by John Dryden
And view those errours which new sects maintain,
Or which of old disturb’d the churches peaceful reign; 605
And we can point each period of the time,
When they began, and who begot the crime;
Can calculate how long the eclipse endur’d,
Who interpos’d, what digits were obscur’d:
Of all which are already pass’d away, 610
We know the rise, the progress and decay.
Despair at our foundations then to strike,
Till you can prove your faith Apostolick;
A limpid stream drawn from the native source;
Succession lawfull in a lineal course. 615
Prove any Church, oppos’d to this our head,
So one, so pure, so unconfin’dly spread,
Under one chief of the spiritual state,
The members all combin’d, and all subordinate.
Show such a seamless coat, from schism so free, 620
In no communion joined with heresie:
If such a one you find, let truth prevail:
Till when, your weights will in the balance fail:
A church unprincipl’d kicks up the scale.
But if you cannot think (nor sure you can 625
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 seav’n successive ages should be lost 630
And preach damnation at their proper cost;
That all your erring ancestours should die
Drown’d in the Abyss of deep Idolatry;
If piety forbid such thoughts to rise,
Awake, and open your unwilling eyes: 635
God has left nothing for each age undone,
From this to that wherein he sent his Son:
Then think but well of him, and half your work is done.
See how his Church, adorn’d with ev’ry grace,
With open arms, a kind forgiving face, 640
Stands ready to prevent her long-lost sons embrace.
Not more did Joseph o’er his brethren weep,
Nor less himself cou’d from discovery keep,
When in the crowd of suppliants they were seen,
And in their crew his best-beloved Benjamin. 645
That pious Joseph in the church behold,
To feed your famine, and refuse your gold;
The Joseph you exil’d, the Joseph whom you sold.
Thus, while with heav’nly charity she spoke,
A streaming blaze the silent shadows broke; 650
Shot from the skyes; a cheerful azure light;
The birds obscene to forests wing’d their flight,
And gaping graves receiv’d the wand’ring guilty spright.
Such were the pleasing triumphs of the sky
For James his late nocturnal victory; 655
The pledge of his Almighty patron’s love,
The fire-works which his angel made above.
I saw myself the lambent easie light
Gild the brown horrour and dispell the night;
The messenger with speed the tidings bore; 660
News which three lab’ring nations did restore;
But heav’ns 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, 665
As one who long on heav’n had fix’d her eyes.
Discern’d a change of weather in the skyes.
The Western borders were with crimson spread,
The moon descending look’d all flaming red;
She thought good manners bound her to invite 670
The stranger Dame to be her guest that night.
’Tis true, coarse dyet and a short repast,
(She said) were weak inducements to the tast
Of one so nicely bred, and so unus’d to fast;
But what plain fare her cottage cou’d afford, 675
A hearty welcome at a homely board
Was freely hers; and to supply the rest,
An honest meaning, and an open breast.
Last, with content of mind, the poor man’s Wealth;
A grace-cup to their common Patron’s health. 680
This she desired her to accept, and stay,
For fear she might be wilder’d in her way,
Because she wanted an unerring guide,
And then the dew-drops on her silken hide
Her tender constitution did declare, 685
Too Lady-like a long fatigue to bear,
And rough inclemencies of raw nocturnal air.
But most she fear’d that, travelling so late,
Some evil-minded beasts might lye in wait,
And without witness wreak their hidden hate. 690
The Panther, though she lent a listening ear,
Had more of Lyon in her than to fear:
Yet wisely weighing, since she had to deal
With many foes, their numbers might prevail,
Returned her all the thanks she could afford; 695
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: 700
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, 705
War seldom enters but where wealth allures
Nor yet dispise it, for this poor aboad
Has oft receiv’d and yet receives a god;
A god, victorious of the stygian race,
Here laid his sacred limbs, and sanctified the place. 710
This mean retreat did mighty Pan contain;
Be emulous of him, and pomp disdain,
And dare not to debase your soul to gain.
The silent stranger stood amaz’d to see
Contempt of wealth, and wilfull poverty: 715
And, though ill habits are not soon controll’d,
A while suspended her desire of gold.
But civilly drew in her sharpn’d paws,
Not violating hospitable laws,
And pacify’d her tail and lick’d her frothy jaws. 720
The Hind did first her country Cates provide;
Then couch’d her self securely by her side.
The Hind and the Panther. The Third Part
MUCH malice mingl’d with a little wit
Perhaps may censure this mysterious writ:
Because the Muse has peopl’d Caledon
With Panthers, Bears and Wolves, and beasts unknown,
As if we were not stock’d with monsters of our own. 5
Let Æsop answer, who has set to view,
Such kinds as Greece and Phrygia never knew;
And mother Hubbard in her homely dress
Has sharply blam’d a British Lioness,
That Queen, whose feast the factious rabble keep, 10
Expos’d obscenely naked and a-sleep.
Led by those great examples, may not I
The wanted organs of their words supply?
If men transact like brutes, ’tis equal then
For brutes to claim the privilege of men. 15
Others our Hind of folly will endite,
To entertain a dang’rous guest by night.
Let those remember, that she cannot dye
Till rolling time is lost in round eternity;
Nor need she fear the Panther, though untam’d, 20
Because the Lyon’s peace was now proclaim’d;
The wary salvage would not give offence,
To forfeit the protection of her Prince;
But watch’d the time her vengeance to compleat,
When all her furry sons in frequent Senate met. 25
Mean while she quench’d her fury at the floud
And with a Lenten sallad cool’d her bloud.
Their commons, though but course, were nothing scant,
Nor did their minds an equal banquet want.
For now the Hind, whose noble nature strove 30
T’ express her plain simplicity of love,
Did all the honours of her house so well,
No sharp debates disturb’d the friendly meal.
She turn’d the talk, avoiding that extreme,
To common dangers past, a sadly pleasing theam; 35
Remembering ev’ry storm which toss’d the state,
When both were objects of the publick hate,
And drop’d a tear betwixt for her own children’s fate.
Nor fail’d she then a full review to make
Of what the Panther suffer’d for her sake. 40
Her lost esteem, her truth, her loyal care,
Her faith unshaken to an exil’d Heir,
Her strength t’ endure, her courage to defy,
Her choice of honourable infamy.
On these prolixly thankfull, she enlarg’d, 45
Then with acknowledgments her self she charg’d:
For friendship of it self, an holy tye,
Is made more sacred by adversity.
Now should they part, malicious tongues wou’d say,
They met like chance companions on the way, 50
Whom mutual fear of robbers had possess’d;
While danger lasted, kindness was profess’d;
But that once o’er, the short-liv’d union ends,
The road divides, and there divide the friends.
The Panther nodded when her speech was done, 55
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 lawfull Heir she had been true,
She paid but Cæsar what was Cæsar’s due. 60
I might, she added, with like praise describe
Your suff’ring sons, and so return your bribe;
But incense from my hands is poorly priz’d,
For gifts are scorn’d where givers are despis’d.
I serv’d a turn, and then was cast away; 65
You, like the gawdy fly, your wings display,
And sip the sweets, and bask in your Great Patron’s day.
This heard, the Matron was not slow to find
What sort of malady had seiz’d her mind:
Disdain, with gnawing envy, fell despight, 70
And canker’d malice stood in open sight:
Ambition, int’rest, pride without controul,
And jealousie, the jaundice of the soul;
Revenge, the bloudy minister of ill,
With all the lean tormenters of the will. 75
’Twas easie now to guess from whence arose
Her new made union with her ancient foes.
Her forc’d civilities, her faint embrace,
Affected kindness with an alter’d face:
Yet durst she not too deeply probe the wound, 80
As hoping still the nobler parts were sound;
But strove with Anodynes t’ asswage the smart,
And mildly thus her med’cine did impart.
Complaints of Lovers help to ease their pain;
It shows a Rest of kindness to complain, 85
A friendship loth to quit its former hold,
And conscious merit may be justly bold.
But much more just your jealousie would show,
If others good were injury to you:
Witness ye heav’ns how I rejoice to see 90
Rewarded worth, and rising loyalty.
Your Warrior Offspring that upheld the crown,
The scarlet honours of your peacefull gown,
Are the most pleasing objects I can find,
Charms to my sight, and cordials to my mind: 95
When vertue spooms before a prosperous gale,
My heaving wishes help to fill the sail;
And if my pray’rs for all the brave were heard,
Cæsar should still have such, and such should still reward.
The labour’d earth your pains have sow’d and till’d: 100
’Tis just you reap the product of the field.
Yours be the harvest, ’tis the beggars gain
To glean the fallings of the loaded wain.
Such scatter’d ears as are not worth your care,
Your charity for alms may safely spare, 105
And alms are but the vehicles of pray’r.
My daily bread is litt’rally implor’d,
I have no barns nor granaries to hoard;
If Cæsar to his own his hand extends,
Say which of yours his charity offends: 110
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. 115
Some juster motive sure your mind withdraws,
And makes you break our friendships holy laws,
For barefac’d envy is too base a cause.
Show more occasion for your discontent;
Your love, the Wolf, wou’d help you to invent. 120
Some German quarrel, or, as times go now,
Some French, where force is uppermost, will doe.
When at the fountains head, as merit ought
To claim the place, you take a swilling draught,
How easie ’tis an envious eye to throw 125
And tax the sheep for troubling streams below;
Or call her, (when no farther cause you find,)
An enemy profess’d of all your kind!
But then, perhaps, the wicked world wou’d think
The Wolf design’d to eat as well as drink. 130
This last allusion gaul’d the Panther more,
Because indeed it rubb’d upon the sore.
Yet seem’d she not to winch, though shrewdly pain’d:
But thus her Passive character maintain’d.
I never grudg’d, whate’er my foes report, 135
Your flaunting fortune in the Lyon’s court.
You have your day, or you are much bely’d,
But I am always on the suff’ring side:
You know my doctrine, and I need not say
I will not, but I cannot disobey. 140
On this firm principle I ever stood:
He of my sons who fails to make it good,
By one rebellious act renounces to my bloud.
Ah, said the Hind, how many sons have you
Who call you mother, whom you never knew! 145
But most of them who that relation plead
Are such ungratious youths as wish you dead.
They gape at rich revenues which you hold
And fain would nible at your grandame gold
Enquire into your years, and laugh to find; 150
Your crazy temper shows you much declin’d.
Were you not dim, and doted, you might see
A pack of cheats that claim a pedigree,
No more of kin to you, than you to me.
Do you not know that for a little coin 155
Heralds can foist a name into the line?
They ask you blessing but for what you have,
But once possess’d of what with care you save,
The wanton boyes wou’d piss upon your grave.
Your sons of Latitude that court your grace, 160
Though most resembling you in form and face,
Are far the wors
t of your pretended race.
And, but I blush your honesty to blot:
Pray God you prove ‘em lawfully begot:
For, in some Popish libells I have read, 165
The Wolf has been too busie in your bed;
At least their hinder parts, the belly-piece,
The paunch, and all that Scorpio claims are his.
Their malice too a sore suspicion brings;
For though they dare not bark, they snarl at kings; 170
Nor blame ‘em for intruding in your line,
Fat Bishopricks are still of right divine.
Think you your new French Proselytes are come
To starve abroad, because they starv’d at home?
Your benefices twinckl’d from afar, 175
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 180
That many churches may for many mouths provide.
More vacant pulpits wou’d more converts make;
All wou’d have Latitude enough to take;
The rest unbenefic’d, your sects maintain
For ordinations without cures are vain, 185
And chamber practice is a silent gain.
Your sons of breadth at home, are much like these,
Their soft and yielding metals run with ease;
They melt, and take the figure of the mould:
But harden, and preserve it best in gold. 190
Your Delphick sword, the Panther then reply’d,
Is double-edg’d, and cuts on either side.
Some sons of mine, who bear upon their shield,
Three steeples Argent in a sable field,
Have sharply tax’d your converts, who unfed 195
Have follow’d you for miracles of bread;
Such who themselves of no religion are,
Allur’d with gain, for any will declare.
Bare lyes with bold assertions they can face,
But dint of argument is out of place. 200
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,
Divorcing from the Church to wed the Dame. 205
Though largely prov’d, and by himself profess’d
That conscience, conscience would not let him rest:
I mean, not till possess’d of her he lov’d,
And old, uncharming Catherine was remov’d.
For sundry years before did he complain, 210
And told his ghostly Confessour his pain.
With the same impudence, without a ground,
They say, that look the reformation round,