LICENCED,  
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 jacob Tonson, at the judge's 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 engaged 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 knocked 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 received under that Denomination. For example; there are some of the Church by Law Established, 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Name: On the other side there are many of our Sects, and more indeed than I could reasovably have hoped, who have withdrawn themselves from the Communion of the Panther; and embraced this Gracious Indulgence of His Majesty in point of Toleration. But neither to the one nor the other of these is this satire any way intended: 'tis aimed only at the refractory and disobedient on either side. For those who are come over to the Royal Party are consequently supposed to be out of Gunshot. Our Physicians have observed, 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 Catholic Religion? I hope they have now another Notion of both, as having found, by Comfortable Experience, that the Doctrine of Persecution is far from being an Article of our Faith.  
'Tis not for any Private Man to Censure the Proceedings of a Foreign Prince: but, without suspicion of Flattery, I may praise our own, who has taken contrary Measures, and those more suitable to the Spirit of Christianity. Some of the Dissenters in their Addresses to His Majesty have said That he has restored 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 esteemed their Persecutors, what is it else, but publicly to own that they suffered 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 obeyed? 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 persuade 'em to take another step, and see whether that would 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 received it. 'Tis not from a Cyrus, a Heathen Prince, and a Foreigner, but from a Christian King, their Native Sovereign: who expects a Return in Specie from them; that the Kindness which He has Graciously shown them, may be retaliated on those of his own persuasion.  
As for the Poem in general, I will only thus far satisfy the Reader: That it was neither imposed 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 finished it, His Majesty's Declaration for Liberty of Conscience came abroad: which, if I had so soon expected, I might have spared myself the labour of writing many things which are contained in the third, part of it. But I was always in some hope, that the Church of England might have been persuaded to have taken off the Penal Laws and the Test, which was one Design of the Poem when I proposed to myself the writing of it.  
'Tis evident that some part of it was only occasional, & not first intended. I mean that defence of myself, to which every honest man is bound, when he is injuriously attacked in Print: and I refer myself to the judgement of those who have read the Answer to the Defence of the late King's Papers, and that of the Duchess, (in which last I was concerned) how charitably I have been represented there. I am now informed both of the Author and Supervisers of his Pamphlet: and will reply when I think he can affront me: for I am of Socrates' Opinion that all Creatures cannot. In the mean time let him consider, whether he deserved not a more severe reprehension than 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 Catholic: He declares himself to be now satisfied to the contrary; in which he has given 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 preposterously let all men judge, when he seemed to deny the Subject of the Controversy, the Change itself. 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 Catholic 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 endeavoured to raise, and give it the Majestic Turn of Heroic Poesy. The second, being Matter of Dispute, and chiefly concerning Church Authority, I was obliged to make as plain and perspicuous as possibly I could: 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 Domestic Conversation, is, or aught 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 satire, whether true or false, which are urged by the Members of the one Church against the other. At which I hope no Reader of either Party will be scandalised; 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 unchanged,  
Fed on the lawns, and in the forest ranged;  
Without unspotted, innocent within,  
She feared no danger, for she knew no sin.  
Yet had she oft been chased with horns and hounds,  
And Scythian shafts; and many winged wounds  
Aimed at Her heart; was often forced to fly,  
And doomed to death, though fated not to die.   

Not so her young, for their unequal line  
Was Heroe's make, half humane, half divine.  
Their earthly mould obnoxious was to fate,  
Th' immortal part assumed immortal state.  
Of these a slaughtered army lay in blood,  
Extended o'er the Caledonian wood,  
Their native walk; whose vocal blood arose,  
And cried for pardon on their perjured foes;  
Their fate was fruitful, and the sanguine seed  
Endued with souls, increased the sacred breed.  
So Captive Israel multiplied in chains  
A numerous Exile, and enjoyed her pains.  
With grief and gladness mixed, their mother viewed  
Her martyred offspring, and their race renewed;  
Their corpse to perish, but their kind to last,  
So much the deathless plant the dying fruit surpassed.   

Panting and pensive now she ranged alone,  
And wandered in the kingdoms, once Her own.  
The common Hunt, though from their rage restrained  
By sovereign power, her company disdained:  
Grinned as They passed, and with a glaring eye  
Gave gloomy signs of secret enmity.  
'Tis true, she bounded by, and tripped so light  
They had not time to take a steady sight.  
For truth has such a face and such a mien  
As to be loved needs only to be seen.   

The bloody Bear an Independent beast,  
Unlicked to form, in groans her hate expressed.  
Among the timorous kind the Quaking Hare  
Professed neutrality, but would not swear.  
Next her the Buffoon Ape, as Atheists use,  
Mimicked all Sects, and had his own to choose:  
Still when the Lion looked, his knees he bent,  
And paid at Church a Courtier's Compliment.   

The bristled Baptist Boar, impure as He,  
(But whitned with the foam of sanctity)  
With fat pollutions filled the sacred place,  
And mountains levelled in his furious race,  
So first rebellion founded was in grace.  
But since the mighty ravage which he made  
In Germane Forests, had his guilt betrayed,  
With broken tusks, and with a borrowed name  
He shunned the vengeance, and concealed the shame;  
So lurked in Sects unseen. With greater guile  
False Reynard fed on consecrated spoil:  
The graceless beast by Athanasius first  
Was chased from Nice; then by Socinus nursed  
His impious race their blasphemy renewed,  
And nature's King through nature's optics viewed.  
Reversed they viewed him lessened 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 ancient witness can prevail  
If private reason hold the public scale?  
But, gracious God, how well dost thou provide  
For erring judgements 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 concealed,  
And search no farther than thyself revealed;  
But her alone for my Director take  
Whom thou hast promised never to forsake!  
My thoughtless youth was winged with vain desires,  
My manhood, long misled by wand'ring fires,  
Followed false lights; and when their glimpse 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 lie  
Disguised in mortal mould and infancy?  
That the great maker of the world could die?  
And after that, trust my imperfect sense  
Which calls in question his omnipotence?  
Can I my reason to my faith compel,  
And shall my sight, and touch, and taste rebel?  
Superior faculties are set aside,  
Shall their subservient organs be my guide?  
Then let the moon usurp the rule of day,  
And winking tapers show 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 descried  
By sense, define a body glorified?  
Impassable, and penetrating parts?  
Let them declare by what mysterious arts  
He shot that body through th' opposing might  
Of bolts and bars impervious to the light,  
And stood before his train confessed in open sight.   

For since thus wondrously he passed, 'tis plain  
One single place two bodies did contain,  
And sure the same omnipotence as well  
Can make one body in more places dwell.  
Let reason then at Her own quarry fly,  
But how can finite grasp infinity?   

'Tis urged again that faith did first commence  
By miracles, which are appeals to sense,  
And thence concluded that our sense must be  
The motive still of credibility.  
For latter ages must on former wait,  
And what began belief, must propagate.   

But winnow well this thought, and you shall find,  
'Tis light as chaff that flies before the wind.  
Were all those wonders wrought by power divine  
As means or ends of some more deep design?  
Most sure as means, whose end was this alone,  
To prove the godhead 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, heaven's 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' unuseful scaffolding away:  
Reason by sense no more can understand,  
The game is played into another hand.  
Why choose 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 shore,  
And with a better guide a better world explore.  
Could He his godhead veil with flesh and blood  
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 frantic 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 sums, and to compound the small.  
For who would break with heaven, and would 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 heaven and heaven-born faith are far from Thee  
Thou first Apostate to Divinity.  
Unkenneled range in thy Polonian Plains;  
A fiercer foe th' insatiate Wolf remains.   

Too boastful Britain please thyself no more,  
That beasts of prey are banished from thy shore:  
The Bear, the Boar, and every savage name,  
Wild in effect, though in appearance tame,  
Lay waste thy woods, destroy thy blissful bower,  
And muzzled though they seem, the mutes devour.  
More haughty than the rest the wolfish race,  
Appear with belly Gaunt, and famished face:  
Never was so deformed a beast of Grace.  
His ragged tail betwixt his legs he wears  
Close clapped for shame, but his rough crest he rears,  
And pricks up his predestinating ears.  
His wild disordered walk, his haggered eyes,  
Did all the bestial citizens surprise.  
Though feared and hated, yet he ruled awhile  
As Captain or Companion of the spoil.  
Full many a year his hateful head had been  
For tribute paid, nor since in Cambria seen:  
The last of all the litter scaped by chance,  
And from Geneva first infested France.  
Some authors 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 lined.  
That fi'ry Zuynglius first th' affection bred,  
And meager Calvin blest the nuptial bed.  
In Israel some believe him whelped long since  
When the proud Sanhedrim oppressed the Prince. 
Vid. Pres. to Heyl. Hist. of Presb.   
Or, since he will be jew, derive him high  
When Corah with his brethren did conspire,  
From Moses' hand the sovereign sway to wrest,  
And Aaron of his Ephod to divest:  
Till opening earth made way for all to pass,  
And could not bear the burd'n of a class.  
The Fox and he came shuffled in the dark,  
If ever they were stowed in Noah's ark:  
Perhaps not made▪ for all their barking train  
The Dog (a common species) will contain.  
And some wild curs, 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 increased,  
What ills in Church and State have you redressed!  
With teeth untried, and rudiments of claws  
Your first essay was on your native laws:  
Those having torn with ease, and trampled down  
Your Fangs you fastened on the mitred 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.  
Quickened with fire below your monsters breed,  
In Fenny Holland and in fruitful Tweed.  
And like the first the last affects to be  
Drawn to the dregs of a Democracy.  
As where in fields the fairy rounds are seen,  
A rank sour herbage rises on the green,  
So, springing where these midnight Elves advance,  
Rebellion prints the footsteps of the Dance.  
Such are their doctrines, such contempt they show  
To heaven above, and to their Prince below,  
As none but Traitors and Blasphemers know.  
God, like the Tyrant of the skies is placed,  
And kings like slaves beneath the crowd debased.  
So fulsome is their food, that flocks refuse  
To bite, and only dogs for physic 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 wars, 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 confined,  
As only Indian shades of sight deprive,  
And magic plants will but in Colchos thrive,  
So Preby'try and pestilential zeal  
Can only flourish in a common-weal.   

From Celtique woods is chased the wolfish crew;  
But ah! some pity even to brutes is due:  
Their native walks, methinks, they might enjoy  
Curbed of their native malice to destroy.  
Of all the tyrannies on humane kind  
The worst is that which persecutes the mind.  
Let us but weigh at what offence we strike,  
'Tis but because we cannot think alike.  
In punishing of this, we overthrew  
The laws of nations and of nature too.  
Beasts are the subjects of tyrannic sway,  
Where still the stronger on the weaker prey.  
Man only of a softer mould is made;  
Not for his fellows ruin, but their aid.  
Created kind, beneficent and free,  
The noble image of the Deity.   

One portion of informing fire was given  
To Brutes, th' inferior family of heaven:  
The Smith divine, as with a careless beat,  
Struck out the mute creation at a heat:  
But, when arrived at last to humane race,  
The godhead took a deep considering space:  
And, to distinguish man from all the rest,  
Unlocked the sacred treasures of his breast:  
And mercy mixed 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 appeared;  
When issuing naked, to the wondering herd●  
He charmed their eyes, & for they loved, they feared.  
Not armed 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 easy shape, and pliant every 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 satisfy a large embrace.  
Thus kneaded up with milk, the new made man  
His kingdom o'er his kindred world began:  
Till knowledge misapplyed, misunderstood,  
And pride of Empire soured his balmy blood.  
Then, first rebelling, his own stamp he coins;  
The murderer Cain was latent in his loins,  
And blood began its first and loudest cry  
For differing worship of the Deity.  
Thus persecution rose, and farther space  
Produced the mighty hunter of his race.  
Not so the blessed Pan his flock increased,  
Content to sold 'em from the farnished beast:  
Mildred 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 Lion flows,  
That both provide protection for their foes.   

Oh happy Regions, Italy and Spain,  
Which never did those monsters entertain!  
The Wolf, 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 placed 'em let 'em safely share  
The common benefit of vital air.  
Themselves unharmfull, let them live unharmed;  
Their jaws disabled, and their claws disarmed:  
Here, only in nocturnal howl bold,  
They dare not seize the Hind nor leap the fold.  
More powerful, and as vigilant as they,  
The Lion awfully forbids the prey.  
Their rage repressed, though pinched 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 every beast,  
Were weary work; nor will the Muse describe  
A slimy-born and sun-begotten Tribe:  
Who, far from steeples and their sacred sound,  
In fields their sullen conventicles found:  
These gross, half-animated lumps I leave;  
Nor can I think what thoughts they can conceive.  
But if they think at all, 'tis sure no high'r  
Than matter, put in motion, may aspire.  
Souls that can scarce ferment their mass of clay;  
So drossy, so divisible are They,  
As would but serve pure bodies for allay:  
Such souls as Shards produce, such beetle things  
As only buzz to heaven with evening wings;  
Strike in the dark, offending but by chance,  
Such are the blindfold 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 inborn stains be washed 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 virtues lie so mixed, that she  
Nor wholly stands condemned, nor wholly free.  
Then, like her injured Lion, let me speak,  
He can not bend her, and he would not break.  
Unkind already, and estranged in part,  
The Wolf begins to share her wand'ring 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 heaven, and yet too white for hell,  
Who just dropped half way down, nor lower fell;  
So poised, so gently she descends from high,  
It seems a soft dismission from the sky.  
Her house not ancient, whatsoe'er pretence  
Her clergy Heralds make in her defence.  
A second century not halfway run  
Since the new honours of her blood begun.  
A Lion old, obscene, and furious made  
By lust, compressed her mother in a shade.  
Then, by a lefthand marriage weds the Dame,  
Covering adultery with a specious name:  
So schism begot; and sacrilege and she,  
A well-matched pair, got graceless heresy.  
God's and king's rebels have the same good cause,  
To trample down divine and humane laws:  
Both would be called Reformers, and their hate,  
Alike destructive both to church and state:  
The fruit proclaims the plant; a lawless Prince  
By luxury reformed 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 starved, and senses gratified.  
Where marriage pleasures, midnight prayer supply,  
And mattin bells (a melancholy cry)  
Are tuned to merrier notes, increase and multiply.  
Religion shows a Rosy coloured face;  
Not hattered out with drudging works of grace,  
A downhill Reformation rolls apace.  
What flesh and blood would crowd the narrow gate`  
Or, till they waste their pampered paunches, wait?  
All would be happy at the cheapest rate.   

Though our lean faith these rigid laws has given,  
The full fed Musulman goes fat to heaven;  
For his Arabian Prophet with delights  
Of sense, allured his eastern Proselytes.  
The jolly Luther, reading him, began  
T'interpret Scriptures by his Alcoran;  
To grub the thorns beneath our tender feet,  
And make the paths of Paradise more sweet:  
Bethought him of a wife e'er half way gone,  
(For 'twas uneasy travailing alone;)  
And in this masquerade of mirth and love,  
Mistook the bliss of heaven for Bacchanals above.  
Sure he presumed of praise, who came to stock  
Th' etherial pastures with so fair a flock,  
Burnished, and bat'ning on their food, to show  
The diligence of careful herds below.   

Our Panther though like these she changed her head,  
Yet, as the mistress of a monarch's bed,  
Her front erect with majesty she bore,  
The Crozier wielded, and the Mitre wore.  
Her upper part of decent discipline  
Showed affectation of an ancient line:  
And fathers, councils, church and church's head,  
Were on her reverend Phylacteries read.  
But what disgraced and disavowed the rest,  
Was Calvin's brand, that stigmatised the beast.  
Thus, like a creature of a double kind,  
In her own labyrinth she lives confined.  
To foreign lands no sound of Her is come,  
Humbly content to be despised 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 deformed, because reformed the least.  
In doubtful points betwixt her differing friends,  
Where one for substance, one for sign contends,  
Their contradicting terms she strives to join,  
Sign shall be substance, substance shall be sign.  
A real presence all her sons allow,  
And yet 'tis flat Idolatry to bow,  
Because the godhead's there they know not how.  
Her Novices are taught that bread and wine  
Are but the visible and outward sign  
Received by those who in communion join.  
But th' inward grace, or the thing signified,  
His blood and body, who to save us died;  
The faithful this thing signified receive.  
What is't those faithful then partake or leave?  
For what is signified 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 every wave is tossed,  
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!  
Steadfast in various turns of state she stood,  
And sealed her vowed affection with her blood;  
Nor will I meanly tax her constancy,  
That interest or obligement made the tye,  
(Bound to the fate of murdered Monarchy:)  
(Before the ●ounding Axe so falls the Vine,  
Whose tender branches round the Poplar twine.)  
She chose her ruin, and resigned 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,  
Resolved into a base form they run,  
And bore the wind, but cannot bear the sun.  
Let this be nature's frailty or her fate,  
Or 
* The Wolf.  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 authority;  
For how can she constrain them to obey  
Who has herself east off the lawful 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 superiors first to fight;  
If she reform by Text, even that was plain  
For her own Rebels to reform again.  
As long as words a different sense will bear.  
And each may be his own Interpreter,  
Our ai'ry faith will no foundation find:  
The word's a weathercock for every wind:  
The Bear, the Fox, the Wolf, by turns prevail,  
The most in power supplies the present gale.  
The wretched Panther cries aloud for aid  
To church and councils, whom she first betrayed;  
No help from Fathers or traditions train,  
Those ancient guides she taught us to disdain,  
And by that scripture which she once abused  
To Reformation, stands herself accused.  
What bills for breach of laws can she prefer,  
Expounding which she owns herself may err?  
And, after all her winding ways are tried,  
If doubts arise she slips herself aside,  
And leaves the private conscience for the guide.  
If then that conscience set th' offender free,  
It bars her claim to church authority.  
How can she censure, or what crime pretend,  
But Scripture may be construed to defend?  
Even those whom for rebellion she transmits'  
To civil power, 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 absolved she sends to punishment.  
Suppose the Magistrate revenge her cause,  
'Tis only for transgressing humane laws.  
How answering to its end a church is made,  
Whose power is but to counsel 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 loved nor feared,  
A mere mock Queen of a divided Herd;  
Whom soon by lawful power she might control,  
Herself 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 borrowed 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 savage crowd, she goes  
And meanly flatters her inveterate foes.  
Ruled while she rules, and losing every hour  
Her wretched remnants of precarious power.   

One evening while the cooler shade she sought,  
Revolving many a melancholy thought,  
Alone she walked, and looked around in vain,  
With rueful visage for her vanished train:  
None of her sylvan subjects made their court;  
Leveés and coucheés passed without resort.  
So hardly can Usurpers manage well  
Those, whom they first instructed to rebel:  
More liberty begets desire of more,  
The hunger still increases with the store.  
Without respect they brushed along the wood  
Each in his clan, and filled with loathsome food  
Asked no permission to the neighbouring flood.  
The Panther full of inward discontent  
Since they would go, before 'em wisely went:  
Supplying want of power by drinking first,  
As if she gave 'em leave to quench their thirst.  
Among the rest, the Hind, with fearful face  
Beheld from far the common watering place,  
Nor durst approach; till with an awful roar  
The sovereign Lion bade her fear no more.  
Encouraged thus she brought her younglings nigh.  
Watching the motions of her Patron's eye,  
And drank a sober draught; the rest amazed  
Stood mutely still, and on the stranger gazed:  
Surveyed her part by part, and sought to find  
The ten-horned monster in the harmless Hind,  
Such as the Wolf and Panther had designed.  
They thought at first they dreamed, for 'twas offence  
With them, to question certitude of sense,  
Their guide in faith; but nearer when they drew,  
And had the faultless object full in view,  
Lord, how they all admired her heavenly hue!  
Some, who before her fellowship disdained,  
Scarce, and but scarce, from in born rage restrained,  
Now frisked about her, and old kindred feigned.  
Whether for love or interest, every sect  
Of all the savage nation showed respect:  
The Viceroy Panther could not awe the herd,  
The more the company the less they feared.  
The surly Wolf with secret envy burst,  
Yet could not howl, the Hind had seen him first:  
But what he durst not speak, the Panther durst.   

For when the herd sufficed did late repair  
To ferny heaths, and to their forest lare,  
She made a mannerly excuse to stay,  
proffering 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 goodwill the motion was embraced,  
To chat awhile on their adventures passed:  
Nor had the grateful Hind so soon forgot  
Her friend and fellow-suff'rer in the plot.  
Yet wondering how of late she grew estranged,  
Her forehead cloudy, and her countenance changed,  
She thought this hour th' occasion would present  
To learn her secret cause of discontent,  
Which, well she hoped, might be with ease redressed,  
Considering 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 piched, a spacious tract of ground  
With expert huntsmen was encompassed round;  
Th' Enclosure narrowed; the sagacious power  
Of hounds and death, drew nearer every hour.  
'Tis true, the younger Lion scaped the snare,  
But all your priestly calves lay struggling there;  
As sacrifices on their Altars laid;  
While you their careful mother wisely fled  
Not trusting destiny to save your head.  
For, what e'er promises you have applied  
To your unfailing church, the surer side  
Is four fair legs 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 escape so well.   

As I remember, said the sober Hind,  
Those toils were for your own dear self designed,  
As well as me; and, with the self same throw,  
To catch the quarry, and the vermin too,  
(Forgive the slanderous tongues that called 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 nursed,  
(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 loosed your tongue.  
And, to explain what your forefathers meant,  
By real presence in the sacrament,  
(After long fencing pushed, against a wall,)  
Your salvo comes, that he's not there at all:  
There changed 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 owned myself infallible,  
Replied the Panther; grant such Presence were,  
Yet in your sense I never owned it there.  
A real virtue we by faith receive,  
And that we in the sacrament believe.   

Then said the Hind, as you the matter state  
Not only jesuits 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 church's substance thus you change at will,  
And yet retain your former figure still.  
I freely grant you spoke to save your life,  
For than you lay beneath the butchers' knife.  
Long time you fought, redoubled battery bore,  
But, after all, against yourself you swore;  
Your former self, for every hour your form  
Is chopped and changed, like winds before a storm.  
Thus fear and interest will prevail with some,  
For all have not the gift of martyrdom.   

The Panther grinned at this, and thus replied;  
That men may err was never yet denied.  
But, if that common principle be true,  
The Cannon, Dame, is levelled full at you.  
But, shunning long disputes, I fain would see  
That wondrous wight infallibility.  
Is he from heaven this mighty champion come,  
Or lodged 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 assigned,  
The doubtful 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 inferred, 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 lawful, both combined, what one decrees  
By numerous votes, the other ratifies:  
On this undoubted sense the church relies.  
'Tis true, some Doctors 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 diffused is by the council tied;  
As members by their representatives  
Obliged 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 needful points contain;  
Their sense so obvious, and their words so plain,  
That no disputes about the doubtful Text  
Have, hitherto, the labouring world perplexed:  
If any should in after times appear,  
New Councils must be called, to make the meaning clear.  
Because in them the power 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 every man his own presuming guide.  
The sacred books, you say, are full and plain,  
And every needful point of truth contain:  
All who can read, Interpreters may be:  
Thus though your several churches disagree,  
Yet every Saint has to himself alone  
The secret of this Philosophic stone.  
These principles your jarring sects unite,  
When differing Doctors and disciples fight.  
Though Luther, Zuinglius, Calvin, holy chiefs  
Have made a battle Royal of beliefs;  
Or like wild horses several ways have whirled  
The tortured Text about the christian World;  
Each jehu lashing on with furious force,  
That Turk or jew could not have used it worse.  
No matter what dissension leaders make  
Where every private man may save a stake,  
Ruled 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 reformed to pass the narrow door:  
So much, that Mahomet had scarcely more.  
For he, kind Prophet, was for damning none,  
But Christ and Moses were to save their own:  
Himself was to secure his chosen race,  
Though reason good for Turks to take the place,  
And he allowed to be the better man  
In virtue of his holier Alcoran.   

True, said the Panther, I shall ne'er deny  
My breth'rens may be saved 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 needful points is only plain.   

Needless or needful I not now contend,  
For still you have a loophole for a friend,  
(Rejoined 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 godhead disavow,  
And did not these by Gospel Texts alone  
Condemn our doctrine, and maintain their own?  
Have not all heretics 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 tried?  
No, sure to those the Rebel would not yield,  
Squadrons of Texts he marshaled 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 faced the Foe▪  
And did not Satan tempt our Saviour so?  
The good old Bishops took a simpler way,  
Each asked but what he heard his Father say,  
Or how he was instructed in his youth,  
And by traditions force upheld the truth.   

The Panther smiled at this, and when, said she,  
Were those first Councils disallowed by me?  
Or where did I at sure tradition strike,  
Provided still it were Apostolic?   

Friend, said the Hind, you quit your former ground,  
Where all your Faith you did on Scripture found;  
Now 'tis tradition joined with holy writ,  
But thus your memory betrays your wit.   

No, said the Panther, for in that I view,  
When your tradition's forged, and when 'tis true.  
I set 'em by the rule, and as they square  
Or deviate from undoubted doctrine there  
This Oral fiction, that old Faith declare.   

(Hind.) The Council steered it seems a different course,  
They tried the Scripture by tradition's force;  
But you tradition by the Scripture try;  
Pursued, by Sects, from this to that you fly,  
Nor dare on one foundation to rely.  
The word is then deposed, and in this view,  
You rule the Scripture, not the Scripture you.  
Thus said the Dame, and, smiling, thus pursued,  
I see tradition then is disallowed,  
When not evinced by Scripture to be true,  
And Scripture, as interpreted by you.  
But here you tread upon unfaithful ground;  
Unless you could 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 expense,  
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 tried  
By Sacred Writ, whose sense yourselves decide,  
You said no more, but that yourselves must be  
The judges of the Scripture sense, not we.  
Against our church tradition you declare  
And yet your Clerks would sit in Moyse's chair:  
At lest 'tis proved against your argument,  
The rule is far from plain, where all dissent.   

If not by Scriptures how can we be sure  
(Replied 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, replied the Dame,  
To whom derived from sire to son they came;  
Where every age does 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 skies.   

Sternly the savage did her answer mark,  
Her glowing eye' balls glittering in the dark,  
And said but this, since lucre was your trade,  
Succeeding times such dreadful gaps have made  
'Tis dangerous climbing: to your sons and you  
I leave the ladder, and its omen too.  
(Hind.) The Panther's breath was ever famed for sweet,  
But from the Wolf such wishes oft I meet:  
You learned this language from the blatant beast,  
Or rather did not speak, but were possessed.  
As for your answer 'tis but barely urged;  
You must evince tradition to be forged;  
Produce plain proofs; unblemished authors use  
As ancient as those ages they accuse;  
Till when 'tis not sufficient to defame:  
An old possession stands, till Elder quits the claim.  
Then for our interest which is named 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 Wolf did with more craft provide  
To set those toys traditions quite aside:  
And Fathers too, unless when reason spent  
He citys '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 authors find.  
For they, who left the Scripture to the crowd,  
Each for his own peculiar judge allowed;  
The way to please 'em was to make 'em proud.  
Thus: with full sails, they ran upon the shelf,  
Who could suspect a cozenage from himself?  
On his own reason safer 'tis to stand,  
Than be deceived and damned at second hand.  
But you who Fathers and traditions take,  
And garble some, and some you quite forsake,  
Pretending church authority to fix,  
And yet some grains of private spirit mix,  
Are like a Mule made up of differing seed,  
And that's the reason why you never breed;  
At least not propagate your kind abroad,  
For home-dissenters are by statutes awed.  
And yet they grow upon you every 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-brained Senate's mood:  
Of all expedients never one was good.  
Well may they argue, (nor can you deny)  
If we must fix on church authority,  
Best on the best, the fountain, not the flood,  
That must be better still, if this be good.  
Shall she command, who has herself rebelled?  
Is Antichrist by Antichrist expelled?  
Did we a lawful tyranny displace,  
To set aloft a bastard of the race?  
Why all these wars to win the Book, if we  
Must not interpret for ourselves, 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, hired for home defence,  
They will not serve against their native Prince.  
Against domestic foes of Hierarchy  
These are drawn forth, to make fanatics fly,  
But, when they see their countrymen at hand,  
Marching against 'em under church-command,  
Strait they forsake their colours, and disband.   

Thus she, nor could 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 Penmen could not make 'em clear,  
From after ages we should hope in vain  
For truths, which men inspired, could not explain.   

Before the Word was written, said the Hind:  
Our Saviour preached his Faith to humane kind,  
From his Apostles the first age received  
Eternal truth, and what they taught, believed.  
Thus by tradition faith was planted first,  
Succeeding flocks succeeding Pastors nursed.  
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 could have writ himself, but well foresaw  
Th' event would be like that of Moses' law;  
Some difference would arise, some doubts remain,  
Like those, which yet the jarring jews maintain.  
No written laws can be so plain, so pure,  
But wit may gloss, and malice may obscure,  
Not those indicted by his first command,  
A Prophet graved the text, an Angel held his hand.  
Thus faith was e'er the written word appeared,  
And men believed, not what they read, but heard.  
But since th' Apostles could not be confined,  
To these, or those, but severally designed  
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 harkened still, for love produces care.  
And as mistakes arose, or discords fell,  
Or bold seducers taught 'em to rebel,  
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 supplied:  
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 needful doctrines, are those doctrines plain.  
Clearness by frequent preaching must be wrought,  
They writ but seldom, but they daily taught.  
And what one Saint has said of holy Paul,  
He darkly writ, is true applied to all.  
For this obscurity could heaven provide  
More prudently than by a living guide,  
As doubts arose, the difference to decide?  
A guide was therefore needful, therefore made,  
And, if appointed, sure to be obeyed.  
Thus, with due reverence, 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 would I thence the word no rule infer,  
But none without the church interpreter.  
Because, as I have urged before, 'tis mute,  
And is itself the subject of dispute.  
But what th' Apostles their successors taught,  
They to the next, from them to us is brought,  
Th' undoubted sense which is in scripture sought.  
From hence the church is armed▪ when errors rise,  
To stop their entrance, and prevent surprise;  
And safe entrenched within, her foes without defies.  
By these all festering sores her councils heal,  
Which time or has disclosed, 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 tried.)  
Much less the scripture; for suppose debate  
Betwixt pretenders to a fair estate,  
Bequeathed by some Legator's last intent;  
(Such is our dying Saviour's Testament:)  
The will is proved, is opened, and is read;  
The doubtful heirs their differing titles plead:  
All vouch the words their interest to maintain,  
And each pretends by those his cause is plain.  
Shall then the testament award the right▪  
No, that's the Hungary for which they fight;  
The field of battle, subject of debate,  
The thing contended for, the fair estate.  
The sense is intricate, 'tis only clear  
What vowels and what consonants are there.  
Therefore 'tis plain, its meaning must be tried  
Before some judge appointed to decide.   

Suppose, (the fair Apostate said,) I grant,  
The faithful flock some living guide should want,  
Your arguments an endless chase pursue:  
Produce this vaunted Leader to our view,  
This mighty Moses of the chosen crew.   

The Dame, who saw her fainting foe retired,  
With force renewed, to victory aspired;  
(And looking upward to her kindred sky,  
As once our Saviour owned his Deity,  
Pronounced his words— she whom ye seek am I.)  
Nor less amazed this voice the Panther heard,  
Than were those jews to hear a god declared.  
Then thus the matron modesty renewed,  
Let all your prophets and their sects be viewed,  
And see to which of 'em yourselves think fit  
The conduct of your conscience to submit:  
Each Proselyte would vote his Doctor best,  
With absolute exclusion to the rest:  
Thus would your Polish Diet disagree,  
And end as it began in Anarchy:  
Yourself the fairest for election stand,  
Because you seem crown-gen'ral of the land,  
But soon against your superstitious lawn  
Some Presbyterian Sabre would be drawn:  
In your established laws of sovereignty  
The rest some fundamental flaw would see,  
And call Rebellion gospel-liberty.  
To church-decrees your articles require  
Submission modified, if not entire;  
Homage denied, to censures you proceed;  
But when Curtana will not do the deed,  
You lay that pointless clergy-weapon by,  
And to the laws, your sword of justice, fly.  
Now this your sects the more unkindly take  
(Those prying varlets hit the blots you make)  
Because some ancient friends of yours declare,  
Your only rule of faith the Scriptures are,  
Interpreted by men of judgement sound,  
Which every sect will for themselves expound:  
Nor think less reverence to their doctors due  
For sound interpretation, than to you.  
If then, by able heads, are understood  
Your brother prophets, who reformed abroad,  
Those able heads expound a wiser way,  
That their own sheep their shepherd should obey.  
But if you mean yourselves are only sound,  
That doctrine turns the reformation round,  
And all the rest are false reformers found.  
Because in sundry points you stand alone,  
Not in communion joined with any one;  
And therefore must be all the church, or none.  
Then, till you have agreed whose judge is best,  
Against this forced submission they protest:  
While sound and sound a different sense explains  
Both play at 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 could fill the throne.  
But neither you, nor any sect beside  
For this high office can be qualified,  
With necessary gifts required in such a guide.  
For that which must direct the whole, must be  
Bound in one bond of faith and unity:  
But all your several churches disagree.  
The Consubstantiating church and Priest  
Refuse communion to the Calvinist;  
The French reformed, 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 reformed can with another join:  
But all from each, as from damnation fly;  
No union, they pretend, but in Non-Popery.  
Nor should their members in a synod meet;  
Could any church presume to mount the seat  
Above the rest, their discords to decide;  
None would obey, but each would be the guide:  
And face to face dissensions would increase;  
For only distance now preserves the peace▪  
All in their turns accusers, and accused:  
Babel was never half so much confused  
What one can plead, the rest can plead as well;  
For amongst equals lies no last appeal▪  
And all confess themselves are fallible.  
Now since you grant some necessary guide,  
All who can err are justly laid aside:  
Because a trust so sacred to confer  
Shows want of such a sure interpreter:  
And how can he be needful who can err▪  
Then, granting that unerring guide we want,  
That such there is you stand obliged to grant:  
Our Saviour else were wanting to supply  
Our needs, and obviate that necessity.  
It than remains that church can only be  
The guide, which owns unfailing certainty;  
Or else you slip your hold, and change your side,  
Relapsing from a necessary guide.  
But this annexed condition of the crown,  
Immunity from errors, you disown.  
Here than you shrink, & lay your weak pretensions down.  
For petty royalties you raise debate;  
But this unfailing universal state  
You eat; 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 unrivalled claim ascends the throne.  
So when of old th' Almighty father sat  
In Council, to redeem our ruin'd state,  
Millions of millions at a distance round,  
Silent the sacred Consistory crowned,  
To hear what mercy mixed with justice could propound.  
All prompt with eager pity, to fulfil  
The full extent of their Creatour's will:  
But when the stern conditions were declared,  
A mournful whisper through the host was heard,  
And the whole hierarchy with heads hung down  
Submissively declined the ponderous proffered 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 heaven had bend▪  
Nor he Himself could bear, but as omnipotent.  
Now, to remove the least remaining doubt,  
That even the blear-eyed sects may find her out,  
Behold what heavenly rays adorn her brows,  
What from his Wardrobe her beloved allows  
To deck the wedding-day of his unspotted spouse.  
Behold what marks of majesty she brings;  
Richer than ancient heirs of Eastern kings:  
Her right hand holds the sceptre and the keys,  
To show whom she commands, and who obeys:  
With these to bind, or set the sinner free  
With that t' assert spiritual Royalty.   

One in herself not rend by schism, but sound,  
Entire, 
Marks of the Catholic Church from the Nicene Creed.  one solid shining Diamond,  
Not sparkles shattered into sects like you,  
One is the church, and must be to be true:  
One central principle of unity.  
As undivided so from errors free,  
As one in faith, so one in sanctity.  
Thus she, and none but she, th' insulting rage  
Of Heretics opposed from age to age:  
Still when the Gyant-brood invades her throne  
She stoops from heaven, and meets 'em half way down,  
And with paternal thunder vindicates her crown.  
But like Egyptian Sorcerers you stand,  
And vainly lift aloft your magic wand,  
To sweep away the swarms of vermin from the land:  
You could like them, with like infernal force  
Produce the plague, but not arrest the course.  
But when the boils and botches, with disgrace  
And public scandal sat upon the face,  
Themselves attacked, the Magi. strove no more,  
They saw God's finger, and their fate deplore;  
Themselves they could 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 shores are watered by her wealthy Tides.   

The Golspel's-sound diffused from Pole to Pole,  
Where winds can carry, and where waves can roll.  
The self same doctrine of the Sacred page  
Conveyed to every clime in every age.   

Here let my sorrow give my satire place,  
To raise new blushes on my British race;  
Our sailing ships like common shores we use,  
And through our distant colonies diffuse  
The draughts of Dungeons, and the stench of stews.  
Whom, when their homebred honesty is lost,  
We disembogue on some far Indian coast:  
Thiefs, Panders, Palliards, sins of every sort,  
Those are the manufactures we export;  
And these the Missionaires our zeal has made:  
For, with my country's pardon be it said,  
Religion is the least of all our trade.   

Yet some improve their traffic more than we,  
For they on gain, their only God, rely;  
And set a public price on piety.  
Industrious of the needle and the chart  
They run full sail to their japponian Mart:  
Prevention fear, and prodigal of fame  
Sell all of Christian to the very name:  
Nor leave enough of that to hide their naked shame.   

Thus, of three marks which in the Creed we view,  
Not one of all can be applied to you:  
Much less the fourth; in vain alas you seek  
Th' ambitious title of Apostolic:  
Godlike descent! 'tis well your blood can be  
Proved noble, in the third or fourth degree:  
For all of ancient that you had before  
(I mean what is not borrowed from our store)  
Was Error fulminated over and over.  
Old Heresies condemned in ages past,  
By care and time recovered from the blast.   

'Tis said with ease, but never can be proved,  
The church her old foundations has removed,  
And built new doctrines on unstable sands:  
Judge that ye winds and rains; you proved her, yet she stands.  
Those ancient doctrines charged on her for new,  
Show when, and how, and from what hands they grew.  
We claim no power when Heresies grow bold  
To coin new faith, but still declare the old.  
How else could that obscene disease be purged  
When controverted texts are vainly urged?  
To prove tradition new, there's somewhat more  
Required, than saying, 'twas not used before.  
Those monumental arms are never stirred  
Till Schism or Heresy 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 errors which new sects maintain  
Or which of old disturbed the churches peaceful reign,  
And we can point each period of the time,  
When they began, and who begot the crime;  
Can calculate how long th' eclipse endured,  
Who interposed, what digits were obscured:  
Of all which are already passed away,  
We know the rise, the progress and decay.   

Despair at our foundations then to strike▪  
Till you can prove your faith Apostolic;  
A limpid stream drawn from the native source;  
Succession lawful in a lineal course.  
Prove any church opposed to this our head,  
So one, so pure, so unconfin'dly spread,  
Under one chief of the spiritual state,  
The members all combined, and all subordinate.  
Show such a seamless coat, from schism so free,  
In no communion joined with heresy:  
If such a one you find, let truth prevail:  
Till when your weights will in the balance fail:  
A church unprincipled kicks up the scale.   

But if you cannot think, (nor sure you can)  
Suppose in God what were unjust in man,  
That he, the fountain of eternal grace,  
Should suffer falsehood for so long a space  
To banish truth, and to usurp her place:  
That nine successive ages should be lost  
And preach damnation at their proper cost;  
That all your erring ancestors should die,  
Drowned 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 adorned with every grace  
With open arms, a kind forgiving face,  
Stands ready to prevent her long lost sons embrace.  
Not more did joseph o'er his brethren weep,  
Nor less himself could from discovery keep,  
When in the crowd of suppliants they were seen,  
And in their crew his best beloved Benjamin.  
That pious joseph in the church behold,  
To feed your famine, and refuse your gold;  
The joseph you exiled, the joseph whom you sold. 
The renunciation of the Benedictines to the Abbey Lands.    

Thus, while with heavenly charity she spoke,  
A streaming blaze the silent shadows broke:  
Shot from the skies a cheerful azure light;  
The birds obscene to forests winged their flight,  
And gaping groves received the wand'ring guilty spirit.   

Such were the pleasing triumphs of the sky  
For james his late nocturnal victory;  
The pledge of his Almighty patron's love,  
The fireworks which his angel made above.  
I saw myself the lambent easy light 
〈◊〉 loquitur.   
Gild the brown horror and dispel the night;  
The messenger with speed the tidings bore;  
News which three labouring nations did restore,  
But heavens own Nuntius was arrived before.   

By this, the Hind had reached her lonely cell;  
And vapours rose, and dews unwholesome fell.  
When she, by frequent observation wise,  
As one who long on heaven had fixed her eyes,  
Discerned a change of weather in the skies.  
The Western borders were with crimson spread,  
The moon descending look looked all flaming red,  
She thought good manners bound her to invite  
The stranger Dame to be her guest that night.  
'Tis true, course dye● and a mort repast,  
(She said) were weak inducements to the ●ast  
Of one so nicely bred, and so unused to fast.  
But what plain fare her cottage could afford,  
A hearty welcome at a homely board  
Was freely hers; and, to supply the rest,  
An honest meaning and an open breast▪  
Last, with content of mind, the poorman's Wealth;  
A grace-cup to their common Patron's health▪  
This she desired her to accept and stay,  
For fear she might be wildered in her way,  
Because she wanted an unerring guide;  
And then the due drops on her silken hide  
Her tender constitution did declare,  
Too Ladylike a long fatigue to bear▪  
And rough inclemencies of raw nocturnal air.  
But most she feared that travelling so late  
Some evil minded beasts might lie in wait▪  
And without witness wreak their hidden hate▪   

The Panther, though she lent a listening ear,  
Had more of Lion in her than to fear:  
Yet wisely weighing, since she had to deal  
With many foes, their numbers might prevail,  
Returned her all the thanks she could 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 peaceful Seat my poverty secures,  
War seldom enters but where wealth allures;  
Nor yet despise it, for this poor abode  
Has oft received, and yet receives a god;  
A god victorious of 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 amazed to see  
Contempt of wealth, and wilful poverty:  
And, though ill habits are not soon controlled,  
A while suspended her desire of gold.  
But civility drew in her sharpened paws▪  
Not violating hospitable laws.  
And pacified her tail, and licked her frothy jaws.   

The Hind did first her country ●ates provide;  
Then couched herself securely by her side.    

THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. The Third Part.  

MUCH malice mingled with a little wit  
Perhaps may censure this mysterious writ,  
Because the Muse has peopled Caledon  
With Panthers, Bears, and Wolves, and Beasts unkown,  
As if we were not stocked 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 blamed a British Lioness,  
That Queen, whose feast the factious rabble keep,  
Exposed obscenely naked and a-sleep.  
Led by those great examples, may not I  
The wanted organs of their words supply?  
If men transact like brutes 'tis equal then  
For brutes to claim the privilege of men.   

Others our Hind of folly will indite,  
To entertain a dangerous guest by night.  
Let those remember that she cannot die  
Till rolling time is lost in round eternity;  
Nor need she fear the Panther, though untamed,  
Because the Lion's peace was now proclaimed,  
The wary savage would not give offence,  
To forfeit the protection of her Prince;  
But watched the time her vengeance to complete,  
When all her furry sons in frequent Senate met.  
Mean while she quenched her fury at the flood,  
And with a Lenten salad cooled her blood.  
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 disturbed the friendly meal.  
She turned the talk, avoiding that extreme,  
To common dangers past, a sadly pleasing theme;  
Remembering every storm which tossed the state,  
When both were objects of the public hate,  
And dropped a tear betwixt for her own children's fate.   

Nor failed she then a full review to make  
Of what the Panther suffered for her sake.  
Her lost esteem, her truth, her loyal care,  
Her faith unshaken to an exiled Heir,  
Her strength t' endure, her courage to defy;  
Her choice of honourable infamy.  
On these prolixly thankful, she enlarged,  
Then with acknowledgements herself she charged:  
For friendship of itself, an holy tye,  
Is made more sacred by adversity.  
Now should they part, malicious tongues would say,  
They met like chance companions on the way,  
Whom mutual fear of robbers had possessed;  
While danger lasted, kindness was professed;  
But that once over, the short lived union ends:  
The road divides, and there divide the friends.   

The Panther nodded when her speech was done,  
And thanked her coldly in a hollow tone.  
But said her gratitude had gone too far  
For common offices of Christian care.  
If to the lawful Heir she had been true,  
She paid but Caesar what was Caesar's due.  
I might, she added, with like praise describe  
Your suffering sons, and so return your bribe;  
But incense from my hands is poorly prized,  
For gifts are scorned where givers are despised.  
I served a turn, and then was cast away;  
You, like the gaudy fly, your wings display,  
And sip the sweets, and bask in your Great Patron's day.   

This heard, the Matron was not slow to find  
What sort of malady had seized her mind;  
Disdain, with gnawing envy, fell despite,  
And cankered malice stood in open sight.  
Ambition, interest, pride without control,  
And jealousy, the jaundice of the soul;  
Revenge, the bloody minister of ill,  
With all the lean torments of the will.  
'Twas easy now to guests from whence arose  
Her new made union with her ancient foes,  
Her forced civilities, her faint embrace,  
Affected kindness with an altered face:  
Yet durst she not too deeply probe the wound,  
As hoping still the nobler parts were sound;  
But strove with Anodynes t'assuage the smart,  
And mildly thus her medicine did impart.   

Complaints of Lovers help to ease their pain,  
It shows a Rest of kindness to complain,  
A friendship loath to quit its former hold,  
And conscious merit may be justly bold.  
But much more just your jealousy would show,  
If others good were injury to you:  
Witness ye heavens how I rejoice to see  
Rewarded worth, and rising loyalty.  
Your Warrior Offspring that upheld the crown,  
The scarlet honours of your peaceful gown,  
Are the most pleasing objects I can find,  
Charms to my sight, and cordials to my mind:  
When virtue spoomes before a prosperous gale  
My heaving wishes help to fill the sail,  
And if my prayers for all the brave were heard,  
Caesar should still have such, and such should still reward.   

The laboured earth your pains have sowed and tilled:  
'Tis just you reap the product of the field.  
Yours be the harvest, 'tis the beggar's gain  
To glean the fall of the loaded wain.  
Such scattered ears as are not worth your care,  
Your charity for alms may safely spare,  
And alms are but the vehicles of prayer.  
My daily bread is litt'rally implored,  
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 barefaced envy is too base a cause.   

Show more occasion for your discontent,  
Your love, the Wolf, would help you to invent,  
Some Germane quarrel, or, as times go now,  
Some French, where force is uppermost, will do.  
When at the fountains head, as merit aught  
To claim the place, you take a swilling draught,  
How easy 'tis an envious eye to throw,  
And tax the sheep for troubling streams below,  
Or call her, (when no farther cause you find,)  
An enemy professed of all your kind.  
But then, perhaps, the wicked World would think,  
The Wolf designed to eat as well as drink.   

This last allusion gauled the Panther more,  
Because indeed it rubbed upon the sore.  
Yet seemed she not to winch, though shrewdly pained:  
But thus her Passive character maintained.   

I never grudged, whate'er my foes report,  
Your flaunting fortune in the Lion's court.  
You have your day, or you are much belied,  
But I am always on the suffering side:  
You know my doctrine, and I need not say  
I will not, but I cannot disobey.  
On this firm principle I ever stood:  
He of my sons who fails to make it good,  
By one rebellious act renounces to my blood.  
Ah, said the Hind, how many sons have you  
Who call you mother, whom you never knew!  
But most of them who that relation plead  
Are such ungracious youths as wish you dead.  
They gape at rich revenues which you hold,  
And fain would nible at your grandam gold;  
Inquire into your years, and laugh to find  
Your crazy temper shows you much declined.  
Were you not dim, and doted, you might see  
A pack of cheats that claim a pedigree,  
No more of kin to you than you to me.  
Do you not know, that for a little coin,  
Herald's can foist a name into the line,  
They ask you blessing but for what you have,  
But once possessed of what with care you save,  
The wanton boys would piss upon your grave.  
Your sons of Latitude that court your grace,  
Though most resembling you in form and face,  
Are far the worst of your pretended race.  
And, but I blush your honesty to blot,  
Pray god you prove 'em lawfully begot:  
For, in some Popish libels I have read,  
The Wolf has been too busy 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 Bishoprics are still of right divine.   

Think you your new French Proselytes are come  
To starve abroad, because they staryed at home?  
Your benefices twinkled from afar,  
They found the new Messiah by the star:  
Those Swisses fight on any side for pay,  
And 'tis the living that conforms, not they▪  
Mark with what management their tribes divide,  
Some stick to you, and some to t' other side,  
That many churches may for many mouths provide.  
More vacant pulpits would more converts make,  
All would have latitude enough to take;  
The rest unbeneficed, your sects maintain  
For ordinations without cures are vain,  
And chamber practice is a silent gain.  
Your sons of breadth at home, are much like these,  
Their soft and easy metals run with ease,  
They melt, and take the figure of the mould:  
But harden, and preserve it best in gold.   

Your Delphic Sword, the Panther then replied,  
Is double edged, and cuts on either side.  
Some sons of mine who bear upon their shield,  
Three steeples Argent in a sable field,  
Have sharply taxed your converts, who unfed  
Have followed you for miracles of bread;  
Such who themselves of no religion are,  
Allured with gain, for any will declare.  
Bare lies with bold assertions they can face,  
But dint of argument is out of place.  
The grim Logician puts 'em in a fright,  
'Tis easier far to flourish than to fight.  
Thus our eighth Henry's marriage they defame;  
They say the schism of beds began the game,  
Devorcing from the Church to wed the Dame.  
Though largely proved, and by himself professed  
That conscience, conscience would not let him rest,  
I mean not till possessed of her he loved,  
And old, uncharming Catherine was removed.  
For sundry years before did he complain,  
And told his ghostly Confessor his pain.  
With the same impudence, without a ground,  
They say, that look the reformation round,  
No Treatise of Humility is found.  
But if none were, the Gospel does not want,  
Our Saviour preached it, and I hope you grant,  
The Sermon in the mount was Protestant:   

No doubt, replied 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 followed me for miracles of bread,  
Judge not by hear-say, but observe at least,  
If since their change, their loaves have been increased▪  
The Lion buys no Converts, if he did,  
Beasts would be sold as fast as he could bid.  
Tax those of interest who conform for gain,  
Or stay the market of another reign.  
Your broad-way sons would never be too nice  
To close with Calvin, if he paid their price;  
But raised three steeples high, would change their note,  
And quit the Cassock for the Canting-coat.  
Now, if you damn this censure, as too bold,  
Judge by yourselves, and think not others sold.   

Meantime my sons accused, by fame's report  
Pay small attendance at the Lion's court,  
Nor rise with early crowds, nor flatter late,  
(For silently they beg who daily wait.)  
Preferment is bestowed that comes unsought,  
Attendance is a bribe, and then 'tis bought.  
How they should speed, their fortune is untried,  
For not to ask, is not to be denied.  
For what they have, their God and King they bless,  
And hope they should not murmur, had they less.  
But, if reduced subsistence to implore,  
In common prudence they would pass your door;  
Unpitied Hudibrass, your Champion friend,  
Has shown how far your charities extend.  
This lasting verse shall on his tomb be read,  
He shamed you living, and upbraids you dead.   

With odious Atheist names you load your foes,  
Your liberal Clergy why did I expose?  
It never fails in charities like those.  
In climes where true religion is professed,  
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 perjured murderer survives.   

This said, she paused a little, and suppressed  
The boiling indignation of her breast;  
She knew the virtue of her blade, nor would  
Pollute her satire with ignoble blood:  
Her panting foes she saw before her lie,  
And back she drew the shining weapon dry:  
So when the generous Lion has in sight  
His equal match, he rouses for the fight;  
But when his 〈◊〉 lies prostrate on the plain,  
He sheaths his paws, uncurls his angry mane;  
And, pleased with bloudless honours of the day,  
Walks over, and disdains th' inglorious Prey.  
So JAMES, if great with less we may compare,  
Arrests his rolling thunderbolts in air;  
And grants ungrateful friends a lengthened space,  
T'implore the remnants of long suffering grace.   

This breathing-time the Matron took; and then,  
Resumed the third of her discourse again.  
Be vengeance wholly left to powers divine,  
And let heaven judge betwixt your sons and mine:  
If joys hereafter must be purchased here  
With loss of all that mortals hold so dear,  
Then welcome infamy and public shame,  
And, last, a long farewell to worldly fame.  
'Tis said with ease, but oh, how hardly tried  
By haughty souls to humane honour tied!  
O sharp convulsive pangs of agonizing pride!  
Down then thou rebel, never more to rise,  
And what thou didst, and dost so dearly prize,  
That fame, that darling fame, make that thy sacrifice.  
'Tis nothing thou hast given, then add thy tears  
For a long race of unrepenting years:  
'Tis nothing yet; yet all thou hast to give,  
Then add those may-be years thou hast to live.  
Yet nothing still: then poor, and naked come,  
Thy father will receive his unthrift home,  
And thy blessed Saviour's blood discharge the mighty sum.   

Thus (she pursued) I discipline a son  
Whose unchecked fury to revenge would run:  
He champs the bit, impatient of his loss,  
And starts aside, and flounder at the cross.  
Instruct him better, gracious God, to know,  
As thine is vengeance, so forgiveness too.  
That suffering from ill tongues he bears no more  
Than what his Sovereign bears, and what his Saviour bore.   

It now remains for you to school your child,  
And ask why God's anointed he reviled;  
A King and Princess dead! did Shimei worse?  
The curser's punishment should fright the curse:  
Your son was warned, and wisely gave it o'er,  
But he who counselled him, has paid the score:  
The heavy malice could no higher tend,  
But woe to him on whom the weights descend:  
So to permitted ills the Daemon flies:  
His rage is aimed at him who rules the skies;  
Constrained to quit his cause, no succour found,  
The foe discharges every Tire around,  
In clouds of smoke abandoning the fight,  
But his own thundering peals proclaim his flight.   

In Henry's change his charge as ill succeeds,  
To that long story little answer needs,  
Confront but Henry's words with Henry's deeds.  
Were space allowed, with ease it might be proved,  
What springs his blessed reformation moved.  
The dire effects appeared 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.  
'Tis found, but better it had ne'er been sought  
Than thus in Protestant procession brought.  
The famed original through Spain is known,  
Rodriguez work, my celebrated son,  
Which yours, by ill-translating made his own,  
Concealed its author, and usurped the name,  
The basest and ignoblest theft of fame.  
My Altars kindled first that living coal,  
Restore, or practice better what you stole:  
That virtue could this humble verse inspire,  
'Tis all the restitution I require.   

Glad was the Panther that the charge was closed,  
And none of all her favourite sons exposed.  
For laws of arms permit each injured man,  
To make himself a saver where he can.  
Perhaps the plundered merchant cannot tell  
The names of Pirates in whose hands he fell:  
But at the den of thiefs he justly flies,  
And every Algerine is lawful prize.  
No private person in the foes estate  
Can plead exemption from the public fate.  
Yet Christian laws allow not such redress;  
Then let the greater supersede the less.  
But let th' Abettors of the Panther's crime  
Learn to make fairer wars another time.  
Some characters may sure be found to write  
Among her sons, for 'tis no common sight  
A spotted Dam, and all her offspring white.   

The Savage, though she saw her plea controlled,  
Yet would not wholly seem to quit her hold,  
But offered fairly to compound the strife;  
And judge conversion by the converts life.  
'Tis true, she said, I think it somewhat strange  
So few should follow profitable change:  
For present joys are more to flesh and blood,  
Than a dull prospect of a distant good.  
'Twas well alluded by a son of mine,  
(I hope to quote him is not to purloin.)  
Two magnets, heaven and earth, allure to bliss,  
The larger loadstone that, the nearer this:  
The weak attraction of the greater fails,  
We nod awhile, but neighbourhood prevails:  
But when the greater proves the nearer too,  
I wonder more your converts come so slow.  
Methinks in those who firm with me remain,  
It shows a nobler principle than gain.   

Your inference would be strong the Hind replied)  
If yours were in effect the suffering side:  
Your clergy sons their own in peace possess,  
Nor are their prospects in reversion less.  
My Proselytes are struck with awful dread,  
Your bloody Comet-laws hang blazing o'er their head.  
The respite they enjoy but only lent,  
The best they have to hope, protracted punishment.  
Be judge yourself, if interest may prevail,  
Which motives, yours or mine, will turn the scale.  
While pride and pomp allure, and plenteous ease,  
That is, till man's predominant passions cease,  
Admire no longer at my slow increase.   

By education most have been misled,  
So they believe, because they so were bred.  
The Priest continues what the nurse began,  
And thus the child imposes on the man.  
The rest I named before, nor need repeat:  
But interest is the most prevailing cheat,  
The fly seducer both of age and youth;  
They study that, and think they study truth:  
When interest fortifies an argument  
Weak reason serves to gain the wills assent;  
For souls already warped receive an easy bent.   

Add long prescription of established 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 allowed.  
Disdain of Fathers which the dance began,  
And last, uncertain who's the narrower span,  
The clown unread, and half-read gentleman.   

To this the Panther, with a scornful smile:  
Yet still you travail with unwearied toil,  
And range around the realm without control  
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 heaven you did not prophesy 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 (replied the Matron) tell  
What sad mischance those pretty birds befell.   

Nay, no mischance, (the savage Dame replied)  
But want of wit in their unerring guide,  
And eager haste, and gaudy hopes, and giddy pride.  
Yet, wishing timely warning may prevail,  
Make you the moral, and I'll tell the tale.   

The Swallow, privileged above the rest  
Of all the birds, as man's familiar Guest,  
Pursues the Sun in summer brisk and bold,  
But wisely shuns the persecuting cold:  
Is well to chancels and to chimneys known,  
Though 'tis not thought she feeds on smoke alone.  
From hence she has been held of heavenly line,  
Endued with particles of soul divine.  
This merry Chorister had long possessed  
Her summer seat, and feathered well her nest:  
Till frowning skies began to change their cheer  
And time turned up the wrong side of the year▪  
The shedding trees began the ground to strew  
With yellow leaves, and bitter blasts to blow.  
Sad auguries of winter thence she drew,  
Which by instinct, or Prophecy, she knew:  
When prudence warned her to remove betimes  
And seek a better heaven, and warmer climes.   

Her sons were summoned on a steeples height,  
And, called in common council, vote a flight;  
The day was named, the next that should be fair,  
All to the gen'ral rendezvouz repair,  
They try their fluttering 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 harboured in a hollow rock at night:  
Next morn they rose and set up every sail,  
The wind was fair, but blew a mackrel gale:  
The sickly young sat shiuring on the shore,  
Abhorred salt-water never seen before,  
And prayed their tender mothers to delay  
The passage, and expect a fairer day.   

With these the Martin readily concurred,  
A church-begot, and church-believing bird;  
Of little body, but of lofty mind,  
Round bellied, for a dignity designed,  
And much a dunce, as Martyns are by kind.  
Yet often quoted Cannon-laws, and Code,  
And Fathers which he never understood,  
But little learning needs in noble blood.  
For, soothe to say, the Swallow brought him in,  
Her household Chaplain, and her next of kin.  
In Superstition silly to excess,  
And casting Schemes, by planetary guess:  
In fine, shortwinged, unfit himself to fly,  
His fear foretold foul weather in the sky.   

Besides, a Raven from a withered Oak,  
Left of their lodging, was observed to croak.  
That omen liked him not, so his advice  
Was present safety, bought at any price.  
(A seeming pious care, that covered cowardice.)  
To strengthen this, he told a boding dream,  
Of rising waters, and a troubled stream,  
Sure sign of anguish, dangers and distress,  
With something more not lawful to express:  
By which he slyly seemed to intimate  
Some secret revelation of their fate.  
For he concluded, once upon a time,  
He found a leaf inscribed with sacred rhyme,  
Whose antique characters did well denote  
The Sibyl's hand of the Cumaean Grott:  
The mad Divineress had plainly writ,  
A time should come (but many ages yet,)  
In which, sinister destinies ordain,  
A Dame should drown with all her feathered train,  
And seas from thence be called the Chelidonian main.  
At this, some shook for fear, the more devout  
Arose, and blessed themselves from head to foot.   

'Tis true, some stagers of the wiser sort  
Made all these idle wonderments their sport:  
They said, their only danger was delay,  
And he who heard what every fool could say,  
Would never fix his thoughts, but trim his time away.  
The passage yet was good, the wind, 'tis true,  
Was somewhat high, but that was nothing new,  
Nor more than usual Equinoxes blue.  
The Sun (already from the scales declined)  
Gave little hopes of better days behind,  
But change from bad to worse of weather and of wind.  
Nor need they fear the dampness of the Sky  
Should flag their wings, and hinder them to fly,  
'Twas only water thrown on sails too dry.  
But, least of all Philosophy presumes  
Of truth in dreams, from melancholy fumes:  
Perhaps the Martin, housed in holy ground,  
Might think of Ghosts that walk their midnight round,  
Till grosser atoms tumbling in the stream  
Of fancy, madly met and clubbed 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 rhymes.   

Th' advice was true, but fear had seized the most,  
And all good counsel is on cowards lost.  
The question crudely put, to shun delay,  
'Twas carried by the major part to stay.   

His point thus gained, Sir Martin dated thence  
His power, and from a Priest became a Prince.  
He ordered all things with a busy care,  
And cells, and refectories did prepare,  
And large provisions laid of winter fare.  
But now and then let fall a word or two  
Of hope, that heaven some miracle might show,  
And, for their sakes, the sun should backward go;  
Against the laws of nature upward climb,  
And, mounted on the Ram, renew the prime:  
For which two proofs in Sacred story lay,  
Of Ahaz dial, and of Ioshuah's day.  
In expectation of such times as these  
A chapel housed 'em, truly called of ease:  
For Martin much devotion did not ask,  
They prayed sometimes, and that was all their task.   

It happened (as beyond the reach of wit  
Blind prophecies may have a lucky hit)  
That, this accomplished, or at least in part,  
Gave great repute to their new Merlin's art.  
Some 
* Otherwise, called Martlets.  Swifts, the Giants of the Swallow kind,  
Large limbed, stouthearted, but of stupid mind,  
(For Swisses, or for Gibeonites designed,)  
These Lubbers, peeping through a broken pane,  
To suck fresh air, surveyed the neighbouring plain,  
And saw (but scarcely could believe their eyes)  
New blossoms flourish, and new flowers arise;  
As God had been abroad, and walking there,  
Had left his footsteps, and reformed the year:  
The sunny hills from far were seen to glow  
With glittering beams, and in the meads below  
The burnished brooks appeared with liquid gold to flow.  
At last they heard the foolish Cuckoo sing,  
Whose note proclaimed 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 would have it, 'twas St. Martyn's day.   

Who but the Swallow now triumphs alone,  
The Canopy of heaven is all her own,  
Her youthful offspring to their haunts repair;  
And glide along in glades, and skim in air,  
And dip for infects in the purling springs,  
And stoop on rivers to refresh their wings.  
Their mothers think a fair provision made,  
That every son can live upon his trade,  
And now the careful charge is off their hands,  
Look out for husbands, and new nuptial bands:  
The youthful widow longs to be supplied;  
But first the lover is by Lawyers tied  
To settle jointure-chimneys on the bride.  
So thick they couple, in so short a space,  
That martin's marr'age offsprings rise apace;  
Their ancient houses, running to decay,  
Are furbished 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 'twas time (so fast their numbers rise)  
To plant abroad, and people colonies▪  
The youth drawn forth, as Martin had desired,  
(For so their cruel destiny required)  
Were sent far off-on an ill fated day;  
The rest would need conduct 'em on their way,  
And Martin went, because he feared 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 should remount;  
An infant moon eclipsed him in his way,  
And hid the small remainders of his day:  
The crowed amazed, pursued no certain mark;  
But birds met birds, and justled in the dark;  
Few mind the public in a Panic fright;  
And fear increased the horror 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 should they do, beset with dangers round,  
No neighbouring Dorp, no lodging to be found,  
But bleaky plains, and bare unhospitable ground.  
The latter brood, who just began to fly  
Sick-feathered, and unpractised 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 could not cover all.  
T'augment their woes, the winds began to move  
Debate in air, for empty fields above,  
Till Boreas got the skies, and poured amain  
His rattling hailstones mixed with snow and rain.   

The joyless morning late arose, and found  
A dreadful desolation reign around,  
Some buried in the Snow, some frozen to the ground:  
The rest were struggling still with death, and lay  
The Crows and Ravens rights, an undefended prey;  
Excepting Martyn's race, for they and he  
Had gained the shelter of a hollow tree,  
But soon discovered by a sturdy clown,  
He headed all the rabble of a town,  
And finished 'em with bats, or polled 'em down  
Martin himself was caught alive, and tried  
For treasonous crimes, because the laws provide  
No Martin there in winter shall abide.  
High on an Oak which never leaf shall bear,  
He breathed his last, exposed to open air,  
And there his corpse, unblessed, are hanging still,  
To show the change of winds with his prophetic bill.   

The patience of the Hind did almost fail,  
For well she marked the malice of the tale:  
Which Ribbald art their church to Luther owes,  
In malice it began, by malice grows,  
He sowed the Serpent's teeth, an iron-harvest rose.  
But most in Martyn's character and fate,  
She saw her slandered 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 failed in your foreseeing skill,  
For Swallows are unlucky birds to kill:  
As for my sons, the family is blessed,  
Whose every child is equal to the rest:  
No church reformed can boast a blameless line;  
Such Martyns build in yours, and more than mine:  
Or else an old fanatic Author lies  
Who summed their Scandals up by Centuries.  
But, through your parable I plainly see  
The bloody laws, the crowds barbarity:  
The sunshine that offends the purblind sight,  
Had some their wishes, it would soon be night.  
Mistake me not, the charge concerns not you,  
Your sons are malcontents, but yet are true,  
As far as nonresistance 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 rebel and a king.   

Rest well assured the Pardelis replied,  
My sons would all support the regal side,  
Though heaven forbid the cause by battle should be tried.   

The Matron answered with a loud Amen,  
And thus pursued her argument again.  
If as you say, and as I hope no less,  
Your sons will practise what yourself profess,  
What angry power prevents our present peace?  
The Lion, studious of our common good,  
Desires, (and King's desires are ill withstood,)  
To join our Nations in a lasting love;  
The bars betwixt are easy to remove,  
For sanguinary laws were never made above.  
If you condemn that Prince of Tyranny  
Whose mandate forced your gallic 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 suffering brotherhood  
Have seldom felt, he stops it short of blood:  
But you have ground the persecuting knife,  
And set it to a razor edge on life.  
Cursed 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 bloody note,  
And stick it on the first Reformers coat.  
Oh let their crime in long oblivion sleep,  
'Twas theirs indeed to make, 'tis yours to keep.  
Unjust, or just, is all the question now,  
'Tis plain, that not repealing you allow.   

To name the Test would put you in a rage,  
You charge not that on any former age,  
But smile to think how innocent you stand  
Armed by a weapon put into your hand.  
Yet still remember that you wield a sword  
Forged by your foes against your Sovereign Lord.  
Designed to hew th' imperial Cedar down,  
Defraud Succession, and dis-heir the Crown.  
T' abhor the makers, and their laws approve,  
Is to hate Traitors, 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, disseised your brother of his right,  
Your common sire surrendering in a fright;  
Would you to that unrighteous title stand,  
Left by the villain's will to heir the land?  
More just was judas, who his Saviour sold;  
The sacrilegious bribe he could not hold,  
Nor hang in peace, before he rendered back the gold.  
What more could you have done, than now you do,  
Had Oats 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 walked as on enchanted ground.  
But now when time has made th' imposture plain,  
(Late though he followed truth, & limping held her train,)  
What new delusion charms your cheated eyes again?  
The painted Harlot might awhile bewitch,  
But why the Hag uncased, and all obscene with itch?   

The first Reformers were a modest race,  
Our Peers possessed in peace their native place:  
And when rebellious arms o'erturned the state,  
They suffered only in the common fate;  
But now the sovereign mounts the regal chair  
And mitred seats are full, yet David's bench is bare:  
Your answer is, they were not dispossessed,  
They need but rub their mettle on the Test  
To prove their ore: 'twere well if gold alone  
Were touched and tried on your discerning stone;  
But that unfaithful 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 preferred without disguise:  
No danger from the church or state from these,  
The Papist only has his Writ of ease.  
No gainful 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 privileged to starve.   

Still thank yourselves 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 'twere Toby's rival to expel,  
And fright the fiend who could not bear the smell.   

To this the Panther sharply had replied,  
But, having gained a Verdict on her side,  
She wisely gave the loser leave to chide;  
Well satisfied to have the But and peace,  
And for the Plaintiff's cause she cared the less,  
Because she sued in formâ Pauperis;  
Yet thought it decent something should be said,  
For secret guilt by silence is betrayed:  
So neither granted all, nor much denied,  
But answered with a yawning kind of pride.   

Methinks such terms of proffered 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 peaceful 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 tied,  
Demand the fair Lavinia for your bride.  
Thus plausibly you veil th' intended wrong,  
But still you bring your exiled gods along;  
And will endeavour in succeeding space,  
Those household Poppits on our hearths to place.  
Perhaps some barbarous laws have been preferred,  
I spoke against the Test, but was not heard;  
These to rescind, and Peerage to restore,  
My gracious sovereign would my vote implore:  
I owe him much, but owe my conscience more.   

Conscience is then your Plea, replied the Dame,  
Which well-informed will ever be the same.  
But yours is much of the Chameleon hew,  
To change the dye with every different view.  
When first the Lion sat with awful sway  
Your conscience taught you duty to obey:  
He might have had your Statutes and your Test,  
No conscience but of subjects was professed.  
He found your temper, and no farther tried,  
But on that broken reed your church relied.  
In vain the sects assayed their utmost art  
With offered treasure to espouse their part,  
Their treasures were a bribe too mean to move his heart.  
But when by long experience you had proved,  
How far he could forgive, how well he loved;  
A goodness that excelled his godlike race,  
And only short of heaven's unbounded grace:  
A flood of mercy that overflowed our Isle,  
Calm in the rise, and fruitful as the Nile,  
Forgetting whence your Egypt was supplied,  
You thought your sovereign bound to send the tide:  
Nor upward looked on that immortal spring,  
But vainly deemed, he durst not be a king:  
Then conscience, unrestrained 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 bashful Dame.  
But if the cause by battle should be tried,  
You grant she must espouse the regal side:  
O Proteus Conscience, never to be tied!  
What Phoebus from the Tripod shall disclose,  
Which are in last resort, your friends or foes?  
Homer, who learned the language of the sky,  
The seeming Gordian knot would soon untie;  
Immortal powers the term of conscience know,  
But interest is her name with men below.   

Conscience or interest be't, or both in one;  
(The Panther answered 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  
Would sweep the Pastors and their flocks away.  
Think not my judgement leads me to comply  
With laws unjust, but hard necessity:  
Imperious need which cannot be withstood  
Makes ill authentic, 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 cancel my unwilling crime;  
(Unwilling, witness all ye Powers above)  
To mend my errors and redeem your love:  
That little space you safely may allow,  
Your all-dispensing power protects you now.   

Hold, said the Hind, 'tis needless to explain;  
You would 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 proposed of future chance,  
For present profit and inheritance:  
Few words will serve to finish our dispute,  
Who will not now repeal would persecute;  
To ripen green revenge your hopes attend,  
Wishing that happier Planet would 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 threatening Floods, and Inundations near;  
If so, a just Reprise would only be  
Of what the Land usurped upon the Sea;  
And all your Jealousies but serve to show  
Your Ground is, like your Neighbour-Nation, low.  
T' entrench in what you grant unrighteous Laws,  
Is to distrust the justice of your Cause;  
And argues that the true Religion lies  
In those weak Adversaries you despise.   

Tyrannic force is that which lest you fear,  
The sound is frightful in a Christian's ear;  
Avert it, Heaven; nor let that Plague be sent  
To us from the dispeopled Continent.   

But Piety commands me to refrain;  
Those Prayers are needless in this Monarch's Reign.  
Behold! how he protects your Friends oppressed,  
Receives the Banished, succours the Distressed:  
Behold, for you may read an honest open Breast.  
He stands in Daylight, and disdains to hide  
An Act to which, by Honour he is tied  
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, 'Tis but because you must,  
You would be trusted, but you would not trust.  
The Hind thus briefly, and disdained t' enlarge  
On Power of Kings, and their Superior charge,  
As heavens trusties before the People's choice:  
Tho' sure the Panther did not much rejoice  
To hear those Echoes given of her once Loyal voice.   

The Matron wooed her Kindness to the last,  
But could not win; her hour of Grace was passed.  
Whom thus persisting when she could not bring  
To leave the Wolf, and to believe her King,  
She gave Her up, and fairly wished her Joy  
Of her late Treaty with her new Ally:  
Which well she hoped would more successful prove,  
Than was the Pigeons, and the Buzzards love.  
The Panther asked, what concord there could be  
Betwixt two kinds whose Natures disagree?  
The Dame replied, 'Tis sung in every Street,  
The common chat of Gossips when they meet:  
But, since unheard by you, 'tis 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 possessed,  
And lived, as reason was, upon the best;  
Inur'd to hardships from his early Youth,  
Much had he done, and suffered for his truth:  
At Land, and Sea, in many a doubtful Fight,  
Was never known a more adven'trous Knight,  
Who oftener drawn his Sword, and always for the right.   

As Fortune woven (his fortune came tho' late)  
He took Possession of his just Estate:  
Nor racked his Tenants with increase of Rent,  
Nor lived too sparing, nor too largely spent;  
But overlooked his Hinds, their Pay was just,  
And ready, for he scorned to go on trust:  
Slow to resolve, but in performance quick;  
So true, that he was awkard 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 lie.  
False Friends, (his deadliest foes,) could find no way  
But shows of honest bluntness to betray;  
That unsuspected plainness he believed,  
He looked into Himself, and was deceived.  
Some lucky Planet sure attends his Birth,  
Or Heaven would make a Miracle on Earth;  
For prosperous Honesty is seldom seen:  
To bear so dead a weight, and yet to win.  
It looks as Fate with Nature's Law would strive,  
To show Plain dealing once an age may thrive:  
And, when so tough a frame she could not bend,  
Exceeded her Commission to befriend.   

This grateful man, as Heaven increased his Store,  
Gave God again, and daily fed his Poor;  
His House with all convenience was purveyed,  
The rest he found, but raised the Fabric where he prayed;  
And in that Sacred Place, his beauteous Wife  
Employed 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 housed too near their Hall,  
Who cross the Proverb, and abound with Gall.  
Tho' some 'tis true, are passively inclined,  
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 privileged by Laws.   

That House which harbour to their kind affords  
Was built, long since, God knows, for better Birds;  
But fluttering 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 failed their Lord.  
The rest was form, and bare Attendance paid,  
They drunk, and eat, and grudgingly obeyed.  
The more they fed, they ravened still for more,  
They drained from Dan, and left Beersheba poor;  
All this they had by Law, and none repined,  
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 possessed, they never quit their Claim,  
For then 'tis sanctified to Hea'vens high Name;  
And Hallowed thus they cannot give Consent,  
The Gift should be profaned by Worldly management.   

Their Flesh was never to the Table served,  
Tho' 'tis not thence inferred the Birds were starved;  
But that their Master did not like the Food,  
As rank, and breeding Melancholy Blood.  
Nor did it with His Gracious Nature suit,  
Even tho' they were not Doves, to persecute:  
Yet He refused, (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 Power,  
That those who like the Bran might leave the Flower.  
He for himself, and not for others chose,  
Nor would He be imposed 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,  
Repaid their Commons with their Salt Manure;  
Another Farm he had behind his House,  
Not overstocked, but barely for his use;  
Wherein his poor Domestic Poultry fed,  
And from His Pious Hands received their Bread.  
Our pampered Pigeons with malignant Eyes,  
Beheld these Inmates, and their Nurseries:  
Tho' hard their fare, at Evening, and at Morn  
A Cruise of Water and an Ear of Corn;  
Yet still they grudged that Modi'um, and thought  
A Sheaf in every single Grain was brought;  
Feign would they filch that little Food away,  
While unrestrained those happy Gluttons prey.  
And much they grieved to see so nigh their Hall,  
The Bird that warned St. Peter of his Fall;  
That he should raise his mitred Crest on high,  
And clap his Wings, and call his Family  
To Sacred Rites; and vex th' Etherial Powers  
With midnight Matins, 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  
Lie snugg and sleep, to rise before the light:  
What if his dull Forefathers used that cry,  
Could he not let a Bad Example die?  
The World was fallen 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 Cloistered Walls.  
Expelled 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 Prayer;  
Religion frights us with a mien severe.  
'Tis Prudence to reform her into Ease,  
And put Her in undressed 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 encouraged Ease.  
Yet fearing those alluring Baits might fail,  
And Holy Deeds o'er all their Arts prevail:  
(For Vice, tho' frontless, and of hardened Face  
Is daunted at the sight of awful Grace)  
An hideous Figure of their Foes they drew,  
Nor Lines, nor Looks, nor Shades, nor Colours true;  
And this Grotesque design, exposed to Public view.  
One would have thought it an Egyptian 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 Libel where it meant to strike:  
Yet still the daubing pleased, 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 misshapen, ugly Race;  
The Curse of God was seen on every Face:  
No Holland Emblem could that Malice mend,  
But still the worse the look the fitter for a Fiend.   

The Master of the Farm displeased to find  
So much of Rancour in so mild a kind,  
Enquired into the Cause, and came to know,  
The Passive Church had struck the foremost blow:  
With grounless Fears, and Jealousies possessed,  
As if this troublesome intruding Guest  
Would drive the Birds of Venus, from their Nest.  
A Deed his inborn Equity abhorred,  
But Interest will not trust, though God should plight his Word.   

A Law, the Source of many Future harms,  
Had banished 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 designed  
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 Inferiors and Allies,  
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 poisonous wicked Weed,  
Or that, to which old Socrates was cursed,  
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 Sovereign was of Subjects use debarred.   

All gentle means he tried, 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)  
Repent of their boasted Loyalty:  
Now made the Champions of a cruel Cause,  
And drunk with Fumes of Popular Applause;  
For those whom God to ruin has designed,  
He fits for Fate, and first destroys their Mind.   

New Doubts indeed they daily strove to raise,  
Suggested Dangers, interposed Delays,  
And Emissary Pigeons had in store,  
Such as the Meccan Prophet used of yore,  
To whisper Counsels in their Patron's Ear,  
And veiled their false Advice with Zealous Fear.  
The Master smiled to see'em work in vain,  
To wear him out, and make an idle reign:  
He saw, but suffered their Protractive Arts,  
And strove by mildness to reduce their Hearts;  
But they abused that Grace to make Allies,  
And fond closed with former Enemies;  
For Fools are double Fools endeavouring 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 desperate Cures must be to desperate Ills applied:  
And therefore since their main impending fear  
Was from th' increasing race of Chanticleer:  
Some Potent Bird of Prey they ought to find,  
A Foe professed to him, and all his kind:  
Some haggared Hawk, who had her every nigh,  
Well pounced to fasten, and well winged to fly;  
One they might trust, their common wrongs to wreak:  
The Musket, and the Coystrel were too weak,  
Too fierce the Falton, but above the rest,  
The noble Buzzard ever pleased me best▪  
Of small Renown, 'tis true, for not to lie,  
We call him but a Hawk by courtesy.  
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,  
Crammed Chickens are a more delicious fare;  
On this high Potentate, without delay,  
I wish you would confer the Sovereign sway:  
Petition him t' accept the Government,  
And let a splendid Embassy be sent.   

This pithy Speech prevailed, and all agreed,  
Old Enmity's forgot, the Buzzard should succeed.   

Their welcome Suit was granted soon as heard,  
His Lodgings furnished, and a Train prepared,  
With B's upon their Breast, appointed for his Guard.  
He came, and Crowned with great Solemnity,  
God save King Buzzard, was the general cry.   

A Portly Prince, and goodly to the sight,  
He seemed a Son of Anach for his height:  
Like those whom stature did to Crowns prefer;  
Black-browed, and bluff, like Homer's jupiter:  
Broad-backed, and Brawny built for Love's delight,  
A Prophet formed, to make a female Proselyte.  
A Theologue more by need than genial bent,  
By Breeding sharp, by Nature confident.  
Interest in all his Actions was discerned;  
More learned than Honest, more a Wit than learned.  
Or forced by Fear, or by Ambition led,  
Or both conjoined, his Native clime he fled:  
But brought the Virtues of his Heaven 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 pursued his Compliment:  
But, by reverse of Fortune chased 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 flattered, and blasphemed 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 received by hospitable Foes,  
The kindness he returns, is to expose:  
For Courtesies, tho' undeserved and great,  
No gratitude in Fellon-minds beget,  
As tribute to his Wit, the churl receives the treat.  
His praise of Foes is venomously Nice,  
So touched, it turns a Virtue to a Vice:  
A Greek, and bountiful forewarns us twice.  
seven Sacraments he wisely does disown,  
Because he knows Confession stands for one;  
Where Sins to sacred silence are conveyed,  
And not for Fear, or Love, to be betrayed:  
But he, uncalled, his Patron to control,  
Divulged the secret whispers of his Soul:  
Stood forth th' accusing Satan of his Crimes,  
And offered to the Moloch of the Times.  
Prompt to assail, 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 Virtues are not here expressed;  
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 allowed,  
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 enthral,  
Their Patrons promise into question call,  
And vainly think he meant to make 'em Lords of all.   

False Fears their Leaders failed not to suggest,  
As if the Doves were to be dispossessed;  
Nor Sighs, nor Groans, nor gogling Eyes did want;  
For now the Pigeons too had learned to Cant.  
The House of Prayer is stocked with large increase;  
Nor Doors, nor Windows can contain the Press:  
For Birds of every feather fill th' abode;  
Even Atheists out of envy own a God:  
And reeking from the Stews, adulterers come,  
Like Goths and Vandals to demolish Rome.  
That Conscience which to all their Crimes was mute,  
Now calls aloud, and cries to Persecute.  
No rigour of the Laws to be released,  
And much the less, because it was their Lord's request:  
They thought it great their Sov'rain to control,  
And named their Pride, Nobility of Soul.   

'Tis true, the Pigeons, and their Prince Elect  
Were short of Power their purpose to effect:  
But with their Quills, did all the hurt they could,  
And cuffed 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 turned his Grace to villainy,  
Not suffering wrath to discompose his mind,  
He strove a temper for th' extremes to find,  
So to be just, as he might still be kind.  
Then, all Maturely weighed, pronounced a Doom  
Of Sacred Strength for every Age to come.  
By this the Doves their Wealth and State possess,  
No Rights infringed, but licenced to oppress:  
Such Power have they as Factious Lawyers long  
To Crowns ascribed, that Kings can do no wrong.  
But, since His own Domestic Birds have tried  
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 oppressed.  
He therefore makes all Birds of every Sect  
Free of his Farm, with promise to respect  
Their several Kind's alike, and equally protect.  
His Gracious Edict the same Franchise yields  
To all the wild Increase 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 Republic Birds:  
Secured with ample Privilege to feed,  
Each has his District, and his Bounds decreed:  
Combined in common Interest with his own,  
But not to pass the Pigeon Rubicon.   

Here ends the Reign of this pretended Dove;  
All Prophecies accomplished from above,  
For Shiloh comes the Sceptre to Remove.  
Reduced 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 Touched, Reviles Her Maker to his Face.   

What after happened is not hard to guests;  
The small Beginnings had a large Increase,  
And Arts and Wealth succeed (the secret spoils of Peace.)  
'Tis said the Doves repent, tho' too late,  
Become the Smiths of their own Foolish Fate:  
Nor did their Owner hasten their ill hour:  
But, sunk in Credit, they decreased in Power:  
Like Snows in warmth that mildly pass away,  
Dissolving in the Silence of Decay.   

The Buzzard not content with equal place,  
Invites the feathered Nimrods' of his Race,  
To hide the thinness of their Flock from Sight,  
And all together make a seeming, goodly Flight:  
But each have separate interests 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 Heaven repair.  
Bare benting times, and moulting Months may come,  
When lagging late, they cannot reach their home:  
Or Rend in Schism, (for so their Fate decrees,)  
Like the Tumultuous College of the Bees;  
They fight their Quarrel, by themselves oppressed,  
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 Yawning at the close,  
Seemed to require her natural repose.  
For now the streaky light began to peep;  
And setting stars admonished both to sleep.  
The Dame withdrew, and, wishing to her Guest  
The peace of Heaven, betook herself to rest.  
Ten thousand Angels on her slumbers wait  
With glorious Visions of her future state.    

Errata.  
PAge 84. Line 5. for easy, read yielding. p. 105. l. 15. for offsprings, r. offerings. 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 undressed, r. undress. p. 142. l. 4. for but licenced, r. but licence.  
PAge 129. Line 5. for Modi'um read Modicum. p. 130. l. 12. for restless r. restiff. ibid. l. 17. for undressed r. undress. p. 142. l. 4. for but licenced r. but licence.   

Books printed for jacob Tonson at the judge's Head in Chancery-Lane, near Fleetstreet.  

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.  
Absalon and Achitophel: A Poem in two parts.  
The Medal: Or, a satire upon Sedition.  
Thraenodia Augustalis. A Pindaric 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.