Thus he the church at once protects, and spoils: 
But princes’ swords are sharper than their styles;
And thus to th’ages past he makes amends,
Their charity destroys, their faith defends. 
Then did Religion in a lazy cell,
In empty, airy contemplations dwell;
And like the block, unmoved lay; but ours,
As much too active, like the stork devours. 
Is there no temp’rate region can be known,
Betwixt their frigid, and our torrid zone? 140
Could we not wake from that lethargic dream,
But to be restless in a worse extreme? 
And for that lethargy was there no cure,
But to be cast into a calenture? 
Can knowledge have no bound, but must advance
So far, to make us wish for ignorance,
And rather in the dark to grope our way,
Than, led by a false guide, to err by day? 
Who sees these dismal heaps, but would demand
What barbarous invader sack’d the land? 150
But when he hears no Goth, no Turk did bring
This desolation, but a Christian king;
When nothing but the name of zeal appears
’Twixt our best actions and the worst of theirs,
What does he think our sacrilege would spare,
When such th’effects of our devotions are? 
Parting from thence ’twixt anger, shame and fear,
Those for what’s past, and this for what’s too near,
My eye descending from the hill, surveys
Where Thames among the wanton valleys strays. 160
Thames, the most loved of all the Ocean’s sons
By his old sire, to his embraces runs;
Hasting to pay his tribute to the sea,
Like mortal life to meet eternity. 
Though with those streams he no resemblance hold,
Whose foam is amber, and their gravel gold,
His genuine and less guilty wealth t’explore,
Search not his bottom, but survey his shore,
O’er which he kindly spreads his spacious wing,
And hatches plenty for th’ensuing spring; 170
Nor then destroys it with too fond a stay,
Like mothers which their infants overlay;
Nor with a sudden and impetuous wave,
Like profuse kings, resumes the wealth he gave. 
No unexpected inundations spoil
The mower’s hopes, nor mock the ploughman’s toil: 
But godlike his unwearied bounty flows;
First loves to do, then loves the good he does. 
Nor are his blessings to his banks confined,
But free and common as the sea or wind; 180
When he, to boast or to disperse his stores,
Full of the tributes of his grateful shores,
Visits the world, and in his flying towers
Brings home to us, and makes both Indies ours;
Finds wealth where ’tis, bestows it where it wants,
Cities in deserts, woods in cities plants;
So that to us no thing, no place is strange,
While his fair bosom is the world’s exchange. 
Oh, could I flow like thee, and make thy stream
My great example, as it is my theme!