight;
O teach me to believe Thee thus conceal'd,
And search no farther than thy self reveal'd;
But her alone for my Directour take
Whom thou hast promis'd never to forsake!
My thoughtless youth was wing'd with vain desires,
My manhood, long misled by wandring fires,
Follow'd false lights; and when their glimps was gone,
My pride struck out new sparkles of her own.
Such was I, such by nature still I am,
Be thine the glory, and be mine the shame.
Good life be now my task: my doubts are done,
(What more could fright my faith, than Three in One?)
Can I believe eternal God could lye
Disguis'd in mortal mold and infancy?
That the great maker of the world could dye?
And after that, trust my imperfect sense
Which calls in question his omnipotence?
Can I my reason to my faith compell,
And shall my sight, and touch, and taste rebell?
Superiour faculties are set aside,
Shall their subservient organs be my guide?
Then let the moon usurp the rule of day,
And winking tapers shew the sun his way;
For what my senses can themselves perceive
I need no revelation to believe.
Can they who say the Host should be descry'd
By sense, define a body glorify'd?
Impassible, and penetrating parts?
Let them declare by what mysterious arts
He shot that body through th' opposing might
Of bolts and barrs impervious to the light,
And stood before his train confess'd in open sight.
For since thus wondrously he pass'd, 'tis plain
One single place two bodies did contain,
And sure the same omnipotence as well
Can make one body in more places dwell.
Let reason then at Her own quarry fly,
But how can finite grasp infinity?
'Tis urg'd again that faith did first commence
By miracles, which are appeals to sense,
And thence concluded that our sense must be
The motive still of credibility.
For latter ages must on former wait,
And what began belief, must propagate.
But winnow well this thought, and you shall find,
'Tis light as chaff that flies before the wind.
Were all those wonders wrought by pow'r divine
As means or ends of some more deep design?
Most sure as means, whose end was this alone,
To prove the god-head of th' eternal Son.
God thus asserted: man is to believe
Beyond what sense and reason can conceive,
And for mysterious things of faith rely
On the Proponent, heav'ns authority.
If then our faith we for our guide admit,
Vain is the farther search of humane wit,
As when the building gains a surer stay,
We take th' unusefull scaffolding away:
Reason by sense no more can understand,
The game is play'd into another hand.
Why chuse we then like Bilanders to creep
Along the coast, and land in view to keep,
When safely we may launch into the deep?
In the same vessel which our Saviour bore
Himself the Pilot, let us leave the shoar,
And with a better guide a better world explore.
Could He his god-head veil with flesh and bloud
And not veil these again to be our food?
His grace in both is equal in extent,
The first affords us life, the second nourishment.
And if he can, why all this frantick pain
To construe what his clearest words contain,
And make a riddle what He made so plain?
To take up half on trust, and half to try,
Name it not faith, but bungling biggottry.
Both knave and fool the Merchant we may call
To pay great summs, and to compound the small.
For who wou'd break with heav'n, and wou'd not break for all?
Rest then, my soul, from endless anguish freed;
Nor sciences thy guide, nor sense thy creed.
Faith is the best ensurer of thy bliss;
The Bank above must fail before the venture miss.
But heav'n and heav'n-born faith are far from Thee
Thou first Apostate to Divinity.
Unkennel'd range in thy Polonian Plains;
A fiercer foe th' insatiate Wolfe remains.
Too boastfull Britain please thy self no more,
That beasts of prey are banish'd from thy shoar:
The Bear, the Boar, and every salvage name,
Wild in effect, though in appearance tame,
Lay waste thy woods, destroy thy blissfull bow'r,
And muzl'd though they seem, the mutes devour.
More haughty than the rest the wolfish race,
Appear with belly Gaunt, and famish'd face:
Never was so deform'd a beast of Grace.
His ragged tail betwixt his leggs he wears
Close clap'd for shame, but his rough crest he rears,
And pricks up his predestinating ears.
His wild disorder'd walk, his hagger'd eyes,
Did all the bestial citizens surprize.
Though fear'd and hated, yet he rul'd awhile
As Captain or Companion of the spoil.
Full many a year his hatefull head had been
For tribute paid, nor since in Cambria seen:
The last of all the litter scap'd by chance,
And from Geneva first infested France.
Some authours thus his pedigree will trace,
But others write him of an upstart race:
Because of Wickliff's brood no mark he brings
But his innate antipathy to kings.
These last deduce him from th' Helvetian kind
Who near the Leman lake his Consort lin'd.
That fi'ry Zuynglius first th' affection bred,
And meagre Calvin blest the nuptial bed.
In Israel some believe him whelp'd long since
When the proud Sanhedrim oppress'd the Prince.1
Or, since he will be Jew, derive him high'r
When Corah with his brethren did conspire,
From Moyses hand the sov'reign sway to wrest,
And Aaron of his Ephod to devest:
Till opening earth made way for all to pass,
And cou'd not bear the burd'n of a class.
The Fox and he came shuffl'd in the dark,
If ever they were stow'd in Noah's ark:
Perhaps not made; for all their barking train
The Dog (a common species) will contain.
And some wild currs, who from their masters ran
Abhorring the supremacy of man,
In woods and caves the rebel-race began.
O happy pair, how well have you increas'd,
What ills in Church and State have you redress'd!
With teeth untry'd, and rudiments of claws
Your first essay was on your native laws:
Those having torn with ease, and trampl'd down
Your Fangs you fastn'd on the miter'd crown,
And freed from God and monarchy your town.
What though your native kennel still be small
Bounded betwixt a puddle and a wall,
Yet your victorious colonies are sent
Where the north ocean girds the continent.
Quickn'd with fire below your monsters breed,
In Fenny Holland and in fruitfull Tweed.
And like the first the last affects to be
Drawn to the dreggs of a Democracy.
As where in fields the fairy rounds are seen,
A rank sow'r herbage rises on the green,
So, springing where these mid-night Elves advance,
Rebellion prints the foot-steps of the Dance.
Such are their doctrines, such contempt they show
To heav'n above, and to their Prince below,
As none but Traytours and Blasphemers know.
God, like the Tyrant of the skyes is plac'd,
And kings like slaves beneath the crowd debas'd.
So fulsome is their food, that flocks refuse
To bite, and onely dogs for physick use.
As where the lightning runs along the ground,
No husbandry can heal the blasting wound,
Nor bladed grass, nor bearded corn succeeds,
But scales of scurf, and putrefaction breeds:
Such warrs, such waste, such fiery tracks of dearth
Their zeal has left, and such a teemless earth.
But as the Poisons of the deadliest kind
Are to their own unhappy coasts confin'd,
As onely Indian shades of sight deprive,
And magick plants will but in Colchos thrive,
So Presbyt'ry and pestilential zeal
Can onely flourish in a common-weal.
From Celtique woods is chas'd the wolfish crew;
But ah! some pity e'en to brutes is due:
Their native walks, methinks, they might enjoy
Curb'd of their native malice to destroy.
Of all the tyrannies on humane kind
The worst is that which persecutes the mind.
Let us but weigh at what offence we strike,
'Tis but because we cannot think alike.
In punishing of this, we overthrow
The laws of nations and of nature too.
Beasts are the subjects of tyrannick sway,
Where still the stronger on the weaker prey.
Man onely of a softer mold is made;
Not for his fellows ruine, but their aid:
Created kind, beneficent and free,
The noble image of the Deity.
One portion of informing fire was giv'n
To Brutes, th' inferiour family of heav'n:
The Smith divine, as with a careless beat,
Struck out the mute creation at a heat:
But, when arriv'd at last to humane race,
The god-head took a deep consid'ring space:
And, to distinguish man from all the rest,
Unlock'd the sacred treasures of his breast:
And mercy mix'd with reason did impart;
One to his head, the other to his heart:
Reason to rule, but mercy to forgive:
The first is law, the last prerogative.
And like his mind his outward form appear'd;
When issuing naked, to the wondring herd
He charm'd their eyes, & for they lov'd, they fear'd.
Not arm'd with horns of arbitrary might,
Or claws to seize their furry spoils in fight,
Or with increase of feet t' o'ertake 'em in their flight.
Of easie shape, and pliant ev'ry way;
Confessing still the softness of his clay,
And kind as kings upon their coronation day:
With open hands, and with extended space
Of arms, to satisfie a large embrace.
Thus kneaded up with milk, the new made man
His kingdom o'er his kindred world began:
Till knowledge misapply'd, misunderstood,
And pride of Empire sour'd his balmy bloud.
Then, first rebelling, his own stamp he coins;
The murth'rer Cain was latent in his loins,
And bloud began its first and loudest cry
For diff'ring worship of the Deity.
Thus persecution rose, and farther space
Produc'd the mighty hunter of his race.
Not so the blessed Pan his flock encreas'd,
Content to fold 'em from the famish'd beast:
Mild were his laws; the Sheep and harmless Hind
Were never of the persecuting kind.
Such pity now the pious Pastor shows,
Such mercy from the British Lyon flows,
That both provide protection for their foes.
Oh happy Regions, Italy and Spain,
Which never did those monsters entertain!
The Wolfe, the Bear, the Boar, can there advance
No native claim of just inheritance.
And self-preserving laws, severe in show,
May guard their fences from th' invading foe.
Where birth has plac'd 'em let 'em safely share
The common benefit of vital air.
Themselves unharmfull, let them live unharm'd;
Their jaws disabl'd, and their claws disarm'd:
Here, onely in nocturnal howlings bold,
They dare not seize the Hind nor leap the fold.
More pow'rfull, and as vigilant as they,
The Lyon awfully forbids the prey.
Their rage repress'd, though pinch'd with famine sore,
They stand aloof, and tremble at his roar;
Much is their hunger, but their fear is more.
These are the chief; to number o'er the rest,
And stand, like Adam, naming ev'ry beast,
Were weary work; nor will the Muse describe
A slimy-born and sun-begotten Tribe:
Who, far from steeples and their sacred sound,
In fields their sullen conventicles found:
These gross, half-animated lumps I leave;
Nor can I think what thoughts they can conceive.
But if they think at all, 'tis sure no high'r
Than matter, put in motion, may aspire.
Souls that can scarce ferment their mass of clay;
So drossy, so divisible are They,
As wou'd but serve pure bodies for allay:
Such souls as Shards produce, such beetle things
As onely buz to heav'n with ev'ning wings;
Strike in the dark, offending but by chance,
Such are the blind-fold blows of ignorance.
They know not beings, and but hate a name,
To them the Hind and Panther are the same.
The Panther sure the noblest, next the Hind,
And fairest creature of the spotted kind;
Oh, could her in-born stains be wash'd away,
She were too good to be a beast of Prey!
How can I praise, or blame, and not offend,
Or how divide the frailty from the friend?
Her faults and vertues lye so mix'd, that she
Nor wholly stands condemn'd, nor wholly free.
Then, like her injur'd Lyon, let me speak,
He can not bend her, and he would not break.
Unkind already, and estrang'd in part,
The Wolfe begins to share her wandring heart.
Though unpolluted yet with actual ill,
She half commits, who sins but in Her will.
If, as our dreaming Platonists report,
There could be spirits of a middle sort,
Too black for heav'n, and yet too white for hell,
Who just dropt half way down, nor lower fell;
So pois'd, so gently she descends from high,
It seems a soft dismission from the sky.
Her house not ancient, whatsoe'er pretence
Her clergy Heraulds make in her defence:
A second century not half-way run
Since the new honours of her bloud begun.
A Lyon old, obscene, and furious made
By lust, compress'd her mother in a shade;
Then, by a left-hand marr'age weds the Dame,
Cov'ring adult'ry with a specious name:
So schism begot; and sacrilege and she,
A well-match'd pair, got graceless heresie.
God's and kings rebels have the same good cause,
To trample down divine and humane laws:
Both wou'd be call'd Reformers, and their hate,
Alike destructive both to church and state:
The fruit proclaims the plant; a lawless Prince
By luxury reform'd incontinence,
By ruins, charity; by riots, abstinence.
Confessions, fasts and penance set aside;
Oh with what ease we follow such a guide!
Where souls are starv'd, and senses gratify'd.
Where marr'age pleasures, midnight pray'r supply,
And mattin bells (a melancholy cry)
Are tun'd to merrier notes, encrease and multiply.
Religion shows a Rosie colour'd face;
Not hatter'd out with drudging works of grace;
A down-hill Reformation rolls apace.
What flesh and bloud wou'd croud the narrow gate,
Or, till they waste their pamper'd paunches, wait?
All wou'd be happy at the cheapest rate.
Though our lean faith these rigid laws has giv'n,
The full fed Musulman goes fat to heav'n;
For his Arabian Prophet with delights
Of sense, allur'd his eastern Proselytes.
The jolly Luther, reading him, began
T' interpret Scriptures by his Alcoran;
To grub the thorns beneath our tender feet,
And make the paths of Paradise more sweet:
Bethought him of a wife e'er half way gone,
(For 'twas uneasy travailing alone;)
And in this masquerade of mirth and love,
Mistook the bliss of heav'n for Bacchanals above.
Sure he presum'd of praise, who came to stock
Th' etherial pastures with so fair a flock,
Burnish'd, and bat'ning on their food, to show
The diligence of carefull herds below.
Our Panther though like these she chang'd her head,
Yet, as the mistress of a monarch's bed,
Her front erect with majesty she bore,
The Crozier weilded, and the Miter wore.
Her upper part of decent discipline
Shew'd affectation of an ancient line:
And fathers, councils, church and churches head,
Were on her reverend Phylacteries read.
But what disgrac'd and disavow'd the rest,
Was Calvin's brand, that stigmatiz'd the beast.
Thus, like a creature of a double kind,
In her own labyrinth she lives confin'd.
To foreign lands no sound of Her is come,
Humbly content to be despis'd at home.
Such is her faith, where good cannot be had,
At least she leaves the refuse of the bad,
Nice in her choice of ill, though not of best,
And least deform'd, because reform'd the least.
In doubtfull points betwixt her diff'ring friends,
Where one for substance, one for sign contends,
Their contradicting terms she strives to join,
Sign shall be substance, substance shall be sign.
A real presence all her sons allow,
And yet 'tis flat Idolatry to bow,
Because the god-head's there they know not how.
Her Novices are taught that bread and wine
Are but the visible and outward sign
Receiv'd by those who in communion join.
But th' inward grace, or the thing signify'd,
His bloud and body, who to save us dy'd;
The faithfull this thing signify'd receive.
What is 't those faithfull then partake or leave?
For what is signify'd and understood,
Is, by her own confession, flesh and blood.
Then, by the same acknowledgement, we know
They take the sign, and take the substance too.
The lit'ral sense is hard to flesh and blood,
But nonsense never can be understood.
Her wild belief on ev'ry wave is tost,
But sure no church can better morals boast.
True to her king her principles are found;
Oh that her practice were but half so sound!
Stedfast in various turns of state she stood,
And seal'd her vow'd affection with her bloud;
Nor will I meanly tax her constancy,
That int'rest or obligement made the tye,
(Bound to the fate of murdr'd Monarchy:)
(Before the sounding Ax so falls the Vine,
Whose tender branches round the Poplar twine.)
She chose her ruin, and resign'd her life,
In death undaunted as an Indian wife:
A rare example: but some souls we see
Grow hard, and stiffen with adversity:
Yet these by fortunes favours are undone,
Resolv'd into a baser form they run,
And bore the wind, but cannot bear the sun.
Let this be natures frailty or her fate,
Or Isgrim's counsel, her new chosen mate;2
Still she's the fairest of the fallen crew,
No mother more indulgent but the true.
Fierce to her foes, yet fears her force to try,
Because she wants innate auctority;
For how can she constrain them to obey
Who has herself cast off the lawfull sway?
Rebellion equals all, and those who toil
In common theft, will share the common spoil.
Let her produce the title and the right
Against her old superiours first to fight;
If she reform by Text, ev'n that's as plain
For her own Rebels to reform again.
As long as words a diff'rent sense will bear,
And each may be his own Interpreter,
Our ai'ry faith will no foundation find:
The word's a weathercock for ev'ry wind:
The Bear, the Fox, the Wolfe, by turns prevail,
The most in pow'r supplies the present gale.
The wretched Panther crys aloud for aid
To church and councils, whom she first betray'd;
No help from Fathers or traditions train,
Those ancient guides she taught us to disdain.
And by that scripture which she once abus'd
To Reformation, stands her self accus'd.
What bills for breach of laws can she prefer,
Expounding which she owns herself may err?
And, after all her winding ways are try'd,
If doubts arise she slips herself aside,
And leaves the private conscience for the guide.
If then that conscience set th' offender free,
It barrs her claim to church auctority.
How can she censure, or what crime pretend,
But Scripture may be constru'd to defend?
Ev'n those whom for rebellion she transmits
To civil pow'r, her doctrine first acquits;
Because no disobedience can ensue,
Where no submission to a Judge is due,
Each judging for himself, by her consent,
Whom thus absolv'd she sends to punishment.
Suppose the Magistrate revenge her cause,
'Tis onely for transgressing humane laws.
How answ'ring to its end a church is made,
Whose pow'r is but to counsell and persuade?
O solid rock, on which secure she stands!
Eternal house, not built with mortal hands!
O sure defence against th' infernal gate,
A patent during pleasure of the state!
Thus is the Panther neither lov'd nor fear'd,
A meer mock Queen of a divided Herd;
Whom soon by lawfull pow'r she might controll,
Her self a part submitted to the whole.
Then, as the Moon who first receives the light
By which she makes our nether regions bright,
So might she shine, reflecting from afar
The rays she borrow'd from a better star:
Big with the beams which from her mother flow
And reigning o'er the rising tides below:
Now, mixing with a salvage croud, she goes
And meanly flatters her invet'rate foes.
Rul'd while she rules, and losing ev'ry hour
Her wretched remnants of precarious pow'r.
One evening while the cooler shade she sought,
Revolving many a melancholy thought,
Alone she walk'd, and look'd around in vain,
With rufull visage for her vanish'd train:
None of her sylvan subjects made their court;
Levées and couchées pass'd without resort.
So hardly can Usurpers manage well
Those, whom they first instructed to rebell:
More liberty begets desire of more,
The hunger still encreases with the store.
Without respect they brush'd along the wood
Each in his clan, and fill'd with loathsome food
Ask'd no permission to the neighb'ring flood.
The Panther full of inward discontent
Since they wou'd goe, before 'em wisely went:
Supplying want of pow'r by drinking first,
As if she gave 'em leave to quench their thirst.
Among the rest, the Hind, with fearfull face
Beheld from far the common wat'ring place,
Nor durst approach; till with an awfull roar
The sovereign Lyon bad her fear no more.
Encourag'd thus she brought her younglings nigh,
Watching the motions of her Patron's eye,
And drank a sober draught; the rest amaz'd
Stood mutely still, and on the stranger gaz'd:
Survey'd her part by part, and sought to find
The ten-horn'd monster in the harmless Hind,
Such as the Wolfe and Panther had design'd.
They thought at first they dream'd, for 'twas offence
With them, to question certitude of sense,
Their guide in faith; but nearer when they drew,
And had the faultless object full in view,
Lord, how they all admir'd her heav'nly hiew!
Some, who before her fellowship disdain'd,
Scarce, and but scarce, from in-born rage restrain'd,
Now frisk'd about her, and old kindred feign'd.
Whether for love or int'rest, ev'ry sect
Of all the salvage nation shew'd respect:
The Vice-roy Panther could not awe the herd,
The more the company the less they fear'd.
The surly Wolfe with secret envy burst,
Yet cou'd not howl, the Hind had seen him first:
But what he durst not speak, the Panther durst.
For when the herd suffis'd did late repair
To ferny heaths, and to their forest lare,
She made a mannerly excuse to stay,
Proff'ring the Hind to wait her half the way:
That since the Sky was clear, an hour of talk,
Might help her to beguile the tedious walk.
With much good-will the motion was embrac'd,
To chat awhile on their adventures pass'd:
Nor had the gratefull Hind so soon forgot
Her friend and fellow-suff'rer in the plot.
Yet wondring how of late she grew estrang'd,
Her forehead cloudy, and her count'nance chang'd,
She thought this hour th' occasion would present
To learn her secret cause of discontent,
Which, well she hop'd, might be with ease redress'd,
Consid'ring Her a well-bred civil beast,
And more a Gentlewoman than the rest.
After some common talk what rumours ran,
The Lady of the spotted-muff began.
The Second Part
Dame, said the Panther, times are mended well
Since late among the Philistines you fell,
The toils were pitch'd, a spacious tract of ground
With expert hunts-men was encompass'd round;
Th' Enclosure narrow'd; the sagacious pow'r
Of hounds and death, drew nearer ev'ry hour.
'Tis true, the younger Lyon scap'd the snare,
But all your priestly calves lay strugling there;
As sacrifices on their Altars laid;
While you their carefull mother wisely fled
Not trusting destiny to save your head.
For, what e'er promises you have apply'd
To your unfailing church, the surer side
Is four fair leggs in danger to provide.
And what e'er tales of Peter's chair you tell,
Yet, saving reverence of the miracle,
The better luck was yours to 'scape so well.
As I remember, said the sober Hind,
Those toils were for your own dear self design'd,
As well as me; and, with the self same throw,
To catch the quarry, and the vermin too,
(Forgive the sland'rous tongues that call'd you so.)
How e'er you take it now, the common cry
Then ran you down for your rank loyalty;
Besides, in Popery they thought you nurst,
(As evil tongues will ever speak the worst,)
Because some forms, and ceremonies some
You kept, and stood in the main question dumb.
Dumb you were born indeed, but thinking long
The Test it seems at last has loos'd your tongue.
And, to explain what your forefathers meant,
By real presence in the sacrament,
(After long fencing push'd, against a wall,)
Your salvo comes, that he's not there at all:
There chang'd your faith, and what may change may fall.
Who can believe what varies every day,
Nor ever was, nor will be at a stay?
Tortures may force the tongue untruths to tell,
And I ne'er own'd my self infallible,
Reply'd the Panther; grant such Presence were,
Yet in your sense I never own'd it there.
A real vertue we by faith receive,
And that we in the sacrament believe.
Then said the Hind, as you the matter state
Not onely Jesuits can equivocate;
For real, as you now the word expound,
From solid substance dwindles to a sound.
Methinks an Æsop's fable you repeat,
You know who took the shadow for the meat:
Your churches substance thus you change at will,
And yet retain your former figure still.
I freely grant you spoke to save your life,
For then you lay beneath the butcher's knife.
Long time you fought, redoubl'd batt'ry bore,
But, after all, against your self you swore;
Your former self, for ev'ry hour your form
Is chop'd and chang'd, like winds before a storm.
Thus fear and int'rest will prevail with some,
For all have not the gift of martyrdome.
The Panther grin'd at this, and thus reply'd;
That men may err was never yet deny'd.
But, if that common principle be true,
The Cannon, Dame, is level'd full at you.
But, shunning long disputes, I fain wou'd see
That wond'rous wight Infallibility.
Is he from heav'n this mighty champion come,
Or lodg'd below in subterranean Rome?
First, seat him somewhere, and derive his race,
Or else conclude that nothing has no place.
Suppose (though I disown it) said the Hind,
The certain mansion were not yet assign'd,
The doubtfull residence no proof can bring
Against the plain existence of the thing.
Because Philosophers may disagree,
If sight b' emission or reception be,
Shall it be thence inferr'd, I do not see?
But you require an answer positive,
Which yet, when I demand, you dare not give,
For fallacies in Universals live.
I then affirm that this unfailing guide
In Pope and gen'ral councils must reside;
Both lawfull, both combin'd, what one decrees
By numerous votes, the other ratifies:
On this undoubted sense the church relies.
'Tis true, some Doctours in a scantier space,
I mean in each apart contract the place.
Some, who to greater length extend the line,
The churches after acceptation join.
This last circumference appears too wide,
The church diffus'd is by the council ty'd;
As members by their representatives
Oblig'd to laws which Prince and Senate gives:
Thus some contract, and some enlarge the space;
In Pope and council who denies the place,
Assisted from above with God's unfailing grace?
Those Canons all the needfull points contain;
Their sense so obvious, and their words so plain,
That no disputes about the doubtfull Text
Have, hitherto, the lab'ring world perplex'd:
If any shou'd in after times appear,
New Councils must be call'd, to make the meaning clear
Because in them the pow'r supreme resides;
And all the promises are to the guides.
This may be taught with sound and safe defence:
But mark how sandy is your own pretence,
Who setting Councils, Pope, and Church aside,
Are ev'ry man his own presuming guide.
The sacred books, you say, are full and plain,
And ev'ry needfull point of truth contain:
All who can read, Interpreters may be:
Thus though your sev'ral churches disagree,
Yet ev'ry Saint has to himself alone
The secret of this Philosophick stone.
These principles your jarring sects unite,
When diff'ring Doctours and disciples fight;
Though Luther, Zuinglius, Calvin, holy chiefs
Have made a battel Royal of beliefs;
Or like wild horses sev'ral ways have whirl'd
The tortur'd Text about the Christian World;
Each Jehu lashing on with furious force,
That Turk or Jew cou'd not have us'd it worse.
No matter what dissention leaders make
Where ev'ry private man may save a stake,
Rul'd by the Scripture and his own advice
Each has a blind by-path to Paradise;
Where driving in a circle slow or fast,
Opposing sects are sure to meet at last.
A wondrous charity you have in store
For all reform'd to pass the narrow door:
So much, that Mahomet had scarcely more.
For he, kind Prophet, was for damning none,
But Christ and Moyses were to save their own:
Himself was to secure his chosen race,
Though reason good for Turks to take the place,
And he allow'd to be the better man
In virtue of his holier Alcoran.
True, said the Panther, I shall ne'er deny
My breth'ren may be sav'd as well as I:
Though Huguenots contemn our ordination,
Succession, ministerial vocation,
And Luther, more mistaking what he read,
Misjoins the sacred Body with the Bread;
Yet, Lady, still remember I maintain,
The Word in needfull points is onely plain.
Needless or needfull I not now contend,
For still you have a loop-hole for a friend,
(Rejoyn'd the Matron) but the rule you lay
Has led whole flocks, and leads them still astray
In weighty points, and full damnation's way.
For did not Arius first, Socinus now,
The Son's eternal god-head disavow,
And did not these by Gospel Texts alone
Condemn our doctrine, and maintain their own?
Have not all hereticks the same pretence
To plead the Scriptures in their own defence?
How did the Nicene council then decide
That strong debate, was it by Scripture try'd?
No, sure to those the Rebel would not yield,
Squadrons of Texts he marshal'd in the field;
That was but civil war, an equal set,
Where Piles with piles, and eagles Eagles met.
With Texts point-blank and plain he fac'd the Foe:
And did not Sathan tempt our Saviour so?
The good old Bishops took a simpler way,
Each ask'd but what he heard his Father say,
Or how he was instructed in his youth,
And by traditions force upheld the truth.
The Panther smil'd at this, and when, said she,
Were those first Councils disallow'd by me?
Or where did I at sure tradition strike,
Provided still it were Apostolick?
Friend, said the Hind, you quit your former ground,
Where all your Faith you did on Scripture found;
Now 'tis tradition join'd with holy writ,
But thus your memory betrays your wit.
No, said the Panther, for in that I view,
When your tradition's forg'd, and when 'tis true.
I set 'em by the rule, and as they square
Or deviate from undoubted doctrine there
This Oral fiction, that old Faith declare.
(Hind.) The Council steer'd it seems a diff'rent course,
They try'd the Scripture by tradition's force;
But you tradition by the Scripture try;
Pursu'd, by Sects, from this to that you fly,
Nor dare on one foundation to rely.
The word is then depos'd, and in this view,
You rule the Scripture, not the Scripture you.
Thus said the Dame, and, smiling, thus pursu'd,
I see tradition then is disallow'd,
When not evinc'd by Scripture to be true,
And Scripture, as interpreted by you.
But here you tread upon unfaithfull ground;
Unless you cou'd infallibly expound;
Which you reject as odious Popery,
And throw that doctrine back with scorn on me.
Suppose we on things traditive divide,
And both appeal to Scripture to decide;
By various texts we both uphold our claim,
Nay, often ground our titles on the same:
After long labour lost, and times expence,
Both grant the words, and quarrel for the sense.
Thus all disputes for ever must depend;
For no dumb rule can controversies end.
Thus when you said tradition must be try'd
By Sacred Writ, whose sense your selves decide,
You said no more, but that your selves must be
The judges of the Scripture sense, not we.
Against our church tradition you declare
And yet your Clerks wou'd sit in Moyses chair:
At least 'tis prov'd against your argument,
The rule is far from plain, where all dissent.
If not by Scriptures how can we be sure
(Reply'd the Panther) what tradition's pure?
For you may palm upon us new for old,
All, as they say, that glitters is not gold.
How but by following her, reply'd the Dame,
To whom deriv'd from sire to son they came;
Where ev'ry age do's on another move,
And trusts no farther than the next above;
Where all the rounds like Jacob's ladder rise,
The lowest hid in earth, the topmost in the skyes.
Sternly the salvage did her answer mark,
Her glowing eye-balls glitt'ring in the dark,
And said but this, since lucre was your trade,
Succeeding times such dreadfull gaps have made
'Tis dangerous climbing: to your sons and you
I leave the ladder, and its omen too.
(Hind.) The Panther's breath was ever fam'd for sweet,
But from the Wolfe such wishes oft I meet:
You learn'd this language from the blatant beast,
Or rather did not speak, but were possess'd.
As for your answer 'tis but barely urg'd;
You must evince tradition to be forg'd;
Produce plain proofs; unblemish'd authours use
As ancient as those ages they accuse;
Till when 'tis not sufficient to defame:
An old possession stands, till Elder quitts the claim.
Then for our int'rest which is nam'd alone
To load with envy, we retort your own.
For when traditions in your faces fly,
Resolving not to yield, you must decry:
As when the cause goes hard, the guilty man
Excepts, and thins his jury all he can;
So when you stand of other aid bereft,
You to the twelve Apostles would be left.
Your friend the Wolfe did with more craft provide
To set those toys traditions quite aside:
And Fathers too, unless when reason spent
He cites 'em but sometimes for ornament.
But, Madam Panther, you, though more sincere,
Are not so wise as your Adulterer:
The private spirit is a better blind
Than all the dodging tricks your authours find.
For they, who left the Scripture to the crowd,
Each for his own peculiar judge allow'd;
The way to please 'em was to make 'em proud.
Thus, with full sails, they ran upon the shelf;
Who cou'd suspect a couzenage from himself?
On his own reason safer 'tis to stand,
Than be deceiv'd and damn'd at second hand.
But you who Fathers and traditions take,
And garble some, and some you quite forsake,
Pretending church auctority to fix,
And yet some grains of private spirit mix,
Are like a Mule made up of diff'ring seed,
And that's the reason why you never breed;
At least not propagate your kind abroad,
For home-dissenters are by statutes aw'd.
And yet they grow upon you ev'ry day,
While you (to speak the best) are at a stay,
For sects that are extremes, abhor a midde way.
Like tricks of state, to stop a raging flood,
Or mollify a mad-brain'd Senate's mood:
Of all expedients never one was good.
Well may they argue, (nor can you deny)
If we must fix on church auctority,
Best on the best, the fountain, not the flood,
That must be better still, if this be good.
Shall she command, who has herself rebell'd?
Is Antichrist by Antichrist expell'd?
Did we a lawfull tyranny displace,
To set aloft a bastard of the race?
Why all these wars to win the Book, if we
Must not interpret for our selves, but she?
Either be wholly slaves or wholly free.
For purging fires traditions must not fight;
But they must prove Episcopacy's right:
Thus those led horses are from service freed;
You never mount 'em but in time of need.
Like mercenary's, hir'd for home defence,
They will not serve against their native Prince.
Against domestick foes of Hierarchy
These are drawn forth, to make fanaticks fly,
But, when they see their countrey-men at hand,
Marching against 'em under church-command,
Straight they forsake their colours, and disband.
Thus she, nor cou'd the Panther well enlarge
With weak defence against so strong a charge;
But said, for what did Christ his Word provide,
If still his church must want a living guide?
And if all saving doctrines are not there,
Or sacred Pen-men cou'd not make 'em clear,
From after ages we should hope in vain
For truths, which men inspir'd, cou'd not explain.
Before the Word was written, said the Hind:
Our Saviour preach'd his Faith to humane kind,
From his Apostles the first age receiv'd
Eternal truth, and what they taught, believ'd.
Thus by tradition faith was planted first,
Succeeding flocks succeeding Pastours nurs'd.
This was the way our wise Redeemer chose,
(Who sure could all things for the best dispose,)
To fence his fold from their encroaching foes.
He cou'd have writ himself, but well foresaw
Th' event wou'd be like that of Moyses law;
Some difference wou'd arise, some doubts remain,
Like those, which yet the jarring Jews maintain.
No written laws can be so plain, so pure,
But wit may gloss, and malice may obscure,
Not those indited by his first command,
A Prophet grav'd the text, an Angel held his hand.
Thus faith was e'er the written word appear'd,
And men believ'd, not what they read, but heard.
But since th' Apostles cou'd not be confin'd,
To these, or those, but severally design'd
Their large commission round the world to blow;
To spread their faith they spread their labours too.
Yet still their absent flock their pains did share,
They hearken'd still, for love produces care.
And as mistakes arose, or discords fell,
Or bold seducers taught 'em to rebell,
As charity grew cold, or faction hot,
Or long neglect, their lessons had forgot,
For all their wants they wisely did provide,
And preaching by Epistles was supply'd:
So great Physicians cannot all attend,
But some they visit, and to some they send.
Yet all those letters were not writ to all;
Nor first intended, but occasional,
Their absent sermons; nor if they contain
All needfull doctrines, are those doctrines plain.
Clearness by frequent preaching must be wrought,
They writ but seldome, but they daily taught.
And what one Saint has said of holy Paul,
He darkly writ, is true apply'd to all.
For this obscurity could heav'n provide
More prudently than by a living guide,
As doubts arose, the difference to decide?
A guide was therefore needfull, therefore made,
And, if appointed, sure to be obey'd.
Thus, with due rev'rence, to th' Apostles writ,
By which my sons are taught, to which, submit;
I think, those truths their sacred works contain,
The church alone can certainly explain,
That following ages, leaning on the past,
May rest upon the Primitive at last.
Nor wou'd I thence the word no rule infer,
But none without the church interpreter.
Because, as I have urg'd before, 'tis mute,
And is it self the subject of dispute.
But what th' Apostles their successours taught,
They to the next, from them to us is brought,
Th' undoubted sense which is in scripture sought.
From hence the church is arm'd, when errours rise,
To stop their entrance, and prevent surprise;
And safe entrench'd within, her foes without defies.
By these all festring sores her councils heal,
Which time or has disclos'd, or shall reveal,
For discord cannot end without a last appeal.
Nor can a council national decide
But with subordination to her Guide:
(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 prov'd, is open'd, and is read;
The doubtfull heirs their diff'ring titles plead:
All vouch the words their int'rest 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 battel, subject of debate,
The thing contended for, the fair estate.
The sense is intricate, 'tis onely 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 faithfull flock some living guide should want,
Your arguments an endless chase persue:
Produce this vaunted Leader to our view,
This mighty Moyses of the chosen crew.
The Dame, who saw her fainting foe retir'd,
With force renew'd, to victory aspir'd;
(And looking upward to her kindred sky,
As once our Saviour own'd his Deity,
Pronounc'd his words – she whom ye seek am I.)
Nor less amaz'd this voice the Panther heard,
Than were those Jews to hear a god declar'd.
Then thus the matron modestly renew'd,
Let all your prophets and their sects be view'd,
And see to which of 'em your selves think fit
The conduct of your conscience to submit:
Each Proselyte wou'd vote his Doctor best,
With absolute exclusion to the rest:
Thus wou'd your Polish Diet disagree,
And end as it began in Anarchy:
Your self the fairest for election stand,
Because you seem crown-gen'ral of the land,
But soon against your superstitious lawn
Some Presbyterian Sabre wou'd be drawn:
In your establish'd laws of sov'raignty
The rest some fundamental flaw wou'd see,
And call Rebellion gospel-liberty.
To church-decrees your articles require
Submission modify'd, if not entire;
Homage deny'd, to censures you proceed;
But when Curtana will not doe 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 onely rule of faith the Scriptures are,
Interpreted by men of judgment sound,
Which ev'ry sect will for themselves expound:
Nor think less rev'rence to their doctours 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 shou'd obey.
But if you mean your selves are onely 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 forc'd submission they protest:
While sound and sound a diff'rent sense explains
Both play at hard-head till they break their brains:
And from their chairs each others force defy,
While unregarded thunders vainly fly.
I pass the rest, because your church alone
Of all usurpers best cou'd fill the throne.
But neither you, nor any sect beside
For this high office can be qualify'd,
With necessary gifts requir'd in such a guide.
For that which must direct the whole, must be
Bound in one bond of faith and unity:
But all your sev'ral 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 ordain.
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 shou'd their members in a synod meet;
Cou'd any church presume to mount the seat
Above the rest, their discords to decide;
None wou'd obey, but each wou'd be the guide:
And face to face dissentions wou'd encrease;
For onely distance now preserves the peace.
All in their turns accusers, and accus'd:
Babel was never half so much confus'd.
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 needfull who can err?
Then, granting that unerring guide we want,
That such there is you stand oblig'd to grant:
Our Saviour else were wanting to supply
Our needs, and obviate that necessity.
It then remains that church can onely be
The guide, which owns unfailing certainty;
Or else you slip your hold, and change your side,
Relapsing from a necessary guide.
But this annex'd condition of the crown,
Immunity from errours, you disown,
Here then you shrink, & 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 weight;
And for that cause those promises detest
With which our Saviour did his Church invest:
But strive t' evade, and fear to find 'em 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 mixt with justice cou'd propound;
All prompt with eager pity, to fulfill
The full extent of their Creatour's will:
But when the stern conditions were declar'd,
A mournfull whisper through the host was heard,
And the whole hierarchy with heads hung down
Submissively declin'd the pondrous proffer'd crown.
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 heav'n had bent,
Nor he Himself cou'd bear, but as omnipotent.
Now, to remove the least remaining doubt,
That ev'n the blear-ey'd sects may find her out,
Behold what heav'nly rays adorn her brows,
What from his Wardrobe her belov'd 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 shew 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,3
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 errours free,
As one in faith, so one in sanctity,
Thus she, and none but she, th' insulting rage
Of Hereticks oppos'd from age to age:
Still when the Gyant-brood invades her throne
She stoops from heav'n, and meets 'em half way down,
And with paternal thunder vindicates her crown.
But like Ægyptian Sorcerers you stand,
And vainly lift aloft your magick wand,
To sweep away the swarms of vermin from the land:
You cou'd like them, with like infernal force
Produce the plague, but not arrest the course.
But when the boils and botches, with disgrace
And publick scandal sat upon the face,
Themselves attack'd, the Magi strove no more,
They saw God's finger, and their fate deplore;
Themselves they cou'd not cure of the dishonest sore.
Thus one, thus pure, behold her largely spread
Like the fair ocean from her mother bed;
From East to West triumphantly she rides,
All shoars are water'd by her wealthy Tides:
The Gospel-sound diffus'd from Pole to Pole,
Where winds can carry, and where waves can roll;
The self same doctrine of the Sacred page
Convey'd to ev'ry clime in ev'ry age.
Here let my sorrow give my satyr place,
To raise new blushes on my British race;
Our sayling ships like common shoars we use,
And through our distant colonies diffuse
The draughts of Dungeons, and the stench of stews;
Whom, when their home-bred honesty is lost,
We disembogue on some far Indian coast:
Thieves, Pandars, Palliards, sins of ev'ry sort,
Those are the manufactures we export;
And these the Missionaires our zeal has made:
For, with my countrey's pardon be it said,
Religion is the least of all our trade.
Yet some improve their traffick more than we,
For they on gain, their onely God, rely:
And set a publick price on piety.
Industrious of the needle and the chart
They run full sail to their Japponian Mart:
Prevention fear, and prodigal of fame
Sell 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 view,
Not one of all can be apply'd to you:
Much less the fourth; in vain alas you seek
Th' ambitious title of Apostolick:
God-like descent! 'tis well your bloud can be
Prov'd 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 Errour 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 prov'd,
The church her old foundations has remov'd,
And built new doctrines on unstable sands:
Judge that ye winds and rains; you prov'd her, yet she stands.
Those ancient doctrines charg'd on her for new,
Shew when, and how, and from what hands they grew.
We claim no pow'r when Heresies grow bold
To coin new faith, but still declare the old.
How else cou'd that obscene disease be purg'd
When controverted texts are vainly urg'd?
To prove tradition new, there's somewhat more
Requir'd, than saying, 'twas not us'd before.
Those monumental arms are never stirr'd
Till Schism or Heresie call down Goliah'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 errours which new sects maintain
Or which of old disturb'd the churches peacefull reign,
And we can point each period of the time,
When they began, and who begot the crime;
Can calculate how long th' eclipse endur'd,
Who interpos'd, what digits were obscur'd:
Of all which are already pass'd away,
We know the rise, the progress and decay.
Despair at our foundations then to strike
Til you can prove your faith Apostolick;
A limpid stream drawn from the native source;
Succession lawfull in a lineal course.
Prove any church oppos'd to this our head,
So one, so pure, so unconfin'dly spread,
Under one chief of the spiritual state,
The members all combin'd, and all subordinate.
Shew such a seamless coat, from schism so free,
In no communion join'd with heresie:
If such a one you find, let truth prevail:
Till when your weights will in the balance fail:
A church unprincipl'd 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 falshood for so long a space
To banish truth, and to usurp her place:
That seav'n successive ages should be lost
And preach damnation at their proper cost;
That all your erring ancestours should dye,
Drown'd in th' Abyss of deep Idolatry;
If piety forbid such thoughts to rise,
Awake and open your unwilling eyes:
God has left nothing for each age undone
From this to that wherein he sent his Son:
Then think but well of him, and half your work is done.
See how his church adorn'd with ev'ry grace
With open arms, a kind forgiving face,
Stands ready to prevent her long lost sons embrace.
Not more did Joseph o'er his brethren weep,
Nor less himself cou'd from discovery keep,
When in the croud 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 gold;
The Joseph you exil'd, the Joseph whom you sold.4
Thus, while with heav'nly charity she spoke,
A streaming blaze the silent shadows broke:
Shot from the skyes a chearfull azure light;
The birds obscene to forests wing'd their flight,
And gaping graves receiv'd the wandring 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 fire-works which his angel made above.
I saw my self the lambent easie light5
Guild the brown horrour and dispell the night;
The messenger with speed the tidings bore;
News which three lab'ring nations did restore,
But heav'ns own Nuncius was arriv'd before.
By this, the Hind had reach'd her lonely cell;
And vapours rose, and dews unwholsome fell.
When she, by frequent observation wise,
As one who long on heav'n had fix'd her eyes,
Discern'd a change of weather in the skyes.
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, course dyet and a short repast,
(She said) were weak inducements to the tast
Of one so nicely bred, and so unus'd to fast.
But what plain fare her cottage cou'd 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 desir'd her to accept and stay,
For fear she might be wilder'd in her way,
Because she wanted an unerring guide;
And then the dew drops 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 lye in wait;
And without witness wreak their hidden hate.
The Panther, though she lent a list'ning ear,
Had more of Lyon 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 cou'd afford;
And took her friendly hostess at her word,
Who ent'ring 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,
Not for a night, or quick revolving year,
Welcome an owner, not a sojourner.
This peacefull Seat my poverty secures,
War seldom enters but where wealth allures;
Nor yet despise it, for this poor aboad
Has oft receiv'd, and yet receives a god;
A god victorious of the 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 amaz'd to see
Contempt of wealth, and wilfull poverty:
And, though ill habits are not soon controll'd,
A while suspended her desire of gold;
But civily drew in her sharpn'd paws,
Not violating hospitable laws,
And pacify'd her tail, and lick'd her frothy jaws.
The Hind did first her country Cates provide;
Then couch'd her self securely by her side.
The Third Part
Much malice mingl'd with a little wit
Perhaps may censure this mysterious writ,
Because the Muse has peopl'd Caledon
With Panthers, Bears, and Wolves, and Beasts unknown,
As if we were not stock'd with monsters of our own.
Let Æsop answer, who has set to view,
Such kinds as Greece and Phrygia never knew;
And mother Hubbard in her homely dress
Has sharply blam'd a British Lioness,
That Queen, whose feast the factious rabble keep,
Expos'd obscenely naked and a-sleep.
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 dang'rous guest by night.
Let those remember that she cannot dye
Till rolling time is lost in round eternity;
Nor need she fear the Panther, though untam'd,
Because the Lyon's peace was now proclam'd,
The wary salvage would not give offence,
To forfeit the protection of her Prince;
But watch'd the time her vengeance to compleat,
When all her furry sons in frequent Senate met.
Mean while she quench'd her fury at the floud,
And with a Lenten sallad cool'd her bloud.
Their commons, though but course, were nothing scant,
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 theam;
Remembring ev'ry storm which toss'd the state,
When both were objects of the publick hate,
And drop'd a tear betwixt for her own childrens fate.
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 exil'd Heir,
Her strength t' endure, her courage to defy;
Her choice of honourable infamy.
On these prolixly thankfull, she enlarg'd,
Then with acknowledgments herself she charg'd:
For friendship of it self, an holy tye,
Is made more sacred by adversity.
Now should they part, malicious tongues wou'd 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-liv'd 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 lawfull Heir she had been true,
She paid but Cœsar what was Cœsar's due.
I might, she added, with like praise describe
Your suff'ring sons, and so return your bribe;
But incense from my hands is poorly priz'd,
For gifts are scorn'd where givers are despis'd.
I serv'd a turn, and then was cast away;
You, like the gawdy fly, your wings display,
And sip the sweets, and bask in your Great Patron's day.
This heard, the Matron was not slow to find
What sort of malady had seiz'd her mind;
Disdain, with gnawing envy, fell despight,
And canker'd malice stood in open sight;
Ambition, int'rest, pride without controul,
And jealousie, the jaundice of the soul;
Revenge, the bloudy minister of ill,
With all the lean tormenters of the will.
'Twas easie now to guess from whence arose
Her new made union with her ancient foes,
Her forc'd civilities, her faint embrace,
Affected kindness with an alter'd face:
Yet durst she not too deeply probe the wound,
As hoping still the nobler parts were sound;
But strove with Anodynes t' asswage 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 loth to quit its former hold,
And conscious merit may be justly bold.
But much more just your jealousie would show,
If others good were injury to you:
Witness ye heav'ns how I rejoice to see
Rewarded worth, and rising loyalty.
Your Warrier Offspring that upheld the crown,
The scarlet honours of your peacefull gown,
Are the most pleasing objects I can find,
Charms to my sight, and cordials to my mind:
When vertue spoomes before a prosp'rous gale
My heaving wishes help to fill the sail,
And if my pray'rs for all the brave were heard,
Cœsar should still have such, and such should still reward.
The labour'd earth your pains have sow'd and till'd:
'Tis just you reap the product of the field.
Yours be the harvest, 'tis the beggars 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,
And alms are but the vehicles of pray'r.
My daily bread is litt'rally implor'd,
I have no barns nor granaries to hoard;
If Cœsar 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 motive sure your mind withdraws,
And makes you break our friendships holy laws,
For barefac'd envy is too base a cause.
Show more occasion for your discontent,
Your love, the Wolf, wou'd help you to invent;
Some German quarrel, or, as times go now,
Some French, where force is uppermost, will doe.
When at the fountains head, as merit ought
To claim the place, you take a swilling draught,
How easie '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 wou'd think,
The Wolf design'd to eat as well as drink.
This last allusion gaul'd the Panther more,
Because indeed it rubb'd upon the sore.
Yet seem'd she not to winch, though shrewdly pain'd:
But thus her Passive character maintain'd.
I never grudg'd, whate're my foes report,
Your flaunting fortune in the Lyon's court.
You have your day, or you are much bely'd,
But I am always on the suff'ring side:
You know my doctrine, and I need not say
I will not, but I cannot disobey.
On this firm principle I ever stood:
He of my sons who fails to make it good,
By one rebellious act renounces to my bloud.
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 ungratious youths as wish you dead.
They gape at rich revenues which you hold,
And fain would nible at your grandame gold;
Enquire into your years, and laugh to find
Your crazy temper shews you much declin'd.
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 boyes wou'd 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 'em lawfully begot:
For, in some Popish libells I have read,
The Wolf has been too busie in your bed.
At least their 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 'em for intruding in your line,
Fat Bishopricks are still of right divine.
Think you your new French Proselytes are come
To starve abroad, because they starv'd at home?
Your benefices twinckl'd 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 mouths provide.
More vacant pulpits wou'd more converts make,
All wou'd have latitude enough to take;
The rest unbenefic'd, 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 Delphick Sword, the Panther then reply'd,
Is double edg'd, 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,
Allur'd with gain, for any will declare.
Bare lyes with bold assertions they can face,
But dint of argument is out of place.
The grim Logician puts 'em 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,
Devorcing from the Church to wed the Dame:
Though largely prov'd, and by himself profess'd
That conscience, conscience wou'd not let him rest,
I mean not till possess'd of her he lov'd,
And old, uncharming Catherine was remov'd.
For sundry years before did he complain,
And told his ghostly Confessour 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 in the mount was Protestant.
No doubt, reply'd the Hind, as sure as all
The writings of Saint Peter and Saint 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 hear-say, but observe at least,
If since their change, their loaves have been increast.
The Lyon buyes no Converts, if he did,
Beasts wou'd be sold as fast as he cou'd bid.
Tax those of int'rest who conform for gain,
Or stay the market of another reign.
Your broad-way sons wou'd never be too nice
To close with Calvin, if he paid their price;
But rais'd three steeples high'r, wou'd change their note,
And quit the Cassock for the Canting-coat.
Now, if you damn this censure, as too bold,
Judge by your selves, and think not others sold.
Mean-time my sons accus'd, by fames report
Pay small attendance at the Lyon'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 shou'd 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 shou'd not murmur, had they less.
But, if reduc'd subsistence to implore,
In common prudence they wou'd pass your door;
Unpitty'd Hudibrass, your Champion friend,
Has shown how far your charities extend.
This lasting verse shall on his tomb be read,
He sham'd 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 profess'd,
That imputation were no laughing jest.
But Imprimatur, with a Chaplain's name,
Is here sufficient licence to defame.
What wonder is 't that black detraction thrives?
The Homicide of names is less than lives;
And yet the perjur'd murtherer survives.
This said, she paus'd a little, and suppress'd
The boiling indignation of her breast;
She knew the vertue of her blade, nor wou'd
Pollute her satyr with ignoble bloud:
Her panting foes she saw before her lye,
And back she drew the shining weapon dry:
So when the gen'rous Lyon has in sight
His equal match, he rouses for the fight;
But when his foe lyes prostrate on the plain,
He sheaths his paws, uncurls his angry mane;
And, pleas'd with bloudless honours of the day,
Walks over, and disdains th' inglorious Prey.
So JAMES, if great with less we may compare,
Arrests his rowling thunder-bolts in air;
And grants ungratefull friends a lengthn'd space,
T' implore the remnants of long suff'ring grace.
This breathing-time the Matron took; and then,
Resum'd the thrid of her discourse agen.
Be vengeance wholly left to pow'rs divine,
And let heav'n judge betwixt your sons and mine:
If joyes hereafter must be purchas'd here
With loss of all that mortals hold so dear,
Then welcome infamy and publick shame,
And, last, a long farwell to worldly fame.
'Tis said with ease, but oh, how hardly try'd
By haughty souls to humane honour ty'd!
O sharp convulsive pangs of agonizing pride!
Down then thou rebell, never more to rise,
And what thou didst, and do'st so dearly prize,
That fame, that darling fame, make that thy sacrifice.
'Tis nothing thou hast giv'n, 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 blest Saviour's bloud discharge the mighty sum.
Thus (she pursu'd) I discipline a son
Whose uncheck'd fury to revenge wou'd run:
He champs the bit, impatient of his loss,
And starts a-side, and flounders at the cross.
Instruct him better, gracious God, to know,
As thine is vengeance, so forgiveness too.
That suff'ring from ill tongues he bears no more
Than what his Sovereign bears, and what his Saviour bore.
It now remains for you to school your child,
And ask why God's anointed he revil'd;
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're,
But he who councell'd him, has paid the score:
The heavy malice cou'd no higher tend,
But wo to him on whom the weights descend:
So to permitted ills the Dœmon flyes:
His rage is aim'd at him who rules the skyes;
Constrain'd to quit his cause, no succour found,
The foe discharges ev'ry Tyre around.
In clouds of smoke abandoning the fight,
But his own thundring 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 prov'd,
What springs his blessed reformation mov'd.
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 Pæan sound,
A Treatise of Humility is found.
'Tis found, but better it had ne'er been sought
Than thus in Protestant procession brought.
The fam'd original through Spain is known,
Rodriguez work, my celebrated son,
Which yours, by ill-translating made his own,
Conceal'd its authour, and usurp'd the name,
The basest and ignoblest theft of fame.
My Altars kindl'd first that living coal,
Restore, or practice better what you stole:
That vertue could this humble verse inspire,
'Tis all the restitution I require.
Glad was the Panther that the charge was clos'd,
And none of all her fav'rite sons expos'd.
For laws of arms permit each injur'd 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 ev'ry Algerine is lawfull prize.
No private person in the foes estate
Can plead exemption from the publick fate.
Yet Christian laws allow not such redress;
Then let the greater supersede the less.
But let th' Abbettors 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 Dam, and all her offspring white.
The Salvage, though she saw her plea controll'd,
Yet wou'd not wholly seem to quit her hold,
But offer'd fairly to compound the strife;
And judge conversion by the convert's life.
'Tis true, she said, I think it somewhat strange
So few shou'd follow profitable change:
For present joys are more to flesh and bloud,
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, heav'n and earth, allure to bliss,
The larger loadstone that, the nearer this:
The weak attraction of the greater fails,
We nodd a-while, 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 inf'rence wou'd be strong (the Hind reply'd)
If yours were in effect the suff'ring side:
Your clergy sons their own in peace possess,
Nor are their prospects in reversion less.
My Proselytes are struck with awfull dread,
Your bloudy Comet-laws hang blazing o're their head.
The respite they enjoy but onely lent,
The best they have to hope, protracted punishment.
Be judge your self, if int'rest may prevail,
Which motives, yours or mine, will turn the scale.
While pride and pomp allure, and plenteous ease,
That is, till man's predominant passions cease,
Admire no longer at my slow encrease.
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 nam'd before, nor need repeat:
But int'rest is the most prevailing cheat,
The sly seducer both of age and youth;
They study that, and think they study truth:
When int'rest fortifies an argument
Weak reason serves to gain the wills assent;
For souls already warp'd receive an easie bent.
Add long prescription of establish'd laws,
And picque 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 daunce began,
And last, uncertain who's the narrower span,
The clown unread, and half-read gentleman.
To this the Panther, with a scornfull smile:
Yet still you travail with unwearied toil,
And range around the realm without controll
Among my sons, for Proselytes to prole,
And here and there you snap some silly soul.
You hinted fears of future change in state,
Pray heav'n you did not prophesie your fate;
Perhaps you think your time of triumph near,
But may mistake the season of the year;
The Swallows fortune gives you cause to fear.
For charity (reply'd the Matron) tell
What sad mischance those pretty birds befell.
Nay, no mischance, (the salvage Dame reply'd)
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, privileg'd 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 smoak alone.
From hence she has been held of heav'nly line,
Endu'd with particles of soul divine.
This merry Chorister had long possess'd
Her summer seat, and feather'd well her nest:
Till frowning skys began to change their chear
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 heav'n, and warmer clymes.
Her sons were summon'd on a steeples height,
And, call'd in common council, vote a flight;
The day was nam'd, the next that shou'd be fair,
All to the gen'ral rendezvouz repair,
They try their flutt'ring wings and trust themselves in air.
But whether upward to the moon they go,
Or dream the winter out in caves below,
Or hawk at flies elsewhere, concerns not us 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 ev'ry sail,
The wind was fair, but blew a mackrel gale:
The sickly young sat shivring on the shoar,
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 Martyn readily concurr'd,
A church-begot, and church-believing bird;
Of little body, but of lofty mind,
Round belly'd, for a dignity designed,
And much a dunce, as Martyns are by kind:
Yet often quoted Cannon-laws, and Code,
And Fathers which he never understood,
But little learning needs in noble bloud.
For, sooth to say, the Swallow brought him in,
Her houshold Chaplain, and her next of kin.
In Superstition silly to excess,
And casting Schemes, by planetary guess:
In fine, shortwing'd, unfit himself to fly,
His fear foretold foul weather in the sky.
Besides, a Raven from a wither'd Oak,
Left of their lodging, was observ'd to croke.
That omen lik'd him not, so his advice
Was present safety, bought at any price:
(A seeming pious care, that cover'd cowardise.)
To strengthen this, he told a boding dream,
Of rising waters, and a troubl'd stream,
Sure signs of anguish, dangers and distress,
With something more not lawfull to express:
By which he slyly seem'd to intimate
Some secret revelation of their fate.
For he concluded, once upon a time,
He found a leaf inscrib'd with sacred rime,
Whose antique characters did well denote
The Sibyl's hand of the Cumœan Grott:
The mad Divineress had plainly writ,
A time shou'd come (but many ages yet,)
In which, sinister destinies ordain,
A Dame shou'd 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 onely danger was delay,
And he who heard what ev'ry fool cou'd say,
Wou'd never fix his thoughts, but trim his time away.
The passage yet was good, the wind, 'tis true,
Was somewhat high, but that was nothing new,
Nor more than usual Equinoxes blew.
The Sun (already from the scales declin'd)
Gave little hopes of better days behind,
But change from bad to worse of weather and of wind.
Nor need they fear the dampness of the Sky
Should flag their wings, and hinder them to fly,
'Twas onely water thrown on sails too dry.
But, least of all Philosophy presumes
Of truth in dreams, from melancholy fumes:
Perhaps the Martyn, hous'd in holy ground,
Might think of Ghosts that walk their midnight round,
Till grosser atoms tumbling in the stream
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 foretell with ease:
Not naming persons, and confounding times,
One casual truth supports a thousand lying rimes.
Th' advice was true, but fear had seiz'd the most,
And all good counsel is on cowards lost.
The question crudely put, to shun delay,
'Twas carry'd by the major part to stay.
His point thus gain'd, Sir Martyn dated thence
His pow'r, and from a Priest became a Prince.
He order'd all things with a busie care,
And cells, and refectories did prepare,
And large provisions lay'd of winter fare:
But now and then let fall a word or two
Of hope, that heav'n some miracle might show,
And, for their sakes, the sun shou'd 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 Joshuah's day.
In expectation of such times as these
A chapell hous'd 'em, truly call'd of ease:
For Martyn 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)
That, this accomplish'd, or at least in part,
Gave great repute to their new Merlin's art.
SomeSwifts, the Gyants of the Swallow kind,6
Large limb'd, stout-hearted, but of stupid mind,
(For Swisses, or for Gibeonites design'd,)
These Lubbers, peeping through a broken pane,
To suck fresh air, survey'd the neighbouring plain,
And saw (but scarcely cou'd believe their eyes)
New blossoms flourish, and new flow'rs arise;
As God had been abroad, and walking there,
Had left his foot-steps, and reform'd the year:
The sunny hills from far were seen to glow
With glittering beams, and in the meads below
The burnish'd brooks appear'd with liquid gold to flow.
At last they heard the foolish Cuckow sing,
Whose note proclaim'd the holy day of spring.
No longer doubting, all prepare to fly,
And repossess their patrimonial sky.
The Priest before 'em did his wings display;
And, that good omens might attend their way,
As luck wou'd have it, 'twas St.
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