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Table of Contents | |
Section | Page |
Start of eBook | 1 |
FOOTNOTES: | 1 |
HEROIC STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF OLIVER CROMWELL, | 1 |
FOOTNOTES: | 3 |
ASTRAEA REDUX. | 4 |
FOOTNOTES: | 10 |
TO HIS SACRED MAJESTY. | 10 |
FOOTNOTES: | 13 |
TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR HYDE.[31] | 13 |
FOOTNOTES: | 16 |
SATIRE ON THE DUTCH.[32] | 16 |
FOOTNOTES: | 17 |
TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUCHESS,[34] | 17 |
FOOTNOTES: | 18 |
ANNUS MIRABILIS: | 18 |
FOOTNOTES: | 46 |
AN ESSAY UPON SATIRE. | 47 |
FOOTNOTES: | 52 |
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL.[66] | 52 |
FOOTNOTES: | 54 |
PART I. | 54 |
PART II. | 72 |
TO THE READER. | 72 |
FOOTNOTES: | 94 |
THE MEDAL.[76] | 94 |
EPISTLE TO THE WHIGS. | 94 |
FOOTNOTES: | 103 |
RELIGIO LAICI; OR, A LAYMAN’S FAITH. | 104 |
THE PREFACE. | 104 |
FOOTNOTES: | 120 |
THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS: | 120 |
FOOTNOTES: | 128 |
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. | 129 |
PART I. | 132 |
FOOTNOTES: | 142 |
PART II. | 142 |
FOOTNOTES: | 155 |
PART III. | 155 |
FOOTNOTES: | 178 |
MAC FLECKNOE.[139] | 179 |
FOOTNOTES: | 182 |
BRITANNIA REDIVIVA: | 183 |
FOOTNOTES: | 190 |
END OF FIRST VOLUME. | 190 |
[Footnote 1: ‘Lord Hastings:’ the nobleman herein lamented, was styled Henry Lord Hastings, son to Ferdinand Earl of Huntingdon. He died before his father in 1649, being then in his twentieth year, and on the day preceding that which had been fixed for his marriage.]
[Footnote 2: ‘Archimedes:’ a famous geometrician, who was killed at the taking of Syracuse, in the 542d year of Rome. He made a glass sphere, wherein the motions of the heavenly bodies were wonderfully described.]
[Footnote 3: ‘Ptolemy:’ Claudius Ptolemaeus, a celebrated mathematician in the reign of M. Aurelius Antoninus.]
[Footnote 4: ‘Tycho:’ Tycho Brahe]
* * * * *
WRITTEN AFTER HIS FUNERAL.
1 And now ’tis time; for their officious
haste,
Who would before
have borne him to the sky,
Like eager Romans, ere all
rites were past,
Did let too soon
the sacred eagle[5] fly.
2 Though our best notes are treason to
his fame,
Join’d with
the loud applause of public voice;
Since Heaven, what praise
we offer to his name,
Hath render’d
too authentic by its choice.
3 Though in his praise no arts can liberal
be,
Since they, whose
muses have the highest flown,
Add not to his immortal memory,
But do an act
of friendship to their own:
4 Yet ’tis our duty, and our interest
too,
Such monuments
as we can build to raise;
Lest all the world prevent
what we should do,
And claim a title
in him by their praise.
5 How shall I then begin, or where conclude,
To draw a fame
so truly circular?
For in a round what order
can be show’d,
Where all the
parts so equal perfect are?
6 His grandeur he derived from Heaven
alone;
For he was great
ere fortune made him so:
And wars, like mists that
rise against the sun,
Made him but greater
seem, not greater grow.
7 No borrow’d bays his temples did
adorn,
But to our crown
he did fresh jewels bring;
Nor was his virtue poison’d
soon as born,
With the too early
thoughts of being king.
8 Fortune (that easy mistress to the young,
But to her ancient
servants coy and hard),
Him at that age her favourites
rank’d among,
When she her best-loved
Pompey did discard.
9 He, private, mark’d the faults
of others’ sway,
And set as sea-marks
for himself to shun:
Not like rash monarchs, who
their youth betray
By acts their
age too late would wish undone.
10 And yet dominion was not his design;
We owe that
blessing, not to him, but Heaven,
Which to fair acts unsought
rewards did join;
Rewards,
that less to him, than us, were given.
11 Our former chiefs, like sticklers of
the war,
First sought
to inflame the parties, then to poise:
The quarrel loved, but
did the cause abhor;
And did
not strike to hurt, but make a noise.
12 War, our consumption, was their gainful
trade:
We inward
bled, whilst they prolong’d our pain;
He fought to end our
fighting, and essay’d
To staunch
the blood by breathing of the vein.
13 Swift and resistless through the land
he past,
Like that
bold Greek[6] who did the East subdue,
And made to battles
such heroic haste,
As if on
wings of victory he flew.
14 He fought secure of fortune as of fame:
Still by
new maps the island might be shown,
Of conquests, which
he strew’d where’er he came,
Thick as
the galaxy with stars is sown.
15 His palms,[7] though under weights
they did not stand,
Still thrived;
no winter could his laurels fade:
Heaven in his portrait
show’d a workman’s hand,
And drew
it perfect, yet without a shade.
16 Peace was the prize of all his toil
and care,
Which war
had banish’d, and did now restore:
Bologna’s walls[8]
thus mounted in the air,
To seat
themselves more surely than before.
17 Her safety rescued Ireland to him owes;
And treacherous
Scotland, to no interest true,
Yet blest that fate
which did his arms dispose
Her land
to civilize, as to subdue.
18 Nor was he like those stars which,
only shine,
When to
pale mariners they storms portend:
He had his calmer influence,
and his mien
Did love
and majesty together blend.
19 ’Tis true, his countenance did
imprint an awe;
And naturally
all souls to his did bow,
As wands[9] of divination
downward draw,
And point
to beds where sovereign gold doth grow.
20 When past all offerings to Feretrian
Jove,
He Mars
deposed, and arms to gowns made yield;
Successful councils
did him soon approve
As fit for
close intrigues, as open field.
21 To suppliant Holland he vouchsafed
a peace,
Our once
bold rival of the British main,
Now tamely glad her
unjust claim to cease,
And buy
our friendship with her idol, gain.
22 Fame of the asserted sea through Europe
blown,
Made France
and Spain ambitious of his love;
Each knew that side
must conquer he would own;
And for
him fiercely, as for empire, strove.
23 No sooner was the Frenchman’s
cause[10] embraced,
Than the
light Monsieur the grave Don outweigh’d;
His fortune turn’d
the scale where’er ’twas cast,
Though Indian
mines were in the other laid.
24 When absent, yet we conquer’d
in his right:
For though
some meaner artist’s skill were shown
In mingling colours
or in placing light,
Yet still
the fair designment was his own.
25 For from all tempers he could service
draw;
The worth
of each, with its alloy, he knew;
And, as the confidant
of Nature, saw
How she
complexions did divide and brew.
26 Or he their single virtues did survey,
By intuition,
in his own large breast;
Where all the rich ideas
of them lay;
That were
the rule and measure to the rest.
27 When such heroic virtue Heaven sets
out,
The stars,
like commons, sullenly obey;
Because it drains them
when it comes about,
And therefore
is a tax they seldom pay.
28 From this high spring our foreign conquests
flow,
Which yet
more glorious triumphs do portend;
Since their commencement
to his arms they owe,
If springs
as high as fountains may ascend.
29 He made us freemen of the Continent,[11]
Whom Nature
did like captives treat before;
To nobler preys the
English lion sent,
And taught
him first in Belgian walks to roar.
30 That old unquestion’d pirate
of the land,
Proud Rome,
with dread the fate of Dunkirk heard;
And trembling wish’d
behind more Alps to stand,
Although
an Alexander[12] were her guard.
31 By his command we boldly cross’d
the line,
And bravely
fought where southern stars arise;
We traced the far-fetch’d
gold unto the mine,
And that
which bribed our fathers made our prize.
32 Such was our prince; yet own’d
a soul above
The highest
acts it could produce to show:
Thus poor mechanic arts
in public move,
Whilst the
deep secrets beyond practice go.
33 Nor died he when his ebbing fame went
less,
But when
fresh laurels courted him to live:
He seem’d but
to prevent some new success,
As if above
what triumphs earth could give.
34 His latest victories still thickest
came,
As near
the centre motion doth increase;
Till he, press’d
down by his own weighty name,
Did, like
the vestal,[13] under spoils decease.
35 But first the ocean as a tribute sent
The giant
prince of all her watery herd;
And the Isle, when her
protecting genius went,
Upon his
obsequies loud sighs[14] conferr’d.
36 No civil broils have since his death
arose,
But faction
now by habit does obey;
And wars have that respect
for his repose,
As winds
for halcyons, when they breed at sea.
37 His ashes in a peaceful urn[15] shall
rest;
His name
a great example stands, to show
How strangely high endeavours
may be blest,
Where piety
and valour jointly go.
* * * * *
[Footnote 5: ‘Sacred eagle:’ the Romans let fly an eagle from the pile of a dead Emperor.]
[Footnote 6: ‘Bold Greek:’ Alexander the Great.]
[Footnote 7: ‘Palms’ were thought to grow best under pressure.]
[Footnote 8: ‘Bologna’s walls,’ &c.: alluding to a Popish story about the wall of Bologna, on which was an image of the Virgin, being blown up, and falling exactly into its place again.]
[Footnote 9: ‘Wands:’ see the ‘Antiquary.’]
[Footnote 10: ‘Frenchman’s cause:’ the treaty of alliance which Cromwell entered into with France against the Spaniards.]
[Footnote 11: ‘Freemen of the Continent:’ by the taking of Dunkirk.]
[Footnote 12: ‘Alexander:’ Alexander VII., at this time Pope.]
[Footnote 13: ‘Vestal:’ Tarpeia.]
[Footnote 14: ‘Loud sighs:’ the tempest which occurred at Cromwell’s death.]
[Footnote 15: ‘Peaceful urn:’ Dryden no true prophet—Cromwell’s bones having been dragged out of the royal vault, and exposed on the gibbet in 1660.]
* * * * *
A POEM ON THE HAPPY RESTORATION AND RETURN OF HIS SACRED MAJESTY CHARLES II., 1660.
“Jam redit et virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna.”—VIRG.
“The last great age,
foretold by sacred rhymes,
Renews its finish’d
course; Saturnian times
Roll round again.”
Now with a general peace the world was
blest,
While ours, a world divided from the rest,
A dreadful quiet felt, and worser far
Than arms, a sullen interval of war:
Thus when black clouds draw down the labouring
skies,
Ere yet abroad the winged thunder flies,
An horrid stillness first invades the
ear,
And in that silence we the tempest fear.
The ambitious Swede,[16] like restless
billows tost,
On this hand gaining what on that he lost,
10
Though in his life he blood and ruin breathed,
To his now guideless kingdom peace bequeath’d.
And Heaven, that seem’d regardless
of our fate,
For France and Spain did miracles create;
Such mortal quarrels to compose in peace,
As nature bred, and interest did increase.
We sigh’d to hear the fair Iberian
bride[17]
Must grow a lily to the lily’s side;
While our cross stars denied us Charles’
bed,
Whom our first flames and virgin love
did wed. 20
For his long absence Church and State
did groan;
Madness the pulpit, faction seized the
throne:
Experienced age in deep despair was lost,
To see the rebel thrive, the loyal cross’d:
Youth that with joys had unacquainted
been,
Envied gray hairs that once good days
had seen:
We thought our sires, not with their own
content,
Had, ere we came to age, our portion spent.
Nor could our nobles hope their bold attempt
30
Who ruin’d crowns would coronets
Some lazy ages, lost in sleep and
ease,
No action leave to busy chronicles:
Such, whose supine felicity but makes
In story chasms, in epoch’s mistakes;
O’er whom Time gently shakes his
wings of down,
Till, with his silent sickle, they are
mown. 110
Such is not Charles’ too, too active
age,
Which, govern’d by the wild distemper’d
rage
Of some black star infecting all the skies,
Made him at his own cost, like Adam, wise.
Tremble, ye nations, which, secure before,
Laugh’d at those arms that ’gainst
ourselves we bore;
Roused by the lash of his own stubborn
tail,
Our lion now will foreign foes assail.
With alga[21] who the sacred altar strews?
To all the sea-gods Charles an offering
owes: 120
A bull to thee, Portumnus,[22] shall be
slain,
A lamb to you, ye Tempests of the main:
For those loud storms that did against
him roar,
Have cast his shipwreck’d vessel
on the shore.
Yet as wise artists mix their colours
so,
That by degrees they from each other go;
Black steals unheeded from the neighbouring
white,
Without offending the well-cozen’d
sight:
So on us stole our blessed change; while
we
The effect did feel, but scarce the manner
see. 130
Frosts that constrain the ground, and
birth deny
To flowers that in its womb expecting
lie,
Do seldom their usurping power withdraw,
But raging floods pursue their hasty thaw.
Our thaw was mild, the cold not chased
away,
But lost in kindly heat of lengthen’d
day.
Heaven would no bargain for its blessings
drive,
But what we could not pay for, freely
give.
The Prince of peace would like himself
confer
A gift unhoped, without the price of war:
140
Yet, as he knew his blessing’s worth,
took care,
That we should know it by repeated prayer;
Which storm’d the skies, and ravish’d
Charles from thence,
As heaven itself is took by violence.
And now Time’s whiter series
is begun,
Which in soft centuries shall smoothly
run:
Those clouds, that overcast your morn,
shall fly,
Dispell’d to farthest corners of
the sky.
Our nation with united interest blest,
Not now content to poise, shall sway the
rest.
Abroad your empire shall no limits know,
But, like the sea, in boundless circles
flow.
Your much-loved fleet shall, with a wide
command, 300
Besiege the petty monarchs of the land:
And as old Time his offspring swallow’d
down,
Our ocean in its depths all seas shall
drown.
Their wealthy trade from pirates’
rapine free,
Our merchants shall no more adventurers
be:
Nor in the farthest East those dangers
fear,
Which humble Holland must dissemble here.
Spain to your gift alone her Indies owes;
For what the powerful takes not, he bestows:
And France, that did an exile’s
presence fear, 310
May justly apprehend you still too near.
At home the hateful names of parties
cease,
And factious souls are wearied into peace.
The discontented now are only they
Whose crimes before did your just cause
betray:
Of those, your edicts some reclaim from
sin,
But most your life and blest example win.
Oh, happy prince! whom Heaven hath taught
the way,
By paying vows to have more vows to pay!
Oh, happy age! oh times like those alone,
320
By fate reserved for great Augustus’
throne!
When the joint growth of arms and arts
foreshow
The world a monarch, and that monarch
you.
* * * * *
[Footnote 16: ‘Ambitious Swede:’ Charles X., named also Gustavus, nephew to the great Gustavus Adolphus.]
[Footnote 17: ‘Iberian bride:’ the Infanta of Spain was betrothed to Louis XIV.]
[Footnote 18: ‘Otho:’ see Juvenal.]
[Footnote 19: ‘Galba:’ Roman emperor, who adopted Piso.]
[Footnote 20: ‘Famous grandsire:’ Charles II. was grandson by the mother’s side to Henry IV. of France.]
[Footnote 21: ‘With alga,’ &c. : these lines refer to the ceremonies used by such heathens as escaped from shipwreck. Alga marina, or sea-weed, was strewed about the altar, and a lamb sacrificed to the winds.]
[Footnote 22: ‘Portumnus:’ Palaemon, or Melicerta, god of shipwrecked mariners.]
[Footnote 23: ‘Booth’s:’ Sir George Booth, an unsuccessful and premature warrior on the Royal side in 1659.]
[Footnote 24: ‘Fougue:’ a French word used for the fire and spirit of a horse.]
[Footnote 25: ‘Schevelin:’ a village about a mile from the Hague, at which Charles II. embarked for England.]
[Footnote 26: ‘Naseby:’ the ship in which Charles II. returned from exile.]
[Footnote 27: ‘Great Gloster:’ Henry, Duke of Gloucester, third son of Charles I., landed at Dover with his brother in 1660, and died of the smallpox soon afterwards.]
[Footnote 28: Charles entered London on the 29th of May.]
[Footnote 29: ‘Star:’ said to have shone on the day of Charles’ birth, and outshone the sun.]
* * * * *
A PANEGYRIC ON HIS CORONATION.
In that wild deluge where the world was
drown’d,
When life and sin one common tomb had
found,
The first small prospect of a rising hill
With various notes of joy the ark did
fill:
Yet when that flood in its own depths
was drown’d,
It left behind it false and slippery ground;
And the more solemn pomp was still deferr’d,
Till new-born nature in fresh looks appear’d.
Thus, Royal Sir, to see you landed here,
Was cause enough of triumph for a year:
Now our sad ruins are removed
from sight,
The season too comes fraught with new
delight:
Time seems not now beneath his years to
stoop,
Nor do his wings with sickly feathers
droop:
Soft western winds waft o’er the
gaudy spring,
And open’d scenes of flowers and
blossoms bring, 30
To grace this happy day, while you appear,
Not king of us alone, but of the year.
All eyes you draw, and with the eyes the
heart:
Of your own pomp, yourself the greatest
part:
Loud shouts the nation’s happiness
proclaim,
And Heaven this day is feasted with your
name.
Your cavalcade the fair spectators view,
From their high standings, yet look up
to you.
From your brave train each singles out
a prey,
And longs to date a conquest from your
day. 40
Now charged with blessings while you seek
repose,
Officious slumbers haste your eyes to
close;
And glorious dreams stand ready to restore
The pleasing shapes of all you saw before.
Next to the sacred temple you are led,
Where waits a crown for your more sacred
head:
How justly from the church that crown
is due,
Preserved from ruin, and restored by you!
The grateful choir their harmony employ,
Not to make greater, but more solemn joy.
50
Wrapt soft and warm your name is sent
on high,
As flames do on the wings of incense fly:
Music herself is lost; in vain she brings
Her choicest notes to praise the best
of kings:
Her melting strains in you a tomb have
found,
And lie like bees in their own sweetness
drown’d.
He that brought peace, all discord could
atone,
His name is music of itself alone.
Now while the sacred oil anoints your
head,
And fragrant scents, begun from you, are
spread 60
Through the large dome; the people’s
joyful sound,
Sent back, is still preserved in hallow’d
ground;
Which in one blessing mix’d descends
on you;
As heighten’d spirits fall in richer
dew.
Not that our wishes do increase your store,
You have already quench’d sedition’s
brand;
And zeal, which burnt it, only warms the
land. 80
The jealous sects, that dare not trust
their cause
So far from their own will as to the laws,
You for their umpire and their synod take,
And their appeal alone to Caesar make.
Kind Heaven so rare a temper did provide,
That guilt, repenting, might in it confide.
Among our crimes oblivion may be set;
But ’tis our king’s perfection
to forget.
Virtues unknown to these rough northern
climes
From milder heavens you bring, without
their crimes. 90
Your calmness does no after-storms provide,
Nor seeming patience mortal anger hide.
When empire first from families did spring,
Then every father govern’d as a
king:
But you, that are a sovereign prince,
allay
Imperial power with your paternal sway.
From those great cares when ease your
soul unbends,
Your pleasures are design’d to noble
ends:
Born to command the mistress of the seas,
Your thoughts themselves in that blue
empire please. 100
Hither in summer evenings you repair
To taste the fraicheur of the purer
air:
Undaunted here you ride, when winter raves,
With Caesar’s heart that rose above
the waves.
More I could sing, but fear my numbers
stays;
No loyal subject dares that courage praise.
In stately frigates most delight you find,
Where well-drawn battles fire your martial
mind.
What to your cares we owe, is learnt from
hence,
When even your pleasures serve for our
defence. 110
Beyond your court flows in th’ admitted
tide,
Where in new depths the wondering fishes
glide:
Here in a royal bed[30] the waters sleep;
When tired at sea, within this bay they
creep.
Here the mistrustful fowl no harm suspects,
So safe are all things which our king
protects.
From your loved Thames a blessing yet
is due,
Second alone to that it brought in you;
A queen, near whose chaste womb, ordain’d
by fate,
The souls of kings unborn for bodies wait.
120
It was your love before made discord cease:
Your love is destined to your country’s
* * * * *
[Footnote 30: ‘Royal bed:’ the river led from the Thames through St James’ Park.]
* * * * *
PRESENTED ON NEW YEAR’S DAY, 1662.
My Lord,
While flattering crowds officiously appear
To give themselves, not you, a happy year;
And by the greatness of their presents
prove
How much they hope, but not how well they
love;
The Muses, who your early courtship boast,
Though now your flames are with their
beauty lost,
Yet watch their time, that, if you have
forgot
They were your mistresses, the world may
not:
Decay’d by time and wars, they only
prove
Their former beauty by your former love;
10
And now present, as ancient ladies do,
That, courted long, at length are forced
to woo.
For still they look on you with such kind
eyes,
As those that see the church’s sovereign
rise;
From their own order chose, in whose high
state,
They think themselves the second choice
of fate.
When our great monarch into exile went,
Wit and religion suffer’d banishment.
Thus once, when Troy was wrapp’d
in fire and smoke,
The helpless gods their burning shrines
forsook; 20
They with the vanquish’d prince
and party go,
And leave their temples empty to the foe.
At length the Muses stand, restored again
To that great charge which Nature did
ordain;
And their loved Druids seem revived by
fate,
While you dispense the laws, and guide
the state.
The nation’s soul, our monarch,
does dispense,
Through you, to us his vital influence:
You are the channel where those spirits
flow,
And work them higher, as to us they go.
30
In open prospect nothing bounds
our eye,
Until the earth seems join’d unto
the sky:
So, in this hemisphere, our utmost view
Is only bounded by our king and you:
Our sight is limited where you are join’d,
And beyond that no farther heaven can
find.
So well your virtues do with his agree,
That, though your orbs of different greatness
be,
Yet both are for each other’s use
disposed,
His to enclose, and yours to be enclosed.
40
Nor could another in your room have been,
Except an emptiness had come between.
Well may he then to you his cares impart,
And share his burden where he shares his
heart.
In you his sleep still wakes; his pleasures
find
Their share of business in your labouring
mind.
So when the weary sun his place resigns,
He leaves his light, and by reflection
shines.
Justice, that sits and frowns
where public laws
Exclude soft mercy from a private cause,
50
In your tribunal most herself does please;
There only smiles because she lives at
ease;
And, like young David, finds her strength
the more,
When disencumber’d from those arms
she wore.
Heaven would our royal master should exceed
Most in that virtue which we most did
need;
And his mild father (who too late did
find
All mercy vain but what with power was
join’d)
His fatal goodness left to fitter times,
Not to increase, but to absolve, our crimes:
60
But when the heir of this vast treasure
knew
How large a legacy was left to you
(Too great for any subject to retain),
He wisely tied it to the crown again:
Yet, passing through your hands, it gathers
more,
As streams, through mines, bear tincture
of their ore.
While empiric politicians use deceit,
Hide what they give, and cure but by a
cheat;
You boldly show that skill which they
pretend,
And work by means as noble as your end:
70
Which should you veil, we might unwind
the clew,
As men do nature, till we came to you.
And as the Indies were not found, before
Those rich perfumes, which, from the happy
shore,
The winds upon their balmy wings convey’d,
Whose guilty sweetness first their world
betray’d;
So by your counsels we are brought to
view
A rich and undiscover’d world in
you.
By you our monarch does that fame assure,
Which kings must have, or cannot live
secure: 80
For prosperous princes gain their subjects’
heart,
Who love that praise in which themselves
have part.
By you he fits those subjects to obey,
As heaven’s eternal Monarch does
convey
His power unseen, and man to his designs,
By his bright ministers the stars, inclines.
Our setting sun, from his
declining seat,
Shot beams of kindness on you, not of
heat:
And, when his love was bounded in a few
That were unhappy that they might be true,
90
Made you the favourite of his last sad
times,
That is a sufferer in his subjects’
crimes:
Thus those first favours you received,
were sent,
Like heaven’s rewards in earthly
punishment.
Yet fortune, conscious of your destiny,
Even then took care to lay you softly
by;
And wrapp’d your fate among her
precious things,
Kept fresh to be unfolded with your king’s.
Shown all at once, you dazzled so our
eyes,
As new born Pallas did the gods surprise,
100
When, springing forth from Jove’s
new-closing wound,
She struck the warlike spear into the
ground;
Which sprouting leaves did suddenly enclose,
And peaceful olives shaded as they rose.
How strangely active are the
arts of peace,
Whose restless motions less than war’s
do cease!
Peace is not freed from labour but from
noise;
And war more force, but not more pains
employs;
Such is the mighty swiftness of your mind,
That, like the earth, it leaves our sense
behind; 110
While you so smoothly turn and roll our
sphere,
That rapid motion does but rest appear.
For, as in nature’s swiftness, with
the throng
Of flying orbs while ours is borne along,
All seems at rest to the deluded eye,
Moved by the soul of the same harmony,—
So, carried on by your unwearied care,
We rest in peace, and yet in motion share.
Let envy then those crimes within you
see,
From which the happy never must be free;
120
Envy, that does with misery reside,
The joy and the revenge of ruin’d
pride.
Think it not hard, if at so cheap a rate
You can secure the constancy of fate,
Whose kindness sent what does their malice
seem,
By lesser ills the greater to redeem.
Nor can we this weak shower a tempest
call,
But drops of heat, that in the sunshine
fall.
You have already wearied fortune so,
She cannot further be your friend or foe;
130
But sits all breathless, and admires to
feel
A fate so weighty, that it stops her wheel.
In all things else above our humble fate,
Your equal mind yet swells not into state,
But, like some mountain in those happy
isles,
Where in perpetual spring young nature
smiles,
Your greatness shows: no horror to
affright,
But trees for shade, and flowers to court
the sight:
Sometimes the hill submits itself a while
In small descents, which do its height
beguile: 140
And sometimes mounts, but so as billows
play,
Whose rise not hinders, but makes short
our way.
Your brow, which does no fear of thunder
* * * * *
[Footnote 31: ‘Hyde:’ the far-famed historian Clarendon.]
* * * * *
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1662.
As needy gallants, in the scrivener’s
hands,
Court the rich knaves that gripe their
mortgaged lands;
The first fat buck of all the season’s
sent,
And keeper takes no fee in compliment;
The dotage of some Englishmen is such,
To fawn on those who ruin them—the
Dutch.
They shall have all, rather than make
a war
With those, who of the same religion are.
The Straits, the Guinea-trade, the herrings
too;
Nay, to keep friendship, they shall pickle
you. 10
Some are resolved not to find out the
cheat,
But, cuckold-like, love them that do the
feat.
What injuries soe’er upon us fall,
Yet still the same religion answers all.
Religion wheedled us to civil war,
Drew English blood, and Dutchmen’s
now would spare.
Be gull’d no longer; for you’ll
find it true,
They have no more religion, faith! than
you.
Interest’s the god they worship
in their state,
And we, I take it, have not much of that
20
Well monarchies may own religion’s
name,
But states are atheists in their very
frame.
They share a sin; and such proportions
fall,
That, like a stink, ’tis nothing
to them all.
Think on their rapine, falsehood, cruelty,
And that what once they were, they still
would be.
To one well-born the affront is worse
and more,
When he’s abused and baffled by
a boor.
With an ill grace the Dutch their mischiefs
do;
They’ve both ill nature and ill
manners too. 30
Well may they boast themselves an ancient
nation;
For they were bred ere manners were in
fashion:
And their new commonwealth has set them
free
Only from honour and civility.
Venetians do not more uncouthly ride,
Than did their lubber state mankind bestride.
Their sway became them with as ill a mien,
As their own paunches swell above their
* * * * *
[Footnote 32: ‘Satire:’ the same nearly with his prologue to ‘Amboyna.’]
[Footnote 33: ‘Two kings:’ alluding to projected union between France and England.]
* * * * *
ON THE MEMORABLE VICTORY GAINED BY THE DUKE OVER THE HOLLANDERS, JUNE 3, 1665. AND ON HER JOURNEY AFTERWARDS INTO THE NORTH.
Madam,
When, for our sakes, your hero you resign’d
To swelling seas, and every faithless
wind;
When you released his courage, and set
free
A valour fatal to the enemy;
You lodged your country’s cares
within your breast
(The mansion where soft love should only
rest):
And, ere our foes abroad were overcome,
The noblest conquest you had gain’d
at home.
Ah, what concerns did both your souls
divide!
Your honour gave us what your love denied:
10
And ’twas for him much easier to
subdue
Those foes he fought with, than to part
from you.
That glorious day, which two such navies
saw,
As each unmatch’d might to the world
give law.
Neptune, yet doubtful whom he should obey,
Held to them both the trident of the sea:
The winds were hush’d, the waves
in ranks were cast,
As awfully as when God’s people
pass’d;
Those, yet uncertain on whose sails to
blow,
These, where the wealth of nations ought
to flow. 20
Then with the duke your highness ruled
the day:
While all the brave did his command obey,
The fair and pious under you did pray.
How powerful are chaste vows! the wind
and tide
You bribed to combat on the English, side.
Thus to your much-loved lord you did convey
An unknown succour, sent the nearest way.
New vigour to his wearied arms you brought
(So Moses was upheld while Israel fought),
While, from afar, we heard the cannon
play,[35] 30
Like distant thunder on a shiny day.
For absent friends we were ashamed to
fear
When we consider’d what you ventured
there.
Ships, men, and arms, our country might
restore,
But such a leader could supply no more.
With generous thoughts of conquest he
did burn,
Yet fought not more to vanquish than return.
Fortune and victory he did pursue,
To bring them as his slaves to wait on
you.
Thus beauty ravish’d the rewards
* * * * *
[Footnote 34: ‘The Duchess:’ daughter to the great Earl of Clarendon; married privately to Duke of York. For account of this victory, see Hume or Macaulay. The duchess accompanied the duke to Harwich, and thence made a progress north-wards, referred to here.]
[Footnote 35: ‘Heard the cannon play:’ the cannon were heard in London a hundred miles from Lowestoff where the battle was fought.]
* * * * *
THE YEAR OF WONDERS, 1666.
AN HISTORICAL POEM.
* * * * *
AN ACCOUNT OF THE ENSUING POEM, IN A LETTER TO THE HONOURABLE SIR ROBERT HOWARD.
Sir,—I am so many ways obliged to you, and so little able to return your favours, that, like those who owe too much, I can only live by getting further into your debt. You have not only been careful of my fortune, which was the effect of your nobleness, but you have been solicitous of my reputation, which is that of your kindness. It is not long since I gave you the trouble of perusing a play for me, and now, instead of an acknowledgment, I have given you a greater, in the correction of a poem. But since you are to bear this persecution, I will at least give you the encouragement of a martyr; you could never suffer in a nobler cause. For I have chosen the most heroic subject which any poet could desire: I have taken upon me to describe the motives, the beginning, progress, and successes, of a most just and necessary war; in it, the care, management, and prudence of our king; the conduct and valour of a royal admiral, and of two incomparable generals; the invincible courage of our captains and seamen; and three glorious victories, the result of all. After this I have, in the Fire, the most deplorable, but withal the greatest, argument that can be imagined:
Descriptas servare vices operumque colores,
Cur ego, si nequeo ignoroque, Poeta salutor?
For my own part, if I had little knowledge of the sea, yet I have thought it no shame to learn: and if I have made some few mistakes, it is only, as you can bear me witness, because I have wanted opportunity to correct them; the whole poem being first written, and now sent you from a place, where I have not so much as the converse of any seaman. Yet though the trouble I had in writing it was great, it was more than recompensed by the pleasure. I found myself so warm in celebrating the praises of military men, two such especially as the prince[36] and general, that it is no wonder if they inspired me with thoughts above my ordinary level. And I am well satisfied, that, as they are incomparably the best subject I ever had, excepting only the royal family, so also, that this I have written of them is much better than what I have performed on any other. I have been forced to help out other arguments; but this has been bountiful to me: they have been low and barren of praise, and I have exalted them, and made them fruitful; but here—Omnia sponte sua reddit justissima tellus. I have had a large, a fair, and a pleasant field; so fertile that, without my cultivating, it has given me two harvests in a summer, and in both oppressed the reaper. All other greatness in subjects is only counterfeit; it will not endure the test of danger; the greatness of arms is only real; other greatness burdens a nation with its weight, this supports it with its strength. And as it is the happiness of the age, so it is the
—Totamque infusa per
artus
Mens agitat molem, et magno so corpore
miscet.
We behold him embellishing his images, as he makes Venus breathing beauty upon her son AEneas.
—lumenque juventae
Purpureum, et laetos oculis afflarat honores:
Quale manus addunt ebori decus, aut ubi
flavo
Argentum Pariusve lapis circundatur auro.
See his Tempest, his Funeral Sports, his Combat of Turnus and AEneas: and in his Georgics, which I esteem the divinest part of all his writings, the Plague, the Country, the Battle of the Bulls, the Labour of the Bees, and those many other excellent images of nature, most of which are neither great in themselves, nor have any natural ornament to bear them up: but the words wherewith he describes them are so excellent that it might be well applied to him, which was said by Ovid, Materiam superabat opus: the very sound of his words has often somewhat that is connatural to the subject; and while we read him, we sit, as in a play, beholding the scenes of what he represents. To perform this, he made frequent use of tropes, which you know change the nature of a known word, by applying it to some other signification; and this is it which Horace means in his epistle to the Pisos:
Dixeris egregie, notum si callida verbum
Reddiderit junctura novum—
But I am sensible I have presumed too far to entertain you with a rude discourse of that art, which you both know so well, and put into practice with so much happiness. Yet before I leave Virgil, I must own the vanity to tell you, and by you the world, that he has been my master in this poem: I have followed him everywhere, I know not with what success, but I am sure with diligence enough: my images are many of them copied from him, and the rest are imitations of him. My expressions also are as near as the idioms of the two languages would admit of in translation. And this, sir, I have done with that boldness, for which I will stand accountable to any of our little critics, who, perhaps, are no better acquainted with him than I am. Upon your first perusal of this poem, you have taken notice of some words which I have innovated (if it be too bold for me to say refined) upon his Latin; which, as I offer not to introduce into English prose, so I hope they are neither improper, nor altogether inelegant in verse; and, in this, Horace will again defend me.
Et nova, fictaque nuper, habebunt verba
fidem, si
Graeco fonte cadunt, parce detorta—
The inference is exceeding plain: for if a Roman poet might have liberty to coin a word, supposing only that it was derived from the Greek, was put into a Latin termination, and that he used this liberty but seldom, and with modesty; how much more justly may I challenge that privilege to do it with the same prerequisites, from the best and most judicious of Latin writers! In some places, where either the fancy or the words were his, or any other’s, I have noted it in the margin, that I might not seem a plagiary; in others I have neglected it, to avoid as well tediousness, as the affectation of doing it too often. Such descriptions or images well wrought, which I promise not for mine, are, as I have said, the adequate delight of heroic poesy; for they beget admiration, which is its proper object; as the images of the burlesque, which is contrary to this, by the same reason beget laughter: for the one shows nature beautified, as in the picture of a fair woman, which we all admire; the other shows her deformed, as in that of a lazar, or of a fool with distorted face and antique gestures, at which we cannot forbear to laugh, because it is a deviation from nature. But though the same images serve equally for the Epic poesy, and for the historic and panegyric, which are branches of it, yet a several sort of sculpture is to be used in them. If some of them are to be like those of Juvenal, Stantes in curribus AEmiliani, heroes drawn in their triumphal chariots, and in their full proportion; others are to be like that of Virgil, Spirantia mollius oera: there is somewhat more of softness and tenderness to be shown in them. You will soon find I write not this without concern. Some, who have seen a paper of verses, which I wrote last year to her Highness the Duchess, have accused
And now, sir, it is time I should relieve you from the tedious length of this account. You have better and more profitable employment for your hours, and I wrong the public to detain you longer. In conclusion, I must leave my poem to you with all its faults, which I hope to find fewer in the printing by your emendations. I know you are not of the number of those, of whom the younger Pliny speaks; Nec sunt parum multi, qui carpere amicos suos judicium vocant: I am rather too secure of you on that side. Your candour in pardoning my errors may make you more remiss in correcting them; if you will not withal consider that they come into the world with your approbation, and through your hands. I beg from you the greatest favour you can confer upon an absent person, since I repose upon your management what is dearest to me, my fame and reputation; and therefore I hope it will stir you up to make my poem fairer by many of your blots; if not, you know the story of the gamester who married the rich man’s daughter, and when her father denied the portion, christened all the children by his surname, that if, in conclusion, they must beg, they should do so by one name, as well as by the other. But since the reproach of my faults will light on you, it is but reason I should do you that justice to the readers, to let them know, that, if there be anything tolerable in this poem, they owe the argument to your choice, the writing to your encouragement, the correction to your judgment, and the care of it to your friendship, to which he must ever acknowledge himself to owe all things, who is, sir, the most obedient, and most faithful of your servants,
JOHN DRYDEN.
From Charlton in Wiltshire, Nov. 10, 1666.
* * * * *
1 In thriving arts long time had Holland
grown,
Crouching
at home and cruel when abroad:
Scarce leaving us the
means to claim our own;
Our King
they courted, and our merchants awed.
2 Trade, which, like blood, should circularly
flow,
Stopp’d
in their channels, found its freedom lost:
Thither the wealth of
all the world did go,
And seem’d
but shipwreck’d on so base a coast.
3 For them alone the heavens had kindly
heat;
In eastern
quarries ripening precious dew:
For them the Idumaean
balm did sweat,
And in hot
Ceylon spicy forests grew.
4 The sun but seem’d the labourer
of the year;
Each waxing
moon supplied her watery store,
To swell those tides,
which from the line did bear
Their brimful
vessels to the Belgian shore.
5 Thus mighty in her ships, stood Carthage
long,
And swept
the riches of the world from far;
Yet stoop’d to
Rome, less wealthy, but more strong:
And this
may prove our second Punic war.
6 What peace can be, where both to one
pretend?
(But they
more diligent, and we more strong)
Or if a peace, it soon
must have an end;
For they
would grow too powerful, were it long.
7 Behold two nations, then, engaged so
far
That each
seven years the fit must shake each land:
Where France will side
to weaken us by war,
Who only
can his vast designs withstand.
8 See how he feeds the Iberian with delays,
To render
us his timely friendship vain:
And while his secret
soul on Flanders preys,
He rocks
the cradle of the babe of Spain.
9 Such deep designs of empire does he
lay
O’er
them, whose cause he seems to take in hand;
And prudently would
make them lords at sea,
To whom
with ease he can give laws by land.
10 This saw our King; and long within
his breast
His pensive
counsels balanced to and fro:
He grieved the land
he freed should be oppress’d,
And he less
for it than usurpers do.
11 His generous mind the fair ideas drew
Of fame
and honour, which in dangers lay;
Where wealth, like fruit
on precipices, grew,
Not to be
gather’d but by birds of prey.
12 The loss and gain each fatally were
great;
And still
his subjects call’d aloud for war;
But peaceful kings,
o’er martial people set,
Each, other’s
poise and counterbalance are.
13 He first survey’d the charge
with careful eyes,
Which none
but mighty monarchs could maintain;
Yet judged, like vapours
that from limbecks rise,
It would
in richer showers descend again.
14 At length resolved to assert the watery
ball,
He in himself
did whole Armadoes bring:
Him aged seamen might
their master call,
And choose
for general, were he not their king.
15 It seems as every ship their sovereign
knows,
His awful
summons they so soon obey;
So hear the scaly herd
when Proteus blows,
And so to
pasture follow through the sea.
16 To see this fleet upon the ocean move,
Angels drew
wide the curtains of the skies;
And heaven, as if there
wanted lights above,
For tapers
made two glaring comets rise.
17 Whether they unctuous exhalations are,
Fired by
the sun, or seeming so alone:
Or each some more remote
and slippery star,
Which loses
footing when to mortals shown.
18 Or one, that bright companion of the
sun,
Whose glorious
aspect seal’d our new-born king;
And now a round of greater
years begun,
New influence
from his walks of light did bring.
19 Victorious York did first with famed
success,
To his known
valour make the Dutch give place:
Thus Heaven our monarch’s
fortune did confess,
Beginning
conquest from his royal race.
20 But since it was decreed, auspicious
King,
In Britain’s
right that thou shouldst wed the main,
Heaven, as a gage, would
cast some precious thing,
And therefore
doom’d that Lawson[37] should be slain.
21 Lawson amongst the foremost met his
fate,
Whom sea-green
Sirens from the rocks lament;
Thus as an offering
for the Grecian state,
He first
was kill’d who first to battle went.
22 Their chief blown up in air, not waves,
expired,
To which
his pride presumed to give the law:
The Dutch confess’d
Heaven present, and retired,
And all
was Britain the wide ocean saw.
23 To nearest ports their shatter’d
ships repair,
Where by
our dreadful cannon they lay awed:
So reverently men quit
the open air,
When thunder
speaks the angry gods abroad.
24 And now approach’d their fleet
from India, fraught
With all
the riches of the rising sun:
And precious sand from
southern climates brought,
The fatal
regions where the war begun.
25 Like hunted castors, conscious of their
store,
Their waylaid
wealth to Norway’s coasts they bring:
There first the north’s
cold bosom spices bore,
And winter
brooded on the eastern spring.
26 By the rich scent we found our perfumed
prey,
Which, flank’d
with rocks, did close in covert lie;
And round about their
murdering cannon lay,
At once
to threaten and invite the eye.
27 Fiercer than cannon, and than rocks
more hard,
The English
undertake the unequal war:
Seven ships alone, by
which the port is barr’d,
Besiege
the Indies, and all Denmark dare.
28 These fight like husbands, but like
lovers those:
These fain
would keep, and those more fain enjoy:
And to such height their
frantic passion grows,
That what
both love, both hazard to destroy.
29 Amidst whole heaps of spices lights
a ball,
And now
their odours arm’d against them fly:
Some preciously by shatter’d
porcelain fall,
And some
by aromatic splinters die.
30 And though by tempests of the prize
bereft,
In Heaven’s
inclemency some ease we find:
Our foes we vanquish’d
by our valour left,
And only
yielded to the seas and wind.
31 Nor wholly lost[38] we so deserved
a prey;
For storms
repenting part of it restored:
Which, as a tribute
from the Baltic sea,
The British
ocean sent her mighty lord.
32 Go, mortals, now; and vex yourselves
in vain
For wealth,
which so uncertainly must come:
When what was brought
so far, and with such pain,
Was only
kept to lose it nearer home.
33 The son, who twice three months on
th’ ocean tost,
Prepared
to tell what he had pass’d before,
Now sees in English
ships the Holland coast,
And parents’
arms in vain stretch’d from the shore.
34 This careful husband had been long
away,
Whom his
chaste wife and little children mourn;
Who on their fingers
learn’d to tell the day
On which
their father promised to return.
35 Such are the proud designs of human
kind,
And so we
suffer shipwreck every where!
Alas, what port can
such a pilot find,
Who in the
night of fate must blindly steer!
36 The undistinguish’d seeds of
good and ill,
Heaven,
in his bosom, from our knowledge hides:
And draws them in contempt
of human skill,
Which oft
for friends mistaken foes provides.
37 Let Munster’s prelate[39] ever
be accurst,
In whom
we seek the German faith in vain:
Alas, that he should
teach the English first,
That fraud
and avarice in the Church could reign!
38 Happy, who never trust a stranger’s
will,
Whose friendship’s
in his interest understood!
Since money given but
tempts him to be ill,
When power
is too remote to make him good.
39 Till now, alone the mighty nations
strove;
The rest,
at gaze, without the lists did stand:
And threatening France,
placed like a painted Jove,
Kept idle
thunder in his lifted hand.
40 That eunuch guardian of rich Holland’s
trade,
Who envies
us what he wants power to enjoy;
Whose noiseful valour
does no foe invade,
And weak
assistance will his friends destroy.
41 Offended that we fought without his
leave,
He takes
this time his secret hate to show:
Which Charles does with
a mind so calm receive,
As one that
neither seeks nor shuns his foe.
42 With France, to aid the Dutch, the
Danes unite:
France as
their tyrant, Denmark as their slave,
But when with one three
nations join to fight,
They silently
confess that one more brave.
43 Lewis had chased the English from his
shore;
But Charles
the French as subjects does invite:
Would Heaven for each
some Solomon restore,
Who, by
their mercy, may decide their right!
44 Were subjects so but only by their
choice,
And not
from birth did forced dominion take,
Our prince alone would
have the public voice;
And all
his neighbours’ realms would deserts make.
45 He without fear a dangerous war pursues,
Which without
rashness he began before:
As honour made him first
the danger choose,
So still
he makes it good on virtue’s score.
46 The doubled charge his subjects’
love supplies,
Who, in
that bounty, to themselves are kind:
So glad Egyptians see
their Nilus rise,
And in his
plenty their abundance find.
47 With equal power he does two chiefs[40]
create,
Two such
as each seem’d worthiest when alone;
Each able to sustain
a nation’s fate,
Since both
had found a greater in their own.
48 Both great in courage, conduct, and
in fame,
Yet neither
envious of the other’s praise;
Their duty, faith, and
interest too the same,
Like mighty
partners equally they raise.
49 The prince long time had courted fortune’s
love,
But once
possess’d, did absolutely reign:
Thus with their Amazons
the heroes strove,
And conquer’d
first those beauties they would gain.
50 The Duke beheld, like Scipio, with
disdain,
That Carthage,
which he ruin’d, rise once more;
And shook aloft the
fasces of the main,
To fright
those slaves with what they felt before.
51 Together to the watery camp they haste,
Whom matrons
passing to their children show:
Infants’ first
vows for them to heaven are cast,
And future
people bless them as they go.
52 With them no riotous pomp, nor Asian
train,
To infect
a navy with their gaudy fears;
To make slow fights,
and victories but vain:
But war
severely like itself appears.
53 Diffusive of themselves, where’er
they pass,
They make
that warmth in others they expect;
Their valour works like
bodies on a glass,
And does
its image on their men project.
54 Our fleet divides, and straight the
Dutch appear,
In number,
and a famed commander, bold:
The narrow seas can
scarce their navy bear,
Or crowded
vessels can their soldiers hold.
55 The Duke, less numerous, but in courage
more,
On wings
of all the winds to combat flies:
His murdering guns a
loud defiance roar,
And bloody
crosses on his flag-staffs rise.
56 Both furl their sails, and strip them
for the fight;
Their folded
sheets dismiss the useless air:
The Elean plains could
boast no nobler sight,
When struggling
champions did their bodies bare.
57 Borne each by other in a distant line,
The sea-built
forts in dreadful order move:
So vast the noise, as
if not fleets did join,
But lands
unfix’d, and floating nations strove.
58 Now pass’d, on either side they
nimbly tack;
Both strive
to intercept and guide the wind:
And, in its eye, more
closely they come back,
To finish
all the deaths they left behind.
59 On high-raised decks the haughty Belgians
ride,
Beneath
whose shade our humble frigates go:
Such port the elephant
bears, and so defied
By the rhinoceros,
her unequal foe.
60 And as the build, so different is the
fight;
Their mounting
shot is on our sails design’d:
Deep in their hulls
our deadly bullets light,
And through
the yielding planks a passage find.
61 Our dreaded admiral from far they threat,
Whose batter’d
rigging their whole war receives:
All bare, like some
old oak which tempests beat,
He stands,
and sees below his scatter’d leaves.
62 Heroes of old, when wounded, shelter
sought;
But he who
meets all danger with disdain,
Even in their face his
ship to anchor brought,
And steeple-high
stood propt upon the main.
63 At this excess of courage, all amazed,
The foremost
of his foes awhile withdraw:
With such respect in
enter’d Rome they gazed,
Who on high
chairs the god-like fathers saw.
64 And now, as where Patroclus’
body lay,
Here Trojan
chiefs advanced, and there the Greek
Ours o’er the
Duke their pious wings display,
And theirs
the noblest spoils of Britain seek.
65 Meantime his busy mariners he hastes,
His shatter’d
sails with rigging to restore;
And willing pines ascend
his broken masts,
Whose lofty
heads rise higher than before.
66 Straight to the Dutch he turns his
dreadful prow,
More fierce
the important quarrel to decide:
Like swans, in long
array his vessels show,
Whose crests
advancing do the waves divide.
67 They charge, recharge, and all along
the sea
They drive,
and squander the huge Belgian fleet;
Berkeley[41] alone,
who nearest danger lay,
Did a like
fate with lost Creusa meet.
68 The night comes on, we eager to pursue
The combat
still, and they ashamed to leave:
Till the last streaks
of dying day withdrew,
And doubtful
moonlight did our rage deceive.
69 In the English fleet each ship resounds
with joy,
And loud
applause of their great leader’s fame:
In fiery dreams the
Dutch they still destroy,
And, slumbering,
smile at the imagined flame.
70 Not so the Holland fleet, who, tired
and done,
Stretch’d
on their decks like weary oxen lie;
Faint sweats all down
their mighty members run;
Vast bulks
which little souls but ill supply.
71 In dreams they fearful precipices tread:
Or, shipwreck’d,
labour to some distant shore:
Or in dark churches
walk among the dead;
They wake
with horror, and dare sleep no more.
72 The morn they look on with unwilling
eyes,
Till from
their main-top joyful news they hear
Of ships, which by their
mould bring new supplies,
And in their
colours Belgian lions bear.
73 Our watchful general had discern’d
from far
This mighty
succour, which made glad the foe:
He sigh’d, but,
like a father of the war,
His face
spake hope, while deep his sorrows flow.
74 His wounded men he first sends off
to shore,
Never till
now unwilling to obey:
They, not their wounds,
but want of strength deplore,
And think
them happy who with him can stay.
75 Then to the rest, Rejoice, said he,
to-day;
In you the
fortune of Great Britain lies:
Among so brave a people,
you are they
Whom Heaven
has chose to fight for such a prize.
76 If number English courages could quell,
We should
at first have shunn’d, not met, our foes,
Whose numerous sails
the fearful only tell:
Courage
from hearts and not from numbers grows.
77 He said, nor needed more to say:
with haste
To their
known stations cheerfully they go;
And all at once, disdaining
to be last,
Solicit
every gale to meet the foe.
78 Nor did the encouraged Belgians long
delay,
But bold
in others, not themselves, they stood:
So thick, our navy scarce
could steer their way,
But seem’d
to wander in a moving wood.
79 Our little fleet was now engaged so
far,
That, like
the sword-fish in the whale, they fought:
The combat only seem’d
a civil war,
Till through
their bowels we our passage wrought.
80 Never had valour, no not ours, before
Done aught
like this upon the land or main,
Where not to be o’ercome
was to do more
Than all
the conquests former kings did gain.
81 The mighty ghosts of our great Harries
rose,
And armed
Edwards look’d with anxious eyes,
To see this fleet among
unequal foes,
By which
fate promised them their Charles should rise.
82 Meantime the Belgians tack upon our
rear,
And raking
chase-guns through our sterns they send:
Close by their fire
ships, like jackals appear
Who on their
lions for the prey attend.
83 Silent in smoke of cannon they come
on:
Such vapours
once did fiery Cacus[42] hide:
In these the height
of pleased revenge is shown,
Who burn
contented by another’s side.
84 Sometimes from fighting squadrons of
each fleet,
Deceived
themselves, or to preserve some friend,
Two grappling AEtnas
on the ocean meet,
And English
fires with Belgian flames contend.
85 Now at each tack our little fleet grows
less;
And like
maim’d fowl, swim lagging on the main:
Their greater loss their
numbers scarce confess,
While they
lose cheaper than the English gain.
86 Have you not seen, when, whistled from
the fist,
Some falcon
stoops at what her eye design’d,
And, with her eagerness
the quarry miss’d,
Straight
flies at check, and clips it down the wind.
87 The dastard crow that to the wood made
wing,
And sees
the groves no shelter can afford,
With her loud caws her
craven kind does bring,
Who, safe
in numbers, cuff the noble bird.
88 Among the Dutch thus Albemarle[43]
did fare:
He could
not conquer, and disdain’d to fly;
Past hope of safety,
’twas his latest care,
Like falling
Caesar, decently to die.
89 Yet pity did his manly spirit move,
To see those
perish who so well had fought;
And generously with
his despair he strove,
Resolved
to live till he their safety wrought.
90 Let other muses write his prosperous
fate,
Of conquer’d
nations tell, and kings restored;
But mine shall sing
of his eclipsed estate,
Which, like
the sun’s, more wonders does afford.
91 He drew his mighty frigates all before,
On which
the foe his fruitless force employs:
His weak ones deep into
his rear he bore
Remote from
guns, as sick men from the noise.
92 His fiery cannon did their passage
guide,
And following
smoke obscured them from the foe:
Thus Israel safe from
the Egyptian’s pride,
By flaming
pillars, and by clouds did go.
93 Elsewhere the Belgian force we did
defeat,
But here
our courages did theirs subdue:
So Xenophon once led
that famed retreat,
Which first
the Asian empire overthrew.
94 The foe approach’d; and one for
his bold sin
Was sunk;
as he that touch’d the ark was slain:
The wild waves master’d
him and suck’d him in,
And smiling
eddies dimpled on the main.
95 This seen, the rest at awful distance
stood:
As
if they had been there as servants set
To stay, or to go on,
as he thought good,
And
not pursue, but wait on his retreat.
96 So Lybian huntsmen, on some sandy plain,
From shady
coverts roused, the lion chase:
The kingly beast roars
out with loud disdain,
And slowly
moves, unknowing to give place.
97 But if some one approach to dare his
force,
He swings
his tail, and swiftly turns him round;
With one paw seizes
on his trembling horse,
And with
the other tears him to the ground.
98 Amidst these toils succeeds the balmy
night;
Now hissing
waters the quench’d guns restore;
And weary waves, withdrawing
from the fight,
Lie lull’d
and panting on the silent shore:
99 The moon shone clear on the becalmed
flood,
Where, while
her beams like glittering silver play,
Upon the deck our careful
general stood,
And deeply
mused on the succeeding day.
100 That happy sun, said he, will rise again,
Who twice
victorious did our navy see:
And I alone must view
him rise in vain,
Without
one ray of all his star for me.
101 Yet like an English general will I die,
And all
the ocean make my spacious grave:
Women and cowards on
the land may lie;
The sea’s
a tomb that’s proper for the brave.
102 Restless he pass’d the remnant of
the night,
Till the
fresh air proclaimed the morning nigh:
And burning ships, the
martyrs of the fight,
With paler
fires beheld the eastern sky.
103 But now, his stores of ammunition spent,
His naked
valour is his only guard;
Rare thunders are from
his dumb cannon sent,
And solitary
guns are scarcely heard.
104 Thus far had fortune power, here forced
to stay,
Nor longer
durst with virtue be at strife:
This as a ransom Albemarle
did pay,
For all
the glories of so great a life.
105 For now brave Rupert from afar appears,
Whose waving
streamers the glad general knows:
With full spread sails
his eager navy steers,
And every
ship in swift proportion grows.
106 The anxious prince had heard the cannon
long,
And from
that length of time dire omens drew
Of English overmatch’d,
and Dutch too strong,
Who never
fought three days, but to pursue.
107 Then, as an eagle, who, with pious care
Was beating
widely on the wing for prey,
To her now silent eyrie
does repair,
And finds
her callow infants forced away:
108 Stung with her love, she stoops upon the
plain,
The broken
air loud whistling as she flies:
She stops and listens,
and shoots forth again,
And guides
her pinions by her young ones’ cries.
109 With such kind passion hastes the prince
to fight,
And spreads
his flying canvas to the sound;
Him, whom no danger,
were he there, could fright,
Now absent
every little noise can wound.
110 As in a drought the thirsty creatures cry,
And gape
upon the gather’d clouds for rain,
And first the martlet
meets it in the sky,
And with
wet wings joys all the feather’d train.
111 With such glad hearts did our despairing
men
Salute the
appearance of the prince’s fleet;
And each ambitiously
would claim the ken,
That with
first eyes did distant safety meet.
112 The Dutch, who came like greedy hinds before,
To reap
the harvest their ripe ears did yield,
Now look like those,
when rolling thunders roar,
And sheets
of lightning blast the standing field.
113 Full in the prince’s passage, hills
of sand,
And dangerous
flats in secret ambush lay;
Where the false tides
skim o’er the cover’d land,
And seamen
with dissembled depths betray.
114 The wily Dutch, who, like fallen angels,
fear’d
This new
Messiah’s coming, there did wait,
And round the verge
their braving vessels steer’d,
To tempt
his courage with so fair a bait.
115 But he, unmoved, contemns their idle threat,
Secure of
fame whene’er he please to fight:
His cold experience
tempers all his heat,
And inbred
worth doth boasting valour slight.
116 Heroic virtue did his actions guide,
And he the
substance, not the appearance chose
To rescue one such friend
he took more pride,
Than to
destroy whole thousands of such foes.
117 But when approach’d, in strict embraces
bound,
Rupert and
Albemarle together grow;
He joys to have his
friend in safety found,
Which he
to none but to that friend would owe.
118 The cheerful soldiers, with new stores supplied,
Now long
to execute their spleenful will;
And, in revenge for
those three days they tried,
Wish one,
like Joshua’s, when the sun stood still.
119 Thus reinforced, against the adverse fleet,
Still doubling
ours, brave Rupert leads the way:
With the first blushes
of the morn they meet,
And bring
night back upon the new-born day.
120 His presence soon blows up the kindling
fight,
And his
loud guns speak thick like angry men:
It seem’d as slaughter
had been breathed all night,
And Death
new pointed his dull dart again.
121 The Dutch too well his mighty conduct knew,
And matchless
courage since the former fight;
Whose navy like a stiff-stretch’d
cord did show,
Till he
bore in and bent them into flight.
122 The wind he shares, while half their fleet
offends
His open
side, and high above him shows:
Upon the rest at pleasure
he descends,
And doubly
harm’d he double harms bestows.
123 Behind the general mends his weary pace,
And sullenly
to his revenge he sails:
So glides some trodden
serpent on the grass,
And long
behind his wounded volume trails.
124 The increasing sound is borne to either
shore,
And for
their stakes the throwing nations fear:
Their passions double
with the cannons’ roar,
And with
warm wishes each man combats there.
125 Plied thick and close as when the fight
begun,
Their huge
unwieldy navy wastes away;
So sicken waning moons
too near the sun,
And blunt
their crescents on the edge of day.
126 And now reduced on equal terms to fight,
Their ships
like wasted patrimonies show;
Where the thin scattering
trees admit the light,
And shun
each other’s shadows as they grow.
127 The warlike prince had sever’d from
the rest
Two giant
ships, the pride of all the main;
Which with his one so
vigorously he prest,
And flew
so home they could not rise again.
128 Already batter’d, by his lee they
lay,
In rain
upon the passing winds they call:
The passing winds through
their torn canvas play,
And flagging
sails on heartless sailors fall.
129 Their open’d sides receive a gloomy
light,
Dreadful
as day let into shades below:
Without, grim Death
rides barefaced in their sight,
And urges
entering billows as they flow.
130 When one dire shot, the last they could
supply,
Close by
the board the prince’s mainmast bore:
All three now helpless
by each other lie,
And this
offends not, and those fear no more.
131 So have I seen some fearful hare maintain
A course,
till tired before the dog she lay:
Who, stretch’d
behind her, pants upon the plain,
Past power
to kill, as she to get away.
132 With his loll’d tongue he faintly
licks his prey;
His warm
breath blows her flix[44] up as she lies;
She trembling creeps
upon the ground away,
And looks
back to him with beseeching eyes.
133 The prince unjustly does his stars accuse,
Which hinder’d
him to push his fortune on;
For what they to his
courage did refuse,
By mortal
valour never must be done.
134 This lucky hour the wise Batavian takes,
And warns
his tatter’d fleet to follow home;
Proud to have so got
off with equal stakes,
Where ’twas
a triumph not to be o’ercome.
135 The general’s force, as kept alive
by fight,
Now not
opposed, no longer can pursue:
Lasting till heaven
had done his courage right;
When he
had conquer’d he his weakness knew.
136 He casts a frown on the departing foe,
And sighs
to see him quit the watery field:
His stern fix’d
eyes no satisfaction show,
For all
the glories which the fight did yield.
137 Though, as when fiends did miracles avow,
He stands
confess’d e’en by the boastful Dutch:
He only does his conquest
disavow,
And thinks
too little what they found too much.
138 Return’d, he with the fleet resolved
to stay;
No tender
thoughts of home his heart divide;
Domestic joys and cares
he puts away;
For realms
are households which the great must guide.
139 As those who unripe veins in mines explore,
On the rich
bed again the warm turf lay,
Till time digests the
yet imperfect ore,
And know
it will be gold another day:
140 So looks our monarch on this early fight,
Th’
essay and rudiments of great success;
Which all-maturing time
must bring to light,
While he,
like Heaven, does each day’s labour bless.
141 Heaven ended not the first or second day,
Yet each
was perfect to the work design’d;
God and king’s
work, when they their work survey,
A passive
aptness in all subjects find.
142 In burden’d vessels first, with speedy
care,
His plenteous
stores do seasoned timber send;
Thither the brawny carpenters
repair,
And as the
surgeons of maim’d ships attend.
143 With cord and canvas from rich Hamburgh
sent,
His navy’s
molted wings he imps once more:
Tall Norway fir, their
masts in battle spent,
And English
oak, sprung leaks and planks restore.
144 All hands employ’d, the royal work
grows warm:
Like labouring
bees on a long summer’s day,
Some sound the trumpet
for the rest to swarm.
And some
on bells of tasted lilies play.
145 With gluey wax some new foundations lay
Of virgin-combs,
which from the roof are hung:
Some arm’d, within
doors upon duty stay,
Or tend
the sick, or educate the young.
146 So here some pick out bullets from the sides,
Some drive
old oakum through each seam and rift:
Their left hand does
the calking-iron guide,
The rattling
mallet with the right they lift.
147 With boiling pitch another near at hand,
From friendly
Sweden brought, the seams instops:
Which well paid o’er,
the salt sea waves withstand,
And shakes
them from the rising beak in drops.
148 Some the gall’d ropes with dauby marline
bind,
Or sear-cloth
masts with strong tarpaulin coats:
To try new shrouds one
mounts into the wind,
And one
below their ease or stiffness notes.
149 Our careful monarch stands in person by,
His new-cast
cannons’ firmness to explore:
The strength of big-corn’d
powder loves to try,
And ball
and cartridge sorts for every bore.
150 Each day brings fresh supplies of arms and
men,
And ships
which all last winter were abroad;
And such as fitted since
the fight had been,
Or, new
from stocks, were fallen into the road.
151 The goodly London in her gallant trim
(The Phoenix
daughter of the vanish’d old).
Like a rich bride does
to the ocean swim,
And on her
shadow rides in floating gold.
152 Her flag aloft spread ruffling to the wind,
And sanguine
streamers seem the flood to fire;
The weaver, charm’d
with what his loom design’d,
Goes on
to sea, and knows not to retire.
153 With roomy decks, her guns of mighty strength,
Whose low-laid
mouths each mounting billow laves;
Deep in her draught,
and warlike in her length,
She seems
a sea-wasp flying on the waves.
154 This martial present, piously design’d,
The loyal
city give their best-loved King:
And with a bounty ample
as the wind,
Built, fitted,
and maintain’d, to aid him bring.
155 By viewing Nature, Nature’s handmaid,
Art,
Makes mighty
things from small beginnings grow:
Thus fishes first to
shipping did impart,
Their tail
the rudder, and their head the prow.
156 Some log perhaps upon the waters swam,
An useless
drift, which, rudely cut within,
And, hollow’d,
first a floating trough became,
And cross
some rivulet passage did begin.
157 In shipping such as this, the Irish kern,
And untaught
Indian, on the stream did glide:
Ere sharp-keel’d
boats to stem the flood did learn,
Or fin-like
oars did spread from either side.
158 Add but a sail, and Saturn so appear’d,
When from
lost empire he to exile went,
And with the golden
age to Tiber steer’d,
Where coin
and commerce first he did invent.
159 Rude as their ships was navigation then;
No useful
compass or meridian known;
Coasting, they kept
the land within their ken,
And knew
no North but when the Pole-star shone.
160 Of all who since have used the open sea,
Than the
bold English none more fame have won:
Beyond the year, and
out of heaven’s high way,
They make
discoveries where they see no sun.
161 But what so long in vain, and yet unknown,
By poor
mankind’s benighted wit is sought,
Shall in this age to
Britain first be shown,
And hence
be to admiring nations taught.
162 The ebbs of tides and their mysterious flow,
We, as art’s
elements, shall understand,
And as by line upon
the ocean go,
Whose paths
shall be familiar as the land.
163 Instructed ships shall sail to quick commerce,
By which
remotest regions are allied;
Which makes one city
of the universe,
Where some
may gain, and all may be supplied.
164 Then we upon our globe’s last verge
shall go,
And view
the ocean leaning on the sky:
From thence our rolling
neighbours we shall know,
And on the
lunar world securely pry.
165 This I foretell from your auspicious care,
Who great
in search of God and nature grow;
Who best your wise Creator’s
praise declare,
Since best
to praise his works is best to know.
166 O truly royal! who behold the law
And rule
of beings in your Maker’s mind:
And thence, like limbecks,
rich ideas draw,
To fit the
levell’d use of human-kind.
197 But first the toils of war we must endure,
And from
the injurious Dutch redeem the seas.
War makes the valiant
of his right secure,
And gives
up fraud to be chastised with ease.
168 Already were the Belgians on our coast,
Whose fleet
more mighty every day became
By late success, which
they did falsely boast,
And now
by first appearing seem’d to claim.
169 Designing, subtle, diligent, and close,
They knew
to manage war with wise delay:
Yet all those arts their
vanity did cross,
And by their
pride their prudence did betray.
170 Nor stay’d the English long; but,
well supplied,
Appear as
numerous as the insulting foe:
The combat now by courage
must be tried,
And the
success the braver nation show.
171 There was the Plymouth squadron now come
in,
Which in
the Straits last winter was abroad;
Which twice on Biscay’s
working bay had been,
And on the
midland sea the French had awed.
172 Old expert Allen,[45] loyal all along,
Famed for
his action on the Smyrna fleet:
And Holmes, whose name
shall live in epic song,
While music
numbers, or while verse has feet.
173 Holmes, the Achates of the general’s
fight;
Who first
bewitch’d our eyes with Guinea gold;
As once old Cato in
the Roman sight
The tempting
fruits of Afric did unfold.
174 With him went Spragge, as bountiful as brave,
Whom his
high courage to command had brought:
Harman, who did the
twice-fired Harry save,
And in his
burning ship undaunted fought.
175 Young Hollis, on a Muse by Mars begot,
Born, Caesar-like,
to write and act great deeds:
Impatient to revenge
his fatal shot,
His right
hand doubly to his left succeeds.
176 Thousands were there in darker fame that
dwell,
Whose deeds
some nobler poem shall adorn:
And, though to me unknown,
they sure fought well
Whom Rupert
led, and who were British born.
177 Of every size an hundred fighting sail:
So vast
the navy now at anchor rides,
That underneath it the
press’d waters fail,
And with
its weight it shoulders off the tides.
178 Now anchors weigh’d, the seamen shout
so shrill,
That heaven
and earth and the wide ocean rings:
A breeze from westward
waits their sails to fill,
And rests
in those high beds his downy wings.
179 The wary Dutch this gathering storm foresaw,
And durst
not bide it on the English coast:
Behind their treacherous
shallows they withdraw,
And there
lay snares to catch the British host.
180 So the false spider, when her nets are spread,
Deep ambush’d
in her silent den does lie:
And feels far off the
trembling of her thread,
Whose filmy
cord should bind the struggling fly.
181 Then if at last she find him fast beset,
She issues
forth and runs along her loom:
She joys to touch the
captive in her net,
And drags
the little wretch in triumph home.
182 The Belgians hoped, that, with disorder’d
haste,
Our deep-cut
keels upon the sands might run:
Or, if with caution
leisurely were past,
Their numerous
gross might charge us one by one.
183 But with a fore-wind pushing them above,
And swelling
tide that heaved them from below,
O’er the blind
flats our warlike squadrons move,
And with
spread sails to welcome battle go.
184 It seem’d as there the British Neptune
stood,
With all
his hosts of waters at command.
Beneath them to submit
the officious flood;
And with
his trident shoved them off the sand.
185 To the pale foes they suddenly draw near,
And summon
them to unexpected fight:
They start like murderers
when ghosts appear,
And draw
their curtains in the dead of night.
186 Now van to van the foremost squadrons meet,
The midmost
battles hastening up behind,
Who view far off the
storm of falling sleet,
And hear
their thunder rattling in the wind.
187 At length the adverse admirals appear;
The two
bold champions of each country’s right:
Their eyes describe
the lists as they come near,
And draw
the lines of death before they fight.
188 The distance judged for shot of every size,
The linstocks
touch, the ponderous ball expires:
The vigorous seaman every
port-hole plies,
And adds
his heart to every gun he fires!
189 Fierce was the fight on the proud Belgians’
side,
For honour,
which they seldom sought before!
But now they by their
own vain boasts were tied,
And forced
at least in show to prize it more.
190 But sharp remembrance on the English part,
And shame
of being match’d by such a foe,
Rouse conscious virtue
up in every heart,
And seeming
to be stronger makes them so.
191 Nor long the Belgians could that fleet sustain,
Which did
two generals’ fates, and Caesar’s bear:
Each several ship a
victory did gain,
As Rupert
or as Albemarle were there.
192 Their batter’d admiral too soon withdrew,
Unthank’d
by ours for his unfinish’d fight;
But he the minds of
his Dutch masters knew,
Who call’d
that Providence which we call’d flight.
193 Never did men more joyfully obey,
Or sooner
understood the sign to fly:
With such alacrity they
bore away,
As if to
praise them all the States stood by.
194 O famous leader[46] of the Belgian fleet,
Thy monument
inscribed such praise shall wear,
As Varro, timely flying,
once did meet,
Because
he did not of his Rome despair.
195 Behold that navy, which a while before,
Provoked
the tardy English close to fight,
Now draw their beaten
vessels close to shore,
As larks
lie, dared, to shun the hobby’s flight.
196 Whoe’er would English monuments survey,
In other
records may our courage know:
But let them hide the
story of this day,
Whose fame
was blemish’d by too base a foe.
197 Or if too busily they will inquire
Into a victory
which we disdain;
Then let them know the
Belgians did retire
Before the
patron saint[47] of injured Spain.
198 Repenting England this revengeful day
To Philip’s
manes did an offering bring:
England, which first
by leading them astray,
Hatch’d
up rebellion to destroy her King.
199 Our fathers bent their baneful industry,
To check
a, monarchy that slowly grew;
But did not France or
Holland’s fate foresee,
Whose rising
power to swift dominion flew.
200 In fortune’s empire blindly thus we
go,
And wander
after pathless destiny;
Whose dark resorts since
prudence cannot know,
In vain
it would provide for what shall be.
201 But whate’er English to the bless’d
shall go,
And the
fourth Harry or first Orange meet;
Find him disowning of
a Bourbon foe,
And him
detesting a Batavian fleet.
202 Now on their coasts our conquering navy
rides,
Waylays
their merchants, and their land besets:
Each day new wealth
without their care provides;
They lie
asleep with prizes in their nets.
203 So, close behind some promontory lie
The huge
leviathans to attend their prey;
And give no chase, but
swallow in the fry,
Which through
their gaping jaws mistake the way.
204 Nor was this all: in ports and roads
remote,
Destructive
fires among whole fleets we send:
Triumphant flames upon
the water float,
And out-bound
ships at home their voyage end.
205 Those various squadrons variously design’d,
Each vessel
freighted with a several load,
Each squadron waiting
for a several wind,
All find
but one, to burn them in the road.
206 Some bound for Guinea, golden sand to find,
Bore all
the gauds the simple natives wear;
Some for the pride of
Turkish courts design’d,
For folded
turbans finest Holland bear.
207 Some English wool, vex’d in a Belgian
loom,
And into
cloth of spungy softness made,
Did into France, or
colder Denmark, doom,
To ruin
with worse ware our staple trade.
208 Our greedy seamen rummage every hold,
Smile on
the booty of each wealthier chest;
And, as the priests
who with their gods make bold,
Take what
they like, and sacrifice the rest.
209 But ah! how insincere are all our joys!
Which, sent
from heaven, like lightning make no stay;
Their palling taste
the journey’s length destroys,
Or grief,
sent post, o’ertakes them on the way.
210 Swell’d with our late successes on
the foe,
Which France
and Holland wanted power to cross,
We urge an unseen fate
to lay us low,
And feed
their envious eyes with English loss.
211 Each element His dread command obeys,
Who makes
or ruins with a smile or frown;
Who, as by one he did
our nation raise,
So now he
with another pulls us down.
212 Yet London, empress of the northern clime,
By an high
fate thou greatly didst expire;
Great as the world’s,
which, at the death of time
Must fall,
and rise a nobler frame by fire!
213 As when some dire usurper[48] Heaven provides,
To scourge
his country with a lawless sway;
His birth perhaps some
petty village hides,
And sets
his cradle out of fortune’s way.
214 Till fully ripe his swelling fate breaks
out,
And hurries
him to mighty mischiefs on:
His prince, surprised
at first, no ill could doubt,
And wants
the power to meet it when ’tis known.
215 Such was the rise of this prodigious fire,
Which, in
mean buildings first obscurely bred,
From thence did soon
to open streets aspire,
And straight
to palaces and temples spread.
216 The diligence of trades and noiseful gain,
And luxury
more late, asleep were laid:
All was the night’s;
and in her silent reign
No sound
the rest of nature did invade.
217 In this deep quiet, from what source unknown,
Those seeds
of fire their fatal birth disclose;
And first few scattering
sparks about were blown,
Big with
the flames that to our ruin rose.
218 Then in some close-pent room it crept along,
And, smouldering
as it went, in silence fed;
Till the infant monster,
with devouring strong,
Walk’d
boldly upright with exalted head.
219 Now like some rich or mighty murderer,
Too great
for prison, which he breaks with gold;
Who fresher for new
mischiefs does appear,
And dares
the world to tax him with the old:
220 So ’scapes the insulting fire his
narrow jail,
And makes
small outlets into open air:
There the fierce winds
his tender force assail,
And beat
him downward to his first repair.
221 The winds, like crafty courtesans, withheld
His flames
from burning, but to blow them more:
And every fresh attempt
he is repell’d
With faint
denials weaker than before.
222 And now no longer letted[49] of his prey,
He leaps
up at it with enraged desire:
O’erlooks the
neighbours with a wide survey,
And nods
at every house his threatening fire.
223 The ghosts of traitors from the bridge descend,
With bold
fanatic spectres to rejoice:
About the fire into
a dance they bend,
And sing
their sabbath notes with feeble voice.
224 Our guardian angel saw them where they sate
Above the
palace of our slumbering king:
He sigh’d, abandoning
his charge to fate,
And, drooping,
oft look’d back upon the wing.
225 At length the crackling noise and dreadful
blaze
Call’d
up some waking lover to the sight;
And long it was ere
he the rest could raise,
Whose heavy
eyelids yet were full of night.
226 The next to danger, hot pursued by fate,
Half-clothed,
half-naked, hastily retire:
And frighted mothers
strike their breasts too late,
For helpless
infants left amidst the fire.
227 Their cries soon waken all the dwellers
near;
Now murmuring
noises rise in every street:
The more remote run
stumbling with their fear,
And in the
dark men jostle as they meet.
228 So weary bees in little cells repose;
But if night-robbers
lift the well-stored hive,
An humming through their
waxen city grows,
And out
upon each other’s wings they drive.
229 Now streets grow throng’d and busy
as by day:
Some run
for buckets to the hallow’d quire:
Some cut the pipes,
and some the engines play;
And some
more bold mount ladders to the fire.
230 In vain: for from the east a Belgian
wind
His hostile
breath through the dry rafters sent;
The flames impell’d
soon left their foes behind,
And forward
with a wanton fury went.
231 A quay of fire ran all along the shore,
And lighten’d
all the river with a blaze:
The waken’d tides
began again to roar,
And wondering
fish in shining waters gaze.
232 Old father Thames raised up his reverend
head,
But fear’d
the fate of Simois would return:
Deep in his ooze he
sought his sedgy bed,
And shrunk
his waters back into his urn.
233 The fire, meantime, walks in a broader gross;
To either
hand his wings he opens wide:
He wades the streets,
and straight he reaches cross,
And plays
his longing flames on the other side.
234 At first they warm, then scorch, and then
they take;
Now with
long necks from side to side they feed:
At length, grown strong,
their mother-fire forsake,
And a new
colony of flames succeed.
235 To every nobler portion of the town
The curling
billows roll their restless tide:
In parties now they
straggle up and down,
As armies,
unopposed, for prey divide.
236 One mighty squadron with a side-wind sped,
Through
narrow lanes his cumber’d fire does haste,
By powerful charms of
gold and silver led,
The Lombard
bankers and the ’Change to waste.
237 Another backward to the Tower would go,
And slowly
eats his way against the wind:
But the main body of
the marching foe
Against
the imperial palace is design’d.
238 Now day appears, and with the day the King,
Whose early
care had robb’d him of his rest:
Far off the cracks of
falling houses ring,
And shrieks
of subjects pierce his tender breast.
239 Near as he draws, thick harbingers of smoke
With gloomy
pillars cover all the place;
Whose little intervals
of night are broke
By sparks,
that drive against his sacred face.
240 More than his guards, his sorrows made him
known,
And pious
tears, which down his cheeks did shower;
The wretched in his
grief forgot their own;
So much
the pity of a king has power.
241 He wept the flames of what he loved so well,
And what
so well had merited his love:
For never prince in
grace did more excel,
Or royal
city more in duty strove.
242 Nor with an idle care did he behold:
Subjects
may grieve, but monarchs must redress;
He cheers the fearful,
and commends the bold,
And makes
despairers hope for good success.
243 Himself directs what first is to be done,
And orders
all the succours which they bring,
The helpful and the
good about him run,
And form
an army worthy such a king.
244 He sees the dire contagion spread so fast,
That, where
it seizes, all relief is vain:
And therefore must unwillingly
lay waste
That country,
which would else the foe maintain.
245 The powder blows up all before the fire:
The amazed
flames stand gather’d on a heap;
And from the precipice’s
brink retire,
Afraid to
venture on so large a leap.
246 Thus fighting fires a while themselves consume,
But straight,
like Turks forced on to win or die,
They first lay tender
bridges of their fume,
And o’er
the breach in unctuous vapours fly.
247 Part stay for passage, till a gust of wind
Ships o’er
their forces in a shining sheet:
Part creeping under
ground their journey blind,
And climbing
from below their fellows meet.
248 Thus to some desert plain, or old woodside,
Dire night-hags
come from far to dance their round;
And o’er broad
rivers on their fiends they ride,
Or sweep
in clouds above the blasted ground.
249 No help avails: for hydra-like, the
fire
Lifts up
his hundred heads to aim his way;
And scarce the wealthy
can one half retire,
Before he
rushes in to share the prey.
250 The rich grow suppliant, and the poor grow
proud;
Those offer
mighty gain, and these ask more:
So void of pity is the
ignoble crowd,
When others’
ruin may increase their store.
251 As those who live by shores with joy behold
Some wealthy
vessel split or stranded nigh;
And from the rocks leap
down for shipwreck’d gold,
And seek
the tempests which the others fly:
252 So these but wait the owners’ last
despair,
And what’s
permitted to the flames invade;
Even from their jaws
they hungry morsels tear,
And on their
backs the spoils of Vulcan lade.
253 The days were all in this lost labour spent;
And when
the weary king gave place to night,
His beams he to his
royal brother lent,
And so shone
still in his reflective light.
254 Night came, but without darkness or repose,—
A dismal
picture of the general doom,
Where souls, distracted
when the trumpet blows,
And half
unready, with their bodies come.
255 Those who have homes, when home they do
repair,
To a last
lodging call their wandering friends:
Their short uneasy sleeps
are broke with care,
To look
how near their own destruction tends.
256 Those who have none, sit round where once
it was,
And with
full eyes each wonted room require;
Haunting the yet warm
ashes of the place,
As murder’d
men walk where they did expire.
257 Some stir up coals, and watch the vestal
fire,
Others in
vain from sight of ruin run;
And, while through burning
labyrinths they retire,
With loathing
eyes repeat what they would shun.
258 The most in fields like herded beasts lie
down,
To dews
obnoxious on the grassy floor;
And while their babes
in sleep their sorrows drown,
Sad parents
watch the remnants of their store.
259 While by the motion of the flames they guess
What streets
are burning now, and what are near;
An infant waking to
the paps would press,
And meets,
instead of milk, a falling tear.
260 No thought can ease them but their sovereign’s
care,
Whose praise
the afflicted as their comfort sing:
Even those whom want
might drive to just despair,
Think life
a blessing under such a king.
261 Meantime he sadly suffers in their grief,
Out-weeps
an hermit, and out-prays a saint:
All the long night he
studies their relief,
How they
may be supplied, and he may want.
262 O God, said he, thou patron of my days,
Guide of
my youth in exile and distress!
Who me, unfriended,
brought’st by wondrous ways,
The kingdom
of my fathers to possess:
263 Be thou my judge, with what unwearied care
I since
have labour’d for my people’s good;
To bind the bruises
of a civil war,
And stop
the issues of their wasting blood.
264 Thou who hast taught me to forgive the ill,
And recompense,
as friends, the good misled;
If mercy be a precept
of thy will,
Return that
mercy on thy servant’s head.
265 Or if my heedless youth has stepp’d
astray,
Too soon
forgetful of thy gracious hand;
On me alone thy just
displeasure lay,
But take
thy judgments from this mourning land.
266 We all have sinn’d, and thou hast
laid us low,
As humble
earth from whence at first we came:
Like flying shades before
the clouds we show,
And shrink
like parchment in consuming flame.
267 O let it be enough what thou hast done;
When spotted
Deaths ran arm’d through every street,
With poison’d
darts which not the good could shun,
The speedy
could out-fly, or valiant meet.
268 The living few, and frequent funerals then,
Proclaim’d
thy wrath on this forsaken place;
And now those few who
are return’d again,
Thy searching
judgments to their dwellings trace.
269 O pass not, Lord, an absolute decree,
Or bind
thy sentence unconditional!
But in thy sentence
our remorse foresee,
And in that
foresight this thy doom recall.
270 Thy threatenings, Lord, as thine thou mayst
revoke:
But if immutable
and fix’d they stand,
Continue still thyself
to give the stroke,
And let
not foreign foes oppress thy land.
271 The Eternal heard, and from the heavenly
quire
Chose out
the cherub with the flaming sword;
And bade him swiftly
drive the approaching fire
From where
our naval magazines were stored.
272 The blessed minister his wings display’d,
And like
a shooting star he cleft the night:
He charged the flames,
and those that disobey’d
He lash’d
to duty with his sword of light.
273 The fugitive flames chastised went forth
to prey
On pious
structures, by our fathers rear’d;
By which to heaven they
did affect the way,
Ere faith
in churchmen without works was heard.
274 The wanting orphans saw, with watery eyes,
Their founder’s
charity in dust laid low;
And sent to God their
ever-answered cries,
For He protects
the poor, who made them so.
275 Nor could thy fabric, Paul’s, defend
thee long,
Though thou
wert sacred to thy Maker’s praise:
Though made immortal
by a poet’s song;
And poets’
songs the Theban walls could raise.
276 The daring flames peep’d in, and saw
from far
The awful
beauties of the sacred quire:
But since it was profaned
by civil war,
Heaven thought
it fit to have it purged by fire.
277 Now down the narrow streets it swiftly came,
And widely
opening did on both sides prey:
This benefit we sadly
owe the flame,
If only
ruin must enlarge our way.
278 And now four days the sun had seen our woes:
Four nights
the moon beheld the incessant fire:
It seem’d as if
the stars more sickly rose,
And farther
from the feverish north retire.
279 In th’ empyrean heaven, the bless’d
abode,
The Thrones
and the Dominions prostrate lie,
Not daring to behold
their angry God;
And a hush’d
silence damps the tuneful sky.
280 At length the Almighty cast a pitying eye,
And mercy
softly touch’d his melting breast:
He saw the town’s
one half in rubbish lie,
And eager
flames drive on to storm the rest.
281 An hollow crystal pyramid he takes,
In firmamental
waters dipt above;
Of it a broad extinguisher
he makes,
And hoods
the flames that to their quarry drove.
282 The vanquish’d fires withdraw from
every place,
Or, full
with feeding, sink into a sleep:
Each household genius
shows again his face,
And from
the hearths the little Lares creep.
283 Our King this more than natural change beholds;
With sober
joy his heart and eyes abound:
To the All-good his
lifted hands he folds,
And thanks
him low on his redeemed ground.
284 As when sharp frosts had long constrain’d
the earth,
A kindly
thaw unlocks it with mild rain;
And first the tender
blade peeps up to birth,
And straight
the green fields laugh with promised grain:
285 By such degrees the spreading gladness grew
In every
heart which fear had froze before:
The standing streets
with so much joy they view,
That with
less grief the perish’d they deplore.
286 The father of the people open’d wide
His stores,
and all the poor with plenty fed:
Thus God’s anointed
God’s own place supplied,
And fill’d
the empty with his daily bread.
287 This royal bounty brought its own reward,
And in their
minds so deep did print the sense,
That if their ruins
sadly they regard,
’Tis
but with fear the sight might drive him thence.
288 But so may he live long, that town to sway,
Which by
his auspice they will nobler make,
As he will hatch their
ashes by his stay,
And not
their humble ruins now forsake.
289 They have not lost their loyalty by fire;
Nor is their
courage or their wealth so low,
That from his wars they
poorly would retire,
Or beg the
pity of a vanquish’d foe.
290 Not with more constancy the Jews of old,
By Cyrus
from rewarded exile sent,
Their royal city did
in dust behold,
Or with
more vigour to rebuild it went.
291 The utmost malice of their stars is past,
And two
dire comets, which have scourged the town,
In their own plague
and fire have breathed the last,
Or dimly
in their sinking sockets frown.
292 Now frequent trines the happier lights among,
And high-raised
Jove, from his dark prison freed,
Those weights took off
that on his planet hung,
Will gloriously
the new-laid work succeed.
293 Methinks already from this chemic flame,
I see a
city of more precious mould:
Rich as the town which
gives the Indies name,
With silver
paved, and all divine with gold.
294 Already labouring with a mighty fate,
She shakes
the rubbish from her mounting brow,
And seems to have renew’d
her charter’s date,
Which Heaven
will to the death of time allow.
295 More great than human now, and more august,
Now deified
she from her fires does rise:
Her widening streets
on new foundations trust,
And opening
into larger parts she flies.
296 Before, she like some shepherdess did show,
Who sat
to bathe her by a river’s side;
Not answering to her
fame, but rude and low,
Nor taught
the beauteous arts of modern pride.
297 Now, like a maiden queen, she will behold,
From her
high turrets, hourly suitors come;
The East with incense,
and the West with gold,
Will stand,
like suppliants, to receive her doom!
298 The silver Thames, her own domestic flood,
Shall bear
her vessels like a sweeping train;
And often wind, as of
his mistress proud,
With longing
eyes to meet her face again.
299 The wealthy Tagus, and the wealthier Rhine,
The glory
of their towns no more shall boast;
And Seine, that would
with Belgian rivers join,
Shall find
her lustre stain’d, and traffic lost.
300 The venturous merchant who design’d
more far,
And touches
on our hospitable shore,
Charm’d with the
splendour of this northern star,
Shall here
unlade him, and depart no more.
301 Our powerful navy shall no longer meet,
The wealth
of France or Holland to invade;
The beauty of this town
without a fleet,
From all
the world shall vindicate her trade.
302 And while this famed emporium we prepare,
The British
ocean shall such triumphs boast,
That those, who now
disdain our trade to share,
Shall rob like
pirates on our wealthy coast.
303 Already we have conquer’d half the
war,
And the
less dangerous part is left behind:
Our trouble now is but
to make them dare,
And not
so great to vanquish as to find.
304 Thus to the Eastern wealth through storms
we go,
But now,
the Cape once doubled, fear no more;
A constant trade-wind
will securely blow,
And gently
lay us on the spicy shore.
* * * * *
[Footnote 36: Prince Rupert and General Monk, Duke of Albemarle.]
[Footnote 37: ‘Lawson:’ Sir John Lawson, rear admiral of the red, killed by a ball that wounded him in the knee.]
[Footnote 38: ‘Wholly lost:’ the Dutch ships on their return home, being separated by a storm, the rear and vice-admirals of the East India fleet, with four men of war, were taken by five English frigates. Soon after, four men of war, two fire-ships, and thirty merchantmen, being driven out of their course, joined our fleet instead of their own, and were all taken. These things happened in 1665.]
[Footnote 39: ‘Munster’s prelate:’ the famous Bertrand Von Der Chalen, Bishop of Munster, excited by Charles, marched twenty thousand men into the province of Overyssel, under the dominion of the republic of Holland, where he committed great outrages.]
[Footnote 40: ‘Two chiefs:’ Prince Rupert and Monk.]
[Footnote 41: ‘Berkeley:’ Vice-admiral Berkeley fought till his men were all killed, and was found in the cabin dead and covered with blood.]
[Footnote 42: ‘Cacus:’ see Virgil in Cowper’s translation, 2d vol. of this edition.]
[Footnote 43: ‘Albemarle:’ Monk.]
[Footnote 44: ‘Flix:’ old word for hare fur.]
[Footnote 45: ‘Allen:’ Sir Thomas Allen, admiral of the white. ’The Achates:’ Sir Robert Holmes was rear-admiral of the white.]
[Footnote 46: ‘Leader:’ De Ruyter.]
[Footnote 47: ‘Patron saint:’ St James, on whose day the victory was gained.]
[Footnote 48: ‘Usurper:’ this seems a reference to Cromwell; if so, it contradicts Scott’s statement quoted above in the ‘Life.’]
[Footnote 49: ‘Letted:’ hindered.]
* * * * *
BY ME DRYDEN AND THE EARL OF MULGRAVE,[50] 1679.
How dull, and how insensible a beast
Is man, who yet would lord it o’er
the rest!
Philosophers and poets vainly strove
In every age the lumpish mass to move:
But those were pedants, when compared
with these,
Who know not only to instruct, but please.
Poets alone found the delightful way,
Mysterious morals gently to convey
In charming numbers; so that as men grew
Pleased with their poems, they grew wiser
too. 10
Satire has always shone among the rest,
And is the boldest way, if not the best,
To tell men freely of their foulest faults;
To laugh at their vain deeds, and vainer
thoughts.
In satire too the wise took different
ways,
To each deserving its peculiar praise.
Some did all folly with just sharpness
blame,
Whilst others laugh’d and scorn’d
them into shame.
But of these two, the last succeeded best,
As men aim rightest when they shoot in
jest. 20
Yet, if we may presume to blame our guides,
And censure those who censure all besides,
In other things they justly are preferr’d.
In this alone methinks the ancients err’d,—
Against the grossest follies they declaim;
Hard they pursue, but hunt ignoble game.
Nothing is easier than such blots to hit,
And ’tis the talent of each vulgar
wit:
Besides, ’tis labour lost; for who
would preach
Morals to Armstrong,[51] or dull Aston
teach? 30
’Tis being devout at play, wise
at a ball,
Or bringing wit and friendship to Whitehall.
But with sharp eyes those nicer faults
to find,
Which lie obscurely in the wisest mind;
That little speck which all the rest does
spoil,
To wash off that would be a noble toil;
Beyond the loose writ libels of this age,
Or the forced scenes of our declining
stage;
Above all censure too, each little wit
Will be so glad to see the greater hit;
40
Who, judging better, though concern’d
the most,
First, let’s behold the merriest
man alive[57]
Against his careless genius vainly strive;
Quit his dear ease, some deep design to
lay,
’Gainst a set time, and then forget
the day:
Yet he will laugh at his best friends,
and be
Just as good company as Nokes and Lee.[58]
But when he aims at reason or at rule,
90
He turns himself the best to ridicule;
Let him at business ne’er so earnest
sit,
Show him but mirth, and bait that mirth
with wit;
That shadow of a jest shall be enjoy’d,
Though he left all mankind to be destroy’d.
So cat transform’d sat gravely and
demure,
Till mouse appear’d, and thought
himself secure;
But soon the lady had him in her eye,
And from her friend did just as oddly
Though satire, nicely writ,
with humour stings 140
But those who merit praise in other things;
Yet we must needs this one exception make,
And break our rules for silly Tropos’[60]
sake;
Who was too much despised to be accused,
And therefore scarce deserves to be abused;
Raised only by his mercenary tongue,
For railing smoothly, and for reasoning
wrong,
As boys, on holidays, let loose to play,
Lay waggish traps for girls that pass
that way;
Then shout to see in dirt and deep distress
150
Some silly cit in her flower’d foolish
dress:
So have I mighty satisfaction found,
To see his tinsel reason on the ground:
To see the florid fool despised, and know
it,
By some who scarce have words enough to
show it:
For sense sits silent, and condemns for
weaker
Some other kind of wits must be
made known,
Whose harmless errors hurt themselves
alone;
Excess of luxury they think can please,
And laziness call loving of their ease:
To live dissolved in pleasures still they
feign, 170
Though their whole life’s but intermitting
pain:
So much of surfeits, headaches, claps
are seen,
We scarce perceive the little time between:
Well-meaning men who make this gross mistake,
And pleasure lose only for pleasure’s
sake;
Each pleasure has its price, and when
we pay
Too much of pain, we squander life away.
Thus Dorset, purring like a thoughtful
cat,
Married, but wiser puss ne’er thought
of that:
And first he worried her with railing
rhyme, 180
Like Pembroke’s mastives at his
kindest time;
Then for one night sold all his slavish
life,
A teeming widow, but a barren wife;
Swell’d by contact of such a fulsome
toad,
He lugg’d about the matrimonial
load;
Till fortune, blindly kind as well as
he,
Has ill restored him to his liberty;
Which he would use in his old sneaking
way,
Drinking all night, and dozing all the
day;
Dull as Ned Howard,[61] whom his brisker
times 190
Had famed for dulness in malicious rhymes.
Mulgrave had much ado to ’scape
the snare,
Though learn’d in all those arts
that cheat the fair:
For after all his vulgar marriage mocks,
With beauty dazzled, Numps was in the
stocks;
Deluded parents dried their weeping eyes,
To see him catch his Tartar for his prize;
The impatient town waited the wish’d-for
change,
And cuckolds smiled in hopes of sweet
revenge;
Till Petworth plot made us with sorrow
see, 200
As his estate, his person too was free:
Him no soft thoughts, no gratitude could
move;
To gold he fled from beauty and from love;
Yet, failing there, he keeps his freedom
still,
Forced to live happily against his will:
’Tis not his fault, if too much
wealth and power
Break not his boasted quiet every hour.
And little Sid,[62] for simile
renown’d,
Pleasure has always sought but never found:
Though all his thoughts on wine and women
fall, 210
His are so bad, sure he ne’er thinks
at all.
The flesh he lives upon is rank and strong,
His meat and mistresses are kept too long.
Rochester I despise for want
of wit,
Though thought to have a tail and cloven
feet;
For while he mischief means to all mankind,
230
Himself alone the ill effects does find:
And so like witches justly suffer shame,
Whose harmless malice is so much the same.
False are his words, affected is his wit;
So often he does aim, so seldom hit;
To every face he cringes while he speaks,
But when the back is turn’d, the
head he breaks:
Mean in each action, lewd in every limb,
Manners themselves are mischievous in
him:
A proof that chance alone makes every
creature, 240
A very Killigrew[64] without good nature.
For what a Bessus[65] has he always lived,
And his own kickings notably contrived!
For, there’s the folly that’s
still mix’d with fear,
Cowards more blows than any hero bear;
Of fighting sparks some may their pleasures
say,
But ’tis a bolder thing to run away:
The world may well forgive him all his
ill,
For every fault does prove his penance
still:
Falsely he falls into some dangerous noose,
250
And then as meanly labours to get loose;
A life so infamous is better quitting,
Spent in base injury and low submitting.
I’d like to have left out his poetry;
Forgot by all almost as well as me.
Sometimes he has some humour, never wit,
And if it rarely, very rarely, hit,
’Tis under so much nasty rubbish
laid,
To find it out’s the cinderwoman’s
trade;
Who for the wretched remnants of a fire,
260
Must toil all day in ashes and in mire.
So lewdly dull his idle works appear,
The wretched texts deserve no comments
here;
Where one poor thought sometimes, left
all alone,
For a whole page of dulness must atone.
How vain a thing is man, and how
unwise!
Even he, who would himself the most despise!
I, who so wise and humble seem to be,
Now my own vanity and pride can’t
see;
While the world’s nonsense is so
sharply shown, 270
We pull down others’ but to raise
our own;
That we may angels seem, we paint them
* * * * *
[Footnote 50: ‘Mulgrave:’ Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham. It was for this satire, the joint composition of Dryden and Sheffield, that Rochester hired bravoes to cudgel Dryden.]
[Footnote 51: ‘Armstrong:’ Sir Thomas Armstrong, a notorious character of the time—hanged at Tyburn.]
[Footnote 52: ‘Carr:’ Sir Carr Scrope, a wit of the time.]
[Footnote 53: ‘Beastly brace:’ Duchess of Portsmouth and Nell Gwynn.]
[Footnote 54: ‘Earnely:’ Sir John Earnely, one of the lords of the treasury.]
[Footnote 55: ‘Aylesbury:’ Robert, the first Earl of Aylesbury.]
[Footnote 56: ‘Danby:’ Thomas, Earl of Danby, lord high-treasurer of England.]
[Footnote 57: ‘Merriest man alive:’ Anthony Ashley Cooper, Earl of Shaftesbury.]
[Footnote 58: ‘Nokes and Lee:’ two celebrated comedians in Charles II.’s reign.]
[Footnote 59: ‘New earl:’ Earl of Essex.]
[Footnote 60: ‘Tropos:’ Sir William Scroggs. See Macaulay.]
[Footnote 61: ‘Ned Howard:’ Edward Howard, Esq., a dull writer. See Butler’s works.]
[Footnote 62: ‘Sid:’ brother to Algernon Sidney.]
[Footnote 63: ‘Hewet and Jack Hall:’ courtiers of the day.]
[Footnote 64: ‘Killigrew:’ Thomas Killigrew, many years master of the revels, and groom of the chamber to King Charles II.]
[Footnote 65: ‘Bessus:’ a remarkable cowardly character in Beaumont and Fletcher’s play of ‘A King and no King.’]
* * * * *
TO THE READER.
It is not my intention to make an apology for my poem: some will think it needs no excuse, and others will receive none. The design I am sure is honest: but he who draws his pen for one party, must expect to make enemies of the other. For wit and fool are consequence of Whig and Tory; and every man is a knave or an ass to the contrary side. There is a treasury of merits in the Fanatic church, as well as in the Popish; and a pennyworth to be had of saintship, honesty, and poetry, for the lewd, the factious, and the blockheads: but the longest chapter in Deuteronomy has not curses enough for an Anti-Bromingham. My comfort is, their manifest prejudice to my cause will render their judgment of
Were I the inventor, who am only the historian, I should certainly conclude the piece with the reconcilement of Absalom to David. And who knows but this may come to pass? Things were not brought to an extremity where I left the story: there seems yet to be room left for a composure; hereafter there may be only for pity. I have not so much as an uncharitable wish against Achitophel, but am content to be accused of a good-natured error, and to hope with Origen, that the devil himself may at last be saved. For which reason, in this poem, he is neither brought to set his house in order, nor to dispose of his person afterwards as he in wisdom shall think fit. God is infinitely merciful; and his vicegerent is only not so, because he is not infinite.
The true end of satire is the amendment of vices by correction. And he who writes honestly is no more an enemy to the offender, than the physician to the patient, when he prescribes harsh remedies to an inveterate disease; for those are only in order to prevent the chirurgeon’s work of an Ense rescindendum, which I wish not to my very enemies. To conclude all; if the body politic have any analogy to the natural, in my weak judgment, an act of oblivion were as necessary in a hot distempered state, as an opiate would be in a raging fever.
* * * * *
[Footnote 66: See ‘Life’ for explanation for circumstances; and the key at the close of the poem, for the real names of this satire.]
* * * * *
—Si propius stes
Te capiet magis—
In pious times, ere priestcraft did begin,
Before polygamy was made a sin;
When man on many multiplied his kind,
Ere one to one was cursedly confined;
When nature prompted, and no law denied
Promiscuous use of concubine and bride;
Then Israel’s monarch after Heaven’s
own heart,
His vigorous warmth did variously impart
To wives and slaves; and wide as his command,
Scatter’d his Maker’s image
through the land. 10
Michal, of royal blood, the crown did
wear;
A soil ungrateful to the tiller’s
care:
Not so the rest; for several mothers bore
To god-like David several sons before.
But since like slaves his bed they did
ascend,
No true succession could their seed attend.
Of all the numerous progeny was none
So beautiful, so brave, as Absalom:
Whether inspired by some diviner lust,
His father got him with a greater gust;
20
Or that his conscious destiny made way,
By manly beauty to imperial sway.
Early in foreign fields he won renown,
With kings and states allied to Israel’s
crown:
In peace the thoughts of war he could
remove,
The inhabitants of old Jerusalem
Were Jebusites; the town so call’d
from them;
And theirs the native right—
But when the chosen people grew more strong,
The rightful cause at length became the
wrong;
And every loss the men of Jebus bore,
90
They still were thought God’s enemies
the more.
Thus worn or weaken’d, well or ill
content,
Submit they must to David’s government:
Impoverish’d and deprived of all
command,
Their taxes doubled as they lost their
land;
And, what was harder yet to flesh and
blood,
Their gods disgraced, and burnt like common
wood.
This set the heathen priesthood in a flame;
For priests of all religions are the same.
Of whatsoe’er descent their godhead
be, 100
Stock, stone, or other homely pedigree,
In his defence his servants are as bold,
As if he had been born of beaten gold.
The Jewish rabbins, though their enemies,
In this conclude them honest men and wise:
For ’twas their duty, all the learned
think,
To espouse his cause by whom they eat
and drink.
From hence began that Plot, the nation’s
curse,
Bad in itself, but represented worse;
Raised in extremes, and in extremes decried:
110
With oaths affirm’d, with dying
vows denied;
Not weigh’d nor winnow’d by
the multitude;
But swallow’d in the mass, unchew’d
and crude.
Some truth there was, but dash’d
and brew’d with lies,
To please the fools, and puzzle all the
wise.
Succeeding times did equal folly call,
Believing nothing, or believing all.
The Egyptian rites the Jebusites embraced,
Where gods were recommended by their taste.
Such savoury deities must needs be good,
120
As served at once for worship and for
food.
By force they could not introduce these
gods;
For ten to one in former days was odds.
So fraud was used, the sacrificer’s
trade:
Fools are more hard to conquer than persuade.
Their busy teachers mingled with the Jews,
And raked for converts even the court
and stews:
Which Hebrew priests the more unkindly
took,
Because the fleece accompanies the flock,
Some thought they God’s anointed
meant to slay 130
By guns, invented since full many a day:
Our author swears it not; but who can
know
How far the devil and Jebusites may go?
This Plot, which fail’d for want
of common sense,
Had yet a deep and dangerous consequence:
For as, when raging fevers boil the blood,
The standing lake soon floats into a flood,
And every hostile humour, which before
Slept quiet in its channels, bubbles o’er;
So several factions from this first ferment,
140
Work up to foam, and threat the government.
Of these, the false Achitophel
was first; 150
A name to all succeeding ages cursed:
For close designs, and crooked counsels
fit;
Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit;
Restless, unfix’d in principles
and place;
In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace:
A fiery soul, which, working out its way,
Fretted the pigmy body to decay,
And o’er-inform’d the tenement
of clay.
A daring pilot in extremity;
Pleased with the danger, when the waves
went high, 160
He sought the storms; but for a calm unfit,
Would steer too nigh the sands, to boast
his wit.
Great wits are sure to madness near allied,
And thin partitions do their bounds divide;
Else why should he, with wealth and honour
blest,
Refuse his age the needful hours of rest?
Punish a body which he could not please;
Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease?
And all to leave what with his toil he
won,
To that unfeather’d two-legg’d
thing, a son; 170
Got, while his soul did huddled notions
try;
And born a shapeless lump, like anarchy.
In friendship false, implacable in hate;
Resolved to ruin, or to rule the state.
To compass this, the triple bond[69] he
broke;
The pillars of the public safety shook;
And fitted Israel for a foreign yoke:
Then seized with fear, yet still affecting
fame,
Usurp’d a patriot’s all-atoning
name.
So easy still it proves, in factious times,
180
With public zeal to cancel private crimes!
How safe is treason, and how sacred ill,
Where none can sin against the people’s
will!
Where crowds can wink, and no offence
be known,
Since in another’s guilt they find
their own!
Yet fame deserved no enemy can grudge;
The statesman we abhor, but praise the
judge.
In Israel’s courts ne’er sat
an Abethdin
With more discerning eyes, or hands more
clean,
Unbribed, unsought, the wretched to redress;
190
Swift of despatch, and easy of access.
Oh! had he been content to serve the crown,
With virtues only proper to the gown;
Or had the rankness of the soil been freed
From cockle, that oppress’d the
noble seed;
David for him his tuneful harp had strung,
And Heaven had wanted one immortal song.
But wild ambition loves to slide, not
stand,
And fortune’s ice prefers to virtue’s
Auspicious prince! at whose
nativity 230
Some royal planet ruled the southern sky;
Thy longing country’s darling and
desire;
Their cloudy pillar and their guardian
fire:
Their second Moses, whose extended wand
Divides the seas, and shows the promised
land:
Whose dawning day, in every distant age,
Has exercised the sacred prophet’s
rage:
The people’s prayer, the glad diviner’s
theme,
The young men’s vision, and the
old men’s dream!
Thee, Saviour, thee the nation’s
vows confess, 240
And, never satisfied with seeing, bless:
Swift, unbespoken pomps thy steps proclaim,
And stammering babes are taught to lisp
thy name.
How long wilt thou the general joy detain,
Starve and defraud the people of thy reign!
Content ingloriously to pass thy days,
Like one of virtue’s fools that
feed on praise;
Till thy fresh glories, which now shine
so bright,
Grow stale, and tarnish with our daily
sight?
Believe me, royal youth, thy fruit must
be 250
Or gather’d ripe, or rot upon the
tree.
Heaven has to all allotted, soon or late,
Some lucky revolution of their fate:
Whose motions, if we watch and guide with
skill,
(For human good depends on human will,)
Our fortune rolls as from a smooth descent,
What cannot praise effect in mighty
minds,
When flattery soothes, and when ambition
blinds?
Desire of power, on earth a vicious weed,
Yet sprung from high, is of celestial
seed:
In God ’tis glory; and when men
aspire,
’Tis but a spark too much of heavenly
fire.
The ambitious youth, too covetous of fame,
Too full of angels’ metal in his
frame, 310
Unwarily was led from virtue’s ways,
Made drunk with honour, and debauch’d
with praise.
Half loath, and half consenting to the
Him staggering so, when hell’s
dire agent found,
While fainting virtue scarce maintain’d
her ground,
He pours fresh forces in, and thus replies:
The eternal God, supremely
good and wise,
Imparts not these prodigious gifts in
vain;
What wonders are reserved to bless your
reign!
Against your will your arguments have
shown,
Such virtue’s only given to guide
a throne. 380
Not that your father’s mildness
I contemn;
But manly force becomes the diadem.
’Tis true he grants the people all
they crave;
And more perhaps than subjects ought to
have:
For lavish grants suppose a monarch tame,
And more his goodness than his wit proclaim.
But when should people strive their bonds
to break,
If not when kings are negligent or weak?
Let him give on till he can give no more,
The thrifty Sanhedrim shall keep him poor;
390
And every shekel which he can receive,
Shall cost a limb of his prerogative.
To ply him with new plots shall be my
care;
Or plunge him deep in some expensive war;
Which, when his treasure can no more supply,
He must with the remains of kingship buy
His faithful friends, our jealousies and
fears
Call Jebusites, and Pharaoh’s pensioners;
Whom when our fury from his aid has torn,
He shall be naked left to public scorn.
400
The next successor, whom I fear and hate,
My arts have made obnoxious to the state;
Turn’d all his virtues to his overthrow,
And gain’d our elders to pronounce
a foe.
His right, for sums of necessary gold,
Shall first be pawn’d, and afterwards
be sold;
Till time shall ever-wanting David draw,
To pass your doubtful title into law;
If not, the people have a right supreme
To make their kings, for kings are made
for them. 410
All empire is no more than power in trust,
Which, when resumed, can be no longer
just.
Succession, for the general good design’d,
In its own wrong a nation cannot bind:
If altering that the people can relieve,
Better one suffer than a nation grieve.
The Jews well know their power: ere
Saul they chose,
God was their king, and God they durst
depose.
Urge now your piety, your filial name,
A father’s right, and fear of future
fame; 420
The public good, that universal call,
To which even Heaven submitted, answers
all.
Nor let his love enchant your generous
mind;
’Tis nature’s trick to propagate
her kind.
Our fond begetters, who would never die,
Love but themselves in their posterity.
Or let his kindness by the effects be
tried,
Or let him lay his vain pretence aside.
God said, he loved your father; could
he bring
A better proof, than to anoint him king?
He said, and this advice above the
rest,
With Absalom’s mild nature suited
best;
Unblamed of life, ambition set aside,
Not stain’d with cruelty, nor puff’d
with pride, 480
How happy had he been, if destiny
Had higher placed his birth, or not so
high!
His kingly virtues might have claim’d
a throne,
And bless’d all other countries
but his own.
But charming greatness since so few refuse,
’Tis juster to lament him than accuse.
Strong were his hopes a rival to remove,
Such were the tools:
but a whole Hydra more
Remains of sprouting heads too long to
score.
Some of their chiefs were princes of the
land:
In the first rank of these did Zimri stand;
A man so various, that he seem’d
Titles and names ’twere
tedious to rehearse
Of lords, below the dignity of verse.
570
Wits, warriors, commonwealth’s-men,
were the best:
Kind husbands, and mere nobles, all the
rest.
And therefore, in the name of dulness,
be
The well-hung Balaam and cold Caleb free:
And canting Nadab let oblivion damn,
Who made new porridge for the paschal
lamb.
Let friendship’s holy band some
names assure;
Some their own worth, and some let scorn
secure.
Nor shall the rascal rabble here have
place,
Whom kings no titles gave, and God no
grace: 580
Not bull-faced Jonas, who could statutes
draw
To mean rebellion, and make treason law.
But he, though bad, is follow’d
by a worse,
The wretch who Heaven’s anointed
dared to curse;
Shimei, whose youth did early promise
bring
Of zeal to God and hatred to his king,
Did wisely from expensive sins refrain,
And never broke the Sabbath but for gain;
Nor ever was he known an oath to vent,
Or curse, unless against the government.
590
Thus heaping wealth by the most ready
way
Among the Jews, which was to cheat and
pray;
The city, to reward his pious hate
Against his master, chose him magistrate.
His hand a vare[70] of justice did uphold;
His neck was loaded with a chain of gold.
During his office treason was no crime;
The sons of Belial had a glorious time:
For Shimei, though not prodigal of pelf,
Yet loved his wicked neighbour as himself.
600
When two or three were gather’d
to declaim
Against the monarch of Jerusalem,
Shimei was always in the midst of them;
Surrounded thus with friends
of every sort,
Deluded Absalom forsakes the court:
Impatient of high hopes, urged with renown,
And fired with near possession of a crown.
The admiring crowd are dazzled with surprise,
And on his goodly person feed their eyes.
His joy conceal’d he sets himself
to show;
On each side bowing popularly low:
His looks, his gestures, and his words
he frames, 690
And with familiar ease repeats their names.
Thus form’d by nature, furnish’d
out with arts,
He glides unfelt into their secret hearts.
Then, with a kind compassionating look,
And sighs, bespeaking pity ere he spoke,
Few words he said; but easy those and
fit,
More slow than Hybla-drops, and far more
sweet.
I mourn, my countrymen, your
lost estate;
Though far unable to prevent your fate:
Behold a banish’d man for your dear
cause 700
Exposed a prey to arbitrary laws!
Yet oh! that I alone could be undone,
Cut off from empire, and no more a son!
Now all your liberties a spoil are made;
Egypt and Tyrus intercept your trade,
And Jebusites your sacred rites invade.
My father, whom with reverence yet I name,
Charm’d into ease, is careless of
his fame;
And bribed with petty sums of foreign
gold,
Is grown in Bathsheba’s embraces
old; 710
Exalts his enemies, his friends destroys,
And all his power against himself employs.
He gives, and let him give, my right away:
But why should he his own and yours betray?
He, only he, can make the nation bleed,
And he alone from my revenge is freed.
Take then my tears (with that he wiped
his eyes),
’Tis all the aid my present power
supplies:
No court-informer can these arms accuse;
These arms may sons against their fathers
use: 720
And ’tis my wish, the next successor’s
reign,
May make no other Israelite complain.
Youth, beauty, graceful action
seldom fail;
But common interest always will prevail:
And pity never ceases to be shown
To him who makes the people’s wrongs
his own.
The crowd, that still believe their kings
oppress,
With lifted hands their young Messiah
bless:
Who now begins his progress to ordain
With chariots, horsemen, and a numerous
train: 730
From east to west his glories he displays,
And, like the sun, the promised land surveys.
Fame runs before him as the morning-star,
And shouts of joy salute him from afar:
Each house receives him as a guardian
god,
And consecrates the place of his abode.
But hospitable treats did most commend
Wise Issachar, his wealthy western friend.
This moving court, that caught the people’s
eyes,
And seem’d but pomp, did other ends
disguise: 740
Achitophel had form’d it, with intent
To sound the depths, and fathom where
it went,
The people’s hearts, distinguish
friends from foes,
And try their strength, before they came
to blows.
Yet all was colour’d with a smooth
pretence
Of specious love, and duty to their prince.
Religion, and redress of grievances,
Two names that always cheat, and always
please,
Are often urged; and good king David’s
life
Endanger’d by a brother and a wife.
750
Thus in a pageant show a plot is made;
And peace itself is war in masquerade.
O foolish Israel! never warn’d by
ill!
Still the same bait, and circumvented
still!
Did ever men forsake their present ease,
In midst of health imagine a disease;
Take pains contingent mischiefs to foresee,
Make heirs for monarchs, and for God decree?
What shall we think? Can people give
away,
Both for themselves and sons, their native
sway? 760
Then they are left defenceless to the
sword
Of each unbounded, arbitrary lord:
And laws are vain, by which we right enjoy,
If kings unquestion’d can those
laws destroy.
Yet if the crowd be judge of fit and just,
And kings are only officers in trust,
Then this resuming covenant was declared
When kings were made, or is for ever barr’d.
If those who gave the sceptre could not
tie,
By their own deed, their own posterity,
770
How then could Adam bind his future race?
How could his forfeit on mankind take
place?
Or how could heavenly justice damn us
all,
Who ne’er consented to our father’s
fall?
Then kings are slaves to those whom they
command,
And tenants to their people’s pleasure
stand.
Add, that the power for property allow’d
Is mischievously seated in the crowd;
For who can be secure of private right,
If sovereign sway may be dissolved by
might? 780
Now what relief can righteous
David bring?
How fatal ’tis to be too good a
king!
Friends he has few, so high the madness
grows;
Who dare be such must be the people’s
foes.
Yet some there were, even in the worst
of days;
Some let me name, and naming is to praise.
In this short file Barzillai
first appears;
Barzillai, crown’d with honour and
with years.
Long since, the rising rebels he withstood
In regions waste beyond the Jordan’s
flood: 820
Unfortunately brave to buoy the state;
But sinking underneath his master’s
fate:
In exile with his godlike prince he mourn’d;
For him he suffer’d, and with him
return’d.
The court he practised, not the courtier’s
art:
Large was his wealth, but larger was his
heart,
Which well the noblest objects knew to
choose,
The fighting warrior, and recording muse.
His bed could once a fruitful issue boast;
Now more than half a father’s name
is lost. 830
His eldest hope, with every grace adorn’d,
By me, so Heaven will have it, always
mourn’d,
And always honour’d, snatch’d
in manhood’s prime
By unequal fates, and providence’s
crime:
Yet not before the goal of honour won,
All parts fulfill’d of subject and
of son:
Swift was the race, but short the time
to run.
O narrow circle, but of power divine,
Here stop, my muse, here cease
thy painful flight:
No pinions can pursue immortal height:
Tell good Barzillai thou canst sing no
more,
And tell thy soul she should have fled
before:
Or fled she with his life, and left this
verse
To hang on her departed patron’s
hearse?
Now take thy steepy flight from heaven,
and see 860
If thou canst find on earth another he:
Another he would be too hard to find;
See then whom thou canst see not far behind.
Zadoc the priest, whom, shunning power
and place,
His lowly mind advanced to David’s
grace.
With him the Sagan of Jerusalem,
Of hospitable soul, and noble stem;
Him[71] of the western dome, whose weighty
sense
Flows in fit words and heavenly eloquence.
The prophets’ sons, by such example
led, 870
To learning and to loyalty were bred:
For colleges on bounteous kings depend,
And never rebel was to arts a friend.
To these succeed the pillars of the laws,
Who best can plead, and best can judge
a cause.
Next them a train of loyal peers ascend;
Sharp-judging Adriel, the Muses’
friend,
Himself a Muse: in Sanhedrim’s
debate
True to his prince, but not a slave of
state:
Whom David’s love with honours did
adorn, 880
That from his disobedient son were torn.
Jotham, of piercing wit, and pregnant
thought;
Endued by nature, and by learning taught
To move assemblies, who but only tried
The worse awhile, then chose the better
side:
Nor chose alone, but turn’d the
balance too,—
So much the weight of one brave man can
do.
Hushai, the friend of David in distress;
In public storms of manly steadfastness:
By foreign treaties he inform’d
his youth, 890
And join’d experience to his native
truth.
His frugal care supplied the wanting throne—
Frugal for that, but bounteous of his
own:
’Tis easy conduct when exchequers
flow;
But hard the task to manage well the low;
For sovereign power is too depress’d
These were the chief, a small but
faithful band
Of worthies, in the breach who dared to
stand,
And tempt the united fury of the land:
With grief they view’d such powerful
engines bent,
To batter down the lawful government.
A numerous faction, with pretended frights,
In Sanhedrims to plume the regal rights;
920
The true successor from the court removed;
The plot, by hireling witnesses, improved.
These ills they saw, and, as their duty
bound,
They show’d the King the danger
of the wound;
That no concessions from the throne would
please,
But lenitives fomented the disease:
That Absalom, ambitious of the crown,
Was made the lure to draw the people down:
That false Achitophel’s pernicious
hate
Had turn’d the Plot to ruin church
and state: 930
The council violent, the rabble worse:
That Shimei taught Jerusalem to curse.
With all these loads of injuries
oppress’d,
And long revolving in his careful breast
The event of things, at last his patience
tired,
Thus, from his royal throne, by Heaven
inspired,
The god-like David spoke; with awful fear,
His train their Maker in their master
hear.
Thus long have I, by native mercy
sway’d,
My wrongs dissembled, my revenge delay’d:
940
So willing to forgive the offending age;
So much the father did the king assuage.
But now so far my clemency they slight,
The offenders question my forgiving right:
That one was made for many, they contend;
But ’tis to rule; for that’s
a monarch’s end.
They call my tenderness of blood, my fear:
Though manly tempers can the longest bear.
Yet, since they will divert my native
course,
’Tis time to show I am not good
by force. 950
Those heap’d affronts that haughty
subjects bring,
Are burdens for a camel, not a king.
Kings are the public pillars of the state,
He said: The Almighty, nodding,
gave consent;
And peals of thunder shook the firmament.
Henceforth a series of new time began,
The mighty years in long procession ran:
Once more the god-like David was restored,
1030
And willing nations knew their lawful
lord.
* * * * *
“Si quis tamen haec quoque, si quis captus amore leget.”
In the year 1680, Mr Dryden undertook the poem of Absalom and Achitophel, upon the desire of King Charles the Second. The performance was applauded by every one; and several persons pressing him to write a second part, he, upon declining it himself, spoke to Mr Tate[73] to write one, and gave him his advice in the direction of it; and that part beginning with
“Next these, a troop of busy spirits press,”
and ending with
“To talk like Doeg, and to write like thee,”
containing near two hundred verses, mere entirely Mr Dryden’s composition, besides some touches in other places.
DERRICK.
* * * * *
Since men like beasts each other’s
prey were made,
Since trade began, and priesthood grew
a trade,
Since realms were form’d, none sure
so cursed as those
That madly their own happiness oppose;
There Heaven itself and god-like kings,
in vain
Shower down the manna of a gentle reign;
While pamper’d crowds to mad sedition
run,
And monarchs by indulgence are undone.
Thus David’s clemency was fatal
grown,
While wealthy faction awed the wanting
throne. 10
For now their sovereign’s orders
to contemn
Was held the charter of Jerusalem;
His rights to invade, his tributes to
refuse,
A privilege peculiar to the Jews;
As if from heavenly call this licence
fell,
And Jacob’s seed were chosen to
rebel!
Achitophel with triumph sees his
crimes
Thus suited to the madness of the times;
And Absalom, to make his hopes succeed,
Of flattering charms no longer stands
in need; 20
While fond of change, though ne’er
so dearly bought,
Our tribes outstrip the youth’s
ambitious thought;
His swiftest hopes with swifter homage
meet,
And crowd their servile necks beneath
his feet.
Thus to his aid while pressing tides repair,
He mounts and spreads his streamers in
the air.
The charms of empire might his youth mislead,
But what can our besotted Israel plead?
Sway’d by a monarch, whose serene
command
Seems half the blessing of our promised
land: 30
Whose only grievance is excess of ease;
Freedom our pain, and plenty our disease!
Yet, as all folly would lay claim to sense,
And wickedness ne’er wanted a pretence,
With arguments they’d make their
treason good,
And righteous David’s self with
slanders load:
That arts of foreign sway he did affect,
And guilty Jebusites from law protect,
Whose very chiefs, convict, were never
freed,
Nay, we have seen their sacrificers bleed!
40
Accusers’ infamy is urged in vain,
While in the bounds of sense they did
contain;
But soon they launch into the unfathom’d
tide,
And in the depths they knew disdain’d
to ride.
For probable discoveries to dispense,
Was thought below a pension’d evidence;
Mere truth was dull, nor suited with the
port
Of pamper’d Corah when advanced
to court.
No less than wonders now they will impose,
And projects void of grace or sense disclose.
50
Such was the charge on pious Michal brought,—
Michal that ne’er was cruel, even
in thought,—
The best of queens, and most obedient
wife,
Impeach’d of cursed designs on David’s
life!
His life, the theme of her eternal prayer,
’Tis scarce so much his guardian
angel’s care.
Not summer morns such mildness can disclose,
The Hermon lily, nor the Sharon rose.
Neglecting each vain pomp of majesty,
Transported Michal feeds her thoughts
on high. 60
She lives with angels, and, as angels
do,
Quits heaven sometimes to bless the world
below;
Where, cherish’d by her bounties’
plenteous spring,
Reviving widows smile, and orphans sing.
Oh! when rebellious Israel’s crimes
at height,
Are threaten’d with her Lord’s
approaching fate,
The piety of Michal then remain
In Heaven’s remembrance, and prolong
his reign!
Less desolation did the pest pursue,
That from Dan’s limits to Beersheba
flew; 70
Less fatal the repeated wars of Tyre,
And less Jerusalem’s avenging fire.
With gentler terror these our state o’erran,
Than since our evidencing days began!
On every cheek a pale confusion sate,
Continued fear beyond the worst of fate!
Trust was no more; art, science useless
made;
All occupations lost but Corah’s
trade.
Meanwhile a guard on modest Corah wait,
If not for safety, needful yet for state.
80
Well might he deem each peer and prince
his slave,
And lord it o’er the tribes which
he could save:
Even vice in him was virtue—what
sad fate,
But for his honesty had seized our state!
And with what tyranny had we been cursed,
Had Corah never proved a villain first!
To have told his knowledge of the intrigue
in gross,
Had been, alas! to our deponent’s
loss:
The travell’d Levite had the experience
got,
To husband well, and make the best of’s
Plot; 90
And therefore, like an evidence of skill,
With wise reserves secured his pension
still;
Nor quite of future power himself bereft,
But limbos large for unbelievers left.
And now his writ such reverence had got,
’Twas worse than plotting to suspect
his Plot.
Some were so well convinced, they made
no doubt
Themselves to help the founder’d
swearers out.
Some had their sense imposed on by their
fear,
But more for interest sake believe and
swear: 100
Even to that height with some the frenzy
grew,
They raged to find their danger not prove
true.
Yet, than all these a viler crew
remain,
Who with Achitophel the cry maintain;
Not urged by fear, nor through misguided
sense,—
Blind zeal and starving need had some
pretence;
But for the good old cause, that did excite
The original rebels’ wiles—revenge
and spite.
These raise the plot, to have the scandal
thrown
Upon the bright successor of the crown,
110
Whose virtue with such wrongs they had
pursued,
As seem’d all hope of pardon to
exclude.
Thus, while on private ends their zeal
is built,
The cheated crowd applaud, and share their
guilt.
Such practices as these, too gross
to lie
Long unobserved by each discerning eye,
The more judicious Israelites unspell’d,
Though still the charm the giddy rabble
held.
Even Absalom, amidst the dazzling beams
Of empire, and ambition’s flattering
dreams, 120
Perceives the plot, too foul to be excused,
To aid designs, no less pernicious, used.
And, filial sense yet striving in his
breast,
Thus to Achitophel his doubts express’d:
Why are my thoughts upon a crown
employ’d.
Which, once obtain’d, can be but
half enjoy’d?
Not so when virtue did my arms require,
And to my father’s wars I flew entire.
My regal power how will my foes resent,
When I myself have scarce my own consent!
130
Give me a son’s unblemish’d
truth again,
Or quench the sparks of duty that remain.
How slight to force a throne that legions
guard
The task to me! to prove unjust, how hard!
And if the imagined guilt thus wound my
thought,
What will it when the tragic scene is
wrought!
Dire war must first be conjured from below,
The realm we rule we first must overthrow;
And, when the civil furies are on wing,
That blind and undistinguish’d slaughters
fling, 140
Who knows what impious chance may reach
the king?
Oh, rather let me perish in the strife,
Than have my crown the price of David’s
life!
Or if the tempest of the war he stand,
In peace, some vile officious villain’s
hand
His soul’s anointed temple may invade;
Or, press’d by clamorous crowds,
myself be made
His murderer; rebellious crowds, whose
guilt
Shall dread his vengeance till his blood
be spilt.
Which, if my filial tenderness oppose,
150
Since to the empire by their arms I rose,
Those very arms on me shall be employ’d,
A new usurper crown’d, and I destroy’d:
The same pretence of public good will
hold,
And new Achitophels be found as bold
To urge the needful change—perhaps
the old.
He said. The statesman with
a smile replies,
A smile that did his rising spleen disguise:
My thoughts presumed our labours at an
end;
And are we still with conscience to contend?
160
Whose want in kings as needful is allow’d,
As ’tis for them to find it in the
crowd.
Far in the doubtful passage you are gone,
And only can be safe by pressing on.
The crown’s true heir, a prince
severe and wise,
Has view’d your motions long with
jealous eyes,
Your person’s charms, your more
prevailing arts,
And mark’d your progress in the
people’s hearts,
Whose patience is the effect of stinted
power,
But treasures vengeance for the fatal
hour; 170
And if remote the peril he can bring,
Your present danger’s greater from
the king.
Let not a parent’s name deceive
your sense,
Nor trust the father in a jealous prince!
Your trivial faults if he could so resent,
To doom you little less than banishment,
What rage must your presumption since
inspire!
Against his orders you return from Tyre.
Nor only so, but with a pomp more high,
And open court of popularity,
180
The factious tribes.—And this
reproof from thee!
The prince replies; Oh, statesman’s
winding skill,
They first condemn that first advised
the ill!
Illustrious youth! returned Achitophel,
Misconstrue not the words that mean you
well;
The course you steer I worthy blame conclude,
But ’tis because you leave it unpursued.
A monarch’s crown with fate surrounded
lies,
Who reach, lay hold on death that miss
the prize.
Did you for this expose yourself to show,
190
And to the crowd bow popularly low?
For this your glorious progress next ordain,
With chariots, horsemen, and a numerous
train?
With fame before you, like the morning
star,
And shouts of joy saluting from afar?
Oh, from the heights you’ve reach’d
but take a view,
Scarce leading Lucifer could fall like
you!
And must I here my shipwreck’d arts
bemoan?
Have I for this so oft made Israel groan?
Your single interest with the nation weigh’d,
200
And turn’d the scale where your
desires were laid;
Even when at helm a course so dangerous
moved
To land your hopes, as my removal proved.—
I not dispute, the royal youth replies,
The known perfection of your policies;
Nor in Achitophel yet grudge or blame
The privilege that statesmen ever claim;
Who private interest never yet pursued,
But still pretended ’twas for others
good:
What politician yet e’er ’scaped
his fate, 210
Who, saving his own neck, not saved the
state?
From hence, on every humorous wind that
veer’d,
With shifted sails a several course you
steer’d.
What form of sway did David e’er
pursue,
That seem’d like absolute, but sprung
from you?
Who at your instance quash’d each
penal law,
That kept dissenting factious Jews in
awe;
And who suspends fix’d laws, may
abrogate,
That done, form new, and so enslave the
state.
Even property whose champion now you stand,
220
And seem for this the idol of the land,
Did ne’er sustain such violence
before,
As when your counsel shut the royal store;
Advice, that ruin to whole tribes procured,
But secret kept till your own banks secured.
Recount with this the triple covenant
broke,
And Israel fitted for a foreign yoke;
Nor here your counsel’s fatal progress
stay’d,
But sent our levied powers to Pharaoh’s
aid.
Hence Tyre and Israel, low in ruins laid,
230
And Egypt, once their scorn, their common
terror made.
Even yet of such a season can we dream,
When royal rights you made your darling
theme.
For power unlimited could reasons draw,
And place prerogative above the law;
Which, on your fall from office, grew
unjust,
The laws made king, the king a slave in
trust:
Whom with state-craft, to interest only
true,
You now accuse of ills contrived by you.
To this hell’s agent:
Royal youth, fix here, 240
Let interest be the star by which you
steer.
Hence to repose your trust in me was wise,
Whose interest most in your advancement
lies.
A tie so firm as always will avail,
When friendship, nature, and religion
fail;
On ours the safety of the crowd depends;
Secure the crowd, and we obtain our ends,
Whom I will cause so far our guilt to
share,
Till they are made our champions by their
fear.
What opposition can your rival bring,
250
While Sanhedrims are jealous of the king?
His strength as yet in David’s friendship
lies,
And what can David’s self without
supplies?
Who with exclusive bills must now dispense,
Debar the heir, or starve in his defence.
Conditions which our elders ne’er
will quit,
And David’s justice never can admit.
Or forced by wants his brother to betray,
To your ambition next he clears the way;
For if succession once to nought they
bring, 260
Their next advance removes the present
king:
Persisting else his senates to dissolve,
In equal hazard shall his reign involve.
Our tribes, whom Pharaoh’s power
so much alarms,
Shall rise without their prince to oppose
his arms;
Nor boots it on what cause at first they
join,
Their troops, once up, are tools for our
design.
At least such subtle covenants shall be
made,
Till peace itself is war in masquerade.
Associations of mysterious sense,
270
Against, but seeming for, the king’s
defence:
Even on their courts of justice fetters
draw,
And from our agents muzzle up their law.
By which a conquest if we fail to make,
’Tis a drawn game at worst, and
we secure our stake.
He said, and for the dire success
depends
On various sects, by common guilt made
friends.
Whose heads, though ne’er so differing
in their creed,
I’ th’ point of treason yet
were well agreed.
’Mongst these, extorting Ishban
first appears, 280
Pursued by a meagre troop of bankrupt
heirs.
Blest times when Ishban, he whose occupation
So long has been to cheat, reforms the
nation!
Ishban of conscience suited to his trade,
As good a saint as usurer ever made.
Yet Mammon has not so engross’d
him quite,
But Belial lays as large a claim of spite;
Who, for those pardons from his prince
he draws,
Returns reproaches, and cries up the cause.
That year in which the city he did sway,
290
He left rebellion in a hopeful way,
Yet his ambition once was found so bold,
To offer talents of extorted gold;
Could David’s wants have so been
bribed, to shame
And scandalize our peerage with his name;
For which, his dear sedition he’d
Next[74] these, a troop of busy
spirits press, 310
Of little fortunes, and of conscience
less;
With them the tribe, whose luxury had
drain’d
Their banks, in former sequestrations
gain’d;
Who rich and great by past rebellions
grew,
And long to fish the troubled streams
anew.
Some future hopes, some present payment
draws,
To sell their conscience and espouse the
cause.
Such stipends those vile hirelings best
befit, 318
Priests without grace, and poets without
wit.
Shall that false Hebronite escape our
curse,
Judas, that keeps the rebels’ pension-purse;
Judas, that pays the treason-writer’s
fee,
Judas, that well deserves his namesake’s
tree;
Who at Jerusalem’s own gates erects
His college for a nursery of sects;
Young prophets with an early care secures,
And with the dung of his own arts manures!
What have the men of Hebron here to do?
What part in Israel’s promised land
have you?
Here Phaleg the lay-Hebronite is come,
330
’Cause like the rest he could not
live at home;
Who from his own possessions could not
drain
An omer even of Hebronitish grain;
Here struts it like a patriot, and talks
high
Of injured subjects, alter’d property:
An emblem of that buzzing insect just,
That mounts the wheel, and thinks she
raises dust.
Can dry bones live? or skeletons produce
The vital warmth of cuckoldising juice?
Slim Phaleg could, and at the table fed,
340
Return’d the grateful product to
the bed.
A waiting-man to travelling nobles chose,
He his own laws would saucily impose,
Till bastinadoed back again he went,
To learn those manners he to teach was
sent.
Chastised he ought to have retreated home,
But he reads politics to Absalom.
For never Hebronite, though kick’d
and scorn’d,
To his own country willingly return’d.
—But leaving famish’d
Phaleg to be fed, 350
And to talk treason for his daily bread,
Let Hebron, nay let hell, produce a man
So made for mischief as Ben-Jochanan.
A Jew of humble parentage was he,
Levi, thou art a load, I’ll
lay thee down, 400
And show Rebellion bare, without a gown;
Poor slaves in metre, dull and addle-pated,
Who rhyme below even David’s psalms
translated;
Some in my speedy pace I must outrun,
As lame Mephibosheth the wizard’s
son:
To make quick way I’ll leap o’er
heavy blocks,
Shun rotten Uzza, as I would the pox;
And hasten Og and Doeg to rehearse,
Two fools that crutch their feeble sense
on verse:
Who, by my muse, to all succeeding times
410
Shall live in spite of their own doggrel
rhymes.
Doeg, though without knowing how
or why,
Made still a blundering kind of melody;
Spurr’d boldly on, and dash’d
through thick and thin,
Through sense and nonsense, never out
nor in;
Free from all meaning, whether good or
bad,
And, in one word, heroically mad:
He was too warm on picking-work to dwell,
But fagoted his notions as they fell,
And if they rhymed and rattled, all was
well. 420
Spiteful he is not, though he wrote a
satire,
For still there goes some thinking to
ill-nature:
He needs no more than birds and beasts
to think,
All his occasions are to eat and drink.
If he call rogue and rascal from a garret,
He means you no more mischief than a parrot;
The words for friend and foe alike were
made,
To fetter them in verse is all his trade.
For almonds he’ll cry whore to his
own mother:
And call young Absalom king David’s
brother. 430
Let him be gallows-free by my consent,
And nothing suffer, since he nothing meant.
Hanging supposes human soul and reason—
This animal’s below committing treason:
Shall he be hang’d who never could
rebel?
That’s a preferment for Achitophel.
The woman.......
Was rightly sentenced by the law to die;
But ’twas hard fate that to the
gallows led
The dog that never heard the statute read.
440
Railing in other men may be a crime,
But ought to pass for mere instinct in
him:
Instinct he follows, and no further knows,
For to write verse with him is to transpose.
’Twere pity treason at his door
to lay,
Who makes heaven’s gate a lock
to its own key:[75]
Let him rail on, let his invective muse
Have four and twenty letters to abuse,
Which, if he jumbles to one line of sense,
Indict him of a capital offence.
450
In fireworks give him leave to vent his
spite—
Those are the only serpents he can write;
The height of his ambition is, we know,
But to be master of a puppet-show;
On that one stage his works may yet appear,
And a month’s harvest keeps him
all the year.
Now stop your noses, readers, all
and some,
For here’s a tun of midnight work
to come;
Og, from a treason-tavern rolling home,
Round as a globe, and liquor’d every
chink, 460
Goodly and great he sails behind his link;
With all this bulk there’s nothing
lost in Og,
For every inch that is not fool is rogue:
A monstrous mass of foul corrupted matter,
As all the devils had spued to make the
batter.
When wine has given him courage to blaspheme,
He curses God, but God before cursed him;
And if man could have reason, none has
more,
That made his paunch so rich, and him
so poor.
With wealth he was not trusted, for Heaven
Achitophel, each rank, degree, and
age, 510
For various ends neglects not to engage;
The wise and rich, for purse and counsel
brought,
The fools and beggars, for their number
sought:
Who yet not only on the town depends,
For even in court the faction had its
friends;
These thought the places they possess’d
too small,
And in their hearts wish’d court
and king to fall:
Whose names the muse disdaining, holds
i’ the dark,
Thrust in the villain herd without a mark;
With parasites and libel-spawning imps,
520
Intriguing fops, dull jesters, and worse
pimps.
Disdain the rascal rabble to pursue,
Their set cabals are yet a viler crew:
See where, involved in common smoke, they
sit;
Some for our mirth, some for our satire
fit:
These, gloomy, thoughtful, and on mischief
bent,
While those, for mere good-fellowship,
But in the sacred annals of our
plot,
Industrious Arod never be forgot:
The labours of this midnight-magistrate,
May vie with Corah’s to preserve
the state.
In search of arms, he fail’d not
to lay hold
On war’s most powerful, dangerous
weapon—gold.
And last, to take from Jebusites all odds,
540
Their altars pillaged, stole their very
gods;
Oft would he cry, when treasure he surprised,
’Tis Baalish gold in David’s
coin disguised;
Which to his house with richer relics
came,
While lumber idols only fed the flame:
For our wise rabble ne’er took pains
to inquire,
What ’twas he burnt, so ’t
made a rousing fire.
With which our elder was enrich’d
no more
Than false Gehazi with the Syrian’s
store;
So poor, that when our choosing-tribes
were met, 550
Even for his stinking votes he ran in
debt;
For meat the wicked, and, as authors think,
The saints he choused for his electing
drink;
Thus every shift and subtle method past,
And all to be no Zaken at the last.
Now, raised on Tyre’s sad
ruins, Pharaoh’s pride
Soar’d high, his legions threatening
far and wide;
As when a battering storm engender’d
high,
By winds upheld, hangs hovering in the
sky,
Is gazed upon by every trembling swain—
560
This for his vineyard fears, and that,
his grain;
For blooming plants, and flowers new opening
these,
For lambs yean’d lately, and far-labouring
bees:
To guard his stock each to the gods does
call,
Uncertain where the fire-charged clouds
will fall:
Even so the doubtful nations watch his
arms,
With terror each expecting his alarms.
Where, Judah! where was now thy lion’s
roar?
Thou only couldst the captive lands restore;
But thou, with inbred broils and faction
press’d, 570
From Egypt needst a guardian with the
rest.
Thy prince from Sanhedrims no trust allow’d,
Too much the representers of the crowd,
Who for their own defence give no supply,
But what the crown’s prerogatives
must buy:
As if their monarch’s rights to
violate
More needful were, than to preserve the
state!
From present dangers they divert their
care,
And all their fears are of the royal heir;
Whom now the reigning malice of his foes
580
Unjudged would sentence, and e’er
crown’d depose.
Religion the pretence, but their decree
To bar his reign, whate’er his faith
On heroes thus the prophet’s
fate is thrown,
Admired by every nation but their own;
630
Yet while our factious Jews his worth
deny,
Their aching conscience gives their tongue
the lie.
Even in the worst of men the noblest parts
Confess him, and he triumphs in their
hearts,
Whom to his king the best respects commend
Of subject, soldier, kinsman, prince,
and friend;
All sacred names of most divine esteem,
And to perfection all sustain’d
by him;
Wise, just, and constant, courtly without
art,
Swift to discern and to reward desert;
On what pretence could then the
vulgar rage
Against his worth and native rights engage?
Religious fears their argument are made—
Religious fears his sacred rights invade!
650
Of future superstition they complain,
And Jebusitic worship in his reign:
With such alarms his foes the crowd deceive,
With dangers fright, which not themselves
believe.
Since nothing can our sacred rites
remove,
Whate’er the faith of the successor
prove:
Our Jews their ark shall undisturb’d
retain,
At least while their religion is their
gain,
Who know by old experience Baal’s
commands
Not only claim’d their conscience,
but their lands; 660
They grudge God’s tithes, how therefore
shall they yield
An idol full possession of the field?
Grant such a prince enthroned, we must
confess
The people’s sufferings than that
monarch’s less,
Who must to hard conditions still be bound,
And for his quiet with the crowd compound;
Or should his thoughts to tyranny incline,
Where are the means to compass the design?
Our crown’s revenues are too short
a store,
And jealous Sanhedrims would give no more.
670
As vain our fears of Egypt’s
potent aid,
Not so has Pharaoh learn’d ambition’s
trade,
Nor ever with such measures can comply,
As shock the common rules of policy;
None dread like him the growth of Israel’s
king,
And he alone sufficient aids can bring;
Who knows that prince to Egypt can give
law,
That on our stubborn tribes his yoke could
draw:
At such profound expense he has not stood,
Nor dyed for this his hands so deep in
blood; 680
Would ne’er through wrong and right
his progress take,
Grudge his own rest, and keep the world
awake,
To fix a lawless prince on Judah’s
throne,
First to invade our rights, and then his
own;
His dear-gain’d conquests cheaply
to despoil,
And reap the harvest of his crimes and
toil.
We grant his wealth vast as our ocean’s
sand,
And curse its fatal influence on our land,
Which our bribed Jews so numerously partake,
That even an host his pensioners would
make. 690
From these deceivers our divisions spring,
Our weakness, and the growth of Egypt’s
king;
These, with pretended friendship to the
state,
Our crowds’ suspicion of their prince
create;
Both pleased and frighten’d with
the specious cry,
To guard their sacred rites and property.
Then Justice wait, and Rigour take
her time,
For lo! our mercy is become our crime:
While halting Punishment her stroke delays,
Our sovereign right, Heaven’s sacred
trust, decays!
For whose support even subjects’
interest calls,
Woe to that kingdom where the monarch
falls!
That prince who yields the least of regal
sway,
So far his people’s freedom does
betray. 740
Right lives by law, and law subsists by
power;
Disarm the shepherd, wolves the flock
devour.
Hard lot of empire o’er a stubborn
race,
Which Heaven itself in vain has tried
with grace!
When will our reason’s long-charm’d
eyes unclose,
And Israel judge between her friends and
foes?
When shall we see expired deceivers’
sway,
And credit what our God and monarchs say?
Dissembled patriots, bribed with Egypt’s
gold,
Even Sanhedrims in blind obedience hold;
750
Those patriots falsehood in their actions
He said, the attendants heard with
awful joy,
And glad presages their fix’d thoughts
employ;
From Hebron now the suffering heir return’d,
A realm that long with civil discord mourn’d;
Till his approach, like some arriving
God,
Composed and heal’d the place of
his abode;
The deluge check’d that to Judea
spread,
And stopp’d sedition at the fountain’s
head.
Thus, in forgiving, David’s paths
he drives,
And, chased from Israel, Israel’s
peace contrives. 800
The field confess’d his power in
arms before,
And seas proclaim’d his triumphs
to the shore;
As nobly has his sway in Hebron shown,
How fit to inherit godlike David’s
throne.
Through Sion’s streets his glad
arrival’s spread,
And conscious faction shrinks her snaky
head;
His train their sufferings think o’erpaid
While real transports thus his friends
employ,
And foes are loud in their dissembled
joy, 830
His triumphs, so resounded far and near,
Miss’d not his young ambitious rival’s
ear;
And as when joyful hunters’ clamorous
train,
Some slumbering lion wakes in Moab’s
plain,
Who oft had forced the bold assailants
yield,
And scatter’d his pursuers through
the field,
Disdaining, furls his mane and tears the
ground,
His eyes inflaming all the desert round,
With roar of seas directs his chasers’
way,
Provokes from far, and dares them to the
fray: 840
Such rage storm’d now in Absalom’s
fierce breast,
Such indignation his fired eyes confess’d.
Where now was the instructor of his pride?
Slept the old pilot in so rough a tide,
Whose wiles had from the happy shore betray’d,
And thus on shelves the credulous youth
convey’d?
In deep revolving thoughts he weighs his
state,
Secure of craft, nor doubts to baffle
fate;
At least, if his storm’d bark must
go adrift,
To balk his charge, and for himself to
shift, 850
In which his dexterous wit had oft been
shown,
And in the wreck of kingdoms saved his
own.
But now, with more than common danger
press’d,
Of various resolutions stands possess’d,
Perceives the crowd’s unstable zeal
decay
Lest their recanting chief the cause betray,
Who on a father’s grace his hopes
may ground,
And for his pardon with their heads compound.
Him therefore, e’er his fortune
slip her time.
The statesman plots to engage in some
bold crime 860
Past pardon—whether to attempt
his bed,
Or threat with open arms the royal head,
Or other daring method, and unjust,
First write Bezaliel, whose illustrious
name
Forestalls our praise, and gives his poet
fame.
The Kenites’ rocky province his
command,
A barren limb of fertile Canaan’s
land;
Which for its generous natives yet could
be
Held worthy such a president as he.
Bezaliel, with each grace and virtue fraught,
Serene his looks, serene his life and
thought;
On whom so largely nature heap’d
her store,
There scarce remain’d for arts to
give him more! 950
To aid the crown and state his greatest
zeal,
His second care that service to conceal;
Of dues observant, firm to every trust,
And to the needy always more than just;
Who truth from specious falsehood can
divide,
Has all the gownsmen’s skill without
their pride.
Thus crown’d with worth, from heights
of honour won,
Sees all his glories copied in his son,
Whose forward fame should every muse engage—
Whose youth boasts skill denied to others’
age. 960
Men, manners, language, books of noblest
kind,
Already are the conquest of his mind;
Whose loyalty before its date was prime,
Nor waited the dull course of rolling
time:
The monster faction early he dismay’d,
And David’s cause long since confess’d
his aid.
Brave Abdael o’er the prophet’s
school was placed—
Abdael with all his father’s virtue
graced;
A hero who, while stars look’d wondering
down,
Without one Hebrew’s blood restored
the crown. 970
That praise was his; what therefore did
remain
For following chiefs, but boldly to maintain
That crown restored? and in this rank
of fame,
Brave Abdael with the first a place must
claim.
Proceed, illustrious, happy chief! proceed,
Foreseize the garlands for thy brow decreed,
While the inspired tribe attend with noblest
Eliab our next labour does invite,
And hard the task to do Eliab right.
Long with the royal wanderer he roved,
And firm in all the turns of fortune proved.
Such ancient service and desert so large
Well claim’d the royal household
for his charge. 990
His age with only one mild heiress bless’d,
In all the bloom of smiling nature dress’d,
And bless’d again to see his flower
allied
To David’s stock, and made young
Othniel’s bride.
The bright restorer of his father’s
youth,
Devoted to a son’s and subject’s
truth;
Resolved to bear that prize of duty home,
So bravely sought, while sought by Absalom.
Ah, prince! the illustrious planet of
thy birth,
And thy more powerful virtue, guard thy
worth! 1000
That no Achitophel thy ruin boast;
Israel too much in one such wreck has
lost.
Even envy must consent to Helon’s
worth,
Whose soul, though Egypt glories in his
birth,
Could for our captive-ark its zeal retain.
And Pharaoh’s altars in their pomp
disdain:
To slight his gods was small; with nobler
pride,
He all the allurements of his court defied;
Whom profit nor example could betray,
But Israel’s friend, and true to
David’s sway. 1010
What acts of favour in his province fall
On merit he confers, and freely all.
Our list of nobles next let Amri
grace,
Whose merits claim’d the Abethdin’s
high place;
Who, with a loyalty that did excel,
Brought all the endowments of Achitophel.
Sincere was Amri, and not only knew,
But Israel’s sanctions into practice
drew;
Our laws, that did a boundless ocean seem,
Were coasted all, and fathom’d all
by him. 1020
No rabbin speaks like him their mystic
sense,
So just, and with such charms of eloquence:
To whom the double blessing does belong,
With Moses’ inspiration, Aaron’s
tongue.
Than Sheva none more loyal zeal
have shown,
Wakeful as Judah’s lion for the
crown;
Who for that cause still combats in his
age,
For which his youth with danger did engage.
In vain our factious priests the cant
revive;
In vain seditious scribes with libel strive
1030
To inflame the crowd; while he with watchful
eye
Observes, and shoots their treasons as
they fly;
Their weekly frauds his keen replies detect;
He undeceives more fast than they infect:
So Moses, when the pest on legions prey’d,
Advanced his signal, and the plague was
stay’d.
Once more, my fainting muse! thy
pinions try,
And strength’s exhausted store let
love supply.
What tribute, Asaph, shall we render thee?
We’ll crown thee with a wreath from
thy own tree! 1040
Thy laurel grove no envy’s flash
can blast;
The song of Asaph shall for ever last.
With wonder late posterity shall
dwell
On Absalom and false Achitophel:
Thy strains shall be our slumbering prophets’
dream,
And when our Sion virgins sing their theme;
Our jubilees shall with thy verse be graced,
The song of Asaph shall for ever last.
How fierce his satire loosed! restrain’d,
how tame!
How tender of the offending young man’s
fame! 1050
How well his worth, and brave adventures
styled,
Just to his virtues, to his error mild!
No page of thine that fears the strictest
view,
But teems with just reproof, or praise
as due;
Not Eden could a fairer prospect yield,
All Paradise without one barren field:
Whose wit the censure of his foes has
pass’d—
The song of Asaph shall for ever last.
What praise for such rich strains
shall we allow?
What just rewards the grateful crown bestow?
1060
While bees in flowers rejoice, and flowers
in dew,
While stars and fountains to their course
are true;
While Judah’s throne, and Sion’s
rock stand fast,
The song of Asaph and the fame shall last!
Still Hebron’s honour’d,
happy soil retains
Our royal hero’s beauteous, dear
remains;
Who now sails off with winds nor wishes
slack,
To bring his sufferings’ bright
companion back.
But e’er such transport can our
sense employ,
A bitter grief must poison half our joy;
1070
Nor can our coasts restored those blessings
see
Without a bribe to envious destiny!
Cursed Sodom’s doom for ever fix
the tide
Where by inglorious chance the valiant
died!
Give not insulting Askelon to know,
Nor let Gath’s daughters triumph
in our woe;
No sailor with the news swell Egypt’s
pride,
By what inglorious fate our valiant died.
Weep, Arnon! Jordan, weep thy fountains
dry!
While Sion’s rock dissolves for
a supply. 1080
Calm were the elements, night’s
silence deep,
The waves scarce murmuring, and the winds
asleep;
Yet fate for ruin takes so still an hour,
And treacherous sands the princely bark
devour;
Then death unworthy seized a generous
race,
To virtue’s scandal, and the stars’
disgrace!
Oh! had the indulgent powers vouchsafed
to yield,
Instead of faithless shelves, a listed
field;
A listed field of Heaven’s and David’s
foes,
Fierce as the troops that did his youth
oppose, 1090
Each life had on his slaughter’d
heap retired,
Thus some diviner muse her hero
forms,
Not soothed with soft delights, but toss’d
in storms;
Nor stretch’d on roses in the myrtle
grove,
Nor crowns his days with mirth, his nights
with love,
But far removed in thundering camps is
found,
His slumbers short, his bed the herbless
ground.
In tasks of danger always seen the first,
Feeds from the hedge, and slakes with
ice his thirst, 1110
Long must his patience strive with fortune’s
rage,
And long-opposing gods themselves engage;
Must see his country flame, his friends
destroy’d,
Before the promised empire be enjoy’d.
Such toil of fate must build a man of
fame,
And such, to Israel’s crown, the
godlike David came.
What sudden beams dispel the clouds
so fast,
Whose drenching rains laid all our vineyards
waste?
The spring, so far behind her course delay’d,
On the instant is in all her bloom array’d;
1120
The winds breathe low, the element serene;
Yet mark what motion in the waves is seen!
Thronging and busy as Hyblaean swarms,
Or straggled soldiers summon’d to
their arms,
See where the princely bark in loosest
pride,
With all her guardian fleet, adorns the
tide!
High on her deck the royal lovers stand,
Our crimes to pardon, e’er they
touch’d our land.
Welcome to Israel and to David’s
breast!
Here all your toils, here all your sufferings
rest. 1130
This year did Ziloah rule Jerusalem,
And boldly all sedition’s surges
stem,
Howe’er encumber’d with a
viler pair
Than Ziph or Shimei to assist the chair;
Yet Ziloah’s loyal labours so prevail’d,
That faction at the next election fail’d,
When even the common cry did justice found,
And merit by the multitude was crown’d:
With David then was Israel’s peace
restored,
Crowds mourn’d their error, and
obey’d their lord. 1140
* * * * *
A KEY TO BOTH PARTS OF ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL.
Aldael—General Monk, Duke of Albemarle.
Abethdin—The name given,
through
this poem, to a Lord-Chancellor
in general.
Absalom—Duke of Monmouth,
natural
son of King Charles II.
Achitophel—Anthony Ashley
Cooper,
Earl of Shaftesbury.
Adriel—John Sheffield, Earl of Mulgrave.
Agag—Sir Edmundbury Godfrey.
Amiel—Mr Seymour, Speaker
of the
House of Commons.
Amri—Sir Heneage Finch,
Earl of
Winchelsea, and Lord Chancellor.
Annabel—Duchess of Monmouth.
Arod—Sir William Waller.
Asaph—A character drawn
by Tate
for Dryden, in the second part
of this poem.
Balaam—Earl of Huntingdon.
Balak—Barnet.
Barzillai—Duke of Ormond.
Bathsheba—Duchess of Portsmouth.
Benaiah—General Sackville.
Ben Jochanan—Rev. Samuel Johnson.
Bezaliel—Duke of Beaufort.
Caleb—Ford, Lord Grey of Werk.
Corah—Dr Titus Oates.
David—King Charles II.
Doeg—Elkanah Settle, the city poet.
Egypt—France.
Eliab—Sir Henry Bennet,
Earl of
Arlington.
Ethnic-Plot—The Popish Plot.
Gath—The Land of Exile,
more particularly
Brussels, where King
Charles II. long resided.
Hebrew Priests—The Church
of
England Clergy.
Hebron—Scotland.
Helon—Earl of Feversham,
a Frenchman
by birth, and nephew to
Marshal Turenne.
Hushai—Hyde, Earl of Rochester.
Ishban—Sir Robert Clayton,
Alderman,
and one of the City Members.
Ishbosheth—Richard Cromwell.
Israel—England.
Issachar—Thomas Thynne,
Esq.,
who was shot in his coach.
Jebusites—Papists.
Jerusalem—London.
Jews—English.
Jonas—Sir William Jones,
a great
lawyer.
Jordan—Dover.
Jotham—Saville, Marquis of Halifax.
Jothram—Lord Dartmouth.
Judas—Mr Ferguson, a
canting
teacher.
Mephibosheth—Pordage.
Michal—Queen Catharine.
Nadab—Lord Howard of Escrick.
Og—Shadwell.
Othniel—Henry, Duke
of Grafton,
natural son of King
Charles II. by the Duchess of Cleveland.
Phaleg—Forbes.
Pharaoh—King of France.
Rabsheka—Sir Thomas
Player, one
of the City Members.
Sagan of Jerusalem—Dr
Compton,
Bishop of London, youngest son
to the Earl of Northampton.
Sanhedrim—Parliament.
Saul—Oliver Cromwell.
Sheva—Sir Roger Lestrange.
Shimei—Slingsby Bethel,
Sheriff of
London in 1680.
Sion—England.
Solymaean Rout—London Rebels.
Tyre—Holland.
Uzza—Jack Hall.
Zadoc—Sancroft, Archbishop
of
Canterbury.
Zaken—A Member of the
House of
Commons.
Ziloah—Sir John Moor,
Lord Mayor
in 1682.
Zimri—Villiers, Duke of Buckingham.
* * * * *
[Footnote 67: ‘Annabel:’ Lady Ann Scott, daughter of Francis, third Earl of Buccleuch.]
[Footnote 68: ‘Adam-wits:’ comparing the discontented to Adam and his fall.]
[Footnote 69: ‘Triple bond:’ alliance between England, Sweden, and Holland; broken by the second Dutch war through the influence of France and Shaftesbury.]
[Footnote 70: ‘Vare:’ i.e., wand, from Spanish vara.]
[Footnote 71: ‘Him:’ Dr Dolben, Bishop of Rochester.]
[Footnote 72: ‘Ruler of the day:’ Phaeton.]
[Footnote 73: The second part was written by Mr Nahum Tate, and is by no means equal to the first, though Dryden corrected it throughout. The poem is here printed complete.]
[Footnote 74: ‘Next:’ from this to the line, ’To talk like Doeg, and to write like thee,’ is Dryden’s own.]
[Footnote 75: ‘Who makes,’ &c.: a line quoted from Settle.]
* * * * *
A SATIRE AGAINST SEDITION.
For to whom can I dedicate this poem with so much justice as to you? It is the representation of your own hero: it is the picture drawn at length, which you admire and prize so much in little. None of your ornaments are wanting; neither the landscape of your Tower, nor the rising sun; nor the Anno Domini of your new sovereign’s coronation. This must needs be a grateful undertaking to your whole party; especially to those who have not been so happy as to purchase the original. I hear the graver has made a good market of it: all his kings are bought up already; or the value of the remainder so enhanced, that many a poor Polander, who would be glad to worship the image, is not able to go to the cost of him, but must be content to see him here. I must confess I am no great artist; but sign-post painting will serve the turn to remember a friend by, especially when better is not to be had. Yet, for your comfort, the lineaments are true; and though he sat not five times to me, as he did to B., yet I have consulted history, as the Italian painters do when they would draw a Nero or a Caligula: though they have not seen the man, they can help their imagination by a statue of him, and find out the colouring from Suetonius and Tacitus. Truth is, you might have spared one side of your Medal: the head would be seen to more advantage if it were placed on a spike of the Tower, a little nearer to the sun, which would then break out to better purpose.
You tell us in your preface to the “No-Protestant Plot",[77] that you shall be forced hereafter to leave off your modesty: I suppose you mean that little which is left you; for it was worn to rags when you put out this Medal. Never was there practised such a piece of notorious impudence in the face of an established government. I believe when he is dead you will wear him in thumb rings, as the Turks did Scanderbeg; as if there were virtue in his bones to preserve you against monarchy. Yet all this while you pretend not only zeal for the public good, but a due veneration for the person of the king. But all men who can see an inch before them, may easily detect those gross fallacies. That it is necessary for men in your circumstances to pretend both, is granted you; for without them there could be no ground to raise a faction. But I would ask you one civil question, what right has any man among you, or any association of men (to come nearer to you), who, out of parliament, cannot be considered in a public capacity, to meet as you daily do in factious clubs, to vilify the government in your discourses, and to libel it in all your writings? Who made you judges in Israel? Or how is it consistent with your zeal for the public welfare, to promote sedition? Does your definition of loyal, which is to serve the king according to the laws, allow you the licence of traducing the executive power with which you own he is invested? You complain that his majesty has lost the love and confidence of his people; and by your very urging it, you endeavour what in you lies to make him lose them. All good subjects abhor the thought of arbitrary power, whether it be in one or many: if you were the patriots you would seem, you would not at this rate incense the multitude to assume it; for no sober man can fear it, either from the king’s disposition or his practice; or even, where you would odiously lay it, from his ministers. Give us leave to enjoy the government and the benefit of laws under which we were born, and which we desire to transmit to our posterity. You are not the trustees of the public liberty; and if you have not right to petition in a crowd, much less have you to intermeddle in the management of affairs; or to arraign what you do not like, which in effect is everything that is done by the king and council. Can you imagine that any reasonable man will believe you respect the person of his majesty, when it is apparent that your seditious pamphlets are stuffed with particular reflections on him? If you have the confidence to deny this, it is easy to be evinced from a thousand passages, which I only forbear to quote, because I desire they should die and be forgotten. I have perused many of your papers; and to show you that I have, the third part of your “No-Protestant Plot” is much of it stolen from your dead author’s pamphlet, called the “Growth of Popery;” as manifestly as Milton’s “Defence of the English People” is from Buchanan “De jure
In the mean time, you would fain be nibbling at a parallel betwixt this Association, and that in the time of Queen Elizabeth.[78] But there is this small difference betwixt them, that the ends of one are directly opposite to the other: one with the queen’s approbation and conjunction, as head of it; the other, without either the consent or knowledge of the king, against whose authority it is manifestly designed. Therefore you do well to have recourse to your last evasion, that it was contrived by your enemies, and shuffled into the papers that were seized; which yet you see the nation is not so easy to believe as your own jury; but the matter is not difficult to find twelve men in Newgate who would acquit a malefactor.
I have only one favour to desire of you at parting, that when you think of answering this poem, you would employ the same pens against it, who have combated with so much success against Absalom and Achitophel: for then you may assure yourselves of a clear victory, without the least reply. Rail at me abundantly; and, not to break a custom, do it without wit: by this method you will gain a considerable point, which is, wholly to waive the answer of my arguments. Never own the bottom of your principles, for fear they should be treason. Fall severely on the miscarriages of government; for if scandal be not allowed, you are no freeborn subjects. If God has not blessed you with the talent of rhyming, make use of my poor stock, and welcome: let your verses run upon my feet; and for the utmost refuge of notorious blockheads, reduced to the last extremity of sense, turn my own lines upon me, and, in utter despair of your own satire, make me satirize myself. Some of you have been driven to this bay already; but, above all the rest, commend me to the nonconformist parson, who writ the “Whip and Key.” I am afraid it is not read so much as the piece deserves, because the bookseller is every week crying help at the end of his Gazette, to get it off. You see I am charitable enough to do him a kindness, that it may be published as well as printed; and that so much skill in Hebrew derivations may not lie for waste-paper in the shop. Yet I half suspect he went no further for his learning, than the index of Hebrew names and etymologies, which is printed at the end of some English Bibles. If Achitophel signifies the brother of a fool, the author of that poem will pass with his readers for the next of kin. And perhaps it is the relation that makes the kindness. Whatever the verses are, buy them up, I beseech you, out of pity; for I hear the conventicle is shut up, and the brother[79] of Achitophel out of service.
Now, footmen, you know, have the generosity to make a purse for a member of their society, who has had his livery pulled over his ears, and even protestant socks are bought up among you, out of veneration to the name. A dissenter in poetry from sense and English will make as good a Protestant rhymer, as a dissenter from the Church of England a Protestant parson. Besides, if you encourage a young beginner, who knows but he may elevate his style a little above the vulgar epithets of profane, and saucy jack, and atheistic scribbler, with which he treats me, when the fit of enthusiasm is strong upon him: by which well-mannered and charitable expressions I was certain of his sect before I knew his name. What would you have more of a man? He has damned me in your cause from Genesis to the Revelations; and has half the texts of both the Testaments against me, if you will be so civil to yourselves as to take him for your interpreter; and not to take them for Irish witnesses. After all, perhaps you will tell me, that you retained him only for the opening of your cause, and that your main lawyer is yet behind. Now, if it so happen he meet with no more reply than his predecessors, you may either conclude that I trust to the goodness of my cause, or fear my adversary, or disdain him, or what you please; for the short of it is, it is indifferent to your humble servant, whatever your party says or thinks of him.
* * * * *
Of all our antic sights and pageantry,
Which English idiots run in crowds to
see,
The Polish[80] Medal bears the prize alone:
A monster, more the favourite of the town
Than either fairs or theatres have shown.
Never did art so well with nature strive;
Nor ever idol seem’d so much alive:
So like the man; so golden to the sight,
So base within, so counterfeit and light.
One side is fill’d with title and
with face; 10
And, lest the king should want a regal
place,
On the reverse, a tower the town surveys;
O’er which our mounting sun his
beams displays.
The word, pronounced aloud by shrieval
voice,
Laetamur, which, in Polish, is rejoice.
The day, month, year, to the great act
are join’d:
And a new canting holiday design’d.
Five days he sate, for every cast and
look—
Four more than God to finish Adam took.
But who can tell what essence angels are,
20
Or how long Heaven was making Lucifer?
Oh, could the style that copied every
grace,
And plough’d such furrows for an
eunuch face,
Could it have form’d his ever-changing
will,
The various piece had tired the graver’s
skill!
A martial hero first, with early care,
Blown, like a pigmy by the winds, to war.
A beardless chief, a rebel, e’er
a man:
So young his hatred to his prince began.
Next this (how wildly will ambition steer!)
30
A vermin wriggling in the usurper’s
ear.
Bartering his venal wit for sums of gold,
He cast himself into the saint-like mould;
Groan’d, sigh’d, and pray’d,
while godliness was gain—
The loudest bagpipe of the squeaking train.
But, as ’tis hard to cheat a juggler’s
eyes,
His open lewdness he could ne’er
disguise.
There split the saint: for hypocritic
zeal
Allows no sins but those it can conceal.
Whoring to scandal gives too large a scope:
40
Saints must not trade; but they may interlope:
The ungodly principle was all the same;
But a gross cheat betrays his partner’s
game.
Besides, their pace was formal, grave,
and slack;
His nimble wit outran the heavy pack.
Yet still he found his fortune at a stay:
Whole droves of blockheads choking up
his way;
They took, but not rewarded, his advice;
Villain and wit exact a double price.
Power was his aim: but, thrown from
that pretence, 50
The wretch turn’d loyal in his own
defence;
And malice reconciled him to his prince.
Him, in the anguish of his soul he served;
Rewarded faster still than he deserved.
Behold him now exalted into trust;
His counsel’s oft convenient, seldom
just.
Even in the most sincere advice he gave,
He had a grudging still to be a knave.
The man[83] who laugh’d but
once, to see an ass
Mumbling make the cross-grain’d
thistles pass,
Might laugh again to see a jury chaw
The prickles of unpalatable law.
The witnesses, that leech-like lived on
blood,
Sucking for them was medicinally good;
150
But when they fasten’d on their
fester’d sore,
Then justice and religion they forswore,
Their maiden oaths debauch’d into
a whore.
Thus men are raised by factions, and decried;
And rogue and saint distinguish’d
by their side.
They rack even Scripture to confess their
cause,
And plead a call to preach in spite of
laws.
But that’s no news to the poor injured
page;
It has been used as ill in every age,
And is constrain’d with patience
all to take: 160
For what defence can Greek and Hebrew
make?
Happy who can this talking trumpet seize;
They make it speak whatever sense they
please:
’Twas framed at first our oracle
to inquire;
But since our sects in prophecy grow higher,
The text inspires not them, but they the
text inspire.
London, thou great emporium of our
isle,
O thou too bounteous, thou too fruitful
Nile!
How shall I praise or curse to thy desert?
Or separate thy sound from thy corrupted
part? 170
I call thee Nile; the parallel will stand;
Thy tides of wealth o’erflow the
fatten’d land;
Yet monsters from thy large increase we
What means their traitorous combination
less,
Too plain to evade, too shameful to confess!
But treason is not own’d when ’tis
descried;
Successful crimes alone are justified.
The men, who no conspiracy would find,
Who doubts, but had it taken, they had
join’d, 210
Join’d in a mutual covenant of defence;
At first without, at last against their
prince?
If sovereign right by sovereign power
they scan,
The same bold maxim holds in God and man:
God were not safe, his thunder could they
shun,
He should be forced to crown another son.
Thus when the heir was from the vineyard
thrown,
The rich possession was the murderer’s
own.
In vain to sophistry they have recourse:
By proving theirs no plot, they prove
’tis worse— 220
Unmask’d rebellion, and audacious
force:
Which, though not actual, yet all eyes
may see
’Tis working in the immediate power
to be.
For from pretended grievances they rise,
First to dislike, and after to despise;
Then, Cyclop-like, in human flesh to deal,
Chop up a minister at every meal:
Perhaps not wholly to melt down the king,
But clip his regal rights within the ring.
From thence to assume the power of peace
and war, 230
But thou, the pander of the people’s
hearts,
O crooked soul, and serpentine in arts,
Whose blandishments a loyal land have
whored,
And broke the bonds she plighted to her
lord;
What curses on thy blasted name will fall!
260
Which age to age their legacy shall call;
For all must curse the woes that must
descend on all.
Religion thou hast none: thy mercury
Has pass’d through every sect, or
theirs through thee.
But what thou giv’st, that venom
still remains,
And the pox’d nation feels thee
in their brains.
What else inspires the tongues and swells
the breasts
Of all thy bellowing renegado priests,
That preach up thee for God, dispense
thy laws,
And with thy stum ferment their fainting
cause? 270
Fresh fumes of madness raise; and toil
and sweat
To make the formidable cripple great.
Yet, should thy crimes succeed, should
lawless power
Compass those ends thy greedy hopes devour,
Thy canting friends thy mortal foes would
be,
Thy God and theirs will never long agree;
For thine, if thou hast any, must be one
That lets the world and human kind alone:
A jolly god that passes hours too well
To promise heaven, or threaten us with
hell; 280
That unconcern’d can at rebellion
sit,
And wink at crimes he did himself commit.
A tyrant theirs; the heaven their priesthood
paints
A conventicle of gloomy, sullen saints;
A heaven like Bedlam, slovenly and sad,
Foredoom’d for souls with false
religion mad.
Without a vision poets can foreshow
What all but fools by common sense may
know:
If true succession from our isle should
fail,
And crowds profane with impious arms prevail,
290
Not thou, nor those thy factious arts
engage,
Shall reap that harvest of rebellious
rage,
With which thou flatterest thy decrepit
age.
The swelling poison of the several sects,
Which, wanting vent, the nation’s
health infects,
Shall burst its bag; and, fighting out
their way,
The various venoms on each other prey.
The presbyter, puff’d up with spiritual
pride,
Shall on the necks of the lewd nobles
ride:
His brethren damn, the civil power defy;
300
And parcel out republic prelacy.
But short shall be his reign: his
rigid yoke
And tyrant power will puny sects provoke;
And frogs and toads, and all the tadpole
train,
Will croak to heaven for help, from this
devouring crane.
The cut-throat sword and clamorous gown
shall jar,
In sharing their ill-gotten spoils of
war:
Chiefs shall be grudged the part which
they pretend;
Lords envy lords, and friends with every
friend
About their impious merit shall contend.
310
The surly commons shall respect deny,
And justle peerage out with property.
Their general either shall his trust betray,
And force the crowd to arbitrary sway;
Or they, suspecting his ambitious aim,
In hate of kings shall cast anew the frame;
And thrust out Collatine that bore their
name.
Thus inborn broils the factions
would engage,
Or wars of exiled heirs, or foreign rage,
Till halting vengeance overtook our age:
320
And our wild labours, wearied into rest,
Reclined us on a rightful monarch’s
breast.
—“Pudet
haec opprobria, vobis
Et dici potuisse, et non potuisse refelli.”
* * * * *
[Footnote 76: ‘The Medal:’ see ‘Life.’]
[Footnote 77: A pamphlet vindicating Lord Shaftesbury from being concerned in any plotting designs against the King. Wood says, the general report was, that it was written by the earl himself.]
[Footnote 78: When England, in the sixteenth century, was supposed in danger from the designs of Spain, the principal people, with the queen at their head, entered into an association for the defence of their country, and of the Protestant religion, against Popery, invasion, and innovation.]
[Footnote 79: ‘Brother:’ George Cooper, Esq., brother to the Earl of Shaftesbury, was married to a daughter of Alderman Oldfield; and, being settled in the city, became a great man among the Whigs and fanatics.]
[Footnote 80: ‘Polish:’ Shaftesbury was said to have entertained hopes of the crown of Poland.]
[Footnote 81: ‘White witches:’ who wrought good ends by infernal means.]
[Footnote 82: ‘Loosed our triple hold:’ our breaking the alliance with Holland and Sweden, was owing to the Earl of Shaftesbury’s advice.]
[Footnote 83: ‘The Man:’ Crassus.]
[Footnote 84: ‘The head,’ &c.: alluding to the lord mayor and the two sheriffs: the former, Sir John Moor, being a Tory; the latter, Shute and Pilkington, Whigs.]
* * * * *
AN EPISTLE.
A Poem with so bold a title, and a name prefixed from which the handling of so serious a subject would not be expected, may reasonably oblige the author to say somewhat in defence, both of himself and of his undertaking. In the first place, if it be objected to me, that, being a layman, I ought not to have concerned myself with speculations which belong to the profession of divinity; I could answer, that perhaps laymen, with equal advantages of parts and knowledge, are not the most incompetent judges of sacred things; but in the due sense of my own weakness and want of learning, I plead not this: I pretend not to make myself a judge of faith in others, but only to make a confession of my own. I lay no unhallowed hand upon the ark, but wait on it, with the reverence that becomes me, at a distance. In the next place, I will ingenuously confess, that the helps I have used in this small treatise, were many of them taken from the works of our own reverend divines of the Church of England: so that the weapons with which I combat irreligion, are already consecrated; though I suppose they may be taken down as lawfully as the sword of Goliah was by David, when they are to be employed for the common cause against the enemies of piety. I intend not by this to entitle them to any of my errors, which yet I hope are only those of charity to mankind; and such as my own charity has caused me to commit, that of others may more easily excuse. Being naturally inclined to scepticism in philosophy, I have no reason to impose my opinions in a subject which is above it; but whatever they are, I submit them with all reverence to my mother church, accounting them no farther mine, than as they are authorised, or at least uncondemned by her. And, indeed, to secure myself on this side, I have used the necessary precaution of showing this paper, before it was published, to a judicious and learned friend, a man indefatigably zealous in the service of the church and state; and whose writings have highly deserved of both. He was pleased to approve the body of the discourse, and I hope he is more my friend than to do it out of complaisance: it is true he had too good a taste to like it all; and amongst some other faults recommended to my second view, what I have written perhaps too boldly on St Athanasius, which he advised
And now for what concerns the holy bishop Athanasius; the preface of whose creed seems inconsistent with my opinion; which is, that heathens may possibly be saved. In the first place, I desire it may be considered that it is the preface only, not the creed itself, which, till I am better informed, is of too hard a digestion for my charity. It is not that I am ignorant how many several texts of Scripture seemingly support that cause; but neither am I ignorant how all those texts may receive a kinder and more mollified interpretation. Every man who is read in Church history, knows that belief was drawn up after a long contestation with Arius, concerning the divinity of our blessed Saviour, and his being one substance with the Father; and that thus compiled, it was sent abroad among the Christian Churches, as a kind of test, which whosoever took was looked upon as an orthodox believer. It is manifest from hence, that the heathen part of the empire was not concerned in it; for its business was not to distinguish betwixt Pagans and Christians, but betwixt Heretics and true Believers. This, well considered, takes off the heavy weight of censure, which I would willingly avoid, from so venerable a man; for if this proportion, “whosoever will be saved,” be restrained only to those to whom it was intended, and for whom it was composed, I mean
I have dwelt longer on this subject than I intended, and longer than perhaps I ought; for having laid down, as my foundation, that the Scripture is a rule; that in all things needful to salvation it is clear, sufficient, and ordained by God Almighty for that purpose, I have left myself no right to interpret obscure places, such as concern the possibility of eternal happiness to heathens: because whatsoever is obscure is concluded not necessary to be known.
But, by asserting the Scripture to be the canon of oar faith, I have unavoidably created to myself two sorts of enemies: the Papists indeed, more directly, because they have kept the Scriptures from us what they could; and have reserved to themselves a right of interpreting what they have delivered under the pretence of infallibility: and the Fanatics more collaterally, because they have assumed what amounts to an infallibility, in the private spirit; and have detorted those texts of Scripture which are not necessary to salvation, to the damnable uses of sedition, disturbance, and destruction of the civil government. To begin with the Papists, and to speak freely, I think them the less dangerous, at least in appearance to our present state; for not only the penal laws are in force against them, and their number is contemptible, but also their peers and commons are excluded from parliament, and consequently those laws in no probability of being repealed. A general and uninterrupted plot of their clergy, ever since the Reformation, I suppose all Protestants believe; for it is not reasonable to think but that so many of their orders, as were outed from their fat possessions, would endeavour a re-entrance against those whom they account heretics. As for the late design, Mr Coleman’s letters, for aught I know, are the best evidence; and what they discover, without wiredrawing their sense, or
It is not sufficient for the more moderate and well-meaning Papists, of which I doubt not there are many, to produce the evidences of their loyalty to the late king, and to declare their innocency in this plot: I will grant their behaviour in the first to have been as loyal and as brave as they desire; and will be willing to hold them excused as to the second, I mean when it comes to my turn, and after my betters; for it is
Leaving them, therefore, in so fair a way, if they please themselves, of satisfying all reasonable men of their sincerity and good meaning to the government, I shall make bold to consider that other extreme of our religion—I mean the Fanatics, or Schismatics, of the English Church. Since the Bible has been translated into our tongue, they have used it so, as if their business was not to be saved, but to be damned by its contents. If we consider only them, better had it been for the English nation that it had still remained in the original Greek and Hebrew, or at least in the honest Latin of St Jerome, than that several texts in it should have been prevaricated, to the destruction of that government which put it into so ungrateful hands.
How many heresies the first translation of Tindal produced in few years, let my Lord Herbert’s history of Henry VIII. inform you; insomuch, that for the gross errors in it, and the great mischiefs it occasioned, a sentence passed on the first edition of the Bible, too shameful almost to be repeated. After the short reign of Edward VI., who had continued to carry on the Reformation on other principles than it was begun, every one knows that not only the chief promoters of that work, but many others, whose consciences would not dispense with Popery, were forced, for fear of persecution, to change climates: from whence returning at the beginning of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, many of them who had been in France, and at Geneva, brought back the rigid opinions and imperious discipline of Calvin, to graft upon our Reformation: which, though they cunningly concealed at first, as well knowing how nauseously that drug would go down in a lawful monarchy, which was prescribed for a rebellious commonwealth, yet they always kept it in reserve; and were never wanting to themselves either in court or parliament, when either they had any prospect of a
It is true, the government was too strong at that time for a rebellion; but, to show what proficiency they had made in Calvin’s school, even then their mouths watered at it: for two of their gifted brotherhood, Hacket[86] and Coppinger, as the story tells us, got up into a pease-cart and harangue the people, to dispose them to an insurrection, and to establish their discipline by force: so that however it comes about, that now they celebrate Queen Elizabeth’s birth-night as that of their saint and patroness; yet then they were for doing the work of the Lord by arms against her; and in all probability they wanted but a fanatic lord mayor and two sheriffs of their party to have compassed it.
Our venerable Hooker, after many admonitions which he had given them, towards the end of his preface breaks out into this prophetic speech:— “There is in every one of these considerations most just cause to fear, lest our hastiness to embrace a thing of so perilous consequence (meaning the Presbyterian discipline) should cause posterity to feel those evils, which as yet are more easy for us to prevent, than they would be for them to remedy.”
How fatally this Cassandra has foretold, we know too well by sad experience: the seeds were sown in the time of Queen Elizabeth, the bloody harvest ripened in the reign of King Charles the Martyr; and, because all the sheaves could not be carried off without shedding some of the loose grains, another crop is too like to follow; nay, I fear it is unavoidable, if the conventiclers be permitted still to scatter.
A man may be suffered to quote an adversary to our religion, when he speaks truth; and it is the observation of Maimbourg, in his “History of Calvinism,” that wherever that discipline was planted and embraced, rebellion, civil war, and misery attended it. And how, indeed, should it happen otherwise? Reformation of Church and State has always been the ground of our divisions in England. While we were Papists, our holy father rid us, by pretending authority out of the Scriptures to depose princes; when we shook off his authority, the sectaries furnished themselves with the same weapons, and out of the same magazine, the Bible; so that the Scriptures, which are in themselves the greatest security of governors, as commanding express obedience to them, are now turned to their destruction; and never since the Reformation has there wanted a text of their interpreting to authorise a rebel. And it is to be noted, by the way, that the doctrines of king-killing and deposing, which have been taken up only by the worst party of the Papists, the most frontless flatterers of the pope’s authority, have been espoused, defended, and are still maintained by the whole body of nonconformists and republicans. It is but dubbing themselves the people of God, which it is the interest of their preachers to tell them they are, and their own interest to believe; and, after that, they cannot dip into the Bible, but one text or another will turn up for their purpose: if they are under persecution, as they call it, then that is a mark of their election; if they flourish, then God works miracles for their deliverance, and the saints are to possess the earth.
They may think themselves to be too roughly handled in this paper; but I, who know best how far I could have gone on this subject, must be bold to tell them they are spared: though at the same time I am not ignorant that they interpret the mildness of a writer to them, as they do the mercy of the government; in the one they think it fear, and conclude it weakness in the other. The best way for them to confute me is, as I before advised the Papists, to disclaim their principles and renounce their practices. We shall all be glad to think them true Englishmen when they obey the king, and true Protestants when they conform to the church discipline.
It remains that I acquaint the reader, that these verses were written for an ingenious young gentleman,[87] my friend, upon his translation of “The Critical History of the Old Testament,” composed by the learned Father Simon: the verses, therefore, are addressed to the translator of that work, and the style of them is, what it ought to be, epistolary.
If any one be so lamentable a critic as to require the smoothness, the numbers, and the turn of heroic poetry in this poem, I must tell him, that if he has not read Horace, I have studied him, and hope the style of his epistles is not ill imitated here. The expressions of a poem designed purely for instruction, ought to be plain and natural, and yet majestic: for here the poet is presumed to be a kind of lawgiver, and those three qualities which I have named, are proper to the legislative style. The florid, elevated, and figurative way is for the passions; for love and hatred, fear and anger, are begotten in the soul, by showing their objects out of their true proportion, either greater than the life or less: but instruction is to be given by showing them what they naturally are. A man is to be cheated into passion, but to be reasoned into truth.
* * * * *
Dim as the borrow’d beams of moon
and stars
To lonely, weary, wandering travellers,
Is reason to the soul: and as on
high,
Those rolling fires discover but the sky,
Not light us here; so reason’s glimmering
ray
Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way,
But guide us upward to a better day.
And as those nightly tapers disappear
When day’s bright lord ascends our
hemisphere;
So pale grows reason at religion’s
sight; 10
So dies, and so dissolves in supernatural
light.
Some few, whose lamp shone brighter, have
been led
From cause to cause, to nature’s
secret head;
And found that one first principle must
be:
But what, or who, that UNIVERSAL HE:
Whether some soul encompassing this ball,
Unmade, unmoved; yet making, moving all;
Or various atoms’ interfering dance
Leap’d into form, the noble work
of chance;
Or this Great All was from eternity;
20
Not even the Stagyrite himself could see;
And Epicurus guess’d as well as
he:
As blindly groped they for a future state;
As rashly judged of providence and fate:
But least of all could their endeavours
find
What most concern’d the good of
human kind:
For happiness was never to be found,
But vanish’d from them like enchanted
ground.
One thought Content the good to be enjoy’d—
This every little accident destroy’d:
30
The wiser madmen did for Virtue toil—
A thorny, or at best a barren soil:
In Pleasure some their glutton souls would
steep;
But found their line too short, the well
too deep;
And leaky vessels which no bliss could
keep.
Thus anxious thoughts in endless circles
roll,
Without a centre where to fix the soul:
In this wild maze their vain endeavours
end:
How can the less the greater comprehend?
Or finite reason reach Infinity?
40
For what could fathom God were more than
He.
The Deist thinks he stands on firmer
ground;
Cries [Greek: eureka], the mighty
secret’s found:
God is that spring of good; supreme and
best;
We made to serve, and in that service
blest;
If so, some rules of worship must be given,
Distributed alike to all by Heaven:
Else God were partial, and to some denied
The means his justice should for all provide.
This general worship is to praise and
pray: 50
One part to borrow blessings, one to pay:
And when frail nature slides into offence,
The sacrifice for crimes is penitence.
Yet since the effects of Providence, we
find,
Are variously dispensed to human kind;
That vice triumphs, and virtue suffers
here—
A brand that sovereign justice cannot
bear—
Our reason prompts us to a future state:
The last appeal from fortune and from
fate;
Where God’s all-righteous ways will
be declared— 60
The bad meet punishment, the good reward.
Thus man by his own strength to
heaven would soar,
And would not be obliged to God for more.
Vain, wretched creature, how art thou
misled,
To think thy wit these God-like notions
bred!
These truths are not the product of thy
mind,
But dropp’d from heaven, and of
a nobler kind.
Reveal’d religion first inform’d
thy sight,
And reason saw not, till faith sprung
the light.
Hence all thy natural worship takes the
source: 70
’Tis revelation what thou think’st
discourse.
Else how com’st thou to see these
truths so clear,
Which so obscure to heathens did appear?
Not Plato these, nor Aristotle found:
Nor he whose wisdom oracles renown’d.
Hast thou a wit so deep, or so sublime,
Or canst thou lower dive, or higher climb?
Canst thou by reason more of Godhead know
Than Plutarch, Seneca, or Cicero?
Those giant wits, in happier ages born,
80
When arms and arts did Greece and Rome
adorn,
Knew no such system: no such piles
could raise
Of natural worship, built on prayer and
praise,
To one sole God.
Nor did remorse to expiate sin prescribe,
But slew their fellow-creatures for a
bribe:
The guiltless victim groan’d for
their offence;
And cruelty and blood was penitence.
If sheep and oxen could atone for men,
Ah! at how cheap a rate the rich might
sin! 90
And great oppressors might Heaven’s
wrath beguile,
By offering His own creatures for a spoil!
Darest thou, poor worm, offend Infinity?
And must the terms of peace be given by
thee?
Then thou art Justice in the last appeal;
Thy easy God instructs thee to rebel:
And, like a king remote, and weak, must
take
What satisfaction thou art pleased to
make.
But if there be a Power too just
and strong
To wink at crimes, and bear unpunish’d
wrong, 100
Look humbly upward, see His will disclose
The forfeit first, and then the fine impose:
A mulct thy poverty could never pay,
Had not Eternal Wisdom found the way:
And with celestial wealth supplied thy
store:
His justice makes the fine, His mercy
quits the score.
See God descending in thy human frame;
The Offended suffering in the offender’s
name:
All thy misdeeds to Him imputed see,
And all His righteousness devolved on
thee. 110
For, granting we have sinn’d,
and that the offence
Of man is made against Omnipotence,
Some price that bears proportion must
be paid,
And infinite with infinite be weigh’d.
See then the Deist lost: remorse
for vice
Not paid; or paid, inadequate in price:
What further means can reason now direct,
Or what relief from human wit expect?
That shows us sick; and sadly are we sure
Still to be sick, till Heaven reveal the
cure: 120
If, then, Heaven’s will must needs
be understood
(Which must, if we want cure, and Heaven
be good),
Let all records of will reveal’d
be shown;
With Scripure all in equal balance thrown,
And our one Sacred Book will be that one.
Proof needs not here, for whether
we compare
That impious, idle, superstitious ware
Of rites, lustrations, offerings, which
before,
In various ages, various countries bore,
With Christian faith and virtues, we shall
find 130
None answering the great ends of human
kind,
But this one rule of life, that shows
us best
How God may be appeased, and mortals blest.
Whether from length of time its worth
we draw,
The word is scarce more ancient than the
law:
Heaven’s early care prescribed for
every age;
First, in the soul, and after, in the
page.
Or, whether more abstractedly we look,
Or on the writers, or the written book,
Whence, but from Heaven, could men unskill’d
in arts, 140
In several ages born, in several parts,
Weave such agreeing truths? or how, or
why
Should all conspire to cheat us with a
lie?
Unask’d their pains, ungrateful
their advice,
Starving their gain, and martyrdom their
price.
If on the Book itself we cast our
view,
Concurrent heathens prove the story true:
The doctrine, miracles; which must convince,
For Heaven in them appeals to human sense:
And though they prove not, they confirm
the cause, 150
When what is taught agrees with Nature’s
laws.
Then for the style, majestic and
divine,
It speaks no less than God in every line:
Commanding words; whose force is still
the same
As the first fiat that produced our frame.
All faiths beside, or did by arms ascend;
Or, sense indulged, has made mankind their
friend:
This only doctrine does our lusts oppose—
Unfed by Nature’s soil, in which
it grows;
Cross to our interests, curbing sense,
and sin; 160
Oppress’d without, and undermined
within,
It thrives through pain; its own tormentors
tires;
And with a stubborn patience still aspires.
To what can reason such effects assign,
Transcending nature, but to laws divine?
Which in that sacred volume are contain’d;
Sufficient, clear, and for that use ordain’d.
But stay: the Deist here will
urge anew,
No supernatural worship can be true:
Because a general law is that alone
170
Which must to all, and every where be
known:
A style so large as not this Book can
claim,
Nor aught that bears Reveal’d Religion’s
name.
’Tis said the sound of a Messiah’s
birth
Is gone through all the habitable earth:
But still that text must be confined alone
To what was then inhabited, and known:
And what provision could from thence accrue
To Indian souls, and worlds discover’d
new?
In other parts it helps, that ages past,
180
The Scriptures there were known, and were
embraced,
Till sin spread once again the shades
of night:
What’s that to these who never saw
the light?
Of all objections this indeed is
chief
To startle reason, stagger frail belief:
We grant, ’tis true, that Heaven
from human sense
Has hid the secret paths of Providence:
But boundless wisdom, boundless mercy
may
Find even for those bewilder’d souls
a way.
If from His nature foes may pity claim,
190
Much more may strangers who ne’er
heard His name.
And though no name be for salvation known,
But that of his Eternal Son alone;
Who knows how far transcending goodness
can
Extend the merits of that Son to man?
Who knows what reasons may His mercy lead;
Or ignorance invincible may plead?
Not only charity bids hope the best,
But more the great apostle has express’d:
That if the Gentiles, whom no law inspired,
200
By nature did what was by law required;
They, who the written rule had never known,
Were to themselves both rule and law alone:
To nature’s plain indictment they
shall plead;
And by their conscience be condemn’d
or freed.
Most righteous doom! because a rule reveal’d
Is none to those from whom it was conceal’d.
Then those who follow’d reason’s
dictates right,
Lived up, and lifted high their natural
Thus far my charity this path has
tried,
(A much unskilful, but well meaning guide:)
Yet what they are, even these crude thoughts
were bred
By reading that which better thou hast
read,
Thy matchless author’s work:
which thou, my friend,
By well translating better dost commend;
Those youthful hours which, of thy equals
most 230
In toys have squander’d, or in vice
have lost,
Those hours hast thou to nobler use employ’d;
And the severe delights of truth enjoy’d.
Witness this weighty book, in which appears
The crabbed toil of many thoughtful years,
Spent by thy author, in the sifting care
Of Rabbins’ old sophisticated ware
From gold divine; which he who well can
sort
May afterwards make algebra a sport:
A treasure, which if country curates buy,
240
They Junius and Tremellius[89] may defy;
Save pains in various readings, and translations;
And without Hebrew make most learn’d
quotations.
A work so full with various learning fraught,
So nicely ponder’d, yet so strongly
wrought,
As nature’s height and art’s
last hand required:
As much as man could compass, uninspired.
Where we may see what errors have been
made
Both in the copiers’ and translators’
trade;
How Jewish, Popish interests have prevail’d,
250
And where infallibility has fail’d.
For some, who have his secret meaning
guess’d,
Have found our author not too much a priest:
For fashion-sake he seems to have recourse
To Pope, and Councils, and Tradition’s
force:
But he that old traditions could subdue,
Could not but find the weakness of the
new:
If Scripture, though derived from heavenly
birth,
Has been but carelessly preserved on earth;
If God’s own people, who of God
before 260
Knew what we know, and had been promised
more,
In fuller terms, of Heaven’s assisting
care,
And who did neither time nor study spare,
To keep this Book untainted, unperplex’d,
Let in gross errors to corrupt the text,
Omitted paragraphs, embroil’d the
O but, says one, tradition set aside,
Where can we hope for an unerring guide?
For since the original Scripture has been
lost,
All copies disagreeing, maim’d the
most,
Or Christian faith can have no certain
ground, 280
Or truth in Church Tradition must be found.
Such an omniscient Church we wish
indeed:
’Twere worth both Testaments, cast
in the Creed:
But if this mother be a guide so sure,
As can all doubts resolve, all truth secure,
Then her infallibility, as well
Where copies are corrupt or lame, can
tell;
Restore lost canon with as little pains,
As truly explicate what still remains:
Which yet no Council dare pretend to do;
290
Unless, like Esdras, they could write
it new:
Strange confidence still to interpret
true,
Yet not be sure that all they have explain’d
Is in the blest original contain’d!
More safe, and much more modest ’tis
to say,
God would not leave mankind without a
way:
And that the Scriptures, though not every
where
Free from corruption, or entire, or clear,
Are uncorrupt, sufficient, clear, entire,
In all things which our needful faith
require. 300
If others in the same glass better see,
’Tis for themselves they look, but
not for me:
For my salvation must its doom receive,
Not from what others, but what I believe.
Must all tradition then be set aside?
This to affirm were ignorance or pride.
Are there not many points, some needful
sure
To saving faith, that Scripture leaves
obscure?
Which every sect will wrest a several
way,
For what one sect interprets, all sects
may. 310
We hold, and say we prove from Scripture
plain,
That Christ is God; the bold Socinian
From the same Scripture urges he’s
but man.
Now, what appeal can end the important
suit?
Both parts talk loudly, but the rule is
mute.
Shall I speak plain, and in a nation
free
Assume an honest layman’s liberty?
I think, according to my little skill,
To my own Mother Church submitting still,
That many have been saved, and many may,
320
Who never heard this question brought
in play.
Th’ unletter’d Christian,
who believes in gross,
Plods on to heaven, and ne’er is
The partial Papists
would infer from hence,
Their Church, in last resort, should judge
the sense.
But first they would assume, with wondrous
art,
Themselves to be the whole, who are but
part,
Of that vast frame the Church; yet grant
they were 360
The handers down, can they from thence
infer
A right to interpret? or would they alone
Who brought the present, claim it for
their own?
The Book’s a common largess to mankind;
Not more for them than every man design’d:
The welcome news is in the letter found;
The carrier’s not commissioned to
expound;
It speaks itself, and what it does contain
In all things needful to be known is plain.
In times o’ergrown
with rust and ignorance, 370
A gainful trade their clergy did advance:
When want of learning kept the laymen
low,
And none but priests were authorised to
know:
When what small knowledge was, in them
did dwell;
And he a god, who could but read and spell:
Then Mother Church did mightily prevail;
She parcell’d out the Bible by retail:
But still expounded what she sold or gave;
To keep it in her power to damn and save.
Scripture was scarce, and as the market
’Tis true, my friend, (and
far be flattery hence),
This good had full as bad a consequence:
The Book thus put in every vulgar hand,
400
Which each presumed he best could understand,
The common rule was made the common prey;
And at the mercy of the rabble lay.
The tender page with horny fists was gall’d;
And he was gifted most that loudest bawl’d.
The spirit gave the doctoral degree:
And every member of a company
Was of his trade, and of the Bible free.
Plain truths enough for needful use they
found;
But men would still be itching to expound:
410
Each was ambitious of the obscurest place,
No measure ta’en from knowledge,
all from grace.
Study and pains were now no more their
care;
Texts were explain’d by fasting
and by prayer:
This was the fruit the private spirit
brought;
Occasion’d by great zeal and little
thought.
While crowds unlearn’d, with rude
devotion warm,
About the sacred viands buzz and swarm.
The fly-blown text creates a crawling
brood,
And turns to maggots what was meant for
food. 420
A thousand daily sects rise up and die;
A thousand more the perish’d race
supply;
So all we make of Heaven’s discover’d
will,
Is, not to have it, or to use it ill.
The danger’s much the same; on several
shelves
If others wreck us, or we wreck ourselves.
What then remains, but,
waiving each extreme,
The tides of ignorance and pride to stem?
Neither so rich a treasure to forego;
Nor proudly seek beyond our power to know:
430
Faith is not built on disquisitions vain;
The things we must believe are few and
plain:
But since men will believe more than they
need,
And every man will make himself a creed;
In doubtful questions ’tis the safest
way
To learn what unsuspected ancients say:
For ’tis not likely we should higher
Thus have I made my
own opinions clear;
Yet neither praise expect, nor censure
fear:
And this unpolish’d, rugged verse
I chose,
As fittest for discourse, and nearest
prose:
For while from sacred truth I do not swerve,
Tom Sternhold’s or Tom Shadwell’s
rhymes will serve.
* * * * *
[Footnote 85: ‘Not to name Mariana, Bellarmine,’ &c.: all Jesuits and controversial writers in the Roman Catholic Church.]
[Footnote 86: Hacket was a man of learning; he had much of the Scriptures by heart, and made himself remarkable by preaching in an enthusiastic strain. In 1591, he made a great parade of sanctity, pretended to divine inspiration, and visions from God.]
[Footnote 87: The son of the celebrated John Hampden. He was in the Ryehouse Plot, and fined L15,000, which was remitted at the Revolution.]
[Footnote 88: ‘Bishop:’ Athanasius.]
[Footnote 89: ‘Junius and Tremellius:’ Francis Junius and Emanuel Tremellius, two Calvinist ministers, who, in the sixteenth century, joined in translating the Bible from Hebrew into Latin.]
* * * * *
A FUNERAL PINDARIC POEM, SACRED TO THE HAPPY MEMORY OF KING CHARLES II.
I.
Thus long my grief has kept me dumb:
Sure there’s a lethargy
in mighty woe,
Tears stand congeal’d,
and cannot flow;
And the sad soul retires into her inmost
room:
Tears, for a stroke foreseen, afford relief;
But, unprovided for a sudden
blow,
Like Niobe we marble grow;
And petrify
with grief.
Our British heaven was all serene,
No threatening cloud was nigh,
Not the least wrinkle to deform
the sky;
We lived as unconcern’d
and happily
As the first age in Nature’s golden
scene;
Supine amidst our flowing
store,
We slept securely, and we dreamt of more:
When suddenly the thunder-clap
was heard,
It took us unprepared and
out of guard,
Already lost before we fear’d.
II.
His pious brother, sure the best
Who ever bore that name!
Was newly risen from his rest,
And, with a fervent flame,
His usual morning vows had just address’d
For his dear sovereign’s
health;
And hoped
to have them heard,
In long
increase of years,
In honour, fame, and wealth:
Guiltless of greatness thus
he always pray’d,
Nor knew nor wish’d
those vows he made,
On his own head should be
repaid.
Soon as the ill-omen’d rumour reach’d
his ear,
(Ill news is wing’d
with fate, and flies apace,)
Who can
describe the amazement of his face!
Horror in all his pomp was
there,
Mute and magnificent without
a tear:
And then the hero first was
seen to fear.
Half unarray’d he ran
to his relief,
So hasty and so artless was
his grief:
Approaching greatness met
him with her charms
Of power
and future state;
But look’d
so ghastly in a brother’s fate,
He
shook her from his arms.
Arrived within the mournful
room, he saw
A wild distraction,
void of awe,
And arbitrary grief unbounded
by a law.
God’s
image, God’s anointed lay
Without
motion, pulse, or breath,
A senseless
lump of sacred clay,
An
image now of death.
Amidst his sad attendants’
groans and cries,
The lines
of that adored, forgiving face,
Distorted
from their native grace;
An iron slumber sat on his
majestic eyes.
The pious duke—Forbear,
audacious Muse!
No terms thy feeble art can
use
Are able to adorn so vast
a woe:
The grief of all the rest
like subject-grief did show,
His like
a sovereign did transcend;
No wife, no brother, such
a grief could know,
Nor any
name but friend.
III.
O wondrous changes of a fatal scene,
Still varying to the last!
Heaven, though its hard decree
was past,
Seem’d pointing to a gracious turn
again:
And death’s uplifted
arm arrested in its haste.
IV.
The joyful short-lived news
soon spread around,
Took the same train, the same impetuous
bound:
The drooping town in smiles again was
dress’d,
Gladness in every face express’d,
Their eyes before their tongues confess’d.
Men met each other with erected look,
The steps were higher that they took;
Friends to congratulate their friends
made haste;
And long inveterate foes saluted as they
pass’d:
Above the rest heroic James appear’d—
Exalted more, because he more had fear’d:
His manly heart, whose noble pride
Was still above
Dissembled hate or varnish’d love,
Its more than common transport could not
hide;
But like an eagre[90] rode in triumph
o’er the tide.
Thus, in alternate course,
The tyrant passions, hope and fear,
Did in extremes appear,
And flash’d upon the soul with equal
force.
Thus, at half ebb, a rolling sea
Returns and wins upon the shore;
The watery herd, affrighted at the roar,
Rest on their fins awhile, and stay,
Then backward take their wondering way:
The prophet wonders more than they,
At prodigies but rarely seen before,
And cries, A king must fall, or kingdoms
V.
The sons of art all
medicines tried,
And every noble remedy applied;
With emulation each essay’d
His utmost skill, nay more, they pray’d:
Never was losing game with better conduct
play’d.
Death never won a stake with greater toil,
Nor e’er was fate so near a foil:
But like a fortress on a rock,
The impregnable disease their vain attempts
did mock;
They mined it near, they batter’d
from afar
With, all the cannon of the medicinal
war;
No gentle means could be essay’d,
’Twas beyond parley when the siege
was laid:
The extremest ways they first ordain,
Prescribing such intolerable pain,
As none but Caesar could sustain:
Undaunted Csesar underwent
The malice of their art, nor bent
Beneath whate’er their pious rigour
could invent:
In five such days he suffer’d more
Than any suffer’d in his reign before;
More, infinitely more, than he,
Against the worst of rebels, could decree,
A traitor, or twice pardon’d enemy.
Now art was tried without success,
No racks could make the stubborn malady
confess.
The vain insurancers of life,
And they who most perform’d and
promised less,
Even Short and Hobbes[91] forsook the
unequal strife.
Death and despair were in their looks,
No longer they consult their memories
or books;
Like helpless friends, who view from shore
The labouring ship, and hear the tempest
roar;
So stood they with their arms across;
Not to assist, but to deplore
The inevitable loss.
VI.
Death was denounced; that
frightful sound
Which even the best can hardly bear,
He took the summons void of fear;
And unconcern’dly cast his eyes
around;
As if to find and dare the grisly challenger.
What death could do he lately tried,
When in four days he more than died.
The same assurance all his words did grace;
The same majestic mildness held its place:
Nor lost the monarch in his dying face.
Intrepid, pious, merciful, and brave,
He look’d as when he conquer’d
and forgave.
VII.
As if some angel had
been sent
To lengthen out his government,
And to foretell as many years again,
As he had number’d in his happy
reign,
So cheerfully he took the doom
Of his departing breath;
Nor shrunk nor stepp’d aside for
death;
But with unalter’d pace kept on,
Providing for events to come,
When he resign’d the throne.
Still he maintain’d his kingly state;
And grew familiar with his fate.
Kind, good, and gracious to the last,
On all he loved before his dying beams
he cast:
Oh, truly good, and truly great,
For glorious as he rose, benignly so he
set!
All that on earth he held most dear,
He recommended to his care,
To whom both Heaven,
The right had given
And his own love bequeathed supreme command:
He took and press’d that ever loyal
hand
Which could in peace secure his reign,
Which could in wars his power maintain,
That hand on which no plighted vows were
ever vain.
Well for so great a trust he chose
A prince who never disobey’d:
Not when the most severe commands were
laid;
Nor want, nor exile with his duty weigh’d:
A prince on whom, if Heaven its eyes could
close,
The welfare of the world it safely might
repose.
VIII.
That king[92] who lived to God’s
own heart,
Yet less serenely died than he:
Charles left behind no harsh decree
For schoolmen with laborious art
To salve from cruelty:
Those for whom love could no excuses frame,
He graciously forgot to name.
Thus far my Muse, though rudely, has design’d
Some faint resemblance of his godlike
mind:
But neither pen nor pencil can express
The parting brothers’ tenderness:
Though that’s a term too mean and
low;
The blest above a kinder word may know.
But what they did, and what they said,
The monarch who triumphant went,
The militant who staid,
Like painters, when their heightening
arts are spent,
I cast into a shade.
That all-forgiving king,
The type of Him above,
That inexhausted spring
Of clemency and love;
Himself to his next self accused,
And asked that pardon—which
he ne’er refused:
For faults not his, for guilt and crimes
Of godless men, and of rebellious times:
For an hard exile, kindly meant,
When his ungrateful country sent
Their best Camillus into banishment:
And forced their sovereign’s act—they
could not his consent.
Oh, how much rather had that injured chief
Repeated all his sufferings past,
Than hear a pardon begg’d at last,
Which, given, could give the dying no
relief!
He bent, he sunk beneath his grief:
His dauntless heart would fain have held
From weeping, but his eyes rebell’d.
Perhaps the godlike hero in his breast
Disdain’d, or was ashamed to show,
So weak, so womanish a woe,
Which yet the brother and the friend so
plenteously confess’d.
IX.
Amidst that silent shower,
the royal mind
An easy passage found,
And left its sacred earth behind:
Nor murmuring groan express’d, nor
labouring sound,
Nor any least tumultuous breath;
Calm was his life, and quiet was his death.
Soft as those gentle whispers were,
In which the Almighty did appear;
By the still voice the prophet[93] knew
him there.
That peace which made thy prosperous reign
to shine,
That peace thou leavest to thy imperial
line,
That peace, oh, happy shade, be ever thine!
X.
For all those joys thy restoration
brought,
For all the miracles it wrought,
For all the healing balm thy mercy pour’d
Into the nation’s bleeding wound,
And care that after kept it sound,
For numerous blessings yearly shower’d,
And property with plenty crown’d;
For freedom, still maintain’d alive—
Freedom! which in no other land will thrive—
Freedom! an English subject’s sole
prerogative,
Without whose charms even peace would
be
But a dull, quiet slavery:
For these and more, accept our pious praise;
’Tis all the subsidy
The present age can raise,
The rest is charged on late posterity:
Posterity is charged the more,
Because the large abounding store
To them and to their heirs, is still entail’d
by thee.
Succession of a long descent
Which chastely in the channels ran,
And from our demi-gods began,
Equal almost to time in its extent,
Through hazards numberless and great,
Thou hast derived this mighty blessing
down,
And fix’d the fairest gem that decks
the imperial crown
Not faction, when it shook thy regal seat,
Not senates, insolently loud,
Those echoes of a thoughtless crowd,
Not foreign or domestic treachery,
Gould warp thy soul to their unjust decree.
So much thy foes thy manly mind mistook,
Who judged it by the mildness of thy look:
Like a well-temper’d sword it bent
at will;
But kept the native toughness of the steel.
XI.
Be true, O Clio, to
thy hero’s name!
But draw him strictly so,
That all who view the piece may know.
He needs no trappings of fictitious fame:
The load’s too weighty: thou
mayest choose
Some parts of praise, and some refuse:
Write, that his annals may be thought
more lavish than the Muse.
In scanty truth thou hast confined
The virtues of a royal mind,
Forgiving, bounteous, humble, just, and
kind:
His conversation, wit, and parts,
His knowledge in the noblest useful arts,
Were such, dead authors could not give;
But habitudes of those who live;
Who, lighting him, did greater lights
receive:
He drain’d from all, and all they
knew;
His apprehension quick, his judgment true:
That the most learn’d, with shame,
confess
His knowledge more, his reading only less.
XII.
Amidst the peaceful
triumphs of his reign,
What wonder if the kindly beams he shed
Revived the drooping Arts again;
If Science raised her head,
And soft Humanity, that from rebellion
fled!
Our isle, indeed, too fruitful was before;
But all uncultivated lay
Out of the solar walk and Heaven’s
highway;
With rank Geneva weeds run o’er,
And cockle, at the best, amidst the corn
it bore.
The royal husbandman appear’d,
And plough’d, and sow’d, and
till’d;
The thorns he rooted out, the rubbish
clear’d,
And bless’d the obedient field:
When straight a double harvest rose;
Such as the swarthy Indian mows;
Or happier climates near the line,
Or Paradise manured and dress’d
by hands divine.
XIII.
As when the new-born
Phoenix takes his way,
His rich paternal regions to survey,
Of airy choristers a numerous train
Attends his wondrous progress o’er
the plain;
So, rising from his father’s urn,
So glorious did our Charles return;
The officious Muses came along—
A gay harmonious quire, like angels ever
young:
The Muse that mourns him now, his happy
triumph sung,
Even they could thrive in his auspicious
reign;
And such a plenteous crop they bore
Of purest and well-winnow’d grain,
As Britain never knew before.
Though little was their hire, and light
their gain,
Yet somewhat to their share he threw;
Fed from his hand, they sung and flew,
Like birds of Paradise that lived on morning
dew.
Oh, never let their lays his name forget!
The pension of a prince’s praise
is great.
Live, then, thou great encourager of arts!
Live ever in our thankful hearts;
Live blest above, almost invoked below;
Live and receive this pious vow,
Our patron once, our guardian angel now!
Thou Fabius of a sinking state,
Who didst by wise delays divert our fate,
When faction like a tempest rose,
In death’s most hideous form,
Then art to rage thou didst oppose,
To weather-out the storm:
Not quitting thy supreme command,
Thou held’st the rudder with a steady
hand,
Till safely on the shore the bark did
land:
The bark that all our blessings brought,
Charged with thyself and James, a doubly
royal fraught.
XIV.
Oh, frail estate of
human things,
And slippery hopes below!
Now to our cost your emptiness we know,
For ’tis a lesson dearly bought,
Assurance here is never to be sought.
The best, and best beloved of kings,
And best deserving to be so,
When scarce he had escaped the fatal blow
Of faction and conspiracy,
Death did his promised hopes destroy:
He toil’d, he gain’d, but
lived not to enjoy.
What mists of Providence are these,
Through which we cannot see!
XV.
A warlike prince ascends
the regal state,
A prince long exercised by fate:
Long may he keep, though he obtains it
late!
Heroes in Heaven’s peculiar mould
are cast,
They and their poets are not form’d
in haste;
Man was the first in God’s design,
and man was made the last.
False heroes, made by flattery so,
Heaven can strike out, like sparkles,
at a blow;
But ere a prince is to perfection brought,
He costs Omnipotence a second thought.
With toil and sweat,
With hardening cold, and forming heat,
The Cyclops did their strokes repeat,
Before the impenetrable shield was wrought.
It looks as if the Maker would not own
The noble work for His,
Before ’twas tried and found a masterpiece.
XVI.
View, then, a monarch ripen’d for
a throne!
Alcides thus his race began,
O’er infancy he swiftly ran;
The future god at first was more than
man:
Dangers and toils, and Juno’s hate,
Even o’er his cradle lay in wait;
And there he grappled first with fate:
In his young hands the hissing snakes
he press’d,
So early was the deity confess’d.
Thus by degrees he rose to Jove’s
imperial seat;
Thus difficulties prove a soul legitimately
great.
Like his, our hero’s infancy was
tried;
Betimes the Furies did their snakes provide;
And to his infant arms oppose
His father’s rebels, and his brother’s
foes;
The more oppress’d, the higher still
he rose:
Those were the preludes of his fate,
That form’d his manhood, to subdue
The Hydra of the many-headed hissing crew.
XVII.
As after Numa’s
peaceful reign,
The martial Ancus did the sceptre wield,
Furbish’d the rusty sword again,
Resumed the long-forgotten shield,
And led the Latins to the dusty field;
So James the drowsy genius wakes
Of Britain, long entranced in charms,
Restive and slumbering on its arms:
’Tis roused, and with a new-strung
nerve, the spear already shakes,
No neighing of the warrior steeds,
XVIII.
For once, O Heaven! unfold thy adamantine
book;
And let his wondering senate see,
If not thy firm immutable decree,
At least the second page of strong contingency;
Such as consists with wills originally
free:
Let them with glad amazement
look
On what their happiness may
be:
Let them not still be obstinately blind,
Still to divert the good thou hast design’d,
Or with malignant penury,
To starve the royal virtues of his mind.
Faith is a Christian’s and a subject’s
test,
O give them to believe, and they are surely
blest!
They do; and with a distant
view I see
The amended vows of English
loyalty.
And all beyond that object, there appears
The long retinue of a prosperous reign,
A series of successful years,
In orderly array, a martial, manly train.
Behold even the remoter shores,
A conquering navy proudly spread;
The British cannon formidably roars,
While starting from his oozy bed,
The asserted Ocean rears his reverend
head;
To view and recognise his ancient lord
again:
And with a willing hand, restores
The fasces of the main.
* * * * *
[Footnote 90: ‘An eagre:’
a tide swelling above another tide—observed
on the River Trent.]
[Footnote 91: ‘Short and
Hobbes:’ two physicians who attended on
the
king.]
[Footnote 92: ‘King:’ King David.]
[Footnote 93: ‘The prophet:’ Elijah.]
* * * * *
VENI CREATOR SPIRITUS, PARAPHRASED.
CREATOR SPIRIT, by whose aid
The world’s foundations first were laid,
Come, visit every pious mind;
Come, pour thy joys on human kind;
From sin and sorrow set us free,
And make thy temples worthy thee.
O source of uncreated light,
The Father’s promised Paraclete!
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire;
Come, and thy sacred unction bring
To sanctify us, while we sing!
Plenteous of grace, descend
from high,
Rich in thy sevenfold energy!
Thou strength of his Almighty hand,
Whose power does heaven and earth command:
Proceeding Spirit, our defence,
Who dost the gifts of tongues dispense,
And crown’st thy gift with eloquence!
Refine and purge our earthly
parts;
But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts!
Our frailties help, our vice control,
Submit the senses to the soul;
And when rebellious they are grown,
Then lay thy hand, and hold them down!
Chase from our minds the infernal
foe,
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;
And, lest our feet should step astray,
Protect and guide us in the way.
Make us eternal truths receive,
And practise all that we believe:
Give us thyself, that we may see
The Father, and the Son, by thee.
Immortal honour, endless fame,
Attend the Almighty Father’s name
The Saviour Son be glorified,
Who for lost man’s redemption died:
And equal adoration be,
Eternal Paraclete, to thee!
* * * * *
A POEM, IN THREE PARTS.
—Antiquam exquirite matrem.
Et vera incessa patuit Dea.
VIRG.
* * * * *
PREFACE.
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 though 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 beforehand, which relates to the merits of the cause. No general characters of parties (call them either Sects or Churches) can be so fully and exactly drawn, as to comprehend all the several members of them; 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 reasonably 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
It is not for any private man to censure the proceedings of a foreign prince; but, without suspicion of flattery, I may praise our own, who has taken contrary measures, and those more suitable to the spirit of Christianity. Some of the Dissenters, in their addresses to his Majesty, have said, “that he has 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 than 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 them to take another step, and see whither that would lead them.
Of the receiving this toleration thankfully I shall say no more, than that they ought, and I doubt not they will consider from what hand they received it. It is not from a Cyrus, a heathen prince, and a foreigner, but from a Christian king, their native sovereign; who expects a return in specie from them, that the kindness, which he has graciously shown them, may be retaliated on those of his own 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.
It is evident that some part of it was only occasional, and 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 judgment 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 supervisors of this pamphlet, and will reply, when I think he can affront me; for I am of Socrates’s opinion, that all creatures cannot. In the mean time let him consider whether he 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; though with the omission of the seventeenth, the twenty-fourth, the twenty-fifth, 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 cannot 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 ought to be, more free and familiar than the two former.
There are in it two episodes, or fables, which are interwoven with the main design; so that they are properly parts of it, though they are also distinct stories of themselves. In both of these I have made use of the commonplaces 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 scandalized, because they are not of my invention, but as old, to my knowledge, as the times of Boccace and Chaucer on the one side, and as those of the Reformation on the other.
* * * * *
A milk-white Hind, immortal and unchanged,
Fed on the lawns, and in the forest ranged;
Without unspotted, innocent within,
She fear’d no danger, for she knew
no sin.
Yet had she oft been chased with horns
and hounds,
And Scythian shafts; and many winged wounds
Aim’d at her heart; was often forced
to fly,
And doom’d to death, though fated
not to die.
Not so her young; for their
unequal line
Was hero’s make, half human, half
divine. 10
Their earthly mould obnoxious was to fate,
The immortal part assumed immortal state.
Of these a slaughter’d 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 enjoy’d her
pains. 20
With grief and gladness mix’d, the
mother view’d
Her martyr’d offspring, and their
race renew’d;
Their corpse to perish, but their kind
to last,
So much the deathless plant the dying
fruit surpass’d.
Panting and pensive now she
ranged alone,
And wander’d in the kingdoms once
her own,
The common hunt, though from their rage
restrain’d
By sovereign power, her company disdain’d;
Grinn’d as they pass’d, and
with a glaring eye
Gave gloomy signs of secret enmity.
30
’Tis true, she bounded by, and tripp’d
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,
Unlick’d to form, in groans her
hate express’d.
Among the timorous kind the quaking Hare[94]
Profess’d neutrality, but would
not swear.
Next her the buffoon Ape[95], as Atheists
use,
Mimick’d all sects, and had his
own to choose: 40
Still when the Lion look’d, his
knees he bent,
And paid at church a courtier’s
compliment.
The bristled Baptist Boar, impure as he,
What weight of ancient witness
can prevail,
If private reason hold the public scale?
But, gracious God, how well dost thou
provide
For erring judgments an unerring guide!
Thy throne is darkness in the abyss of
light,
A blaze of glory that forbids the sight.
O teach me to believe thee thus conceal’d,
And search no farther than thyself reveal’d;
But her alone for my director take,
70
Whom thou hast promised never to forsake!
My thoughtless youth was wing’d
with vain desires;
My manhood, long misled by wandering fires,
Follow’d 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
80
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;
90
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 the opposing
might
Of bolts and bars impervious to the light,
And stood before his train confess’d
in open sight.
For since thus wondrously he pass’d,
’tis plain, 100
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,
110
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 the Eternal Son.
God thus asserted, man is to believe
Beyond what sense and reason can conceive,
And for mysterious things of faith rely
120
On the proponent, Heaven’s authority.
If, then, our faith we for our guide admit,
Vain is the farther search of human wit;
As when the building gains a surer stay,
We take the unuseful scaffolding away.
Reason by sense no more can understand;
The game is play’d into another
hand.
Why choose we, then, like bilanders,[97]
to creep
Along the coast, and land in view to keep,
When safely we may launch into the deep?
130
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?
140
To take up half on trust, and half to
try,
Name it not faith, but bungling bigotry.
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 insurer of thy bliss;
The bank above must fail before the venture
miss.
But heaven and heaven-born
faith are far from thee, 150
Thou first apostate[98] to divinity.
Unkennell’d range in thy Polonian
plains;
A fiercer foe the insatiate Wolf[99] remains.
Too boastful Britain, please thyself no
more,
That beasts of prey are banish’d
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 160
Appear with belly gaunt and famish’d
face:
O happy pair, how well have
you increased!
What ills in Church and State have you
redress’d!
With teeth untried, and rudiments of claws,
Your first essay was on your native laws:
200
Those having torn with ease, and trampled
down,
Your fangs you fasten’d on the mitred
crown,
And freed from God and monarchy your town.
What though your native kennel[101] still
be small,
Bounded betwixt a puddle[102] and a wall;
Yet your victorious colonies are sent
Where the north ocean girds the continent.
Quicken’d with fire below, your
monsters breed
In fenny Holland, and in fruitful Tweed:
And, like the first, the last affects
to be 210
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 those 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
From Celtic woods is chased
the wolfish crew;
But ah! some pity even to brutes is due:
Their native walks methinks they might
enjoy,
Curb’d of their native malice to
destroy.
Of all the tyrannies on human 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 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.
250
One portion of informing fire
was given
To brutes, the inferior family of heaven:
The Smith Divine, as with a careless beat,
253
Struck out the mute creation at a heat:
But when arrived at last to human race,
The Godhead took a deep-considering space;
And to distinguish man from all the rest,
Unlock’d the sacred treasures of
his breast;
And mercy mix’d with reason did
impart,
One to his head, the other to his heart:
260
Reason to rule, and mercy to forgive;
The first is law, the last prerogative.
And like his mind his outward form appear’d,
When, issuing naked, to the wondering
herd,
He charm’d their eyes; and, for
they loved, they fear’d:
Not arm’d with horns of arbitrary
might,
Or claws to seize their furry spoils in
fight,
Or with increase of feet to o’ertake
them in their flight:
Of easy shape, and pliant every 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:
Till knowledge misapplied, misunderstood,
O 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 the invading
foe.
Where birth has placed them, let them
safely share
The common benefit of vital air.
Themselves unharmful, let them live unharm’d;
Their jaws disabled, and their claws disarm’d:
300
Here, only in nocturnal howlings 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 repress’d, though pinch’d
with famine sore,
They stand aloof, and tremble at his roar:
Much is their hunger, but their fear is
more.
These are the chief: to number o’er
the rest,
And stand, like Adam, naming every 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.
But if they think at all, ’tis sure
no higher
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:
320
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[104] sure the
noblest, next the Hind,
And fairest creature of the spotted kind;
Oh, could her inborn 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 virtues lie so mix’d,
Though our lean faith these
rigid laws has given,
The full-fed Mussulman goes fat to heaven;
For his Arabian prophet with delights
Of sense allured his eastern proselytes.
The jolly Luther, reading him, began
380
To 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 ere half way gone,
For ’twas uneasy travelling 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
The ethereal pastures with so fair a flock,
Burnish’d, and battening on their
food, to show 390
Her wild belief on every wave
is toss’d; 430
But sure no Church can better morals boast:
True to her king her principles are found;
O that her practice were but half so sound!
Steadfast in various turns of state she
stood,
And seal’d her vow’d affection
with her blood:
Nor will I meanly tax her constancy,
That interest or obligement made the tie
Bound to the fate of murder’d monarchy.
Before the sounding axe 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 fortune’s favours are
undone;
Resolved into a baser form they run,
And bore the wind, but cannot bear the
sun.
Let this be nature’s frailty, or
her fate,
Or Isgrim’s[106] 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 authority;
For how can she constrain them to obey,
Who has herself cast 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’s
as plain 460
For her own rebels to reform again.
As long as words a different sense will
bear,
And each may be his own interpreter,
Our airy 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
betray’d;
No help from Fathers or Tradition’s
train: 470
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 the offender
free,
It bars her claim to Church authority.
480
How can she censure, or what crime pretend,
But Scripture may be construed to defend?
Even those, whom for rebellion she transmits
483
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 human
laws. 490
How answering to its end a Church is made,
Whose power is but to counsel and persuade?
Oh, solid rock, on which secure she stands!
Eternal house, not built with mortal hands!
Oh, sure defence against the infernal
gate,—
A patent during pleasure of the state!
Thus is the Panther neither
loved nor fear’d,
A mere mock queen of a divided herd;
Whom soon by lawful power she might control,
Herself 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 borrow’d from a better
star;
Big with the beams which from her mother
flow,
And reigning o’er the rising tides
below:
Now, mixing with a savage crowd, she goes,
And meanly flatters her inveterate foes;
Ruled while she rules, and losing every
hour
Her wretched remnants of precarious power.
510
One evening, while the cooler
shade she sought,
Revolving many a melancholy thought,
Alone she walk’d, and look’d
around in vain,
With rueful visage, for her vanish’d
train:
None of her sylvan subjects made their
court;
Levees and couchees pass’d without
resort.
So hardly can usurpers manage well
517
Those whom they first instructed to rebel.
More liberty begets desire of more;
The hunger still increases with the store.
Without respect they brush’d along
the wood,
Each in his clan, and, fill’d with
loathsome food,
Ask’d no permission to the neighbouring
flood.
The Panther, full of inward discontent,
Since they would go, before them wisely
went;
Supplying want of power by drinking first,
As if she gave them 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, 530
The sovereign Lion[107] 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;
Survey’d her part by part, and sought
to find
The ten-horn’d monster in the harmless
Hind,
Such as the Wolf and Panther had design’d.
They thought at first they dream’d;
for ’twas offence
With them to question certitude of sense,
540
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 disdain’d,
Scarce, and but scarce, from in-born rage
restrain’d,
Now frisk’d about her, and old kindred
feign’d.
Whether for love or interest, every sect
Of all the savage nation show’d
respect.
The viceroy Panther could not awe the
herd; 549
The more the company, the less they fear’d.
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 lair,
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 good-will the motion was embraced,
560
To chat a while on their adventures pass’d:
Nor had the grateful Hind so soon forgot
Her friend and fellow-sufferer in the
Plot.
Yet, wondering how of late she grew estranged,
Her forehead cloudy, and her countenance
changed,
She thought this hour the occasion would
* * * * *
[Footnote 94: ‘Hare:’ the Quakers.]
[Footnote 95: ‘Ape:’ latitudinarians in general.]
[Footnote 96: ‘Reynard:’ the Arians.]
[Footnote 97: ‘Bilanders:’ an old word for a coasting boat.]
[Footnote 98: ‘First Apostate:’ Arius.]
[Footnote 99: ‘Wolf:’ Presbytery.]
[Footnote 100: ‘Many a year:’
referring to the price put on the head of
wolves in Wales.]
[Footnote 101: ‘Kennel:’ Geneva.]
[Footnote 102: ‘Puddle:’ its lake.]
[Footnote 103: ‘Mighty hunter of his race:’ Nimrod.]
[Footnote 104: ‘Panther:’ Church of England.]
[Footnote 105: ‘Lion:’ Henry VIII.]
[Footnote 106:
‘Isgrim:’ the wolf.]
[Footnote 107: ‘Lion:’ James II.]
Dame, said the Panther, times are mended
well,
Since late among the Philistines[108]
you fell.
The toils were pitch’d, a spacious
tract of ground
With expert huntsmen was encompass’d
round;
The enclosure narrow’d; the sagacious
power 5
Of hounds and death drew nearer every
hour.
’Tis true, the younger Lion[109]
’scaped the snare,
But all your priestly Calves[110] lay
struggling there,
As sacrifices on their altar laid;
While you, their careful mother, wisely
fled, 10
Not trusting destiny to save your head;
For, whate’er promises you have
applied
To your unfailing Church, the surer side
Is four fair legs in danger to provide.
And whate’er tales of Peter’s
chair you tell,
Yet, saving reverence of the miracle,
The better luck was yours to ’scape
so well.
As I remember, said the sober Hind,
Those toils were for your own dear self
design’d,
As well as me, and with the self-same
throw, 20
To catch the quarry and the vermin too.
(Forgive the slanderous tongues that call’d
you so.)
Howe’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[111] it seems at last has loosed
your tongue. 30
Tortures may force the tongue
untruths to tell,
And I ne’er own’d myself infallible,
Replied the Panther: grant such presence
were, 40
Yet in your sense I never own’d
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, 50
And yet retain your former figure still.
I freely grant you spoke to save your
life;
For then you lay beneath the butcher’s
knife.
Long time you fought, redoubled battery
bore,
But, after all, against yourself you swore;
Your former self: for every hour
your form
Is chopp’d 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 grinn’d
at this, and thus replied:
60
That men may err was never yet denied.
But, if that common principle be true,
The canon, dame, is levell’d 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, 70
The certain mansion were not yet assign’d;
The doubtful residence no proof can bring
Against the plain existence of the thing.
Because philosophers may disagree
If sight by emission or reception be,
Shall it be thence inferr’d, I do
not see?
But you require an answer positive,
Which yet, when I demand, you dare not
give;
For fallacies in universals live.
I then affirm that this unfailing guide
80
In Pope and General 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 Church’s after-acceptation join.
This last circumference appears too wide;
True, said the Panther, I shall
ne’er deny
My brethren may be saved as well as I:
Though Huguenots condemn our ordination,
Succession, ministerial vocation;
140
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 loop-hole for a friend;
Rejoin’d the matron: but the
rule you lay
Has led whole flocks, and leads them still
astray,
In weighty points, and full damnation’s
way.
For did not Arius first, Socinus now,
150
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 that the rebel would not
yield;
Squadrons of texts he marshall’d
in the field:
That was but civil war, an equal set,
160
Where piles with piles[112], 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 ask’d but what he heard his
father say,
Or how he was instructed in his youth,
And by tradition’s force upheld
the truth.
The Panther smiled at this; and
when, said she,
Were those first Councils disallow’d
by me?
Or where did I at sure Tradition strike,
170
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 join’d
with Holy Writ;
But thus your memory betrays your wit.
No, said the Panther, for in that
I view,
When your tradition’s forged, and
when ’tis true.
I set them by the rule, and, as they square,
Or deviate from, undoubted doctrine there,
This oral fiction, that old faith declare.
180
Hind: The Council steer’d,
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 disallow’d,
When not evinced by Scripture to be true,
190
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 time’s
expense, 200
Both grant the words, and quarrel for
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 Jacob’s
ladder rise, 220
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 learn’d this language from the
Blatant Beast, 230
Or rather did not speak, but were possess’d.
As for your answer, ’tis but barely
urged:
You must evince Tradition to be forged;
Produce plain proofs: unblemish’d
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,
240
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 cites them but sometimes for ornament.
But, madam Panther, you, though more sincere,
250
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 allow’d;
The way to please them was to make them
proud.
Thus, with full sails, they ran upon the
shelf:
Who could suspect a cozenage from himself?
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? 300
And if all saving doctrines are not there,
Or sacred penmen could not make them 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 preach’d his faith to
human 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.
310
This was the way our wise Redeemer chose
(Who sure could all things for the best
dispose),
To fence his fold from their encroaching
foes.
He could have writ himself, but well foresaw
The event would be like that of Moses’
law;
Some difference would arise, some doubts
Suppose, the fair apostate
said, I grant,
The faithful flock some living guide should
want, 390
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 renew’d, to victory aspired;
And, looking upward to her kindred sky,
As once our Saviour own’d 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.
400
Then thus the matron modestly renew’d:
Let all your prophets and their sects
be view’d,
And see to which of them 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-general of the
land: 410
But soon against your superstitious lawn
Some Presbyterian sabre would be drawn:
In your establish’d 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[113] will not do the
deed.
You lay that pointless clergy-weapon by,
420
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 judgment 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
430
Your brother prophets, who reform’d
One in herself, not rent by schism,[114]
but sound,
Entire, one solid shining diamond;
Not sparkles shatter’d into sects
like you:
One is the Church, and must be to be true:
One central principle of unity.
530
As undivided, so from errors free,
As one in faith, so one in sanctity.
Thus she, and none but she, the insulting
rage
Of heretics opposed from age to age:
Still when the giant-brood invades her
throne,
She stoops from heaven, and meets them
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: 540
You could like them, with like infernal
force,
Produce the plague, but not arrest the
course.
But when the boils and blotches, with
disgrace 543
And public scandal, sat upon the face,
Themselves attack’d, the Magi strove
Here let my sorrow give my
satire place,
To raise new blushes on my British race;
Our sailing-ships like common sewers we
use,
And through our distant colonies diffuse
The draught of dungeons, and the stench
of stews, 560
Whom, when their home-bred honesty is
lost,
We disembogue on some far Indian coast:
Thieves, panders, paillards,[115] sins
of every sort;
Those are the manufactures we export;
And these the missioners 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.
570
Industrious of the needle and the chart,
They run full sail to their Japonian mart;
Prevention fear, and, prodigal of fame,
Sell all of Christian,[116] 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:
577
Much less the fourth; in vain, alas! you
seek
The ambitious title of Apostolic:
God-like 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 borrow’d from
our store)
Was error fulminated o’er and o’er;
Old heresies condemn’d in ages past,
By care and time recover’d 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. 590
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 stirr’d,
Till schism or heresy call down Goliah’s
sword. 600
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 disturb’d the Church’s
peaceful reign;
And we can point each period of the time,
When they began, and who begot the crime;
Can calculate how long the eclipse endured,
Who interposed, what digits were obscured:
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 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 unconfinedly spread,
Under one chief of the spiritual state,
The members all combined, and all subordinate.
Show such a seamless coat, from schism
so free, 620
In no communion join’d 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 seven successive ages should be lost,
630
And preach damnation at their proper cost;
That all your erring ancestors should
die,
Drown’d in the abyss of deep idolatry:
If piety forbid such thoughts to rise,
Awake, and open your unwilling eyes:
God hath 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
every grace, 639
With open arms, a kind forgiving face,
Stands ready to prevent her long-lost
son’s 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-loved Benjamin.
That pious Joseph in the Church behold,
To feed your famine,[117] and refuse your
gold:
The Joseph you exiled, the Joseph whom
you sold.
Thus, while with heavenly
charity she spoke,
A streaming blaze the silent shadows broke;
650
Shot from the skies; a cheerful azure
light:
The birds obscene to forests wing’d
their flight,
And gaping graves received the wandering
guilty sprite.
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 angels made above.
I saw myself the lambent easy light
Gild the brown horror, and dispel the
night:
The messenger with speed the tidings bore;
660
News, which three labouring nations did
restore;
But Heaven’s own Nuntius was arrived
before.
By this, the Hind had reach’d
her lonely cell,
And vapours rose, and dews unwholesome
fell.
When she, by frequent observation wise,
As one who long on heaven had fix’d
her eyes,
Discern’d a change of weather in
the skies;
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 diet, and a short
repast,
(She said) were weak inducements to the
taste
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 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,
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 lie in wait,
And, without witness, wreak their hidden
hate. 690
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,
Return’d her all the thanks she
could afford,
And took her friendly hostess at her word:
Who, entering 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;
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, 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
amazed to see
Contempt of wealth, and wilful poverty:
And, though ill habits are not soon controll’d,
A while suspended her desire of gold.
But civilly drew in her sharpen’d
paws,
Not violating hospitable laws;
And pacified her tail, and lick’d
her frothy jaws. 720
The Hind did first her country
cates provide;
Then couch’d herself securely by
her side.
* * * * *
[Footnote 108: ‘Philistines:’ the Cromwellians, &c.]
[Footnote 109: ‘Younger lion:’ Charles II.]
[Footnote 110: ‘Priestly calves,’ &c.: this alludes to the Commons voting in 1641 that all deans, chapters, &c. should be abolished.]
[Footnote 111: ‘The Test:’ the Test Act, passed in 1672, enjoined the abjuration of the real presence in the sacrament.]
[Footnote 112: ‘Piles, &c.:’ the Roman arms—pili and eagles.]
[Footnote 113: ‘Curtana:’ the name of King Edward the Confessor’s sword, without a point, an emblem of mercy, and carried before the king at the coronation.]
[Footnote 114: ‘Not rent by schism:’ marks of the Catholic Church from the Nicene creed.]
[Footnote 115: ‘Paillards:’ a French word for licentious persons.]
[Footnote 116: ‘Sell all of Christian,’ &c.: it is said that the Dutch, in order to secure to themselves the whole trade of Japan, trample on the cross, and deny the name of Jesus.]
[Footnote 117: ‘Feed your famine:’ the renunciation of the Benedictines to the abbey lands.]
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 unknown,
As if we were not stock’d with monsters
of our own.
Let AEsop answer, who has set to view
Such kinds as Greece and Phrygia never
knew;
And mother Hubbard,[118] in her homely
dress,
Has sharply blamed a British Lioness;
That queen, whose feast the factious rabble
keep, 10
Exposed obscenely naked and asleep.
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, 20
Because the Lion’s peace[119] was
now proclaim’d:
The wary savage would not give offence,
To forfeit the protection of her prince;
But watch’d the time her vengeance
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 exiled heir,[120]
Her strength to endure, her courage to
defy;
Her choice of honourable infamy.
On these, prolixly thankful, she enlarged;
Then with acknowledgment herself she charged;
For friendship, of itself an holy tie,
Is made more sacred by adversity.
Now should they part, malicious tongues
would 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-lived
union ends;
The road divides, and there divide the
friends.
The Panther nodded when her
speech was done,
And thank’d her coldly in a hollow
tone:
But said her gratitude had gone too far
For common offices of Christian care.
If to the lawful heir she had been true,
She paid but Caesar what was Caesar’s
due. 60
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 scorn’d 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,
70
And canker’d 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 tormentors of the will.
’Twas easy now to guess from whence
arose
Her new-made union with her ancient foes,
Her forced 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 to 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 90
Rewarded worth and rising loyalty!
Your warrior offspring that upheld the
crown.
The scarlet honour of your peaceful gown,
Are the most pleasing objects I can find,
Charms to my sight, and cordials to my
mind:
When virtue spooms 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 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 beggar’s
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,
For alms are but the vehicles of prayer.
My daily bread is literally implored;
I have no barns nor granaries to hoard.
If Caesar 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.
Some juster motive sure your mind withdraws,
And makes you break our friendship’s
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: 120
Some German quarrel, or, as times go now,
Some French, where force is uppermost,
will do.
When at the fountain’s head, as
merit ought
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 possess’d of all your kind!
But then, perhaps, the wicked world would
think,
The Wolf design’d to eat as well
as drink. 130
This last allusion gall’d
the Panther more,
Because indeed it rubb’d upon the
sore.
Yet seem’d she not to wince, though
shrewdly pain’d:
But thus her passive character maintain’d.
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.
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
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 nibble at your grandame
Gold;
Inquire into your years, and laugh to
find 150
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,
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 boys would piss upon your grave.
Your sons of latitude that
court your grace, 160
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 them lawfully begot:
For in some Popish libels I have read,
The Wolf has been too busy in your bed;
At least her 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 them for intruding in your line;
Fat bishoprics are still of right divine.
Think you your new French
proselytes[121] are come
To starve abroad, because they starved
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 the other
side, 180
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 yielding metals run with
ease:
They melt, and take the figure of the
mould;
But harden and preserve it best in gold.
190
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 tax’d your converts,
who unfed
Have follow’d 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.
200
I mean, not till possess’d of her
he loved,
And old, uncharming Catherine was removed.
For sundry years before he did complain,
210
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 preach’d it, and I hope
you grant,
The Sermon on 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.
220
Now for my converts, who, you say, unfed,
Have follow’d me for miracles of
bread;
Judge not by hearsay, 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; 230
But, raised three steeples higher, 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 bestow’d, that comes
unsought;
Attendance is a bribe, and then ’tis
bought. 240
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 should pass your
door.
Unpitied Hudibras,[122] 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.” 250
With odious atheist names[123]
you load your foes;
Your liberal clergy why did I expose?
It never fails in charities like those.
In climes where true religion is profess’d,
That imputation were no laughing jest.
But imprimatur,[124] 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.
260
This said, she paused a little,
and suppress’d
The boiling indignation of her breast.
She knew the virtue of her blade, nor
would
Pollute her satire with ignoble blood:
Her panting foe she saw before her eye,
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 foe lies prostrate on the
plain,
He sheaths his paws, uncurls his angry
mane, 270
And, pleased with bloodless honours of
the day,
Walks over and disdains the inglorious
prey.
So James, if great with less we may compare,
Arrests his rolling thunderbolts in air!
And grants ungrateful friends a lengthen’d
space,
To implore the remnants of long-suffering
grace.
This breathing-time the matron
took; and then
Resumed the thread of her discourse again.
Be vengeance wholly left to powers divine,
And let Heaven judge betwixt your sons
and mine: 280
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 human 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. 290
’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 blest Saviour’s blood discharge
the mighty sum.
Thus (she pursued) I discipline
a son,
Whose uncheck’d fury to revenge
would run:
He champs the bit, impatient of his loss,
300
And starts aside, and flounders 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 cursor’s punishment should fright
the curse:
Your son was warn’d, and wisely
gave it o’er, 310
But he who counsell’d 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 Demon flies;
His rage is aim’d at him who rules
the skies:
Constrain’d 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; 320
To that long story little answer needs:
Confront but Henry’s words with
Henry’s deeds.
Were space allow’d, with ease it
might be proved,
What springs his blessed Reformation moved.
The dire effects appear’d in open
sight,
Which from the cause he calls a distant
flight,
And yet no larger leap than from the sun
to light.
Now let your sons a double paean
sound,
A Treatise of Humility is found.
’Tis found, but better it had ne’er
been sought, 330
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;
Conceal’d its author, and usurp’d
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.
340
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 plunder’d merchant cannot
tell
The names of pirates in whose hands he
fell;
But at the den of thieves he justly flies,
And every Algerine is lawful prize.
No private person in the foe’s estate
Can plead exemption from the public fate.
350
Yet Christian laws allow not such redress;
Then let the greater supersede the less.
But let the 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 controll’d,
Yet would not wholly seem to quit her
hold,
But offer’d fairly to compound the
strife, 360
And judge conversion by the convert’s
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;
370
We nod a while, but neighbourhood prevails:
But when the greater proves the nearer
too,
I wonder more your converts come so slow.
Methinks in those who firm with me remain,
It shows a nobler principle than gain.
Your inference would be strong,
the Hind replied,
If yours were in effect the suffering
side:
Your clergy’s sons their own in
peace possess,
Nor are their prospects in reversion less.
My proselytes are struck with awful dread;
380
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. 390
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 sly 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 will’s
assent;
For souls, already warp’d, receive
an easy bent.
Add long prescription of establish’d
laws, 400
And pique of honour to maintain a cause,
And shame of change, and fear of future
ill,
And zeal, the blind conductor of the will;
And chief among the still-mistaking crowd,
The fame of teachers obstinate and proud,
And, more than all, the private judge
allow’d;
Disdain of Fathers which the dance began,
And last, uncertain whose the narrower
span,
The clown unread, and half-read gentleman.
To this the Panther, with
a scornful smile: 410
Yet still you travel with unwearied toil,
And range around the realm without control,
Among my sons for proselytes to prowl,
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 Swallow’s[125] fortune gives
you cause to fear.
For charity, replied the matron,
tell 420
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:
430
Is well to chancels and to chimneys known,
Her sons were summon’d
on a steeple’s height,
And, call’d in common council, vote
a flight;
The day was named, the next that should
be fair:
All to the general rendezvous repair,
They try their fluttering wings, and trust
themselves in air.
But whether upward to the moon they go,
450
Or dream the winter out in caves below,
Or hawk at flies elsewhere, concerns us
not to know.
Southwards, you may be sure,
they bent their flight,
And harbour’d in a hollow rock at
night:
Next morn they rose, and set up every
sail;
The wind was fair, but blew a mackerel
gale:
The sickly young sat shivering on the
shore,
Abhorr’d salt water never seen before,
And pray’d their tender mothers
to delay
The passage, and expect a fairer day.
460
With these the Martin readily
concurr’d,
A church-begot, and church-believing bird;
Of little body, but of lofty mind,
Round-bellied, for a dignity design’d,
And much a dunce, as Martins are by kind.
Yet often quoted Canon-laws, and Code,
And Fathers which he never understood;
But little learning needs in noble blood.
For, sooth to say, the Swallow brought
him in,
Her household chaplain, and her next of
kin: 470
In superstition silly to excess,
And casting schemes by planetary guess:
In fine, short-wing’d, unfit himself
to fly,
His fears foretold foul weather in the
sky.
Besides, a Raven from a wither’d
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 cover’d
cowardice.
To strengthen this, he told a boding dream
480
Of rising waters, and a troubled stream,
Sure signs of anguish, dangers, and distress,
With something more, not lawful to express:
By which he slily seem’d 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
’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, 500
Would never fix his thought, but trim
his time away.
The passage yet was good; the wind, ’tis
true,
Was somewhat high, but that was nothing
new,
No more than usual equinoxes blew.
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. 510
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 clubb’d
into a dream:
As little weight his vain presages bear,
Of ill effect to such alone who fear:
Most prophecies are of a piece with these,
Each Nostradamus can foretell with ease:
520
Not naming persons, and confounding times,
One casual truth supports a thousand lying
rhymes.
The 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 gain’d,
Sir Martin dated thence
His power, and from a priest became a
prince.
He order’d all things with a busy
care,
And cells and refectories did prepare,
530
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,
535
And, mounted on the Ram, renew the prime:
For which two proofs in sacred story lay,
Of Ahaz’ dial, and of Joshua’s
day.
In expectation of such times as these,
A chapel housed them, truly call’d
of ease: 540
For Martin much devotion did not ask:
They pray’d sometimes, and that
was all their task.
It happen’d, as beyond
the reach of wit
Blind prophecies may have a lucky hit,
That this accomplish’d, or at least
in part,
Gave great repute to their new Merlin’s
art.
Some Swifts, the giants of the Swallow
kind,
Large-limb’d, stout-hearted, but
of stupid mind
(For Swisses, or for Gibeonites design’d),
These lubbers, peeping through a broken
pane, 550
To suck fresh air, survey’d 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 reform’d
the year:
The sunny hills from far were seen to
glow
With glittering beams, and in the meads
below
The burnish’d brooks appear’d
with liquid gold to flow.
At last they heard the foolish Cuckoo
sing,
Whose note proclaim’d the holiday
of spring. 560
No longer doubting, all prepare
to fly,
And repossess their patrimonial sky.
The priest before them did his wings display;
And that good omens might attend their
way,
As luck would have it, ’twas St
Martin’s day.
Who but the Swallow triumphs
now 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 insects in the purling springs,
570
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 marriage-offerings
rise apace.
Their ancient houses running to decay,
Are furbish’d up, and cemented with
clay; 580
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
590
(For so their cruel destiny required),
Were sent far off on an ill-fated day;
The rest would needs conduct them on their
way,
And Martin went, because he fear’d
alone to stay.
So long they flew with inconsiderate
haste,
That now their afternoon began to waste;
And, what was ominous, that very morn
The sun was enter’d into Capricorn;
Which, by their bad astronomer’s
account,
That week the Virgin balance should remount.
600
An infant moon eclipsed him in his way,
And hid the small remainders of his day.
The crowd, amazed, pursued no certain
mark;
But birds met birds, and jostled 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, 610
No neighbouring dorp,[126] no lodging
to be found,
But bleaky plains, and bare unhospitable
ground.
The latter brood, who just began to fly,
Sick-feather’d, and unpractised
in the sky,
For succour to their helpless mother call:
She spread her wings; some few beneath
them crawl;
She spread them wider yet, but could not
cover all.
To augment their woes, the winds began
to move,
Debate in air, for empty fields above,
Till Boreas got the skies, and pour’d
amain 620
His rattling hailstones mix’d 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 Martin’s race; for they
and he
Had gain’d the shelter of a hollow
tree:
But soon discover’d by a sturdy
clown,
He headed all the rabble of a town,
630
And finish’d them with bats, or
poll’d them 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, unbless’d,
is hanging still,
To show the change of winds with his prophetic
bill.
The patience of the Hind did almost
fail;
For well she mark’d the malice of
the tale;[127] 640
Which ribald art their Church to Luther
owes;
In malice it began, by malice grows;
He sow’d the Serpent’s teeth,
an iron-harvest rose.
But most in Martin’s character and
fate,
She saw her slander’d sons, the
Panther’s hate,
The people’s rage, the persecuting
state:
Then said, I take the advice in friendly
part;
You clear your conscience, or at least
your heart:
Perhaps you fail’d in your foreseeing
skill,
For Swallows are unlucky birds to kill:
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 answer’d
with a loud Amen, 670
And thus pursued her argument again.
If, as you say, and as I hope no less,
Your sons will practise what yourselves
profess,
What angry power prevents our present
peace?
The Lion, studious of our common good,
Desires (and kings’ 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,
680
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’s
joins! 690
Your finger is more gross than the great
monarch’s loins.
But you, perhaps, remove that bloody note,
And stick it on the first reformer’s
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,
700
Arm’d by a weapon put into your
hand,
Yet still remember that you wield a sword
Forged by your foes against your sovereign
lord;
Design’d to hew the imperial cedar
down,
Defraud succession, and dis-heir the crown.
To 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 710
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 render’d
back the gold.
What more could you have done, than now
you do,
Had Oates and Bedlow, and their plot been
true?
Some specious reasons for those wrongs
were found; 720
Their dire magicians threw their mists
around,
And wise men walk’d as on enchanted
ground.
But now when time has made the imposture
plain
(Late though he follow’d truth,
and limping held her train),
What new delusion charms your cheated
eyes again?
The painted harlot might a while bewitch,
But why the hag uncased, and all obscene
with itch?
The first Reformers were a modest
race;
Our peers possess’d in peace their
native place;
And when rebellious arms o’erturn’d
the state, 730
They suffer’d 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 dispossess’d;
They need but rub their metal on the test
To prove their ore: ’twere
well if gold alone
Were touch’d and tried on your discerning
stone;
But that unfaithful Test unsound will
pass
The dross of atheists, and sectarian brass:
As if the experiment were made to hold
740
For base production, and reject the gold.
Thus men ungodded may to places rise,
And sects may be preferr’d without
disguise:
No danger to 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 750
We banish not, but they forsake the place;
Our doors are open: true, but ere
they come,
You toss your ’censing Test, and
fume the room;
As if ’twere Toby’s[129] rival
to expel,
And fright the fiend who could not bear
the smell.
To this the Panther sharply
had replied;
But having gain’d 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, 760
Because she sued in forma pauperis;
Yet thought it decent something should
be said;
For secret guilt by silence is betray’d.
So neither granted all, nor much denied,
But answer’d with a yawning kind
of pride:
Methinks such terms of proffer’d
peace you bring,
As once AEneas to the 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. 770
You plead, like him, an ancient pedigree,
And claim a peaceful seat by fate’s
decree.
In ready pomp your sacrificer stands,
To 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 the intended wrong,
But still you bring your exiled gods along;
And will endeavour, in succeeding space,
Those household puppets on our hearths
to place. 780
Perhaps some barbarous laws have been
preferr’d;
I spake 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 inform’d, will ever
be the same.
But yours is much of the chameleon hue,
To change the dye with every distant view.
When first the Lion sat with awful sway,
790
Your conscience taught your duty to obey:
He might have had your Statutes and your
Test;
No conscience but of subjects was profess’d.
He found your temper, and no farther tried,
But on that broken reed, your Church,
relied.
In vain the sects assay’d their
utmost art,
With offer’d treasure to espouse
their part;
Their treasures were a bribe too mean
to move his heart.
But when, by long experience, you had
proved,
How far he could forgive, how well he
loved; 800
A goodness that excell’d his godlike
race,
And only short of Heaven’s unbounded
grace;
A flood of mercy that o’erflow’d
our isle,
Calm in the rise, and fruitful as the
Nile;
Forgetting whence our Egypt was supplied,
You thought your sovereign bound to send
the tide:
Nor upward look’d on that immortal
spring,
But vainly deem’d, he durst not
be a king:
Then Conscience, unrestrain’d by
fear, began
To stretch her limits, and extend the
span; 810
Did his indulgence as her gift dispose,
And made a wise alliance with her foes.
Can Conscience own the 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 Proteous Conscience, never to be tied!
What Phoebus from the Tripod shall disclose,
Which are, in last resort, your friends
or foes? 820
Homer, who learn’d 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 answer’d in a surly
tone,
The first commands me to maintain the
crown,
The last forbids to throw my barriers
down.
Our penal laws no sons of yours admit,
Our Test excludes your tribe from benefit.
830
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 judgment 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;
840
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.
850
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 860
Of threatening floods and inundations
near;
If so, a just reprise would only be
Of what the land usurp’d upon the
sea;
And all your jealousies but serve to show
Your ground is, like your neighbour-nation,
low.
To intrench 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 least
you fear; 700
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 oppress’d,
Receives the banish’d, succours
the distress’d:
Behold, for you may read an honest open
breast.
He stands in day-light, and disdains to
hide
An act, to which by honour he is tied,
880
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 disdain’d
to enlarge
On power of kings, and their superior
charge,
As Heaven’s trustees before the
people’s choice: 890
Though sure the Panther did not much rejoice
To hear those echoes given of her once
loyal voice.
The matron woo’d her kindness to
the last,
But could not win; her hour of grace was
past.
Whom, thus persisting, when she could
not bring
To leave the Wolf, and to believe her
king,
She gave her up, and fairly wish’d
her joy
Of her late treaty with her new ally:
Which well she hoped would more successful
prove,
Than was the Pigeon’s and the Buzzard’s
love. 900
The Panther ask’d 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, though told
in homely style.
A plain good man,[130] whose name
is understood
(So few deserve the name of plain and
good),
Of three fair lineal lordships stood possess’d,
And lived, as reason was, upon the best.
910
Inured to hardships from his early youth,
Much had he done, and suffer’d for
his truth:
At land and sea, in many a doubtful fight,
Was never known a more adventurous knight,
Who oftener drew his sword, and always
for the right.
As fortune would (his fortune came,
though late)
He took possession of his just estate:
Nor rack’d his tenants with increase
of rent;
Nor lived too sparing, nor too largely
spent;
But overlook’d his hinds; their
pay was just, 920
And ready, for he scorn’d to go
on trust:
Slow to resolve, but in performance quick;
So true, that he was awkward at a trick.
For little souls on little shifts rely,
And coward arts of mean expedients try;
The noble mind will dare do anything 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.
930
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.
940
His house with all convenience was purvey’d;
The rest he found, but raised the fabric
where he pray’d;
And in that sacred place his beauteous
wife
Employ’d her happiest hours of holy
life.
Nor did their alms extend
to those alone,
Whom common faith more strictly made their
own;
A sort of Doves[131] were housed too near
their hall,
Who cross the proverb, and abound with
gall.
Though some, ’tis true, are passively
inclined,
The greater part degenerate from their
kind; 950
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. 960
Like Harpies, they could scent a plenteous
board,
Then to be sure they never fail’d
their lord:
The rest was form, and bare attendance
paid;
They drank, and ate, and grudgingly obey’d.
The more they fed, they raven’d
still for more;
They drain’d from Dan, and left
Beersheba poor.
All this they had by law, and none repined;
The preference was but due to Levi’s
kind;
But when some lay-preferment fell by chance,
The gourmands made it their inheritance.
970
When once possess’d, they never
quit their claim;
For then ’tis sanctified to Heaven’s
high name;
And, hallow’d thus, they cannot
give consent,
The gift should be profaned by worldly
management.
Their flesh was never to the
table served;
Though ’tis not thence inferr’d
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 though they were not Doves, to persecute:
980
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 flour.
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,
990
And sacred incense on his altars laid.
Besides these jolly birds,
whose corpse impure
Repaid their commons with their salt-manure;
Another farm[132] he had behind his house,
Not overstock’d, but barely for
his use:
Wherein his poor domestic poultry fed,
And from his pious hands received their
bread.
Our pamper’d Pigeons, with malignant
eyes,
Beheld these inmates, and their nurseries:
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 precepts both encouraged
ease.
Yet fearing those alluring baits might
fail,
And holy deeds o’er all their arts
prevail; 1040
(For vice, though frontless, and of harden’d
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 some Egyptian
piece,
With garden-gods, and barking deities,
More thick than Ptolemy has stuck the
skies.
All so perverse a draught, so far unlike,
It was no libel where it meant to strike.
1050
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,
1060
Enquired into the cause, and came to know,
The passive Church had struck the foremost
blow;
With groundless fears and jealousies possess’d,
As if this troublesome intruding guest
Would drive the birds of Venus from their
nest;
A deed his inborn equity abhorr’d;
But Interest will not trust, though God
should plight his word.
A law,[135] the source of many future
harms,
Had banish’d all the poultry from
the farms;
With loss of life, if any should be found
1070
To crow or peck on this forbidden ground.
That bloody statute chiefly was design’d
For Chanticleer the white, of clergy kind;
But after-malice did not long forget
The lay that wore the robe and coronet.
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:[136] 1080
Or that, to which old Socrates was cursed,
Or henbane juice to swell them 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 debarr’d.
All gentle means he tried, which might
withdraw
The 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, 1090
Repented of their boasted loyalty:
Now made the champions of a cruel cause.
And drunk with fumes of popular applause;
For those whom God to ruin has design’d,
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; 1100
And veil’d their false advice with
zealous fear.
The master smiled to see them work in
vain,
To wear him out, and make an idle reign:
He saw, but suffer’d their protractive
arts,
And strove by mildness to reduce their
hearts:
But they abused that grace to make allies,
And fondly closed with former enemies;
For fools are doubly fools, endeavouring
to be wise.
After a grave consult what
course were best,
One, more mature in folly than the rest,
1110
Stood up, and told them, with his head
aside,
That desperate cures must be to desperate
ills applied:
And therefore, since their main impending
fear
Was from the increasing race of Chanticleer,
This pithy speech prevail’d,
and all agreed,
Old enmities forgot, the Buzzard should
succeed.
Their welcome suit was granted
soon as heard,
His lodgings furnish’d, and a train
prepared,
With B’s upon their breast, appointed
for his guard.
He came, and crown’d with great
solemnity; 1140
God save king Buzzard, was the general
cry.
A portly prince, and goodly
to the sight,
He seem’d a son of Anak for his
height:
Like those whom stature did to crowns
prefer:
Black-brow’d, and bluff, like Homer’s
Jupiter:
Broad-back’d, and brawny-built for
love’s delight;
A prophet form’d 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 discern’d;
1150
More learn’d than honest, more a
wit than learn’d:
Or forced by fear, or by his profit led,
Or both conjoin’d, 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,
1160
His gifts no longer than their author
stay:
He shakes the dust against the ungrateful
race,
And leaves the stench of ordures in the
place.
Oft has he flatter’d and blasphemed
the same;
For in his rage he spares no sovereign’s
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, though undeserved and
great, 1170
Such was, and is, the Captain of
the Test,
Though half his virtues are not here express’d;
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 the Almighty
gave:
For all the grace the landlord had allow’d,
1200
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 patron’s promise into question
call,
And vainly think he meant to make them
lords of all.
False fears their leaders fail’d
not to suggest,
As if the Doves were to be dispossess’d;
Nor sighs, nor groans, nor goggling eyes
did want;
For now the Pigeons too had learn’d
to cant.
The house of prayer is stock’d with
large increase; 1210
Nor doors nor windows can contain the
press:
For birds of every feather fill the 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 Sovereign
to control, 1220
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 cuff’d the tender Chickens from
their food:
And much the Buzzard in their cause did
stir,
Though naming not the patron, to infer,
With all respect, he was a gross idolater.
But when the imperial owner
did espy,
That thus they turn’d his grace
to villany, 1230
Not suffering wrath to discompose his
mind,
He strove a temper for the extremes to
find,
So to be just, as he might still be kind;
Then, all maturely weigh’d, pronounced
a doom
Of sacred strength for every age to come.
By this the Doves their wealth and state
possess,
No rights infringed, but licence 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 1240
The dire effects of their destructive
pride,
He deems that proof a measure to the rest,
Concluding well within his kingly breast,
His fowls of nature too unjustly were
oppress’d.
He therefore makes all birds of every
sect
Free of his farm, with promise to respect
Their several kinds 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: 1250
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’s Rubicon.
Here ends the reign of this
pretended Dove;
All prophecies accomplish’d from
above,
From Shiloh comes the sceptre to remove.
Reduced from her imperial high abode,
1260
Like Dionysius to a private rod,
The Passive Church, that with pretended
grace
Did her distinctive mark in duty place,
Now touch’d, reviles her Maker to
his face.
What after happen’d is not
hard to guess:
The small beginnings had a large increase,
And arts and wealth succeed, the secret
spoils of peace.
’Tis said, the Doves repented, though
too late,
Become the smiths of their own foolish
fate:
Nor did their owner hasten their ill hour;
1270
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 feather’d Nimrods of
his race;
To hide the thinness of their flock from
sight,
And all together make a seeming goodly
flight:
But each have separate interests of their
own;
Two Czars are one too many for a throne.
Nor can the usurper long abstain from
food; 1280
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
Thus did the gentle Hind her fable
end, 1290
Nor would the Panther blame it, nor commend;
But, with affected yawnings at the close,
Seem’d to require her natural repose:
For now the streaky light began to peep;
And setting stars admonish’d both
to sleep.
The dame withdrew, and, wishing to her
guest
The peace of heaven, betook herself to
rest.
Ten thousand angels on her slumbers wait,
With glorious visions of her future state.
* * * * *
[Footnote 118: ‘Mother Hubbard:’ Mother Hubbard’s tale, written by Spenser.]
[Footnote 119: ‘Lion’s peace:’ liberty of conscience, and toleration of all religions.]
[Footnote 120: ‘Exiled heir:’ the Duke of York, while opposed by the favourers and abettors of the Bill of Exclusion, was obliged to retire from London.]
[Footnote 121: ‘French proselytes:’ the French refugees that came into England after the revocation of the edict of Nantes.]
[Footnote 122: ‘Hudibras:’ Butler.]
[Footnote 123: ‘Atheist names:’ alluding here and afterwards to Stillingfleet’s attacks on Dryden.]
[Footnote 124: ‘Imprimatur:’ the Bishop of London and his chaplains had formerly the examination of all books, and none could be printed without their imprimatur, or licence.]
[Footnote 125: ‘Swallow:’ this story is supposed to refer to a meeting of Roman Catholics held in the Savoy to deliberate on King James’ measures, when Father Petre (M. Martin) induced them to join the king’s side, and to remain in England.]
[Footnote 126: ‘Dorp:’ hamlet.]
[Footnote 127: ‘The tale:’ a parable of the fate of the Papists, soon fulfilled.]
[Footnote 128: ‘Old fanatic:’ Century White, a vehement writer on the Puritan side.]
[Footnote 129: ‘Toby’s:’ Tobit; see Apocrypha.]
[Footnote 130: ‘A plain good man:’ a character of King James II.]
[Footnote 131: ‘Doves:’ the clergy of the Church of England, and other religions dissenting from that of Rome.]
[Footnote 132: ‘Another farm,’ &c.: this alludes to the Popish priests, whom the king particularly favoured.]
[Footnote 133: ‘Chanticleers:’ friars.]
[Footnote 134: ‘Partlet:’ nuns.]
[Footnote 135: ‘A law:’ penal laws against Popish recusants.]
[Footnote 136: ‘Wicked weed:’ the Test Act.]
[Footnote 137: ‘Buzzard:’ Bishop Burnet.]
[Footnote 138: ‘College of the bees:’ College of Physicians.]
* * * * *
All human things are subject to decay,
And when fate summons, monarchs must obey.
This Flecknoe found, who, like Augustus,
young
Was call’d to empire, and had govern’d
long;
In prose and verse, was own’d, without
dispute,
Through all the realms of Nonsense, absolute.
This aged prince, now flourishing in peace,
And blest with issue of a large increase;
Worn out with business, did at length
debate
To settle the succession of the state:
10
And, pondering which of all his sons was
fit
To reign, and wage immortal war with wit,
Cried, ’Tis resolved; for nature
pleads, that he
Should only rule, who most resembles me.
Shadwell alone my perfect image bears,
Mature in dulness from his tender years:
Shadwell alone, of all my sons, is he
Who stands confirm’d in full stupidity.
The rest to some faint meaning make pretence,
But Shadwell never deviates into sense.
20
Some beams of wit on other souls may fall,
Strike through, and make a lucid interval;
But Shadwell’s genuine night admits
no ray,
His rising fogs prevail upon the day.
Besides, his goodly fabric fills the eye,
And seems design’d for thoughtless
majesty:
Thoughtless as monarch oaks, that shade
the plain,
And, spread in solemn state, supinely
reign.
Heywood and Shirley[140] were but types
of thee,
Thou last great prophet of tautology.
30
Even I, a dunce of more renown than they,
Was sent before but to prepare thy way;
And, coarsely clad in Norwich drugget,
came
To teach the nations in thy greater name.
My warbling lute, the lute I whilom strung,
When to king John of Portugal I sung,
Was but the prelude to that glorious day,
When thou on silver Thames didst cut thy
way,
With well-timed oars before the royal
barge,
Swell’d with the pride of thy celestial
charge; 40
And big with hymn, commander of an host,
The like was ne’er in Epsom blankets
toss’d.
Methinks I see the new Arion sail,
The lute still trembling underneath thy
nail.
At thy well-sharpen’d thumb, from
shore to shore
The trebles squeak for fear, the basses
roar:
Echoes from Pissing-Alley, Shadwell call,
And Shadwell they resound from Aston-Hall.
About thy boat the little fishes throng,
As at the morning toast that floats along.
50
Sometimes, as prince of thy harmonious
band,
Thou wield’st thy papers in thy
threshing hand.
St Andre’s[141] feet ne’er
kept more equal time,
Not even the feet of thy own Psyche’s[142]
rhyme:
Though they in number as in sense excel;
So just, so like tautology, they fell,
That, pale with envy, Singleton[143] forswore
The lute and sword, which he in triumph
bore,
And vow’d he ne’er would act
Villerius more.
Here stopp’d
the good old sire, and wept for joy,
60
In silent raptures of the hopeful boy.
All arguments, but most his plays, persuade,
That for anointed dulness he was made.
Close to the walls
which fair Augusta bind
(The fair Augusta much to fears inclined),
An ancient fabric raised to inform the
sight,
There stood of yore, and Barbican it hight:
A watch-tower once; but now, so fate ordains,
Of all the pile an empty name remains:
From its old ruins brothel-houses rise,
70
Scenes of lewd loves, and of polluted
joys,
Where their vast courts the mother-strumpets
keep,
And, undisturb’d by watch, in silence
sleep.
Near these a Nursery[144] erects its head,
Where queens are form’d, and future
heroes bred;
Where unfledged actors learn to laugh
and cry,
Where infant punks their tender voices
try,
And little Maximins the gods defy.
Great Fletcher never treads in buskins
here,
Nor greater Jonson dares in socks appear;
80
But gentle Simkin[145] just reception
finds
Amidst this monument of vanish’d
minds:
Pure clinches the suburban muse affords,
And Panton[146] waging harmless war with
words.
Here Flecknoe, as a place to fame well
known,
Ambitiously design’d his Shadwell’s
throne.
For ancient Decker[147] prophesied long
since,
That in this pile should reign a mighty
prince,
Born for a scourge of wit, and flail of
sense:
To whom true dulness should some Psyches
owe, 90
But worlds of Misers[148] from his pen
should flow;
Humourists and hypocrites it should produce,
Whole Raymond families, and tribes of
Bruce.[149]
Now Empress Fame had publish’d
the renown
Of Shadwell’s coronation through
the town.
Roused by report of fame, the nations
meet,
From near Bunhill, and distant Watling
Street.
No Persian carpets spread the imperial
way,
But scatter’d limbs of mangled poets
lay:
From dusty shops neglected authors come,
100
Martyrs of pies, and reliques of the bum.
Much Heywood, Shirley, Ogleby[150] there
lay,
But loads of Shadwell almost choked the
way.
Bilk’d stationers for yeomen stood
prepared,
And Herringman[151] was captain of the
guard.
The hoary prince in majesty appear’d,
High on a throne of his own labours rear’d.
At his right hand our young Ascanius sate,
Rome’s other hope, and pillar of
the state.
His brows thick fogs, instead of glories,
grace, 110
And lambent dulness play’d around
his face.
As Hannibal did to the altars come,
Sworn by his fire, a mortal foe to Rome;
So Shadwell swore, nor should his vow
be vain,
That he till death true dulness would
Heavens bless my son, from Ireland
let him reign
To far Barbadoes on the western main;
140
Of his dominion may no end be known,
And greater than his father’s be
his throne;
Beyond Love’s kingdom let him stretch
his pen!—
He paused, and all the people cried, Amen.
Then thus continued he: My son, advance
Still in new impudence, new ignorance.
Success let others teach, learn thou from
me
Pangs without birth, and fruitless industry.
Let Virtuosos[153] in five years be writ;
Yet not one thought accuse thy toil of
wit. 150
Let gentle George[154] in triumph tread
the stage,
Make Dorimant betray, and Loveit rage;
Let Cully, Cockwood, Fopling, charm the
pit,
And in their folly show the writer’s
wit.
Yet still thy fools shall stand in thy
defence,
And justify their author’s want
of sense.
Let them be all by thy own model made
Of dulness, and desire no foreign aid;
That they to future ages may be known,
Not copies drawn, but issue of thy own.
160
Nay, let thy men of wit too be the same,
All full of thee, and differing but in
name.
But let no alien Sedley[155] interpose,
To lard with wit thy hungry Epsom prose.[156]
And when false flowers of rhetoric thou
wouldst cull,
Trust nature, do not labour to be dull;
But write thy best, and top; and, in each
line,
Sir Formal’s[157] oratory will be
thine:
Sir Formal, though unsought, attends thy
quill,
And does thy northern dedications fill.
170
Nor let false friends seduce thy mind
to fame,
He said; but his last words were
scarcely heard:
For Bruce and Longville[160] had a trap
prepared,
And down they sent the yet declaiming
bard.
Sinking he left his drugget robe behind,
Borne upwards by a subterranean wind.
The mantle fell to the young prophet’s
part,
With double portion of his father’s
art.
[Footnote 139: ‘Mac Flecknoe:’ Richard Flecknoe, from whom this poem derives its name, was an Irish priest, and author of plays.]
[Footnote 140: ‘Heywood and Shirley:’ play writers in Queen Elizabeth’s time.]
[Footnote 141: ‘St Andre:’ a famous French dancing-master.]
[Footnote 142: ‘Psyche:’ an opera of Shadwell’s.]
[Footnote 143: ‘Singleton:’ a musician of the time.]
[Footnote 144: ‘Nursery:’ a theatre for training actors.]
[Footnote 145: ‘Simkin:’ a character of a cobbler, in an interlude.]
[Footnote 146: ‘Panton:’ a famous punster.]
[Footnote 147: ‘Decker:’ Thomas Decker, a dramatic poet of James I.’s reign.]
[Footnote 148: ‘Worlds of Misers:’ ‘The Miser’ and ‘The Humourists’ were two of Shadwell’s comedies.]
[Footnote 149: ‘Raymond’ and ‘Bruce:’ the first of these is an insipid character in ‘The Humourists’; the second, in ‘The Virtuoso.’]
[Footnote 150: ‘Ogleby:’ translator of Virgil.]
[Footnote 151: ‘Herringman:’ Henry Herringman, a bookseller; see ‘Life.’]
[Footnote 152: ‘Love’s Kingdom:’ this is the name of the only play of Flecknoe’s, which was acted, but miscarried in the representation.]
[Footnote 153: ‘Virtuoso:’ a play of Shadwell’s.]
[Footnote 154: ‘Gentle George:’ Sir George Etheredge.]
[Footnote 155: ‘Alien Sedley:’ Sir Charles Sedley was supposed to assist Shadwell in writing his plays.]
[Footnote 156: ‘Epsom prose:’ alluding to Shadwell’s play of ’Epsom Wells.’]
[Footnote 157: ‘Formal:’ a character in ‘The Virtuoso.’]
[Footnote 158: ‘Nicander:’ a character of a lover in Shadwell’s opera of ‘Psyche.’]
[Footnote 159: ‘Wings and altars:’ forms in which old acrostics were cast. See Herbert’s ‘Temple.’]
[Footnote 160: ‘Bruce and Longville:’ two characters in Shadwell’s ‘Virtuoso.’]
* * * * *
A POEM ON THE PRINCE, BORN JUNE 10, 1688.
Our vows are heard betimes! and Heaven
takes care
To grant, before we can conclude the prayer:
Preventing angels met it half the way,
And sent us back to praise, who came to
pray.
Just on the day, when the high-mounted
Sun
Did furthest in his northern progress
run,
He bended forward, and even stretch’d
the sphere
Beyond the limits of the lengthen’d
year,
To view a brighter sun in Britain born;
That was the business of his longest morn;
10
The glorious object seen, ’twas
time to turn.
Departing Spring could only stay
to shed
Her bloomy beauties on the genial bed,
But left the manly Summer in her stead,
With timely fruit the longing land to
cheer,
And to fulfil the promise of the year.
Betwixt two seasons comes the auspicious
heir,
This age to blossom, and the next to bear.
Last solemn Sabbath[161] saw the
Church attend,
The Paraclete in fiery pomp descend;
20
But when his wondrous octave[162] roll’d
again,
He brought a royal infant in his train.
So great a blessing to so good a king,
None but the Eternal Comforter could bring.
Or did the mighty Trinity conspire,
As once in council, to create our sire?
It seems as if they sent the new-born
guest
To wait on the procession of their feast;
And on their sacred anniverse decreed
To stamp their image on the promised seed.
30
Three realms united, and on one bestow’d,
An emblem of their mystic union show’d:
The Mighty Trine the triple empire shared,
As every person would have one to guard.
Hail, son of prayers! by holy violence
Drawn down from heaven; but long be banish’d
thence,
And late to thy paternal skies retire:
To mend our crimes, whole ages would require;
To change the inveterate habit of our
sins,
And finish what thy godlike sire begins.
40
Kind Heaven, to make us Englishmen again,
No less can give us than a patriarch’s
reign.
The sacred cradle to your charge
receive,
Ye seraphs, and by turns the guard relieve;
Thy father’s angel, and thy father
join,
To keep possession, and secure the line;
But long defer the honours of thy fate:
Great may they be like his, like his be
late;
That James this running century may view,
And give his son an auspice to the new.
50
Our wants exact at least that
moderate stay:
For see the Dragon[163] winged on his
way,
To watch the travail,[164] and devour
the prey.
Or, if allusions may not rise so high,
Thus, when Alcides[165] raised his infant
cry,
The snakes besieged his young divinity:
But vainly with their forked tongues they
threat;
For opposition makes a hero great.
To needful succour all the good will run,
60
And Jove assert the godhead of his son.
O still repining at your present
state,
Grudging yourselves the benefits of fate,
Look up, and read in characters of light
A blessing sent you in your own despite.
The manna falls, yet that celestial bread
Like Jews you munch, and murmur while
you feed.
May not your fortune be, like theirs,
exiled,
Yet forty years to wander in the wild!
Or if it be, may Moses live at least,
70
To lead you to the verge of promised rest!
Though poets are not prophets, to
foreknow
What plants will take the blight, and
what will grow,
By tracing Heaven, his footsteps may be
found:
Behold! how awfully he walks the round!
God is abroad, and, wondrous in his ways,
The rise of empires, and their fall surveys;
More, might I say, than with an usual
eye,
He sees his bleeding church in ruin lie,
And hears the souls of saints beneath
his altar cry. 80
Already has he lifted high the Sign,[166]
Which crown’d the conquering arms
of Constantine;
The Moon[167] grows pale at that presaging
sight,
And half her train of stars have lost
their light.
Behold another Sylvester,[168]
to bless
The sacred standard, and secure success;
Large of his treasures, of a soul so great,
As fills and crowds his universal seat.
Now view at home a second Constantine;
(The former too was of the British line;)[169]
90
Has not his healing balm your breaches
closed,
Whose exile many sought, and few opposed?
Or, did not Heaven by its eternal doom
Permit those evils, that this good might
come?
So manifest, that even the moon-eyed sects
See whom and what this Providence protects.
Methinks, had we within our minds no more
Than that one shipwreck on the fatal Ore,[170]
That only thought may make us think again,
What wonders God reserves for such a reign.
100
To dream that Chance his preservation
wrought,
Were to think Noah was preserved for nought;
Or the surviving eight were not design’d
To people Earth, and to restore their
kind.
When humbly on the royal babe
we gaze,
The manly lines of a majestic face
Give awful joy: ’tis Paradise
to look
On the fair frontispiece of Nature’s
book:
If the first opening page so charms the
sight,
Think how the unfolded volume will delight!
110
See how the venerable infant
lies
In early pomp; how through the mother’s
eyes
The father’s soul, with an undaunted
view,
Looks out, and takes our homage as his
due.
See on his future subjects how he smiles,
Nor meanly flatters, nor with craft beguiles;
But with an open face, as on his throne,
Assures our birthrights, and assumes his
own.
Born in broad day-light, that the ungrateful
rout
May find no room for a remaining doubt;
120
Truth, which itself is light, does darkness
shun,
And the true eaglet safely dares the sun.
Fain would the fiends[171] have
made a dubious birth,
Loath to confess the Godhead clothed in
earth:
But sicken’d, after all their baffled
lies,
To find an heir-apparent of the skies:
Abandon’d to despair, still may
they grudge,
And, owning not the Saviour, prove the
judge.
Not great AEneas[172] stood in plainer
day,
When, the dark mantling mist dissolved
away, 130
He to the Tyrians show’d his sudden
face,
Shining with all his goddess mother’s
grace:
For she herself had made his countenance
bright,
Breathed honour on his eyes, and her own
purple light.
If our victorious Edward,[173] as
they say,
Gave Wales a prince on that propitious
day,
Why may not years, revolving with his
fate,
Produce his like, but with a longer date;
One, who may carry to a distant shore
The terror that his famed forefather bore?
140
Great Michael, prince of all
the ethereal hosts,
And whate’er inborn saints our Britain
boasts;
And thou, the adopted patron of our isle,[174]
With cheerful aspects on this infant smile:
150
The pledge of Heaven, which, dropping
from above,
Secures our bliss, and reconciles his
love.
Enough of ills our dire rebellion
wrought,
When to the dregs we drank the bitter
draught;
Then airy atoms did in plagues conspire,
Nor did the avenging angel yet retire,
But purged our still increasing crimes
with fire,
Then perjured plots, the still impending
Test,
And worse—but charity conceals
the rest:
Here stop the current of the sanguine
flood; 160
Require not, gracious God, thy martyrs’
blood;
But let their dying pangs, their living
toil,
Spread a rich harvest through their native
soil:
A harvest ripening for another reign,
Of which this royal babe may reap the
grain.
Enough of early saints one womb
has given;
Enough increased the family of Heaven:
Let them for his and our atonement go;
And, reigning blest above, leave him to
rule below.
Enough already has the year
foreshow’d 170
His wonted course, the sea has overflow’d,
The meads were floated with a weeping
spring,
And frighten’d birds in woods forgot
to sing:
The strong-limb’d steed beneath
his harness faints,
And the same shivering sweat his lord
attaints.
When will the minister of wrath give o’er?
Behold him at Araunah’s threshing-floor:[175]
He stops, and seems to sheathe his flaming
brand,
Pleased with burnt incense from our David’s
hand.
David has bought the Jebusite’s
abode, 180
And raised an altar to the living God.
Heaven, to reward him, makes
his joys sincere;
No future ills nor accidents appear,
To sully and pollute the sacred infant’s
year.
Five months to discord and debate were
given:
He sanctifies the yet remaining seven.
Sabbath of months! henceforth in him be
blest,
And prelude to the realm’s perpetual
rest!
Let his baptismal drops for
us atone;
Lustrations for offences not his own.
190
Let Conscience, which is Interest ill
disguised,
In the same font be cleansed, and all
the land baptized.
Unnamed as yet;[176] at least
unknown to fame:
Is there a strife in Heaven about his
name,
Where every famous predecessor vies,
And makes a faction for it in the skies?
Or must it be reserved to thought alone?
Such was the sacred Tetragrammaton.[177]
Things worthy silence must not be reveal’d;
Thus the true name of Rome was kept conceal’d,[178]
To shun the spells and sorceries of those
200
Who durst her infant majesty oppose.
But when his tender strength in time shall
rise
To dare ill tongues, and fascinating eyes;
This isle, which hides the little Thunderer’s
fame,
Shall be too narrow to contain his name:
The artillery of heaven shall make him
known;
Crete[179] could not hold the god, when
Jove was grown.
As Jove’s increase, who from
his brain was born,[180]
Whom arms and arts did equally adorn,
210
Free of the breast was bred, whose milky
taste
Minerva’s name to Venus had debased;
So this imperial babe rejects the food
That mixes monarch’s with plebeian
blood:
Food that his inborn courage might control,
Extinguish all the father in his soul,
And, for his Estian race, and Saxon strain,
Might reproduce some second Richard’s
reign.
Mildness he shares from both his parents’
blood:
But kings too tame are despicably good:
220
Be this the mixture of this regal child,
By nature manly, but by virtue mild.
Thus far the furious transport of
the news
Had to prophetic madness fired the Muse;
Madness ungovernable, uninspired,
Swift to foretell whatever she desired.
Was it for me the dark abyss to tread,
And read the book which angels cannot
read?
How was I punish’d, when the sudden
blast,[181]
The face of heaven, and our young sun
o’ercast! 230
Fame, the swift ill, increasing as she
roll’d,
Disease, despair, and death, at three
reprises told;
At three insulting strides she stalk’d
the town,
And, like contagion, struck the loyal
down.
Down fell the winnow’d wheat; but,
mounted high,
The whirlwind bore the chaff, and hid
the sky.
Here black rebellion shooting from below
(As earth’s gigantic brood by moments
grow[182])
And here the sons of God are petrified
with woe:
An apoplex of grief: so low were
driven 240
The saints, as hardly to defend their
heaven.
As, when pent vapours run
their hollow round,
Earthquakes, which are convulsions of
the ground,
Break bellowing forth, and no confinement
brook,
Till the third settles what the former
shook;
Such heavings had our souls; till, slow
and late,
Our life with his return’d, and
Faith prevail’d on Fate.
By prayers the mighty blessing was implored,
To prayers was granted, and by prayers
restored.
So, ere the Shunamite[183]
a son conceived, 250
The prophet promised, and the wife believed.
A son was sent, the son so much desired;
But soon upon the mother’s knees
expired.
The troubled seer approach’d the
mournful door,
Ran, pray’d, and sent his pastoral
staff before,
Then stretch’d his limbs upon the
child, and mourn’d,
Thus Mercy stretches out her
hand, and saves
Desponding Peter sinking in the waves.
As when a sudden storm of
hail and rain 260
Beats to the ground the yet unbearded
grain,
Think not the hopes of harvest are destroy’d
On the flat field, and on the naked void;
The light unloaded stem, from tempest
freed,
Will raise the youthful honours of his
head;
And soon, restored by native vigour, bear
The timely product of the bounteous year.
Nor yet conclude all fiery
trials past:
For Heaven will exercise us to the last;
Sometimes will check us in our full career,
270
With doubtful blessings, and with mingled
fear;
That, still depending on his daily grace,
His every mercy for an alms may pass,
With sparing hands will diet us to good;
Preventing surfeits of our pamper’d
blood.
So feeds the mother bird her craving young
With little morsels, and delays them long.
True, this last blessing was a royal
feast;
But where’s the wedding-garment
on the guest?
Our manners, as religion were a dream,
280
Are such as teach the nations to blaspheme.
In lusts we wallow, and with pride we
swell,
And injuries with injuries repel;
Prompt to revenge, not daring to forgive,
Our lives unteach the doctrine we believe.
Thus Israel sinn’d, impenitently
hard,
And vainly thought the present ark their
guard;[184]
But when the haughty Philistines appear,
They fled, abandon’d to their foes
and fear;
Their God was absent, though his ark was
there. 290
Ah! lest our crimes should snatch this
pledge away,
And make our joys the blessings of a day!
For we have sinn’d him hence, and
that he lives,
God to his promise, not our practice gives.
Our crimes would soon weigh down the guilty
scale,
But James and Mary, and the Church, prevail.
Nor Amalek can rout the chosen bands,[185]
While Hur and Aaron hold up Moses’
hands.
By living well, let us secure his
days;
Moderate in hopes, and humble in our ways,
300
No force the free-born spirit can constrain,
But charity and great examples gain.
Forgiveness is our thanks for such a day:
’Tis god-like God in his own coin
to pay.
But you, propitious queen, translated
here,
From your mild heaven, to rule our rugged
sphere,
Beyond the sunny walks, and circling year:
You, who your native climate have bereft
Of all the virtues, and the vices left;
Whom piety and beauty make their boast,
310
Though beautiful is well in pious lost;
So lost, as star-light is dissolved away,
And melts into the brightness of the day;
Or gold about the regal diadem,
Lost to improve the lustre of the gem.
What can we add to your triumphant day?
Let the great gift the beauteous giver
pay.
For should our thanks awake the rising
sun,
And lengthen, as his latest shadows run,
That, though the longest day, would soon,
too soon be done. 320
Let angels’ voices with their harps
conspire,
But keep the auspicious infant from the
quire;
Late let him sing above, and let us know
No sweeter music than his cries below.
Nor can I wish to you, great
Monarch, more
Than such an annual income to your store;
The day which gave this Unit, did not
shine
For a less omen, than to fill the Trine.
After a prince, an admiral beget;
The Royal Sovereign wants an anchor yet.
330
Our isle has younger titles still in store,
And when the exhausted land can yield
no more,
Your line can force them from a foreign
shore.
The name of Great your martial
mind will suit;
But justice is your darling attribute:
Of all the Greeks, ’twas but one
hero’s[186] due,
And, in him, Plutarch prophesied of you.
A prince’s favours but on few can
fall,
But justice is a virtue shared by all.
Some kings the name of conquerors
have assumed, 340
Some to be great, some to be gods presumed;
But boundless power and arbitrary lust
Made tyrants still abhor the name of just;
They shunn’d the praise this godlike
virtue gives,
And fear’d a title that reproach’d
their lives.
The Power, from which all
kings derive their state,
Whom they pretend, at least, to imitate,
Is equal both to punish and reward;
For few would love their God, unless they
fear’d.
Resistless force and immortality
350
Make but a lame, imperfect, deity:
Tempests have force unbounded to destroy,
And deathless being, even the damn’d
enjoy;
And yet Heaven’s attributes, both
last and first,
One without life, and one with life accurst:
But justice is Heaven’s self, so
strictly he,
That could it fail, the Godhead could
not be.
This virtue is your own; but life and
state
Are one to Fortune subject, one to Fate:
Equal to all, you justly frown or smile;
360
Nor hopes nor fears your steady hand beguile;
Yourself our balance hold, the world’s
our isle.
* * * * *
[Footnote 161: ‘Solemn Sabbath:’ Whit-Sunday.]
[Footnote 162: ‘Wondrous octave:’ Trinity Sunday.]
[Footnote 163: ‘The Dragon:’ alluding only to the Commonwealth party, here and in other places of the poem.]
[Footnote 164: ‘The travail:’ see Rev. xii. 4.]
[Footnote 165: ‘Alcides:’ Hercules.]
[Footnote 166: ‘Sign:’ the sign of the cross, as denoting the Roman Catholic faith.]
[Footnote 167: ‘The moon:’ the Turkish crescent.]
[Footnote 168: ‘Another Sylvester:’ the Pope in James II.’s time is here compared to him that governed the Romish Church in the time of Constantine.]
[Footnote 169: ‘British line:’ St Helen, mother of Constantine the Great, was an Englishwoman.]
[Footnote 170: ‘Fatal Ore:’ the sandbank on which the Duke of York had like to have been lost in 1682, on his voyage to Scotland, is known by the name of Lemman Ore.]
[Footnote 171: ‘Fiends:’ the malcontents who doubted the truth of the birth are here compared to the evil spirits that tempted our Saviour in the wilderness.]
[Footnote 172: ‘AEneas:’ see Virgil; AEneid, I.]
[Footnote 173: ‘Edward:’ Edward the Black Prince, born on Trinity Sunday.]
[Footnote 174: ‘Patron of our isle’: St George.]
[Footnote 175: ‘Araunah’s threshing-floor:’ alluding to the passage in 1 Kings xxiv.]
[Footnote 176: ‘Unnamed as yet:’ the prince was christened but not named when this poem was published.]
[Footnote 177: ‘Tetragrammaton:’ Jehovah, or the name of God, unlawful to be pronounced by the Jews.]
[Footnote 178: ‘Rome was kept concealed:’ some authors say, that the true name of Rome was kept a secret.]
[Footnote 179: ‘Crete:’ Candia, where Jupiter was born and bred secretly.]
[Footnote 180: ‘Brain was born:’ Pallas or Minerva, said by the poets to have sprung from the brain of Jove, and to have been bred up by hand, as was this young prince.]
[Footnote 181: ‘Sudden blast:’ the sudden false report of the prince’s death.]
[Footnote 182: ‘Moments grow:’ those giants are feigned to have grown fifteen yards every day.]
[Footnote 183: ‘Shunamite:’ see 2 Kings iv.]
[Footnote 184: ‘Ark their guard:’ see 1 Sam. iv. 10.]
[Footnote 185: ‘Amalek can rout the chosen bands:’ see Exod. xviii. 8.]
[Footnote 186: Aristides, surnamed the Just.]
* * * * *