Pindaric Poem on the Indulgence of Liberty of Conscience. 1687  
A Pindarick-Poem UPON HIS Most Sacred majesty's LATE GRACIOUS INDULGENCE, In Granting a Toleration, and Liberty of Conscience in Matters of RELIGION.  Virgil, 
O Meliboee; Deus nobis haec otia fecit.  
LONDON, Printed for J. S. in the Year 1687.   

The Preface.  
THE Occasion of this Poem has been a Subject sufficiently bandied about by all parties; not an useless Pen in Town but has consumed both Ink and Paper in the Defence or Opposition of it: which makes it not at all strange, that a Poet should be concerned in a matter so vulgarly canvased, since Custom looks upon such to be (as really they are) the greatest Busibodies of the Nation. And since it is a Cause that has deserved all Men's assistance in its Defence; I know not why it may not merit a Poet's Talon in its Praise. For that which will admit an Argument to Maintain it, may justly allow a Commendation to Illustrate it. And if for the support of a bad Cause they are allowed to bring Arguments, there is little reason why a good One should be barred of its glory: For what has gained the advantage in Prose, may justly claim its deserts in Verse. If renson and equity will prevail, there is the less to say; If not, 'tis to no purpose to speak. It's excuse is already pleaded, and we commit its Defence to those who have written of this Subject.  
For the Poem itself, as there is no extraordinary matter in it, so nothing more than ordinary aught to be expected in its behalf. The Style (me suppose) is grave, suitable to the Design; and if there be extravagancy in it, let it go for an excursion of wit, if you please, if 'twill not bear the force of a Subsidiary Argument. The inequality of the verse can be no prejudice with those who understand Poetry; and as for the Ignorant, the Author thinks he has no need to give Bail, that every Passage shall answer their strict Rules, and comply with their Humour. If any thing may seem to over-lash, he is willing to believe he may justify himself by the liberty of the best Authors who have wrote in this kind, and till the Exceptions are made, he shall forbear any further Vindication.   

A Pindaric Poem Upon his Most Sacred, etc.  

I.  
WHAT Saint, what Angel wilt thou Sing,  
What Mortal God, my Muse, to equal Glories bring?  
Swift with the wings of nimble Fancy fly  
Thorough the wide unbounded Sky,  
And meet the noblest Monarch on his way,  
That th' English Sceptre e'er did sway:  
He's now returning from the conquered West,  
From trave'ling Countries to reform the State.  
Toils and Cares have long oppressed  
Our watchful Prince's anxious Breast.  
Strange are the means proposed by Fate  
To make a Nation in its Monarch great:  
The People slumber, and in peaceful ease,  
Flowing with Plenty and Delight,  
Plenty by Day, and Charms by Night,  
With calmest thoughts their quiet Souls do please:  
Whilst our Great Monarch (to whose care  
Kingdoms and Laws committed are)  
With watchful eyes and thoughts profound,  
Next under Providence, does guard our Land around.  
And yet with trembling horror we have seen  
Some with Ambition fired, or moved with spleen,  
Whilst our Hesperian Dragon he,  
With unclosed eyes guarded our Lives and Liberty,  
Like the bold Argonants of Greece,  
Attempt to slay the Dragon, and enjoy the Fleece   

II.  
Whatever be the real cause of Wars,  
Of our Rebellions and intestine Jars,  
Religion still is the pretence:  
This specious Name  
Kindles and blows the threatening flame,  
Which up and down [like Fire-Balls] hurled,  
Breaks out in distant places, and inflames the World.  
Popery's marching in; Arm, Arm:  
'Tis overcast, there needs must be a Storm:  
Let us not tamely die,  
Nor yet ignobly fly.  
These sounds do all the long-eared Mobile alarm,  
This voice the active Rebels straight does charm.  
Hence flow disordered Riots, hence  
Of Christian Blood the vast expense▪  
Unhappy Nation, that in thee  
Religion should prove the deadly cause  
Of raising Factions, violating Laws  
With popular and loud applause:  
Alas that Christianity  
Should seldom in our Isle agree  
To dwell with Christian Love and Charity;  
With our own Arms the Prince of Hell does slay,  
And with a conquering hand  
Captivates our wretched Land:  
And when he's pleased with mortal Lives to play,  
And with a word great Hosts by mutual wounds destroy,  
He sends a Ghostly Fury out  
To scatter Fears and Jealousies about;  
Who with her snaky Locks, and Torch in hand,  
Runs howling through our Land:  
Now your Religion does on tiptoe stand;  
Help, my brave English Souls, assist the falling Maid.  
The word's no sooner said,  
But the mad Nation with a Fever burns,  
And all things into noise and raging Tempest turns.   

III.  
But now no more shall that illboding sound,  
Which used to scatter Jealousies around,  
Our happy Isle confound.  
No more shall the pretext of partial Laws,  
Framed to uphold a single Cause,  
Engross the public Privilege and Right,  
In which all have an equal share,  
And all alike concerned are  
To make their Native and Inherent Title clear.  
The interposing hedges now are waste;  
Now all the luscious Honey taste:  
Lo! their enlivened Spirits rise,  
And dart new vigour through their eyes:  
The free and open day we see at last,  
And the Whole Isle's become but one enclosed Paradise.  
No more those direful Sounds we hear,  
The vanished Phantoms now no more appear;  
No more we're frighted with their Spells,  
Their nasty horns are shrunk into their shells.  
No more they dare appear in sight:  
To their detested Beds  
They silently withdraw their heads,  
Like Birds obscene, they fly before the conquering light.   

iv  
In all the Realms that constituted be  
By the Eternal Word, Divine Decree,  
None is more Great, more Absolute and Free  
Than the old English Monarchy.  
Tyrant's may use more Power, but none by Heaven  
More large and unconfined to any Prince is given.  
To Laws he does submit; but Laws in vain may strive  
And grapple with his great Prerogative,  
If he the force of's Royal Power would show,  
And like Apollo, draw his silver Bow,  
Which never, never will he draw,  
For he has spoke the word, a word that's firmer than a Law.  
Great is a British Prince, and James as great  
(Tho' we the Chronicles should roll)  
To find a Monarch of a braver Soul)  
As any Prince that ever Ruled the State.  
Great as he is, yet does he not presume  
To rule the Conscience, force the mind,  
That heavenly Spark that's ever unconfined.  
This is a power supreme, which God alone  
Reserves to his Almighty Throne.  
Not God himself does forcibly compel,  
Nor with strong violence reduce the will,  
But with his gentle Spirit does influence  
And softly glide into our yielding sense:  
Does not (as once of old) descend  
In Fire and rustling Winds, to gain his end;  
But like a gentle Dove does always come,  
A welcome Guest, persuading Friend,  
And in our Body's Temple finds a Room.   

V  
Go bid the Poles, my Muse, together meet,  
Bid East and West each other greet,  
Command the Stars from their fixed Orbs to fly,  
Bid the dull Earth ascend and kiss the Sky;  
As soon you may the Course of Nature change  
As force the mind from steady Faith to range;  
Force may provoke a timorous Soul to sin:  
Prest, she may own that black is white,  
And play the juggling Hypocrite:  
But (prithee) wash the Aethiop's Skin,  
Rather than strive a free assent to gain  
By dint of Cudgel-Arguments, and Syllogisms of pain.  
That Church that labours to compel the Will,  
Our Breasts with sudden Jealousies does fill,  
That 'tis a desperate and tottering Cause,  
Whose Basis is not Reason, but the Penal Laws.  
The man that labours to persuade,  
Does not the Body with rough force invade,  
But in soft Rhetoric does wind  
Himself into the Mind.  
Since Faith is free, the Turk as well may hope  
By his false Reasons to convert the Pope,  
As our mistaken Land expect to see  
An universal Unity  
Established by the breach of Peace and Charity.   

VI  
When first our Mighty Prince began to sway  
The British Sceptre, and dispense  
O'er all his Realm a warm and gentle Influence,  
Thus to the English Church was heard to say:  
Pardon, most Loyal Maid (for thou art she  
Didst always pray and fight for Monarchy,  
Stoodst firm when 'twas a Crime to own  
Any branch o'th' English Throne)  
Pardon (for 'tis no Life to live in pain)  
If I free Liberty do give,  
That all Religions may live;  
Let others live, and thou alone shalt Reign:  
Since Heaven doth cause his rain to fall,  
And Sun to shine alike on all,  
And does to me this Godlike favour show  
To be his Representative below,  
Why should you thus unjustly strive  
To intercept alone this influence of mine?  
Would it not justly (think you?) move  
My Anger, and convert your Love  
Into the highest flames of rage,  
If in this lose unquiet Age  
Any should vouch himself to be  
The rightful Monarch to this Realm but me?  
And can you think that Heaven won't  
Resent the unparaled affront,  
Should he me like an Adversary find,  
Dethroning his Vicegerent of the Mind?   

VII.  
Illustrious Prince! what wonders hast thou done  
By this one single Act alone?  
What various Natures dost thou join?  
How sweetly do they all combine?  
How many different Stars in different lustres shine,  
Adorning this bright Sphere of thine?  
As various Instruments do all conspire,  
Grave Organs with the warbling Lute,  
Viols with Cornets, and the Flute,  
To join in one harmonious Choir:  
So we at length, Great James, composed by thee,  
Like different Notes agree  
To make up one melodious Harmony.  
Thus when the great dictator had in vain  
Assayed to cultivate a stubborn Land,  
And much expense of time and blood had spent,  
And many dangers underwent,  
To make the restless people understand  
The mighty blessings which they might obtain  
Beneath the shadow of his powerful Reign:  
At length the kind Augustus came,  
And gently dissipates the flame:  
With a soft touch composed affairs of State,  
Dissolved the cursed Triumvirate;  
Wild Anthony's rebellious powers o'ercome,  
And fixed a lasting peace in Rome;  
To a sweet calm reduced the quiet Earth,  
Fit for the Prince of Peace his glorious birth.  
If there be any that repine  
At this excessive Grant of thine,  
Let them before thy Justice fall,  
And grace thy Triumphs with their Funeral.  
Thy goodness is almost too great for to be praised,  
Thy glory on magnific Pillars raised  
On its own Centre firmly stands,  
And needs not the Assistance of our hands:  
Enlightened with its own increasing rays,  
Conspicuously around itself displays:  
The gaudy lustre does amaze,  
And with an overwhelming light  
Exhausts and drowns the beams of our unable sight.   
FINIS.