by John Dryden
But others write him of an upstart Race: 175
Because of Wickliff’s Brood no mark he brings
But his innate Antipathy to Kings.
These last deduce him from th’ Helvetian kind
Who near the Leman lake his Consort lin’d.
That fi’ry Zuynglius first th’ Affection bred, 180
And meagre Calvin blest the Nuptial Bed.
In Israel some believe him whelp’d long since,
When the proud Sanhedrim oppress’d the Prince,
Or, since he will be Jew, derive him higher,
When Corah with his Brethren did conspire, 185
From Moyses Hand the Sov’reign sway to wrest,
And Aaron of his Ephod to devest:
Till opening Earth made way for all to pass,
And cou’d not bear the Burd’n of a class.
The Fox and he came shuffl’d in the Dark, 190
If ever they were stow’d in Noah’s Ark:
Perhaps not made; for all their barking train
The Dog (a common species) will contain.
And some wild currs, who from their masters ran,
Abhorring the supremacy of man, 195
In woods and caves the rebel-race began.
O happy pair, how well have you encreas’d,
What ills in Church and State have you redress’d!
With Teeth untry’d and rudiments of Claws,
Your first essay was on your native Laws: 200
Those having torn with Ease and trampl’d down,
Your Fangs you fasten’d on the miter’d Crown,
And freed from God and Monarchy your Town.
What though your native kennel still be small
Bounded betwixt a Puddle and a Wall, 205
Yet your Victorious Colonies are sent
Where the North Ocean girds the Continent.
Quickned with fire below, your Monsters Breed,
In Fenny Holland and in fruitful Tweed.
And like the first the last effects to be 210
Drawn to the dreggs of a Democracy.
As, where in Fields the fairy rounds are seen,
A rank sow’r herbage rises on the Green;
So, springing where these mid-night Elves advance,
Rebellion Prints the Foot-steps of the Dance. 215
Such are their Doctrines, such contempt they show
To Heaven above, and to their Prince below,
As none but Traytors and Blasphemers know.
God, like the Tyrant of the Skies is plac’d,
And Kings, like slaves, beneath the Crowd debas’d. 220
So fulsome is their food that Flocks refuse
To bite; and only Dogs for Physick use.
As, where the Lightning runs along the Ground,
No husbandry can heal the blasting Wound,
Nor bladed Grass nor bearded Corn succeeds, 225
But Scales of Scurf, and Putrefaction breeds:
Such Warrs, such Waste, such fiery tracks of Dearth
Their Zeal has left, and such a teemless Earth.
But as the Poisons of the deadliest kind
Are to their own unhappy Coasts confin’d, 230
As only Indian Shades of sight deprive,
And Magick Plants will but in Colchos thrive;
So Presby’try and Pestilential Zeal
Can only flourish in a Common-weal.
From Celtique Woods is chased the wolfish Crew; 235
But ah! some Pity e’en to Brutes is due,
Their native Walks, methinks, they might enjoy,
Curb’d of their native Malice to destroy.
Of all the Tyrannies on humane kind
The worst is that which Persecutes the mind. 240
Let us but weigh at what offence we strike,
’Tis but because we cannot think alike.
In punishing of this, we overthrow
The Laws of Nations and of Nature too
Beasts are the Subjects of Tyrannick sway, 245
Where still the stronger on the weaker Prey.
Man only of a softer mold is made;
Not for his Fellows ruine, but their Aid.
Created kind, beneficent and free,
The noble Image of the Deity. 250
One Portion of informing Fire was giv’n
To Brutes, the Inferiour Family of Heav’n:
The Smith Divine, as with a careless Beat,
Struck out the mute Creation at a Heat:
But when arriv’d at last to humane Race, 255
The Godhead took a deep consid’ring space:
And, to distinguish Man from all the rest,
Unlock’d the sacred Treasures of his Breast:
And Mercy mixt with reason did impart,
One to his Head, the other to his Heart: 260
Reason to Rule, but Mercy to forgive:
The first is Law, the last Prerogative.
And like his Mind his outward form appear’d
When issuing Naked to the wondring Herd,
He charm’d their Eyes, and for they lov’d they fear’d. 265
Not arm’d with horns of arbitrary might,
Or Claws to seize their furry spoils in Fight,
Or with increase of Feet t’ o’ertake ‘em in their flight.
Of easie shape, and pliant ev’ry way,
Confessing still the softness of his Clay, 270
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: 275
Till Knowledg mis-apply’d, mis-understood,
And pride of Empire sour’d his Balmy Blood.
Then, first rebelling, his own stamp he coins;
The Murth’rer Cain was latent in his Loins;
And Blood began its first and loudest Cry 280
For diff’ring worship of the Deity.
Thus persecution rose, and farther Space
Produc’d the mighty hunter of his Race.
Not so the blessed Pan his flock encreased,
Content to fold ‘em from the famish’d Beast: 285
Mild were his laws; the Sheep and harmless Hind
Were never of the persecuting kind.
Such pity now the pious Pastor shows,
Such mercy from the British Lyon flows,
That both provide protection for their foes. 290
Oh happy Regions, Italy and Spain,
Which never did those monsters entertain!
The Wolfe, the Bear, the Boar, can there advance
No native claim of just inheritance.
And self preserving laws, severe in show, 295
May guard their fences from th’ invading foe.
Where birth has plac’d ‘em, let ‘em safely share
The common benefit of vital air;
Themselves unharmful, let them live unharm’d;
Their jaws disabl’d, and their claws disarm’d: 300
Here, only in nocturnal howlings bold,
They dare not seize the Hind nor leap the fold.
More pow’rful, and as vigilant as they,
The Lyon awfully forbids the prey.
Their rage repress’d, though pinch’d with famine sore, 305
They stand aloof, and tremble at his roar;
Much is their hunger, but their fear is more.
These are the chief; to number o’er the rest
And stand, like Adam, naming ev’ry beast,
Were weary work; nor will the Muse describe 310
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. 315
But if they think at all, �
��tis sure no high’r
Than matter, put in motion, may aspire.
Souls that can scarce ferment their mass of clay;
So drossy, so divisible are They,
As wou’d but serve pure bodies for allay: 320
Such souls as Shards produce, such beetle things
As only buz to heaven with ev’ning wings;
Strike in the dark, offending but by chance,
Such are the blind-fold blows of ignorance.
They know not beings, and but hate a name, 325
To them the Hind and Panther are the same.
The Panther sure the noblest, next the Hind,
And fairest creature of the spotted kind:
Oh, could her in-born stains be wash’d away,
She were too good to be a beast of Prey! 330
How can I praise, or blame, and not offend,
Or how divide the frailty from the friend?
Her faults and vertues lye so mix’d, that she
Nor wholly stands condemn’d nor wholly free.
Then, like her injured Lyon, let me speak, 335
He cannot bend her, and he would not break.
Unkind already, and estrang’d in part,
The Wolfe begins to share her wandring heart.
Though unpolluted yet with actual ill,
She half commits, who sins but in Her will. 340
If, as our dreaming Platonists report,
There could be spirits of a middle sort,
Too black for heav’n, and yet too white for hell,
Who just dropt half-way done, nor lower fell;
So pois’d, so gently she descends from high, 345
It seems a soft dismission from the skie.
Her house not ancient, whatsoe’er pretence
Her clergy Heraulds make in her defence.
A second century not half-way run
Since the new honours of her blood begun. 350
A Lyon old, obscene, and furious made
By lust, compress’d her mother in a shade.
Then by a left-hand marr’age weds the Dame,
Covering adult’ry with a specious name:
So schism begot; and sacrilege and she, 355
A well-match’d pair, got graceless heresie.
God’s and Kings rebels have the same good cause,
To trample down divine and humane laws:
Both would be call’d Reformers, and their hate,
Alike destructive both to Church and State: 360
The fruit proclaims the plant; a lawless Prince
By luxury reform’d incontinence,
By ruins, charity; by riots abstinence.
Confessions, fasts and penance set aside;
Oh with what ease we follow such a guide! 365
Where souls are starv’d and senses gratify’d!
Where marr’age pleasures midnight pray’r supply,
And mattin bells (a melancholy cry)
Are tun’d to merrier notes, encrease and multiply.
Religion shows a Rosie colour’d face, 370
Not hatter’d out with drudging works of grace;
A down-hill Reformation rolls apace.
What flesh and blood wou’d croud the narrow gate,
Or, till they waste their pamper’d paunches, wait?
All wou’d be happy at the cheapest rate. 375
Though our lean faith these rigid laws has giv’n,
The full fed Musulman goes fat to heav’n;
For his Arabian Prophet with delights
Of sense, allur’d his eastern Proselytes.
The jolly Luther, reading him, began 380
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 uneasie travailing alone,) 385
And in this masquerade of mirth and love,
Mistook the bliss of heav’n for Bacchanals above.
Sure he presum’d of praise, who came to stock
Th’ etherial pastures with so fair a flock;
Burnish’d, and bat’ning on their food, to show 390
The diligence of carefull herds below.
Our Panther, though like these she chang’d her head,
Yet, as the mistress of a monarch’s bed,
Her front erect with majesty she bore,
The Crozier wielded and the Miter wore. 395
Her upper part of decent discipline
Shew’d affectation of an ancient line:
And fathers, councils, church and church’s head,
Were on her reverend Phylacteries read.
But what disgrac’d and disavow’d the rest 400
Was Calvin’s brand, that stigmatiz’d the beast.
Thus, like a creature of a double kind,
In her own labyrinth she lives confin’d.
To foreign lands no sound of Her is come,
Humbly content to be despis’d at home. 405
Such is her faith, where good cannot be had,
At least she leaves the refuse of the bad.
Nice in her choice of ill, though not of best,
And least deform’d, because reform’d the least.
In doubtful points betwixt her diff’ring friends, 410
Where one for substance, one for sign contends,
Their contradicting terms she strives to joyn
Sign shall be substance, substance shall be sign.
A real presence all her sons allow,
And yet ’tis flat Idolatry to bow, 415
Because the God-head’s there they know not how.
Her Novices are taught that bread and wine
Are but the visible and outward sign,
Receiv’d by those who in communion joyn.
But th’ inward grace or the thing signify’d, 420
His blood and body who to save us dy’d,
The faithful this thing signify’d receive.
What is’t those faithful then partake or leave?
For what is signify’d and understood,
Is, by her own confession, flesh and blood. 425
Then, by the same acknowledgment, we know
They take the sign, and take the substance too.
The lit’ral sense is hard to flesh and blood,
But nonsense never can be understood.
Her wild belief on ev’ry wave is tost, 430
But sure no Church can better morals boast.
True to her King her principles are found;
Oh that her practice were but half so sound!
Stedfast in various turns of state she stood,
And seal’d her vow’d affection with her blood; 435
Nor will I meanly tax her constancy,
That int’rest or obligement made the tye,
(Bound to the fate of murdr’d Monarchy:)
(Before the sounding Ax so falls the Vine,
Whose tender branches round the Poplar twine.) 440
She chose her ruin, and resign’d her life,
In death undaunted as an Indian wife:
A rare example: But some souls we see
Grow hard, and stiffen with adversity:
Yet these by fortunes favours are undone, 445
Resolv’d into a baser form they run,
And bore the wind, but cannot bear the sun.
Let this be natures frailty or her fate,
Or Isgrim’s counsel, her new chosen mate;
Still she’s the fairest of the fallen Crew, 450
No mother more indulgent but the true.
Fierce to her foes, yet fears her force to try,
Because she wants innate auctority;
For how can she constrain them to obey
Who has her self cast off the lawful sway? 455
Rebellion equals all, and those who toil
In common theft, will share the common spoil.
Against her old superiours first to fight;
If she reform by Text, ev’n that’s as plain 460
For her own Rebels to reform again.
As long as words a diff’rent sense will bear,
And each may be his own Interpreter,
Our ai’ry faith will no foundation find
The word’s a weathercock for ev’ry wind: 465
The Bear, the Fox, the Wolfe by turns prevail,
The most in pow’r supplies the present gale.
The wretched Panther crys aloud for aid
To church and councils, whom she first betray’d;
No help from Fathers or traditions train 470
Those ancient guides she taught us to disdain.
And by that scripture which she once abus’d
To Reformation, stands herself accus’d.
What bills for breach of laws can she prefer,
Expounding which she owns her self may err? 475
And, after all her winding ways are try’d,
If doubts arise, she slips herself aside
And leaves the private conscience for the guide.
If then that conscience set th’ offender free,
It bars her claim to church auctority. 480
How can she censure, or what crime pretend,
But Scripture may be constru’d to defend?
Ev’n those whom for rebellion she transmits
To civil pow’r, her doctrine first acquits;
Because no disobedience can ensue, 485
Where no submission to a Judge is due;
Each judging for himself, by her consent,
Whom thus absolv’d she sends to punishment.
Suppose the Magistrate revenge her cause,
’Tis only for transgressing humane laws. 490
How answ’ring to its end a church is made,
Whose pow’r is but to counsel and perswade?
O solid rock, on which secure she stands!
Eternal house, not built with mortal hands!
Oh sure defence against th’ infernal gate, 495
A patent during pleasure of the state!
Thus is the Panther neither lov’d nor fear’d,
A mere mock Queen of a divided Herd;
Whom soon by lawful pow’r she might controll,
Her self a part submitted to the whole. 500
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 505
And reigning o’er the rising tides below:
Now, mixing with a salvage croud, she goes,
And meanly flatters her invet’rate foes,
Rul’d while she rules, and losing ev’ry hour