The hind and the panther a poem, in three parts.
         Dryden, John, 1631-1700.
      
       
         
           1687
        
      
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             The hind and the panther a poem, in three parts.
             Dryden, John, 1631-1700.
          
           [8], 145 p.
           
             Printed for Jacob Tonson,
             London :
             1687.
          
           
             Published anonymously.
             Probably the first issue of the first edition, without errata on last page.
             Reproduction of original in Huntington Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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           LICENSED
           ,
        
         
           
             
               April
               the
               11th
               ,
               1687.
               
            
          
        
      
       
         
         
           THE
           HIND
           AND
           THE
           PANTHER
           .
        
         
           A
           POEM
           ,
        
         
           In
           Three
           Parts
           .
        
         
           
             —
             Antiquam
             exquirite
             matrem
             .
          
           
             Et
             vera
             ,
             incessu
             ,
             patuit
             Dea.
             —
          
           
             Virg.
             
          
        
         
           LONDON
           ,
           Printed
           for
           
             Iacob
             Tonson
          
           ,
           at
           the
           
             Iudges
             Head
          
           in
           Chancery
           Lane
           near
           Fleetstreet
           ,
           1687.
           
        
      
       
         
         
         
           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
           reasouably
           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
           :
           't
           is
           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.
           
        
         
           'T
           is
           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
           .
           'T
           is
           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
           .
        
         
           'T
           is
           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
           HIND
           AND
           THE
           PANTHER
           .
        
         
           
             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
             .
          
           
             'T
             is
             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
             ,
             't
             is
             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
             ?
          
        
         
           
             'T
             is
             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
             ,
          
           
             'T
             is
             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
             .
             
          
           
             Or
             ,
             since
             he
             will
             be
             Iew
             ,
             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
             Preby'try
             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
             ,
          
           
             'T
             is
             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
             sold
             'em
             from
             the
             farnish'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
             ,
             't
             is
             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
             't
             was
             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
             't
             is
             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
             ●ounding
             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
             ;
          
           
             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
             east
             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
             was
             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
             ,
          
           
             'T
             is
             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
             ;
          
           
             Leveés
             and
             coucheés
             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
             't
             was
             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
           HIND
           AND
           THE
           PANTHER
           .
           The
           Second
           Part.
           
        
         
           
             DAME
             ,
             said
             the
             Panther
             ,
             times
             are
             mended
             well
          
           
             Since
             late
             among
             the
             Philistines
             you
             fell
             ,
          
           
             The
             toils
             were
             pich'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
             .
          
           
           
             'T
             is
             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
             Iesuits
             can
             equivocate
             ;
          
           
             For
             real
             ,
             as
             you
             now
             the
             word
             expound
             ,
          
           
             From
             solid
             substance
             dwindles
             to
             a
             sound
             .
          
           
             Methinks
             an
             
             Aesop'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
             butchers
             '
             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
             .
          
           
             'T
             is
             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
             Iehu
             lashing
             on
             with
             furious
             force
             ,
          
           
             That
             Turk
             or
             Iew
             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
             flow
             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
             't
             is
             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
             't
             is
             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
             
             Moyse's
             chair
             :
          
           
             At
             least
             't
             is
             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
             
             Iacob'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
          
           
             'T
             is
             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
             't
             is
             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
             't
             is
             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
             't
             is
             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
             middle
             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
             sold
             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
             Iews
             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
             ,
             't
             is
             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
             ,
             't
             is
             onely
             clear
          
           
             What
             vowels
             and
             what
             consonants
             are
             there
             .
          
           
             Therefore
             't
             is
             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
             Iews
             to
             hear
             a
             god
             declar'd
             .
          
           
             Then
             thus
             the
             matron
             modesty
             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
             ,
          
           
             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
             Aegyptian
             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
             Golspel's-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
             Iapponian
             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
             !
             't
             is
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             'T
             is
             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
             ,
             't
             was
             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
             ▪
          
           
             Till
             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
             nine
             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
             Ioseph
             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
             Ioseph
             in
             the
             church
             behold
             ,
          
           
             To
             feed
             your
             famine
             ,
             and
             refuse
             your
             gold
             ;
          
           
             The
             Ioseph
             you
             exil'd
             ,
             the
             Ioseph
             whom
             you
             sold.
             
             
          
        
         
           
             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
             groves
             receiv'd
             the
             wandring
             guilty
             spright
             .
          
        
         
           
             Such
             were
             the
             pleasing
             triumphs
             of
             the
             sky
          
           
             For
             Iames
             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
             light
             
          
           
             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
             look'd
             all
             flaming
             red
             ,
          
           
             She
             thought
             good
             manners
             bound
             her
             to
             invite
          
           
             The
             stranger
             Dame
             to
             be
             her
             guest
             that
             night
             .
          
           
             'T
             is
             true
             ,
             course
             dye●
             and
             a
             mort
             repast
             ,
          
           
             (
             She
             said
             )
             were
             weak
             inducements
             to
             the
             ●ast
          
           
             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
             poorman'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
             ●ates
             provide
             ;
          
           
             Then
             couch'd
             her self
             securely
             by
             her
             side
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           THE
           HIND
           AND
           THE
           PANTHER
           .
           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
             unkown
             ,
          
           
             As
             if
             we
             were
             not
             stock'd
             with
             monsters
             of
             our
             own
             .
          
           
           
             Let
             Aesop
             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
             't
             is
             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
             Caesar
             what
             was
             
             Caesar'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.
          
           
             'T
             was
             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
             ,
          
           
             Caesar
             should
             still
             have
             such
             ,
             and
             such
             should
             still
             reward
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             labour'd
             earth
             your
             pains
             have
             sow'd
             and
             till'd
             :
          
           
             'T
             is
             just
             you
             reap
             the
             product
             of
             the
             field
             .
          
           
             Yours
             be
             the
             harvest
             ,
             't
             is
             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
             Caesar
             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
             't
             is
             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
             stary'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
             't
             is
             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
             easie
             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
             ,
          
           
             'T
             is
             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
             't
             is
             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
             〈◊〉
             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
             IAMES
             ,
             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
             .
          
           
             'T
             is
             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
             .
          
           
             'T
             is
             nothing
             thou
             hast
             giv'n
             ,
             then
             add
             thy
             tears
          
           
             For
             a
             long
             race
             of
             unrepenting
             years
             :
          
           
             'T
             is
             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
             Daemon
             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
             Poean
             sound
             ,
          
           
             A
             
               Treatise
               of
               Humility
            
             is
             found
             .
          
           
           
             'T
             is
             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
             ,
          
           
             'T
             is
             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
             't
             is
             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
             .
          
           
             'T
             is
             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
             .
          
           
           
             'T
             was
             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
             fly
             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
             't
             is
             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
             design'd
             ,
          
           
             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
             sign
             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
             Cumaean
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             'T
             is
             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
             ,
             't
             is
             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
             ,
          
           
             'T
             was
             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
             ,
          
           
             'T
             was
             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
             
             Ioshuah'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
             .
          
           
           
             Some
             *
             Swifts
             ,
             the
             Gyants
             of
             the
             Swallow
             kind
             ,
          
           
             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
             ,
             't
             was
             St.
             
             Martyn's
             day
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             Who
             but
             the
             Swallow
             now
             triumphs
             alone
             ,
          
           
             The
             Canopy
             of
             heaven
             is
             all
             her
             own
             ,
          
           
             Her
             youthfull
             offspring
             to
             their
             haunts
             repair
             ;
          
           
             And
             glide
             along
             in
             glades
             ,
             and
             skim
             in
             air
             ,
          
           
             And
             dip
             for
             insects
             in
             the
             purling
             springs
             ,
          
           
             And
             stoop
             on
             rivers
             to
             refresh
             their
             wings
             .
          
           
             Their
             mothers
             think
             a
             fair
             provision
             made
             ,
          
           
             That
             ev'ry
             son
             can
             live
             upon
             his
             trade
             ,
          
           
             And
             now
             the
             carefull
             charge
             is
             off
             their
             hands
             ,
          
           
             Look
             out
             for
             husbands
             ,
             and
             new
             nuptial
             bands
             :
          
           
             The
             youthfull
             widow
             longs
             to
             be
             supply'd
             ;
          
           
             But
             first
             the
             lover
             is
             by
             Lawyers
             ty'd
          
           
             To
             settle
             jointure-chimneys
             on
             the
             bride
             .
          
           
             So
             thick
             they
             couple
             ,
             in
             so
             short
             a
             space
             ,
          
           
             That
             Martyns
             marr'age
             offsprings
             rise
             apace
             ;
          
           
             Their
             ancient
             houses
             ,
             running
             to
             decay
             ,
          
           
             Are
             furbish'd
             up
             ,
             and
             cemented
             with
             clay
             ;
          
           
             They
             teem
             already
             ;
             store
             of
             eggs
             are
             laid
             ,
          
           
             And
             brooding
             mothers
             call
             
             Lucina's
             aid
             .
          
           
           
             Fame
             spreads
             the
             news
             ,
             and
             foreign
             fowls
             appear
          
           
             In
             flocks
             to
             greet
             the
             new
             returning
             year
             ,
          
           
             To
             bless
             the
             founder
             ,
             and
             partake
             the
             cheer
             .
          
        
         
           
             And
             now
             't
             was
             time
             (
             so
             fast
             their
             numbers
             rise
             )
          
           
             To
             plant
             abroad
             ,
             and
             people
             colonies
             ▪
          
           
             The
             youth
             drawn
             forth
             ,
             as
             Martyn
             had
             desir'd
             ,
          
           
             (
             For
             so
             their
             cruel
             destiny
             requir'd
             )
          
           
             Were
             sent
             far
             off-on
             an
             ill
             fated
             day
             ;
          
           
             The
             rest
             wou'd
             need
             conduct
             'em
             on
             their
             way
             ,
          
           
             And
             Martyn
             went
             ,
             because
             he
             fear'd
             alone
             to
             stay
             .
          
        
         
           
             So
             long
             they
             flew
             with
             inconsiderate
             haste
          
           
             That
             now
             their
             afternoon
             began
             to
             waste
             ;
          
           
             And
             ,
             what
             was
             ominous
             ,
             that
             very
             morn
          
           
             The
             Sun
             was
             entr'd
             into
             Capricorn
             ;
          
           
             Which
             ,
             by
             their
             bad
             Astronomers
             account
             ,
          
           
             That
             week
             the
             virgin
             balance
             shou'd
             remount
             ;
          
           
             An
             infant
             moon
             eclips'd
             him
             in
             his
             way
             ,
          
           
             And
             hid
             the
             small
             remainders
             of
             his
             day
             :
          
           
           
             The
             crow'd
             amaz'd
             ,
             pursu'd
             no
             certain
             mark
             ;
          
           
             But
             birds
             met
             birds
             ,
             and
             justled
             in
             the
             dark
             ;
          
           
             Few
             mind
             the
             publick
             in
             a
             Panick
             fright
             ;
          
           
             And
             fear
             increas'd
             the
             horrour
             of
             the
             night
             .
          
           
             Night
             came
             ,
             but
             unattended
             with
             repose
             ,
          
           
             Alone
             she
             came
             ,
             no
             sleep
             their
             eyes
             to
             close
             ,
          
           
             Alone
             ,
             and
             black
             she
             came
             ,
             no
             friendly
             stars
             arose
             .
          
        
         
           
             What
             shou'd
             they
             doe
             ,
             beset
             with
             dangers
             round
             ,
          
           
             No
             neighb'ring
             Dorp
             ,
             no
             lodging
             to
             be
             found
             ,
          
           
             But
             bleaky
             plains
             ,
             and
             bare
             unhospitable
             ground
             .
          
           
             The
             latter
             brood
             ,
             who
             just
             began
             to
             fly
          
           
             Sick-feather'd
             ,
             and
             unpractis'd
             in
             the
             sky
             ,
          
           
             For
             succour
             to
             their
             helpless
             mother
             call
             ,
          
           
             She
             spread
             her
             wings
             ;
             some
             few
             beneath
             'em
             craul
             ,
          
           
             She
             spread
             'em
             wider
             yet
             ,
             but
             cou'd
             not
             cover
             all
             .
          
           
             T'
             augment
             their
             woes
             ,
             the
             winds
             began
             to
             move
          
           
             Debate
             in
             air
             ,
             for
             empty
             fields
             above
             ,
          
           
             Till
             Boreas
             got
             the
             skyes
             ,
             and
             powr'd
             amain
          
           
             His
             ratling
             hail-stones
             mix'd
             with
             snow
             and
             rain
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             joyless
             morning
             late
             arose
             ,
             and
             found
          
           
             A
             dreadfull
             desolation
             reign
             a-round
             ,
          
           
             Some
             buried
             in
             the
             Snow
             ,
             some
             frozen
             to
             the
             ground
             :
          
           
             The
             rest
             were
             strugling
             still
             with
             death
             ,
             and
             lay
          
           
             The
             Crows
             and
             Ravens
             rights
             ,
             an
             undefended
             prey
             ;
          
           
             Excepting
             
             Martyn's
             race
             ,
             for
             they
             and
             he
          
           
             Had
             gain'd
             the
             shelter
             of
             a
             hollow
             tree
             ,
          
           
             But
             soon
             discover'd
             by
             a
             sturdy
             clown
             ,
          
           
             He
             headed
             all
             the
             rabble
             of
             a
             town
             ,
          
           
             And
             finish'd
             'em
             with
             bats
             ,
             or
             poll'd
             'em
             down
          
           
             Martyn
             himself
             was
             caught
             a-live
             ,
             and
             try'd
          
           
             For
             treas'nous
             crimes
             ,
             because
             the
             laws
             provide
          
           
             No
             Martyn
             there
             in
             winter
             shall
             abide
             .
          
           
             High
             on
             an
             Oak
             which
             never
             leaf
             shall
             bear
             ,
          
           
             He
             breath'd
             his
             last
             ,
             expos'd
             to
             open
             air
             ,
          
           
             And
             there
             his
             corps
             ,
             unbless'd
             ,
             are
             hanging
             still
             ,
          
           
             To
             show
             the
             change
             of
             winds
             with
             his
             prophetick
             bill
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             patience
             of
             the
             Hind
             did
             almost
             fail
             ,
          
           
             For
             well
             she
             mark'd
             the
             malice
             of
             the
             tale
             :
          
           
             Which
             Ribbald
             art
             their
             church
             to
             Luther
             owes
             ,
          
           
             In
             malice
             it
             began
             ,
             by
             malice
             grows
             ,
          
           
             He
             sow'd
             the
             
             Serpent's
             teeth
             ,
             an
             iron-harvest
             rose
             .
          
           
             But
             most
             in
             
             Martyn's
             character
             and
             fate
             ,
          
           
             She
             saw
             her
             slander'd
             sons
             ,
             the
             
             Panther's
             hate
             ,
          
           
             The
             people's
             rage
             ,
             the
             persecuting
             state
             :
          
           
             Then
             said
             ,
             I
             take
             th'
             advice
             in
             friendly
             part
             ,
          
           
             You
             clear
             your
             conscience
             ,
             or
             at
             least
             your
             heart
             :
          
           
             Perhaps
             you
             fail'd
             in
             your
             fore-seeing
             skill
             ,
          
           
             For
             Swallows
             are
             unlucky
             birds
             to
             kill
             :
          
           
             As
             for
             my
             sons
             ,
             the
             family
             is
             bless'd
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             ev'ry
             child
             is
             equal
             to
             the
             rest
             :
          
           
             No
             church
             reform'd
             can
             boast
             a
             blameless
             line
             ;
          
           
             Such
             Martyns
             build
             in
             yours
             ,
             and
             more
             than
             mine
             :
          
           
             Or
             else
             an
             old
             fanatick
             Authour
             lyes
          
           
             Who
             summ'd
             their
             Scandals
             up
             by
             Centuries
             .
          
           
           
             But
             ,
             through
             your
             parable
             I
             plainly
             see
          
           
             The
             bloudy
             laws
             ,
             the
             crowds
             barbarity
             :
          
           
             The
             sun-shine
             that
             offends
             the
             purblind
             sight
             ,
          
           
             Had
             some
             their
             wishes
             ,
             it
             wou'd
             soon
             be
             night
             .
          
           
             Mistake
             me
             not
             ,
             the
             charge
             concerns
             not
             you
             ,
          
           
             Your
             sons
             are
             male-contents
             ,
             but
             yet
             are
             true
             ,
          
           
             As
             far
             as
             non-resistance
             makes
             'em
             so
             ,
          
           
             But
             that
             's
             a
             word
             of
             neutral
             sense
             you
             know
             ,
          
           
             A
             passive
             term
             which
             no
             relief
             will
             bring
             ,
          
           
             But
             trims
             betwixt
             a
             rebell
             and
             a
             king
             .
          
        
         
           
             Rest
             well
             assur'd
             the
             Pardelis
             reply'd
             ,
          
           
             My
             sons
             wou'd
             all
             support
             the
             regal
             side
             ,
          
           
             Though
             heav'n
             forbid
             the
             cause
             by
             battel
             shou'd
             be
             try'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             Matron
             answer'd
             with
             a
             loud
             Amen
             ,
          
           
             And
             thus
             pursu'd
             her
             argument
             agen
             .
          
           
             If
             as
             you
             say
             ,
             and
             as
             I
             hope
             no
             less
             ,
          
           
             Your
             sons
             will
             practise
             what
             your self
             profess
             ,
          
           
             What
             angry
             pow'r
             prevents
             our
             present
             peace
             ?
          
           
           
             The
             Lyon
             ,
             studious
             of
             our
             common
             good
             ,
          
           
             Desires
             ,
             (
             and
             Kings
             desires
             are
             ill
             withstood
             ,
             )
          
           
             To
             join
             our
             Nations
             in
             a
             lasting
             love
             ;
          
           
             The
             barrs
             betwixt
             are
             easie
             to
             remove
             ,
          
           
             For
             sanguinary
             laws
             were
             never
             made
             above
             .
          
           
             If
             you
             condemn
             that
             Prince
             of
             Tyranny
          
           
             Whose
             mandate
             forc'd
             your
             Gallick
             friends
             to
             fly
             ,
          
           
             Make
             not
             a
             worse
             example
             of
             your
             own
             ,
          
           
             Or
             cease
             to
             rail
             at
             causeless
             rigour
             shown
             ,
          
           
             And
             let
             the
             guiltless
             person
             throw
             the
             stone
             .
          
           
             His
             blunted
             sword
             ,
             your
             suff'ring
             brotherhood
          
           
             Have
             seldom
             felt
             ,
             he
             stops
             it
             short
             of
             bloud
             :
          
           
             But
             you
             have
             ground
             the
             persecuting
             knife
             ,
          
           
             And
             set
             it
             to
             a
             razor
             edge
             on
             life
             .
          
           
             Curs'd
             be
             the
             wit
             which
             cruelty
             refines
             ,
          
           
             Or
             to
             his
             father's
             rod
             the
             Scorpion
             joins
             ;
          
           
             Your
             finger
             is
             more
             gross
             than
             the
             great
             Monarch's
             loins
             ▪
          
           
             But
             you
             perhaps
             remove
             that
             bloudy
             note
             ,
          
           
             And
             stick
             it
             on
             the
             first
             Reformers
             coat
             .
          
           
           
             Oh
             let
             their
             crime
             in
             long
             oblivion
             sleep
             ,
          
           
             'T
             was
             theirs
             indeed
             to
             make
             ,
             't
             is
             yours
             to
             keep
             .
          
           
             Unjust
             ,
             or
             just
             ,
             is
             all
             the
             question
             now
             ,
          
           
             'T
             is
             plain
             ,
             that
             not
             repealing
             you
             allow
             .
          
        
         
           
             To
             name
             the
             Test
             wou'd
             put
             you
             in
             a
             rage
             ,
          
           
             You
             charge
             not
             that
             on
             any
             former
             age
             ,
          
           
             But
             smile
             to
             think
             how
             innocent
             you
             stand
          
           
             Arm'd
             by
             a
             weapon
             put
             into
             your
             hand
             .
          
           
             Yet
             still
             remember
             that
             you
             weild
             a
             sword
          
           
             Forg'd
             by
             your
             foes
             against
             your
             Sovereign
             Lord.
          
           
             Design'd
             to
             hew
             th'
             imperial
             Cedar
             down
             ,
          
           
             Defraud
             Succession
             ,
             and
             dis-heir
             the
             Crown
             .
          
           
             T'
             abhor
             the
             makers
             ,
             and
             their
             laws
             approve
             ,
          
           
             Is
             to
             hate
             Traytors
             ,
             and
             the
             treason
             love
             .
          
           
             What
             means
             it
             else
             ,
             which
             now
             your
             children
             say
             ,
          
           
             We
             made
             it
             not
             ,
             nor
             will
             we
             take
             away
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             Suppose
             some
             great
             Oppressor
             had
             by
             slight
          
           
             Of
             law
             ,
             disseis'd
             your
             brother
             of
             his
             right
             ,
          
           
             Your
             common
             sire
             surrendring
             in
             a
             fright
             ;
          
           
             Would
             you
             to
             that
             unrighteous
             title
             stand
             ,
          
           
             Left
             by
             the
             villain's
             will
             to
             heir
             the
             land
             ?
          
           
             More
             just
             was
             Iudas
             ,
             who
             his
             Saviour
             sold
             ;
          
           
             The
             sacrilegious
             bribe
             he
             cou'd
             not
             hold
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             hang
             in
             peace
             ,
             before
             he
             rendr'd
             back
             the
             gold
             .
          
           
             What
             more
             could
             you
             have
             done
             ,
             than
             now
             you
             doe
             ,
          
           
             Had
             Oates
             and
             Bedlow
             ,
             and
             their
             Plot
             been
             true
             ?
          
           
             Some
             specious
             reasons
             for
             those
             wrongs
             were
             found
             ;
          
           
             The
             dire
             Magicians
             threw
             their
             mists
             around
             ,
          
           
             And
             wise
             men
             walk'd
             as
             on
             inchanted
             ground
             .
          
           
             But
             now
             when
             time
             has
             made
             th'
             imposture
             plain
             ,
          
           
             (
             Late
             though
             he
             follow'd
             truth
             ,
             &
             limping
             held
             her
             train
             ,
             )
          
           
             What
             new
             delusion
             charms
             your
             cheated
             eyes
             again
             ?
          
           
             The
             painted
             Harlot
             might
             awhile
             bewitch
             ,
          
           
             But
             why
             the
             Hag
             uncas'd
             ,
             and
             all
             obscene
             with
             itch
             ?
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             first
             Reformers
             were
             a
             modest
             race
             ,
          
           
             Our
             Peers
             possess'd
             in
             peace
             their
             native
             place
             :
          
           
             And
             when
             rebellious
             arms
             o'return'd
             the
             state
             ,
          
           
             They
             suffer'd
             onely
             in
             the
             common
             fate
             ;
          
           
             But
             now
             the
             Sov'reign
             mounts
             the
             regal
             chair
          
           
             And
             mitr'd
             seats
             are
             full
             ,
             yet
             
             David's
             bench
             is
             bare
             :
          
           
             Your
             answer
             is
             ,
             they
             were
             not
             dispossess'd
             ,
          
           
             They
             need
             but
             rub
             their
             mettle
             on
             the
             Test
          
           
             To
             prove
             their
             ore
             :
             't
             were
             well
             if
             gold
             alone
          
           
             Were
             touch'd
             and
             try'd
             on
             your
             discerning
             stone
             ;
          
           
             But
             that
             unfaithfull
             Test
             ,
             unfound
             will
             pass
          
           
             The
             dross
             of
             Atheists
             ,
             and
             sectarian
             brass
             :
          
           
             As
             if
             th'
             experiment
             were
             made
             to
             hold
          
           
             For
             base
             productions
             ,
             and
             reject
             the
             gold
             :
          
           
             Thus
             men
             ungodded
             may
             to
             places
             rise
             ,
          
           
             And
             sects
             may
             be
             preferr'd
             without
             disguise
             :
          
           
             No
             danger
             from
             the
             church
             or
             state
             from
             these
             ,
          
           
             The
             Papist
             onely
             has
             his
             Writ
             of
             ease
             .
          
           
           
             No
             gainfull
             office
             gives
             him
             the
             pretence
          
           
             To
             grind
             the
             Subject
             or
             defraud
             the
             Prince
             .
          
           
             Wrong
             conscience
             ,
             or
             no
             conscience
             may
             deserve
          
           
             To
             thrive
             ,
             but
             ours
             alone
             is
             privileg'd
             to
             sterve
             .
          
        
         
           
             Still
             thank
             your selves
             you
             cry
             ,
             your
             noble
             race
          
           
             We
             banish
             not
             ,
             but
             they
             forsake
             the
             place
             .
          
           
             Our
             doors
             are
             open
             :
             true
             ,
             but
             e'er
             they
             come
             ,
          
           
             You
             toss
             your
             censing
             Test
             ,
             and
             fume
             the
             room
             ;
          
           
             As
             if
             't
             were
             
             Toby's
             rival
             to
             expell
             ,
          
           
             And
             fright
             the
             fiend
             who
             could
             not
             bear
             the
             smell
             .
          
        
         
           
             To
             this
             the
             Panther
             sharply
             had
             reply'd
             ,
          
           
             But
             ,
             having
             gain'd
             a
             Verdict
             on
             her
             side
             ,
          
           
             She
             wisely
             gave
             the
             loser
             leave
             to
             chide
             ;
          
           
             Well
             satisfy'd
             to
             have
             the
             But
             and
             peace
             ,
          
           
             And
             for
             the
             Plaintiff's
             cause
             she
             car'd
             the
             less
             ,
          
           
             Because
             she
             su'd
             in
             
               formâ
               Pauperis
            
             ;
          
           
             Yet
             thought
             it
             decent
             something
             shou'd
             be
             said
             ,
          
           
             For
             secret
             guilt
             by
             silence
             is
             betray'd
             :
          
           
           
             So
             neither
             granted
             all
             ,
             nor
             much
             deny'd
             ,
          
           
             But
             answer'd
             with
             a
             yawning
             kind
             of
             pride
             .
          
        
         
           
             Methinks
             such
             terms
             of
             proferr'd
             peace
             you
             bring
          
           
             As
             once
             Aeneas
             to
             th'
             Italian
             King
             :
          
           
             By
             long
             possession
             all
             the
             land
             is
             mine
             ,
          
           
             You
             strangers
             come
             with
             your
             intruding
             line
             ,
          
           
             To
             share
             my
             sceptre
             ,
             which
             you
             call
             to
             join
             .
          
           
             You
             plead
             like
             him
             an
             ancient
             Pedigree
             ,
          
           
             And
             claim
             a
             peacefull
             seat
             by
             fates
             decree
             .
          
           
             In
             ready
             pomp
             your
             Sacrificer
             stands
             ,
          
           
             T'unite
             the
             Trojan
             and
             the
             Latin
             bands
             ,
          
           
             And
             that
             the
             League
             more
             firmly
             may
             be
             ty'd
             ,
          
           
             Demand
             the
             fair
             Lavinia
             for
             your
             bride
             .
          
           
             Thus
             plausibly
             you
             veil
             th'
             intended
             wrong
             ,
          
           
             But
             still
             you
             bring
             your
             exil'd
             gods
             along
             ;
          
           
             And
             will
             endeavour
             in
             succeeding
             space
             ,
          
           
             Those
             houshold
             Poppits
             on
             our
             hearths
             to
             place
             .
          
           
             Perhaps
             some
             barb'rous
             laws
             have
             been
             preferr'd
             ,
          
           
             I
             spake
             against
             the
             Test
             ,
             but
             was
             not
             heard
             ;
          
           
           
             These
             to
             rescind
             ,
             and
             Peerage
             to
             restore
             ,
          
           
             My
             gracious
             Sov'reign
             wou'd
             my
             vote
             implore
             :
          
           
             I
             owe
             him
             much
             ,
             but
             owe
             my
             conscience
             more
             .
          
        
         
           
             Conscience
             is
             then
             your
             Plea
             ,
             reply'd
             the
             Dame
             ,
          
           
             Which
             well-inform'd
             will
             ever
             be
             the
             same
             .
          
           
             But
             yours
             is
             much
             of
             the
             Camelion
             hew
             ,
          
           
             To
             change
             the
             dye
             with
             ev'ry
             diff'rent
             view
             .
          
           
             When
             first
             the
             Lyon
             sat
             with
             awfull
             sway
          
           
             Your
             conscience
             taught
             you
             duty
             to
             obey
             :
          
           
             He
             might
             have
             had
             your
             Statutes
             and
             your
             Test
             ,
          
           
             No
             conscience
             but
             of
             subjects
             was
             profess'd
             .
          
           
             He
             found
             your
             temper
             ,
             and
             no
             farther
             try'd
             ,
          
           
             But
             on
             that
             broken
             reed
             your
             church
             rely'd
             .
          
           
             In
             vain
             the
             sects
             assay'd
             their
             utmost
             art
          
           
             With
             offer'd
             treasure
             to
             espouse
             their
             part
             ,
          
           
             Their
             treasures
             were
             a
             bribe
             too
             mean
             to
             move
             his
             heart
             .
          
           
             But
             when
             by
             long
             experience
             you
             had
             proov'd
             ,
          
           
             How
             far
             he
             cou'd
             forgive
             ,
             how
             well
             he
             lov'd
             ;
          
           
           
             A
             goodness
             that
             excell'd
             his
             godlike
             race
             ,
          
           
             And
             onely
             short
             of
             heav'ns
             unbounded
             grace
             :
          
           
             A
             floud
             of
             mercy
             that
             o'erflow'd
             our
             Isle
             ,
          
           
             Calm
             in
             the
             rise
             ,
             and
             fruitfull
             as
             the
             Nile
             ,
          
           
             Forgetting
             whence
             your
             Aegypt
             was
             supply'd
             ,
          
           
             You
             thought
             your
             Sov'reign
             bound
             to
             send
             the
             tide
             :
          
           
             Nor
             upward
             look'd
             on
             that
             immortal
             spring
             ,
          
           
             But
             vainly
             deem'd
             ,
             he
             durst
             not
             be
             a
             king
             :
          
           
             Then
             conscience
             ,
             unrestrain'd
             by
             fear
             ,
             began
          
           
             To
             stretch
             her
             limits
             ,
             and
             extend
             the
             span
             ,
          
           
             Did
             his
             indulgence
             as
             her
             gift
             dispose
             ,
          
           
             And
             made
             a
             wise
             Alliance
             with
             her
             foes
             .
          
           
             Can
             conscience
             own
             th'
             associating
             name
             ,
          
           
             And
             raise
             no
             blushes
             to
             conceal
             her
             shame
             ?
          
           
             For
             sure
             she
             has
             been
             thought
             a
             bashfull
             Dame.
          
           
             But
             if
             the
             cause
             by
             battel
             shou'd
             be
             try'd
             ,
          
           
             You
             grant
             she
             must
             espouse
             the
             regal
             side
             :
          
           
             O
             Proteus
             Conscience
             ,
             never
             to
             be
             ty'd
             !
          
           
             What
             Phoebus
             from
             the
             Tripod
             shall
             disclose
             ,
          
           
             Which
             are
             in
             last
             resort
             ,
             your
             friends
             or
             foes
             ?
          
           
           
             Homer
             ,
             who
             learn'd
             the
             language
             of
             the
             sky
             ,
          
           
             The
             seeming
             Gordian
             knot
             wou'd
             soon
             unty
             ;
          
           
             Immortal
             pow'rs
             the
             term
             of
             conscience
             know
             ,
          
           
             But
             int'rest
             is
             her
             name
             with
             men
             below
             .
          
        
         
           
             Conscience
             or
             int'rest
             be
             't
             ,
             or
             both
             in
             one
             ;
          
           
             (
             The
             Panther
             answer'd
             in
             a
             surly
             tone
             ,
             )
          
           
             The
             first
             commands
             me
             to
             maintain
             the
             Crown
             ,
          
           
             The
             last
             forbids
             to
             throw
             my
             barriers
             down
             .
          
           
             Our
             penal
             laws
             no
             sons
             of
             yours
             admit
             ,
          
           
             Our
             Test
             excludes
             your
             Tribe
             from
             benefit
             .
          
           
             These
             are
             my
             banks
             your
             ocean
             to
             withstand
             ,
          
           
             Which
             proudly
             rising
             overlooks
             the
             land
             :
          
           
             And
             once
             let
             in
             ,
             with
             unresisted
             sway
          
           
             Wou'd
             sweep
             the
             Pastors
             and
             their
             flocks
             away
             .
          
           
             Think
             not
             my
             judgment
             leads
             me
             to
             comply
          
           
             With
             laws
             unjust
             ,
             but
             hard
             necessity
             :
          
           
             Imperious
             need
             which
             cannot
             be
             withstood
          
           
             Makes
             ill
             authentick
             ,
             for
             a
             greater
             good
             .
          
           
           
             Possess
             your
             soul
             with
             patience
             ,
             and
             attend
             :
          
           
             A
             more
             auspicious
             Planet
             may
             ascend
             ;
          
           
             Good
             fortune
             may
             present
             some
             happier
             time
             ,
          
           
             With
             means
             to
             cancell
             my
             unwilling
             crime
             ;
          
           
             (
             Unwilling
             ,
             witness
             all
             ye
             Pow'rs
             above
             )
          
           
             To
             mend
             my
             errours
             and
             redeem
             your
             love
             :
          
           
             That
             little
             space
             you
             safely
             may
             allow
             ,
          
           
             Your
             all-dispensing
             pow'r
             protects
             you
             now
             .
          
        
         
           
             Hold
             ,
             said
             the
             Hind
             ,
             't
             is
             needless
             to
             explain
             ;
          
           
             You
             wou'd
             postpone
             me
             to
             another
             reign
             :
          
           
             Till
             when
             you
             are
             content
             to
             be
             unjust
             ,
          
           
             Your
             part
             is
             to
             possess
             ,
             and
             mine
             to
             trust
             .
          
           
             A
             fair
             exchange
             propos'd
             of
             future
             chance
             ,
          
           
             For
             present
             profit
             and
             inheritance
             :
          
           
             Few
             words
             will
             serve
             to
             finish
             our
             dispute
             ,
          
           
             Who
             will
             not
             now
             repeal
             wou'd
             persecute
             ;
          
           
             To
             ripen
             green
             revenge
             your
             hopes
             attend
             ,
          
           
             Wishing
             that
             happier
             Planet
             wou'd
             ascend
             :
          
           
           
             For
             shame
             let
             Conscience
             be
             your
             Plea
             no
             more
             ,
          
           
             To
             will
             hereafter
             ,
             proves
             she
             might
             before
             ;
          
           
             But
             she
             's
             a
             Bawd
             to
             gain
             ,
             and
             holds
             the
             Door
             .
          
        
         
           
             Your
             care
             about
             your
             Banks
             ,
             infers
             a
             fear
          
           
             Of
             threatning
             Floods
             ,
             and
             Inundations
             near
             ;
          
           
             If
             so
             ,
             a
             just
             Reprise
             would
             only
             be
          
           
             Of
             what
             the
             Land
             usurp'd
             upon
             the
             Sea
             ;
          
           
             And
             all
             your
             Jealousies
             but
             serve
             to
             show
          
           
             Your
             Ground
             is
             ,
             like
             your
             Neighbour-Nation
             ,
             low
             .
          
           
             T'
             intrench
             in
             what
             you
             grant
             unrighteous
             Laws
             ,
          
           
             Is
             to
             distrust
             the
             justice
             of
             your
             Cause
             ;
          
           
             And
             argues
             that
             the
             true
             Religion
             lyes
          
           
             In
             those
             weak
             Adversaries
             you
             despise
             .
          
        
         
           
             Tyrannick
             force
             is
             that
             which
             least
             you
             fear
             ,
          
           
             The
             sound
             is
             frightfull
             in
             a
             Christian's
             ear
             ;
          
           
             Avert
             it
             ,
             Heav'n
             ;
             nor
             let
             that
             Plague
             be
             sent
          
           
             To
             us
             from
             the
             dispeopled
             Continent
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             But
             Piety
             commands
             me
             to
             refrain
             ;
          
           
             Those
             Pray'rs
             are
             needless
             in
             this
             Monarch's
             Reign
             .
          
           
             Behold
             !
             how
             he
             protects
             your
             Friends
             opprest
             ,
          
           
             Receives
             the
             Banish'd
             ,
             succours
             the
             Distress'd
             :
          
           
             Behold
             ,
             for
             you
             may
             read
             an
             honest
             open
             Breast
             .
          
           
             He
             stands
             in
             Day-light
             ,
             and
             disdains
             to
             hide
          
           
             An
             Act
             to
             which
             ,
             by
             Honour
             he
             is
             ty'd
          
           
             A
             generous
             ,
             laudable
             ,
             and
             Kingly
             Pride
             .
          
           
             Your
             Test
             he
             would
             repeal
             ,
             his
             Peers
             restore
             ,
          
           
             This
             when
             he
             says
             he
             means
             ,
             he
             means
             no
             more
             .
          
        
         
           
             Well
             ,
             said
             the
             Panther
             ,
             I
             believe
             him
             just
             ,
          
           
             And
             yet
             —
          
        
         
           
             And
             yet
             ,
             'T
             is
             but
             because
             you
             must
             ,
          
           
             You
             would
             be
             trusted
             ,
             but
             you
             would
             not
             trust
             .
          
           
             The
             Hind
             thus
             briefly
             ,
             and
             disdain'd
             t'
             inlarge
          
           
             On
             Pow'r
             of
             Kings
             ,
             and
             their
             Superiour
             charge
             ,
          
           
           
             As
             Heav'ns
             Trustees
             before
             the
             Peoples
             choice
             :
          
           
             Tho'
             sure
             the
             Panther
             did
             not
             much
             rejoyce
          
           
             To
             hear
             those
             
             Echo's
             giv'n
             of
             her
             once
             Loyal
             voice
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             Matron
             woo'd
             her
             Kindness
             to
             the
             last
             ,
          
           
             But
             cou'd
             not
             win
             ;
             her
             hour
             of
             Grace
             was
             past
             .
          
           
             Whom
             thus
             persisting
             when
             she
             could
             not
             bring
          
           
             To
             leave
             the
             Woolf
             ,
             and
             to
             believe
             her
             King
             ,
          
           
             She
             gave
             Her
             up
             ,
             and
             fairly
             wish'd
             her
             Joy
          
           
             Of
             her
             late
             Treaty
             with
             her
             new
             Ally
             :
          
           
             Which
             well
             she
             hop'd
             wou'd
             more
             successfull
             prove
             ,
          
           
             Than
             was
             the
             Pigeons
             ,
             and
             the
             Buzzards
             love
             .
          
           
             The
             Panther
             ask'd
             ,
             what
             concord
             there
             cou'd
             be
          
           
             Betwixt
             two
             kinds
             whose
             Natures
             disagree
             ?
          
           
             The
             Dame
             reply'd
             ,
             'T
             is
             sung
             in
             ev'ry
             Street
             ,
          
           
             The
             common
             chat
             of
             Gossips
             when
             they
             meet
             :
          
           
             But
             ,
             since
             unheard
             by
             you
             ,
             't
             is
             worth
             your
             while
          
           
             To
             take
             a
             wholesome
             Tale
             ,
             tho'
             told
             in
             homely
             stile
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             A
             Plain
             good
             Man
             ,
             whose
             Name
             is
             understood
             ,
          
           
             (
             So
             few
             deserve
             the
             name
             of
             Plain
             and
             Good
             )
          
           
             Of
             three
             fair
             lineal
             Lordships
             stood
             possess'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             liv'd
             ,
             as
             reason
             was
             ,
             upon
             the
             best
             ;
          
           
             Inur'd
             to
             hardships
             from
             his
             early
             Youth
             ,
          
           
             Much
             had
             he
             done
             ,
             and
             suffer'd
             for
             his
             truth
             :
          
           
             At
             Land
             ,
             and
             Sea
             ,
             in
             many
             a
             doubtfull
             Fight
             ,
          
           
             Was
             never
             knovvn
             a
             more
             adven'trous
             Knight
             ,
          
           
             Who
             oftner
             drevv
             his
             Svvord
             ,
             and
             alvvays
             for
             the
             right
             .
          
        
         
           
             As
             Fortune
             vvou'd
             (
             his
             fortune
             came
             tho'
             late
             )
          
           
             He
             took
             Possession
             of
             his
             just
             Estate
             :
          
           
             Nor
             rack'd
             his
             Tenants
             vvith
             increase
             of
             Rent
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             liv'd
             too
             sparing
             ,
             nor
             too
             largely
             spent
             ;
          
           
             But
             overlook'd
             his
             Hinds
             ,
             their
             Pay
             vvas
             just
             ,
          
           
             And
             ready
             ,
             for
             he
             scorn'd
             to
             go
             on
             trust
             :
          
           
             Slovv
             to
             resolve
             ,
             but
             in
             performance
             quick
             ;
          
           
             So
             true
             ,
             that
             he
             vvas
             avvkard
             at
             a
             trick
             .
          
           
           
             For
             little
             Souls
             on
             little
             shifts
             rely
             ,
          
           
             And
             coward
             Arts
             of
             mean
             Expedients
             try
             :
          
           
             The
             noble
             Mind
             will
             dare
             do
             any
             thing
             but
             lye
             .
          
           
             False
             Friends
             ,
             (
             his
             deadliest
             foes
             ,
             )
             could
             find
             no
             way
          
           
             But
             shows
             of
             honest
             bluntness
             to
             betray
             ;
          
           
             That
             unsuspected
             plainness
             he
             believ'd
             ,
          
           
             He
             look'd
             into
             Himself
             ,
             and
             was
             deceiv'd
             .
          
           
             Some
             lucky
             Planet
             sure
             attends
             his
             Birth
             ,
          
           
             Or
             Heav'n
             wou'd
             make
             a
             Miracle
             on
             Earth
             ;
          
           
             For
             prosp'rous
             Honesty
             is
             seldom
             seen
             :
          
           
             To
             bear
             so
             dead
             a
             weight
             ,
             and
             yet
             to
             win
             .
          
           
             It
             looks
             as
             Fate
             with
             Nature's
             Lavv
             vvould
             strive
             ,
          
           
             To
             shevv
             Plain
             dealing
             once
             an
             age
             may
             thrive
             :
          
           
             And
             ,
             when
             so
             tough
             a
             frame
             she
             could
             not
             bend
             ,
          
           
             Exceeded
             her
             Commission
             to
             befriend
             .
          
        
         
           
             This
             gratefull
             man
             ,
             as
             Heav'n
             encreas'd
             his
             Store
             ,
          
           
             Gave
             God
             again
             ,
             and
             daily
             fed
             his
             Poor
             ;
          
           
             His
             House
             vvith
             all
             convenience
             vvas
             purvey'd
             ,
          
           
             The
             rest
             he
             found
             ,
             but
             rais'd
             the
             Fabrick
             vvhere
             he
             pray'd
             ;
          
           
           
             And
             in
             that
             Sacred
             Place
             ,
             his
             beauteous
             Wife
          
           
             Employ'd
             Her
             happiest
             hours
             of
             Holy
             Life
             .
          
        
         
           
             Nor
             did
             their
             Alms
             extend
             to
             those
             alone
          
           
             Whom
             common
             Faith
             more
             strictly
             made
             their
             own
             ,
          
           
             A
             sort
             of
             Doves
             were
             hous'd
             too
             near
             their
             Hall
             ,
          
           
             Who
             cross
             the
             Proverb
             ,
             and
             abound
             with
             Gall.
          
           
             Tho'
             some
             'tis
             true
             ,
             are
             passively
             inclin'd
             ,
          
           
             The
             greater
             Part
             degenerate
             from
             their
             kind
             ;
          
           
             Voracious
             Birds
             ,
             that
             hotly
             Bill
             and
             breed
             ,
          
           
             And
             largely
             drink
             ,
             because
             on
             Salt
             they
             feed
             .
          
           
             Small
             Gain
             from
             them
             their
             Bounteous
             Owner
             draws
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             ,
             bound
             by
             Promise
             ,
             he
             supports
             their
             Cause
             ,
          
           
             As
             Corporations
             priviledg'd
             by
             Laws
             .
          
        
         
           
             That
             House
             which
             harbour
             to
             their
             kind
             affords
          
           
             Was
             built
             ,
             long
             since
             ,
             God
             knows
             ,
             for
             better
             Birds
             ;
          
           
             But
             flutt'ring
             there
             they
             nestle
             near
             the
             Throne
             ,
          
           
             And
             lodge
             in
             Habitations
             not
             their
             own
             ,
          
           
             By
             their
             high
             Crops
             ,
             and
             Corny
             Gizzards
             known
             .
          
           
           
             Like
             Harpy's
             they
             could
             scent
             a
             plenteous
             board
             ,
          
           
             Then
             to
             be
             sure
             they
             never
             fail'd
             their
             Lord.
          
           
             The
             rest
             was
             form
             ,
             and
             bare
             Attendance
             paid
             ,
          
           
             They
             drunk
             ,
             and
             eat
             ,
             and
             grudgingly
             obey'd
             .
          
           
             The
             more
             they
             fed
             ,
             they
             raven'd
             still
             for
             more
             ,
          
           
             They
             drain'd
             from
             Dan
             ,
             and
             left
             Beersheba
             poor
             ;
          
           
             All
             this
             they
             had
             by
             Law
             ,
             and
             none
             repin'd
             ,
          
           
             The
             pref'rence
             was
             but
             due
             to
             
             Levi's
             Kind
             ,
          
           
             But
             when
             some
             Lay-preferment
             fell
             by
             chance
          
           
             The
             Gourmands
             made
             it
             their
             Inheritance
             .
          
           
             When
             once
             possess'd
             ,
             they
             never
             quit
             their
             Claim
             ,
          
           
             For
             then
             't
             is
             sanctify'd
             to
             Hea'vens
             high
             Name
             ;
          
           
             And
             Hallow'd
             thus
             they
             cannot
             give
             Consent
             ,
          
           
             The
             Gift
             should
             be
             prophan'd
             by
             Worldly
             management
             .
          
        
         
           
             Their
             Flesh
             was
             never
             to
             the
             Table
             serv'd
             ,
          
           
             Tho'
             't
             is
             not
             thence
             inferr'd
             the
             Birds
             were
             starv'd
             ;
          
           
             But
             that
             their
             Master
             did
             not
             like
             the
             Food
             ,
          
           
             As
             rank
             ,
             and
             breeding
             Melancholy
             Blood.
          
           
           
             Nor
             did
             it
             with
             His
             Gracious
             Nature
             suite
             ,
          
           
             Ev'n
             tho'
             they
             were
             not
             Doves
             ,
             to
             persecute
             :
          
           
             Yet
             He
             refus'd
             ,
             (
             nor
             could
             they
             take
             Offence
             )
          
           
             Their
             Glutton
             Kind
             should
             teach
             him
             abstinence
             .
          
           
             Nor
             Consecrated
             Grain
             their
             Wheat
             he
             thought
             ,
          
           
             Which
             new
             from
             treading
             in
             their
             Bills
             they
             brought
             :
          
           
             But
             left
             his
             Hinds
             each
             in
             his
             Private
             Pow'r
             ,
          
           
             That
             those
             who
             like
             the
             Bran
             might
             leave
             the
             Flow'r
             .
          
           
             He
             for
             himself
             ,
             and
             not
             for
             others
             chose
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             would
             He
             be
             impos'd
             on
             ,
             nor
             impose
             ;
          
           
             But
             in
             their
             Faces
             His
             Devotion
             paid
             ,
          
           
             And
             Sacrifice
             with
             Solemn
             Rites
             was
             made
             ,
          
           
             And
             Sacred
             Incense
             on
             His
             Altars
             laid
             .
          
        
         
           
             Besides
             these
             jolly
             Birds
             whose
             Crops
             impure
             ,
          
           
             Repay'd
             their
             Commons
             with
             their
             Salt
             Manure
             ;
          
           
             Another
             Farm
             he
             had
             behind
             his
             House
             ,
          
           
             Not
             overstock't
             ,
             but
             barely
             for
             his
             use
             ;
          
           
             Wherein
             his
             poor
             Domestick
             Poultry
             fed
             ,
          
           
             And
             from
             His
             Pious
             Hands
             receiv'd
             their
             Bread.
          
           
           
             Our
             pamper'd
             Pigeons
             with
             malignant
             Eyes
             ,
          
           
             Beheld
             these
             Inmates
             ,
             and
             their
             Nurseries
             :
          
           
             Tho'
             hard
             their
             fare
             ,
             at
             Ev'ning
             ,
             and
             at
             Morn
          
           
             A
             Cruise
             of
             Water
             and
             an
             Ear
             of
             Corn
             ;
          
           
             Yet
             still
             they
             grudg'd
             that
             Modi'um
             ,
             and
             thought
          
           
             A
             Sheaf
             in
             ev'ry
             single
             Grain
             was
             brought
             ;
          
           
             Fain
             would
             they
             filch
             that
             little
             Food
             away
             ,
          
           
             While
             unrestrain'd
             those
             happy
             Gluttons
             prey
             .
          
           
             And
             much
             they
             griev'd
             to
             see
             so
             nigh
             their
             Hall
             ,
          
           
             The
             Bird
             that
             warn'd
             St.
             Peter
             of
             his
             Fall
             ;
          
           
             That
             he
             should
             raise
             his
             miter'd
             Crest
             on
             high
             ,
          
           
             And
             clap
             his
             Wings
             ,
             and
             call
             his
             Family
          
           
             To
             Sacred
             Rites
             ;
             and
             vex
             th'
             Etherial
             Pow'rs
          
           
             With
             midnight
             Mattins
             ,
             at
             uncivil
             Hours
             :
          
           
             Nay
             more
             ,
             his
             quiet
             Neighbours
             should
             molest
             ,
          
           
             Just
             in
             the
             sweetness
             of
             their
             Morning
             rest
             .
          
        
         
           
             Beast
             of
             a
             Bird
             ,
             supinely
             when
             he
             might
          
           
             Lye
             snugg
             and
             sleep
             ,
             to
             rise
             before
             the
             light
             :
          
           
           
             What
             if
             his
             dull
             Forefathers
             us'd
             that
             cry
             ,
          
           
             Cou'd
             he
             not
             let
             a
             Bad
             Example
             dye
             ?
          
           
             The
             World
             was
             fall'n
             into
             an
             easier
             way
             ,
          
           
             This
             Age
             knew
             better
             ,
             than
             to
             Fast
             and
             Pray
             .
          
           
             Good
             Sense
             in
             Sacred
             Worship
             would
             appear
          
           
             So
             to
             begin
             ,
             as
             they
             might
             end
             the
             year
             .
          
           
             Such
             feats
             in
             former
             times
             had
             wrought
             the
             falls
          
           
             Of
             crowing
             Chanticleers
             in
             Cloyster'd
             Walls
             .
          
           
             Expell'd
             for
             this
             ,
             and
             for
             their
             Lands
             they
             fled
             ,
          
           
             And
             Sister
             Partlet
             with
             her
             hooded
             head
          
           
             Was
             hooted
             hence
             ,
             because
             she
             would
             not
             pray
             a
             Bed.
          
           
             The
             way
             to
             win
             the
             restless
             World
             to
             God
             ,
          
           
             Was
             to
             lay
             by
             the
             Disciplining
             Rod
             ,
          
           
             Unnatural
             Fasts
             ,
             and
             Foreign
             Forms
             of
             Pray'r
             ;
          
           
             Religion
             frights
             us
             with
             a
             meen
             severe
             .
          
           
             'T
             is
             Prudence
             to
             reform
             her
             into
             Ease
             ,
          
           
             And
             put
             Her
             in
             undrest
             to
             make
             Her
             pleas
             :
          
           
             A
             lively
             Faith
             will
             bear
             aloft
             the
             Mind
             ,
          
           
             And
             leave
             the
             Luggage
             of
             Good
             Works
             behind
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             Such
             Doctrines
             in
             the
             Pigeon-house
             were
             taught
             ,
          
           
             You
             need
             not
             ask
             how
             wondrously
             they
             wrought
             ;
          
           
             But
             sure
             the
             common
             Cry
             was
             all
             for
             these
          
           
             Whose
             Life
             ,
             and
             Precept
             both
             encourag'd
             Ease
             .
          
           
             Yet
             fearing
             those
             alluring
             Baits
             might
             fail
             ,
          
           
             And
             Holy
             Deeds
             o're
             all
             their
             Arts
             prevail
             :
          
           
             (
             For
             Vice
             ,
             tho'
             frontless
             ,
             and
             of
             harden'd
             Face
          
           
             Is
             daunted
             at
             the
             sight
             of
             awfull
             Grace
             )
          
           
             An
             hideous
             Figure
             of
             their
             Foes
             they
             drew
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             Lines
             ,
             nor
             Looks
             ,
             nor
             Shades
             ,
             nor
             Colours
             true
             ;
          
           
             And
             this
             Grotesque
             design
             ,
             expos'd
             to
             Publick
             view
             .
          
           
             One
             would
             have
             thought
             it
             an
             Aegyptian
             Piece
             ,
          
           
             With
             Garden-Gods
             ,
             and
             barking
             Deities
             ,
          
           
             More
             thick
             than
             Ptolomey
             has
             stuck
             the
             Skies
             .
          
           
             All
             so
             perverse
             a
             Draught
             ,
             so
             far
             unlike
             ,
          
           
             It
             was
             no
             Libell
             where
             it
             meant
             to
             strike
             :
          
           
             Yet
             still
             the
             daubing
             pleas'd
             ,
             and
             Great
             and
             Small
          
           
             To
             view
             the
             Monster
             crowded
             Pigeon-hall
             .
          
           
           
             There
             Chanticleer
             was
             drawn
             upon
             his
             knees
          
           
             Adoring
             Shrines
             ,
             and
             Stocks
             of
             Sainted
             Trees
             ,
          
           
             And
             by
             him
             ,
             a
             mishapen
             ,
             ugly
             Race
             ;
          
           
             The
             Curse
             of
             God
             was
             seen
             on
             ev'ry
             Face
             :
          
           
             No
             Holland
             Emblem
             could
             that
             Malice
             mend
             ,
          
           
             But
             still
             the
             vvorse
             the
             look
             the
             fitter
             for
             a
             Fiend
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             Master
             of
             the
             Farm
             displeas'd
             to
             find
          
           
             So
             much
             of
             Rancour
             in
             so
             mild
             a
             kind
             ,
          
           
             Enquir'd
             into
             the
             Cause
             ,
             and
             came
             to
             knovv
             ,
          
           
             The
             Passive
             Church
             had
             struck
             the
             foremost
             blovv
             :
          
           
             With
             grounless
             Fears
             ,
             and
             Jealousies
             possest
             ,
          
           
             As
             if
             this
             troublesome
             intruding
             Guest
          
           
             VVould
             drive
             the
             Birds
             of
             Venus
             ,
             from
             their
             Nest.
          
           
             A
             Deed
             his
             inborn
             Equity
             abhorr'd
             ,
          
           
             But
             Int'rest
             vvill
             not
             trust
             ,
             tho
             God
             should
             plight
             his
             VVord
             .
          
        
         
           
             A
             Lavv
             ,
             the
             Source
             of
             many
             Future
             harms
             ,
          
           
             Had
             banish'd
             all
             the
             Poultry
             from
             the
             Farms
             ;
          
           
           
             With
             loss
             of
             Life
             ,
             if
             any
             should
             be
             found
          
           
             To
             crow
             or
             peck
             on
             this
             forbidden
             Ground
             .
          
           
             That
             Bloody
             Statute
             chiefly
             was
             design'd
          
           
             For
             Chanticleer
             the
             white
             ,
             of
             Clergy
             kind
             ;
          
           
             But
             after-malice
             did
             not
             long
             forget
          
           
             The
             Lay
             that
             wore
             the
             Robe
             ,
             and
             Coroner
             ;
          
           
             For
             them
             ,
             for
             their
             Inferiours
             and
             Allyes
             ,
          
           
             Their
             Foes
             a
             deadly
             Shibboleth
             devise
             :
          
           
             By
             which
             unrighteously
             it
             was
             decreed
             ,
          
           
             That
             none
             to
             Trust
             ,
             or
             Profit
             should
             succeed
             ,
          
           
             Who
             would
             not
             swallow
             first
             a
             poysonous
             wicked
             Weed
             ,
          
           
             Or
             that
             ,
             to
             which
             old
             Socrates
             was
             curs't
             ,
          
           
             Or
             Henbane-Juice
             to
             swell
             'em
             till
             they
             burst
             .
          
           
             The
             Patron
             (
             as
             in
             reason
             )
             thought
             it
             hard
          
           
             To
             see
             this
             Inquisition
             in
             his
             Yard
             ,
          
           
             By
             which
             the
             Soveraign
             was
             of
             Subjects
             use
             debarr'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             All
             gentle
             means
             he
             try'd
             ,
             which
             might
             withdraw
          
           
             Th'
             Effects
             of
             so
             unnatural
             a
             Law
             :
          
           
           
             But
             still
             the
             Dove-house
             obstinately
             stood
          
           
             Deaf
             to
             their
             own
             ,
             and
             to
             their
             Neighbours
             good
             :
          
           
             And
             which
             was
             worse
             ,
             (
             if
             any
             worse
             could
             be
             )
          
           
             Repented
             of
             their
             boasted
             Loyalty
             :
          
           
             Now
             made
             the
             Champions
             of
             a
             cruel
             Cause
             ,
          
           
             And
             drunk
             with
             Fumes
             of
             Popular
             Applause
             ;
          
           
             For
             those
             whom
             God
             to
             ruine
             has
             design'd
             ,
          
           
             He
             fits
             for
             Fate
             ,
             and
             first
             destroys
             their
             Mind
             .
          
        
         
           
             New
             Doubts
             indeed
             they
             daily
             strove
             to
             raise
             ,
          
           
             Suggested
             Dangers
             ,
             interpos'd
             Delays
             ,
          
           
             And
             Emissary
             Pigeons
             had
             in
             store
             ,
          
           
             Such
             as
             the
             Meccan
             Prophet
             us'd
             of
             yore
             ,
          
           
             To
             whisper
             Counsels
             in
             their
             Patrons
             Ear
             ,
          
           
             And
             veil'd
             their
             false
             Advice
             with
             Zealous
             Fear
             .
          
           
             The
             Master
             smil'd
             to
             see
             'em
             work
             in
             vain
             ,
          
           
             To
             wear
             him
             out
             ,
             and
             make
             an
             idle
             reign
             :
          
           
             He
             saw
             ,
             but
             suffer'd
             their
             Protractive
             Arts
             ,
          
           
             And
             strove
             by
             mildness
             to
             reduce
             their
             Hearts
             ;
          
           
           
             But
             they
             abus'd
             that
             Grace
             to
             make
             Allyes
             ,
          
           
             And
             fondly
             clos'd
             with
             former
             Enemies
             ;
          
           
             For
             Fools
             are
             double
             Fools
             endeav'ring
             to
             be
             wise
             .
          
        
         
           
             After
             a
             grave
             Consult
             what
             course
             were
             best
             ,
          
           
             One
             more
             mature
             in
             Folly
             than
             the
             rest
             ,
          
           
             Stood
             up
             ,
             and
             told
             'em
             ,
             with
             his
             head
             aside
             ,
          
           
             That
             desp'rate
             Cures
             must
             be
             to
             desp'rate
             Ills
             apply'd
             :
          
           
             And
             therefore
             since
             their
             main
             impending
             fear
          
           
             Was
             from
             th'
             encreasing
             race
             of
             Chanticleer
             :
          
           
             Some
             Potent
             Bird
             of
             Prey
             they
             ought
             to
             find
             ,
          
           
             A
             Foe
             profess'd
             to
             him
             ,
             and
             all
             his
             kind
             :
          
           
             Some
             haggar'd
             Hawk
             ,
             who
             had
             her
             evry
             nigh
             ,
          
           
             Well
             pounc'd
             to
             fasten
             ,
             and
             well
             wing'd
             to
             fly
             ;
          
           
             One
             they
             might
             trust
             ,
             their
             common
             wrongs
             to
             wreak
             :
          
           
             The
             Musquet
             ,
             and
             the
             Coystrel
             were
             too
             weak
             ,
          
           
             Too
             fierce
             the
             Falton
             ,
             but
             above
             the
             rest
             ,
          
           
             The
             noble
             Buzzard
             ever
             pleas'd
             me
             best
             ▪
          
           
             Of
             small
             Renown
             ,
             't
             is
             true
             ,
             for
             not
             to
             lye
             ,
          
           
             VVe
             call
             him
             but
             a
             Hawk
             by
             courtesie
             .
          
           
           
             I
             know
             he
             haunts
             the
             Pigeon
             House
             and
             Farm
             ,
          
           
             And
             more
             ,
             in
             time
             of
             War
             ,
             has
             done
             us
             harm
             ;
          
           
             But
             all
             his
             hate
             on
             trivial
             Points
             depends
             ,
          
           
             Give
             up
             our
             Forms
             ,
             and
             we
             shall
             soon
             be
             friends
             .
          
           
             For
             Pigeons
             flesh
             he
             seems
             not
             much
             to
             care
             ,
          
           
             Cram'd
             Chickens
             are
             a
             more
             delicious
             fare
             ;
          
           
             On
             this
             high
             Potentate
             ,
             without
             delay
             ,
          
           
             I
             wish
             you
             would
             conferr
             the
             Sovereign
             sway
             :
          
           
             Petition
             him
             t'
             accept
             the
             Government
             ,
          
           
             And
             let
             a
             splendid
             Embassy
             be
             sent
             .
          
        
         
           
             This
             pithy
             Speech
             prevail'd
             ,
             and
             all
             agreed
             ,
          
           
             Old
             Enmity's
             forgot
             ,
             the
             Buzzard
             should
             succeed
             .
          
        
         
           
             Their
             welcom
             Suit
             was
             granted
             soon
             as
             heard
             ,
          
           
             His
             Lodgings
             furnish'd
             ,
             and
             a
             Train
             prepar'd
             ,
          
           
             With
             B's
             upon
             their
             Breast
             ,
             appointed
             for
             his
             Guard.
          
           
             He
             came
             ,
             and
             Crown'd
             with
             great
             Solemnity
             ,
          
           
             God
             save
             King
             Buzzard
             ,
             was
             the
             gen'rall
             cry
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             A
             Portly
             Prince
             ,
             and
             goodly
             to
             the
             sight
             ,
          
           
             He
             seem'd
             a
             Son
             of
             Anach
             for
             his
             height
             :
          
           
             Like
             those
             whom
             stature
             did
             to
             Crowns
             prefer
             ;
          
           
             Black-brow'd
             ,
             and
             bluff
             ,
             like
             
             Homer's
             Iupiter
             :
          
           
             Broad-back'd
             ,
             and
             Brawny
             built
             for
             Loves
             delight
             ,
          
           
             A
             Prophet
             form'd
             ,
             to
             make
             a
             female
             Proselyte
             .
          
           
             A
             Theologue
             more
             by
             need
             than
             genial
             bent
             ,
          
           
             By
             Breeding
             sharp
             ,
             by
             Nature
             confident
             .
          
           
             Int'rest
             in
             all
             his
             Actions
             was
             discern'd
             ;
          
           
             More
             learn'd
             than
             Honest
             ,
             more
             a
             Wit
             than
             learn'd
             .
          
           
             Or
             forc'd
             by
             Fear
             ,
             or
             by
             Ambition
             led
             ,
          
           
             Or
             both
             conjoyn'd
             ,
             his
             Native
             clime
             he
             fled
             :
          
           
             But
             brought
             the
             Vertues
             of
             his
             Heav'n
             along
             ;
          
           
             A
             fair
             Behaviour
             ,
             and
             a
             fluent
             Tongue
             .
          
           
             And
             yet
             with
             all
             his
             Arts
             he
             could
             not
             thrive
             ;
          
           
             The
             most
             unlucky
             Parasite
             alive
             .
          
           
             Loud
             Praises
             to
             prepare
             his
             Paths
             he
             sent
             ,
          
           
             And
             then
             himself
             pursu'd
             his
             Compliment
             :
          
           
           
             But
             ,
             by
             reverse
             of
             Fortune
             chac'd
             away
             ,
          
           
             His
             Gifts
             no
             longer
             than
             their
             Author
             stay
             :
          
           
             He
             shakes
             the
             Dust
             against
             th'
             ungrateful
             race
             ,
          
           
             And
             leaves
             the
             stench
             of
             Ordures
             in
             the
             place
             .
          
           
             Oft
             has
             he
             flatter'd
             ,
             and
             blasphem'd
             the
             same
             ,
          
           
             For
             in
             his
             Rage
             ,
             he
             spares
             no
             Sov'rains
             name
             :
          
           
             The
             Hero
             ,
             and
             the
             Tyrant
             change
             their
             style
          
           
             By
             the
             same
             measure
             that
             they
             frown
             or
             smile
             ;
          
           
             When
             well
             receiv'd
             by
             hospitable
             Foes
             ,
          
           
             The
             kindness
             he
             returns
             ,
             is
             to
             expose
             :
          
           
             For
             Courtesies
             ,
             tho'
             undeserv'd
             and
             great
             ,
          
           
             No
             gratitude
             in
             Fellon-minds
             beget
             ,
          
           
             As
             tribute
             to
             his
             Wit
             ,
             the
             churl
             receives
             the
             treat
             .
          
           
             His
             praise
             of
             Foes
             is
             venemously
             Nice
             ,
          
           
             So
             touch'd
             ,
             it
             turns
             a
             Vertue
             to
             a
             Vice
             :
          
           
             A
             Greek
             ,
             and
             bountiful
             forewarns
             us
             twice
             .
          
           
             Sev'n
             Sacraments
             he
             wisely
             do's
             disown
             ,
          
           
             Because
             he
             knows
             Confession
             stands
             for
             one
             ;
          
           
             Where
             Sins
             to
             sacred
             silence
             are
             convey'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             not
             for
             Fear
             ,
             or
             Love
             ,
             to
             be
             betray'd
             :
          
           
           
             But
             he
             ,
             uncall'd
             ,
             his
             Patron
             to
             controul
             ,
          
           
             Divulg'd
             the
             secret
             whispers
             of
             his
             Soul
             :
          
           
             Stood
             forth
             th'
             accusing
             Sathan
             of
             his
             Crimes
             ,
          
           
             And
             offer'd
             to
             the
             Moloch
             of
             the
             Times
             .
          
           
             Prompt
             to
             assayle
             ,
             and
             careless
             of
             defence
             ,
          
           
             Invulnerable
             in
             his
             Impudence
             ;
          
           
             He
             dares
             the
             World
             ,
             and
             eager
             of
             a
             name
             ,
          
           
             He
             thrusts
             about
             ,
             and
             justles
             into
             fame
             .
          
           
             Frontless
             ,
             and
             Satyr-proof
             he
             scow'rs
             the
             streets
             ,
          
           
             And
             runs
             an
             Indian
             muck
             at
             all
             he
             meets
             .
          
           
             So
             fond
             of
             loud
             Report
             ,
             that
             not
             to
             miss
          
           
             Of
             being
             known
             (
             his
             last
             and
             utmost
             bliss
             )
          
           
             He
             rather
             would
             be
             known
             ,
             for
             what
             he
             is
             .
          
        
         
           
             Such
             was
             ,
             and
             is
             the
             Captain
             of
             the
             test
             ;
          
           
             Tho'
             half
             his
             Vertues
             are
             not
             here
             express't
             ;
          
           
             The
             modesty
             of
             Fame
             conceals
             the
             rest
             .
          
           
             The
             spleenful
             Pigeons
             never
             could
             create
          
           
             A
             Prince
             more
             proper
             to
             revenge
             their
             hate
             :
          
           
           
             Indeed
             ,
             more
             proper
             to
             revenge
             ,
             than
             save
             ;
          
           
             A
             King
             ,
             whom
             in
             his
             wrath
             ,
             th'
             Almighty
             gave
             :
          
           
             For
             all
             the
             Grace
             the
             Landlord
             had
             allow'd
             ,
          
           
             But
             made
             the
             Buzzard
             and
             the
             Pigeons
             proud
             ;
          
           
             Gave
             time
             to
             fix
             their
             Friends
             ,
             and
             to
             seduce
             the
             crowd
             .
          
           
             They
             long
             their
             Fellow-Subjects
             to
             inthrall
             ,
          
           
             Their
             Patrons
             promise
             into
             question
             call
             ,
          
           
             And
             vainly
             think
             he
             meant
             to
             make
             'em
             Lords
             of
             all
             .
          
        
         
           
             False
             Fears
             their
             Leaders
             fail'd
             not
             to
             suggest
             ,
          
           
             As
             if
             the
             Doves
             were
             to
             be
             dispossess't
             ;
          
           
             Nor
             Sighs
             ,
             nor
             Groans
             ,
             nor
             gogling
             Eyes
             did
             want
             ;
          
           
             For
             now
             the
             Pigeons
             too
             had
             learn'd
             to
             Cant.
          
           
             The
             House
             of
             Pray'r
             is
             stock'd
             with
             large
             encrease
             ;
          
           
             Nor
             Doors
             ,
             nor
             Windows
             can
             contain
             the
             Press
             :
          
           
             For
             Birds
             of
             ev'ry
             feather
             fill
             th'
             abode
             ;
          
           
             Ev'n
             Atheists
             out
             of
             envy
             own
             a
             God
             :
          
           
             And
             reeking
             from
             the
             Stews
             ,
             Adult'rers
             come
             ,
          
           
             Like
             Goths
             and
             Vandals
             to
             demolish
             Rome
             .
          
           
           
             That
             Conscience
             which
             to
             all
             their
             Crimes
             was
             mute
             ,
          
           
             Now
             calls
             aloud
             ,
             and
             cryes
             to
             Persecute
             .
          
           
             No
             rigour
             of
             the
             Laws
             to
             be
             releas'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             much
             the
             less
             ,
             because
             it
             was
             their
             Lords
             request
             :
          
           
             They
             thought
             it
             great
             their
             Sov'rain
             to
             controul
             ,
          
           
             And
             nam'd
             their
             Pride
             ,
             Nobility
             of
             Soul.
             
          
        
         
           
             'T
             is
             true
             ,
             the
             Pigeons
             ,
             and
             their
             Prince
             Elect
          
           
             Were
             short
             of
             Pow'r
             their
             purpose
             to
             effect
             :
          
           
             But
             with
             their
             Quills
             ,
             did
             all
             the
             hurt
             they
             cou'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             cuff'd
             the
             tender
             Chickens
             from
             their
             food
             :
          
           
             And
             much
             the
             Buzzard
             in
             their
             Cause
             did
             stir
             ,
          
           
             Tho'
             naming
             not
             the
             Patron
             ,
             to
             infer
          
           
             With
             all
             respect
             ,
             He
             was
             a
             gross
             Idolater
             .
          
           
             But
             when
             th'
             Imperial
             owner
             did
             espy
          
           
             That
             thus
             they
             turn'd
             his
             Grace
             to
             villany
             ,
          
           
             Not
             suff'ring
             wrath
             to
             discompose
             his
             mind
             ,
          
           
             He
             strove
             a
             temper
             for
             th'
             extreams
             to
             find
             ,
          
           
             So
             to
             be
             just
             ,
             as
             he
             might
             still
             be
             kind
             .
          
           
           
             Then
             ,
             all
             Maturely
             weigh'd
             ,
             pronounc'd
             a
             Doom
          
           
             Of
             Sacred
             Strength
             for
             ev'ry
             Age
             to
             come
             .
          
           
             By
             this
             the
             Doves
             their
             Wealth
             and
             State
             possess
             ,
          
           
             No
             Rights
             infring'd
             ,
             but
             licens'd
             to
             oppress
             :
          
           
             Such
             Pow'r
             have
             they
             as
             Factious
             Lawyers
             long
          
           
             To
             Crowns
             ascrib'd
             ,
             that
             Kings
             can
             do
             no
             wrong
             .
          
           
             But
             ,
             since
             His
             own
             Domestick
             Birds
             have
             try'd
          
           
             The
             dire
             Effects
             of
             their
             destructive
             Pride
             ,
          
           
             He
             deems
             that
             Proof
             a
             Measure
             to
             the
             rest
             ,
          
           
             Concluding
             well
             within
             his
             Kingly
             Breast
             ,
          
           
             His
             Fowl
             of
             Nature
             too
             unjustly
             were
             opprest
             .
          
           
             He
             therefore
             makes
             all
             Birds
             of
             ev'ry
             Sect
          
           
             Free
             of
             his
             Farm
             ,
             with
             promise
             to
             respect
          
           
             Their
             sev'ral
             Kinds
             alike
             ,
             and
             equally
             protect
             .
          
           
             His
             Gracious
             Edict
             the
             same
             Franchise
             yields
          
           
             To
             all
             the
             wild
             Encrease
             of
             Woods
             and
             Fields
             ,
          
           
             And
             who
             in
             Rocks
             aloof
             ,
             and
             who
             in
             Steeples
             builds
             .
          
           
             To
             Crows
             the
             like
             Impartial
             Grace
             affords
             ,
          
           
             And
             Choughs
             and
             Daws
             ,
             and
             such
             Republick
             Birds
             :
          
           
           
             Secur'd
             with
             ample
             Priviledge
             to
             feed
             ,
          
           
             Each
             has
             his
             District
             ,
             and
             his
             Bounds
             decreed
             :
          
           
             Combin'd
             in
             common
             Int'rest
             with
             his
             own
             ,
          
           
             But
             not
             to
             pass
             the
             Pigeons
             Rubicon
             .
          
        
         
           
             Here
             ends
             the
             Reign
             of
             this
             pretended
             Dove
             ;
          
           
             All
             Prophecies
             accomplish'd
             from
             above
             ,
          
           
             For
             Shiloh
             comes
             the
             Scepter
             to
             Remove
             .
          
           
             Reduc'd
             from
             Her
             Imperial
             High
             Abode
             ,
          
           
             Like
             Dyonysius
             to
             a
             private
             Rod
             :
          
           
             The
             Passive
             Church
             ,
             that
             with
             pretended
             Grace
          
           
             Did
             Her
             distinctive
             Mark
             in
             Duty
             place
             ,
          
           
             Now
             Touch'd
             ,
             Reviles
             Her
             Maker
             to
             his
             Face
             .
          
        
         
           
             What
             after
             happen'd
             is
             not
             hard
             to
             guess
             ;
          
           
             The
             small
             Beginnings
             had
             a
             large
             Encrease
             ,
          
           
             And
             Arts
             and
             Wealth
             succeed
             (
             the
             secret
             spoils
             of
             Peace
             .
             )
          
           
             'T
             is
             said
             the
             Doves
             repented
             ,
             tho'
             too
             late
             ,
          
           
             Become
             the
             Smiths
             of
             their
             own
             Foolish
             Fate
             :
          
           
           
             Nor
             did
             their
             Owner
             hasten
             their
             ill
             hour
             :
          
           
             But
             ,
             sunk
             in
             Credit
             ,
             they
             decreas'd
             in
             Pow'r
             :
          
           
             Like
             Snows
             in
             warmth
             that
             mildly
             pass
             away
             ,
          
           
             Dissolving
             in
             the
             Silence
             of
             Decay
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             Buzzard
             not
             content
             with
             equal
             place
             ,
          
           
             Invites
             the
             feather'd
             Nimrods
             of
             his
             Race
             ,
          
           
             To
             hide
             the
             thinness
             of
             their
             Flock
             from
             Sight
             ,
          
           
             And
             all
             together
             make
             a
             seeming
             ,
             goodly
             Flight
             :
          
           
             But
             each
             have
             sep'rate
             Int'rests
             of
             their
             own
             ,
          
           
             Two
             Czars
             ,
             are
             one
             too
             many
             for
             a
             Throne
             .
          
           
             Nor
             can
             th'
             Usurper
             long
             abstain
             from
             Food
             ,
          
           
             Already
             he
             has
             tasted
             Pigeons
             Blood
             :
          
           
             And
             may
             be
             tempted
             to
             his
             former
             fare
             ,
          
           
             When
             this
             Indulgent
             Lord
             shall
             late
             to
             Heav'n
             repair
             .
          
           
             Bare
             benting
             times
             ,
             and
             moulting
             Months
             may
             come
             ,
          
           
             When
             lagging
             late
             ,
             they
             cannot
             reach
             their
             home
             :
          
           
             Or
             Rent
             in
             Schism
             ,
             (
             for
             so
             their
             Fate
             decrees
             ,
             )
          
           
             Like
             the
             Tumultuous
             Colledge
             of
             the
             Bees
             ;
          
           
           
             They
             fight
             their
             Quarrel
             ,
             by
             themselves
             opprest
             ,
          
           
             The
             Tyrant
             smiles
             below
             ,
             and
             waits
             the
             falling
             feast
             .
          
        
         
           
             Thus
             did
             the
             gentle
             Hind
             her
             fable
             end
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             would
             the
             Panther
             blame
             it
             ,
             nor
             commend
             ;
          
           
             But
             ,
             with
             affected
             Yawnings
             at
             the
             close
             ,
          
           
             Seem'd
             to
             require
             her
             natural
             repose
             .
          
           
             For
             now
             the
             streaky
             light
             began
             to
             peep
             ;
          
           
             And
             setting
             stars
             admonish'd
             both
             to
             sleep
             .
          
           
             The
             Dame
             withdrew
             ,
             and
             ,
             wishing
             to
             her
             Guest
          
           
             The
             peace
             of
             Heav'n
             ,
             betook
             her self
             to
             rest
             .
          
           
             Ten
             thousand
             Angels
             on
             her
             slumbers
             waite
          
           
             With
             glorious
             Visions
             of
             her
             future
             state
             .
          
        
      
    
     
       
         
           Errata
           .
        
         
           PAge
           84.
           
           Line
           5.
           for
           easie
           ,
           read
           yielding
           .
           p.
           105.
           l.
           15.
           for
           offsprings
           ,
           r.
           offrings
           .
           p.
           114.
           l.
           17.
           for
           
             no
             dangers
             from
          
           ,
           r.
           
             no
             dangers
             to
          
           .
           p.
           129.
           l.
           5.
           for
           Modi'um
           ,
           r.
           Modicum
           .
           p.
           130.
           l.
           12.
           for
           restless
           ,
           r.
           restiff
           .
           ibid.
           l.
           17.
           for
           undrest
           ,
           r.
           undress
           .
           p.
           142.
           l.
           4.
           for
           
             but
             licens'd
          
           ,
           r.
           
             but
             licence
          
           .
        
         
           PAge
           129.
           
           Line
           5.
           for
           Modi'um
           read
           Modicum
           .
           p.
           130.
           l.
           12.
           for
           restless
           r.
           
             restiff
             .
             ibid.
          
           l.
           17.
           for
           undrest
           r.
           undress
           .
           p.
           142.
           l.
           4.
           for
           
             but
             licens'd
          
           r.
           
             but
             licence
          
           .
        
         
         
      
       
         
         
           Books
           printed
           for
           
             Iacob
             Tonson
          
           at
           the
           
             Iudges
             Head
          
           in
           Chancery-Lane
           ,
           near
           Fleet-street
           .
        
         
           
             
               MIscellany
               Poems
            
             in
             two
             parts
             ,
             Containing
             a
             new
             Translation
             of
             
               Virgil's
               Eclogues
               ,
               Ovid's
               Love
               Elegies
            
             ;
             several
             parts
             of
             
               Virgil
               ,
               Lucretius
               ,
               Horace
            
             ,
             and
             Theocritus
             ;
             with
             several
             Original
             Poems
             .
             By
             the
             most
             Eminent
             hands
             .
             Published
             by
             Mr.
             Dryden
             .
          
           
             
               Ovid's
               Epistles
            
             ,
             Englished
             by
             the
             Earl
             of
             Mulgrave
             ,
             Sr.
             
               Ca.
               Scrope
            
             ,
             Mr.
             Dryden
             ,
             and
             several
             other
             hands
             .
          
           
             Poems
             upon
             several
             occasions
             ,
             with
             a
             Voyage
             to
             the
             Island
             of
             Love.
             By
             Mrs.
             Behn
             .
          
           
             The
             Works
             of
             Horace
             ,
             Translated
             into
             English
             by
             Mr.
             Creech
             .
          
           
             Absalom
             and
             Achitophel
             :
             A
             Poem
             in
             two
             parts
             .
          
           
             
               The
               Medal
            
             :
             Or
             ,
             a
             Satyr
             upon
             Sedition
             .
          
           
             
               Thraenodia
               Augustalis
            
             .
             A
             Pindarick
             Poem
             Sacred
             to
             the
             Happy
             Memory
             of
             King
             Charles
             the
             Second
             .
             By
             Mr.
             Dryden
             .
          
           
             
               Seneca's
               Troas
            
             :
             A
             Tragedy
             .
             Translated
             from
             the
             Latin
             by
             
               I.
               T.
            
             
          
        
      
       
         Notes, typically marginal, from the original text
         
           Notes for div A36627-e630
           
             
               Vid.
               Pres.
               to
            
             Heyl.
             
               Hist.
               of
               Presb.
            
          
           
             *
             
               The
               Wolfe
            
             .
          
        
         
           Notes for div A36627-e7560
           
             
               Marks
               of
               the
               Catholick
               Church
               from
               the
            
             Nicene
             Creed
             .
          
           
             
               The
               renunciation
               of
               the
               Benedictines
               to
               the
               Abby
               Lands
               .
            
          
           
             
               〈◊〉
               loquitur
            
             .
          
        
         
           Notes for div A36627-e16160
           
             *
             
               Otherwise
               ,
               call'd
            
             Martlets
             .