Chapter 2

"Si quis tamen haec quoque, si quis captus amore leget."

TO THE READER.

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 forswear, And e'en turn loyal to be made a peer. Next him, let railing Rabsheka have place, So full of zeal he has no need of grace; A saint that can both flesh and spirit use, 300 Alike haunt conventicles and the stews: Of whom the question difficult appears, If most i' th' preacher's or the bawd's arrears. What caution could appear too much in him That keeps the treasure of Jerusalem! Let David's brother but approach the town, Double our guards, he cries, we are undone. Protesting that he dares not sleep in 's bed Lest he should rise next morn without his head.

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, By trade a Levite, though of low degree: His pride no higher than the desk aspired, But for the drudgery of priests was hired To read and pray in linen ephod brave, And pick up single shekels from the grave. Married at last, but finding charge come faster, 360 He could not live by God, but changed his master: Inspired by want, was made a factious tool, They got a villain, and we lost a fool. Still violent, whatever cause he took, But most against the party he forsook; For renegadoes, who ne'er turn by halves, Are bound in conscience to be double knaves. So this prose-prophet took most monstrous pains To let his masters see he earn'd his gains. But, as the devil owes all his imps a shame, 370 He chose the apostate for his proper theme; With little pains he made the picture true, And from reflection took the rogue he drew. A wondrous work, to prove the Jewish nation In every age a murmuring generation; To trace them from their infancy of sinning, And show them factious from their first beginning. To prove they could rebel, and rail, and mock, Much to the credit of the chosen flock; A strong authority which must convince, 380 That saints own no allegiance to their prince; As 'tis a leading-card to make a whore, To prove her mother had turn'd up before. But, tell me, did the drunken patriarch bless The son that show'd his father's nakedness? Such thanks the present church thy pen will give, Which proves rebellion was so primitive. Must ancient failings be examples made? Then murderers from Cain may learn their trade. As thou the heathen and the saint hast drawn, 390 Methinks the apostate was the better man: And thy hot father, waving my respect, Not of a mother-church but of a sect. And such he needs must be of thy inditing; This comes of drinking asses' milk and writing. If Balak should be call'd to leave his place, As profit is the loudest call of grace, His temple, dispossess'd of one, would be Replenished with seven devils more by thee.

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 knew 470 What 'twas of old to pamper up a Jew; To what would he on quail and pheasant swell, That even on tripe and carrion could rebel? But though Heaven made him poor (with reverence speaking), He never was a poet of God's making; The midwife laid her hand on his thick skull, With this prophetic blessing--Be thou dull; Drink, swear, and roar, forbear no lewd delight Fit for thy bulk--do anything but write: Thou art of lasting make, like thoughtless men, 480 A strong nativity--but for the pen! Eat opium, mingle arsenic in thy drink, Still thou mayst live, avoiding pen and ink. I see, I see, 'tis counsel given in vain, For treason botch'd in rhyme will be thy bane; Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck, 'Tis fatal to thy fame and to thy neck: Why should thy metre good king David blast? A psalm of his will surely be thy last. Dar'st thou presume in verse to meet thy foes, 490 Thou whom the penny pamphlet foil'd in prose? Doeg, whom God for mankind's mirth has made, O'ertops thy talent in thy very trade; Doeg to thee, thy paintings are so coarse, A poet is, though he's the poet's horse. A double noose thou on thy neck dost pull, For writing treason, and for writing dull; To die for faction is a common evil, But to be hang'd for nonsense is the devil: Hadst thou the glories of thy king express'd, 500 Thy praises had been satire at the best; But thou in clumsy verse, unlick'd, unpointed, Hast shamefully defied the Lord's anointed: I will not rake the dunghill for thy crimes, For who would read thy life that reads thy rhymes? But of king David's foes, be this the doom, May all be like the young man Absalom; And, for my foes, may this their blessing be, To talk like Doeg, and to write like thee!

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, frequent The appointed club, can let sedition pass, Sense, nonsense, anything to employ the glass; And who believe, in their dull honest hearts, 530 The rest talk reason but to show their parts; Who ne'er had wit or will for mischief yet, But pleased to be reputed of a set.

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 shall be! By Sanhedrims and clamorous crowds thus press'd, What passions rent the righteous David's breast! Who knows not how to oppose or to comply-- Unjust to grant, or dangerous to deny! How near, in this dark juncture, Israel's fate, Whose peace one sole expedient could create, Which yet the extremest virtue did require, 590 Even of that prince whose downfall they conspire! His absence David does with tears advise, To appease their rage. Undaunted he complies. Thus he, who, prodigal of blood and ease, A royal life exposed to winds and seas, At once contending with the waves and fire, And heading danger in the wars of Tyre, Inglorious now forsakes his native sand, And like an exile quits the promised land! Our monarch scarce from pressing tears refrains, 600 And painfully his royal state maintains, Who now, embracing on the extremest shore, Almost revokes what he enjoin'd before: Concludes at last more trust to be allow'd To storms and seas than to the raging crowd! Forbear, rash muse! the parting scene to draw, With silence charm'd as deep as theirs that saw! Not only our attending nobles weep, But hardy sailors swell with tears the deep! The tide restrain'd her course, and more amazed, 610 The twin-stars on the royal brothers gazed: While this sole fear-- Does trouble to our suffering hero bring, Lest next the popular rage oppress the king! Thus parting, each for the other's danger grieved, The shore the king, and seas the prince received. Go, injured hero! while propitious gales, Soft as thy consort's breath, inspire thy sails; Well may she trust her beauties on a flood, Where thy triumphant fleets so oft have rode! 620 Safe on thy breast reclined, her rest be deep, Rock'd like a Nereid by the waves asleep; While happiest dreams her fancy entertain, And to Elysian fields convert the main! Go, injured hero! while the shores of Tyre At thy approach so silent shall admire, Who on thy thunder still their thoughts employ, And greet thy landing with a trembling joy!

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; 640 No hour of his in fruitless ease destroy'd, But on the noblest subjects still employ'd: Whose steady soul ne'er learn'd to separate Between his monarch's interest and the state; But heaps those blessings on the royal head, Which he well knows must be on subjects shed.

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. To ruin thus the chosen flock are sold, While wolves are ta'en for guardians of the fold; Seduced by these, we groundlessly complain, And loathe the manna of a gentle reign: 700 Thus our forefathers' crooked paths are trod-- We trust our prince no more than they their God. But all in vain our reasoning prophets preach, To those whom sad experience ne'er could teach, Who can commence new broils in bleeding scars, And fresh remembrance of intestine wars; When the same household mortal foes did yield, And brothers stain'd with brothers' blood the field; When sons' cursed steel the fathers' gore did stain, And mothers mourn'd for sons by fathers slain! 710 When thick as Egypt's locusts on the sand, Our tribes lay slaughter'd through the promised land, Whose few survivors with worse fate remain, To drag the bondage of a tyrant's reign: Which scene of woes, unknowing we renew, And madly, even those ills we fear, pursue; While Pharaoh laughs at our domestic broils, And safely crowds his tents with nations' spoils. Yet our fierce Sanhedrim, in restless rage, Against our absent hero still engage, 720 And chiefly urge, such did their frenzy prove, The only suit their prince forbids to move, Which, till obtain'd, they cease affairs of state, And real dangers waive for groundless hate. Long David's patience waits relief to bring, With all the indulgence of a lawful king, Expecting still the troubled waves would cease, But found the raging billows still increase. The crowd, whose insolence forbearance swells, While he forgives too far, almost rebels. 730 At last his deep resentments silence broke, The imperial palace shook, while thus he spoke--

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 see, And judge by the pernicious fruit the tree. If aught for which so loudly they declaim, Religion, laws, and freedom, were their aim, Our senates in due methods they had led, To avoid those mischiefs which they seem'd to dread: But first, e'er yet they propp'd the sinking state, To impeach and charge, as urged by private hate, Proves that they ne'er believed the fears they press'd, But barbarously destroy'd the nation's rest! 760 Oh! whither will ungovern'd senates drive, And to what bounds licentious votes arrive? When their injustice we are press'd to share, The monarch urged to exclude the lawful heir; Are princes thus distinguish'd from the crowd, And this the privilege of royal blood? But grant we should confirm the wrongs they press, His sufferings yet were than the people's less; Condemn'd for life the murdering sword to wield, And on their heirs entail a bloody field. 770 Thus madly their own freedom they betray, And for the oppression which they fear make way; Succession fix'd by Heaven, the kingdom's bar, Which once dissolved, admits the flood of war; Waste, rapine, spoil, without the assault begin, And our mad tribes supplant the fence within. Since then their good they will not understand, 'Tis time to take the monarch's power in hand; Authority and force to join with skill, And save the lunatics against their will. 780 The same rough means that 'suage the crowd, appease Our senates raging with the crowd's disease. Henceforth unbiass'd measures let them draw From no false gloss, but genuine text of law; Nor urge those crimes upon religion's score, Themselves so much in Jebusites abhor. Whom laws convict, and only they, shall bleed, Nor pharisees by pharisees be freed. Impartial justice from our throne shall shower, All shall have right, and we our sovereign power. 790

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 to see The crowd's applause with virtue once agree. Success charms all, but zeal for worth distress'd, A virtue proper to the brave and best; 810 'Mongst whom was Jothran--Jothran always bent To serve the crown, and loyal by descent; Whose constancy so firm, and conduct just, Deserved at once two royal masters' trust; Who Tyre's proud arms had manfully withstood On seas, and gather'd laurels from the flood; Of learning yet no portion was denied, Friend to the Muses and the Muses' pride. Nor can Benaiah's worth forgotten lie, Of steady soul when public storms were high; 820 Whose conduct, while the Moor fierce onsets made, Secured at once our honour and our trade. Such were the chiefs who most his sufferings mourn'd, And view'd with silent joy the prince return'd; While those that sought his absence to betray, Press first their nauseous false respects to pay; Him still the officious hypocrites molest, And with malicious duty break his rest.

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, That may confirm him in the people's trust. But failing thus to ensnare him, nor secure How long his foil'd ambition may endure, Plots next to lay him by as past his date, And try some new pretender's luckier fate; Whose hopes with equal toil he would pursue, Nor care what claimer's crown'd, except the true. 870 Wake, Absalom! approaching ruin shun, And see, O see, for whom thou art undone! How are thy honours and thy fame betray'd, The property of desperate villains made! Lost power and conscious fears their crimes create, And guilt in them was little less than fate; But why shouldst thou, from every grievance free, Forsake thy vineyards for their stormy sea? For thee did Canaan's milk and honey flow, Love dress'd thy bowers, and laurels sought thy brow; 880 Preferment, wealth, and power thy vassals were, And of a monarch all things but the care. Oh! should our crimes again that curse draw down, And rebel-arms once more attempt the crown, Sure ruin waits unhappy Absalom, Alike by conquest or defeat undone. Who could relentless see such youth and charms Expire with wretched fate in impious arms? A prince so form'd, with earth's and Heaven's applause, To triumph o'er crown'd heads in David's cause: 890 Or grant him victor, still his hopes must fail, Who, conquering, would not for himself prevail; The faction whom he trusts for future sway, Him and the public would alike betray; Amongst themselves divide the captive state, And found their hydra-empire in his fate! Thus having beat the clouds with painful flight, The pitied youth, with sceptres in his sight (So have their cruel politics decreed), Must by that crew, that made him guilty, bleed! 900 For, could their pride brook any prince's sway, Whom but mild David would they choose to obey? Who once at such a gentle reign repine, The fall of monarchy itself design: From hate to that their reformations spring, And David not their grievance, but the king. Seized now with panic fear the faction lies, Lest this clear truth strike Absalom's charm'd eyes, Lest he perceive, from long enchantment free, What all beside the flatter'd youth must see: 910 But whate'er doubts his troubled bosom swell, Fair carriage still became Achitophel, Who now an envious festival installs, And to survey their strength the faction calls,-- Which fraud, religious worship too must gild. But oh! how weakly does sedition build! For lo! the royal mandate issues forth, Dashing at once their treason, zeal, and mirth! So have I seen disastrous chance invade, Where careful emmets had their forage laid, 920 Whether fierce Vulcan's rage the furzy plain Had seized, engender'd by some careless swain; Or swelling Neptune lawless inroads made, And to their cell of store his flood convey'd; The commonwealth broke up, distracted go, And in wild haste their loaded mates o'erthrow: Even so our scatter'd guests confusedly meet, With boil'd, baked, roast, all justling in the street; Dejecting all, and ruefully dismay'd, For shekel without treat or treason paid. 930 Sedition's dark eclipse now fainter shows, More bright each hour the royal planet grows, Of force the clouds of envy to disperse, In kind conjunction of assisting stars. Here, labouring muse! those glorious chiefs relate, That turn'd the doubtful scale of David's fate; The rest of that illustrious band rehearse, Immortalized in laurell'd Asaph's verse: Hard task! yet will not I thy flight recall, View heaven, and then enjoy thy glorious fall. 940

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 strain To register the glories thou shalt gain: For sure the dew shall Gilboa's hills forsake, And Jordan mix his stream with Sodom's lake; 980 Or seas retired, their secret stores disclose, And to the sun their scaly brood expose, Or swell'd above the cliffs their billows raise, Before the muses leave their patron's praise.

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, Not tamely, and unconquering, thus expired: But destiny is now their only foe, And dying, even o'er that they triumph too; With loud last breaths their master's 'scape applaud, Of whom kind force could scarce the fates defraud; Who for such followers lost, O matchless mind! At his own safety now almost repined! Say, royal Sir! by all your fame in arms, Your praise in peace, and by Urania's charms, 1100 If all your sufferings past so nearly press'd, Or pierced with half so painful grief your breast?

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.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES:

[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.]

* * * * *

THE MEDAL.[76]

A SATIRE AGAINST SEDITION.

EPISTLE TO THE WHIGS.

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 regni apud Scotos:" or your first Covenant and new Association from the holy league of the French Guisards. Any one who reads Davila, may trace your practices all along. There were the same pretences for reformation and loyalty, the same aspersions of the king, and the same grounds of a rebellion. I know not whether you will take the historian's word, who says it was reported, that Poltrot, a Huguenot, murdered Francis Duke of Guise, by the instigations of Theodore Beza; or that it was a Huguenot minister, otherwise called a Presbyterian (for our church abhors so devilish a tenet), who first writ a treatise of the lawfulness of deposing and murdering kings of a different persuasion in religion: but I am able to prove, from the doctrine of Calvin, and principles of Buchanan, that they set the people above the magistrate; which, if I mistake not, is your own fundamental, and which carries your loyalty no further than your liking. When a vote of the House of Commons goes on your side, you are as ready to observe it as if it were passed into a law; but when you are pinched with any former, and yet unrepealed act of parliament, you declare that in some cases you will not be obliged by it. The passage is in the same third part of the "No-Protestant Plot," and is too plain to be denied. The late copy of your intended Association, you neither wholly justify nor condemn; but as the Papists, when they are unopposed, fly out into all the pageantries of worship, but in times of war, when they are hard pressed by arguments, lie close intrenched behind the Council of Trent: so now, when your affairs are in a low condition, you dare not pretend that to be a legal combination, but whensoever you are afloat, I doubt not but it will be maintained and justified to purpose. For, indeed, there is nothing to defend it but the sword: it is the proper time to say anything when men have all things in their power.

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 frauds he learn'd in his fanatic years Made him uneasy in his lawful gears; 60 At best, as little honest as he could, And, like white witches[81], mischievously good. To his first bias longingly he leans; And rather would be great by wicked means. Thus framed for ill, he loosed our triple hold[82]; Advice unsafe, precipitous, and bold. From hence those tears! that Ilium of our woe! Who helps a powerful friend, forearms a foe. What wonder if the waves prevail so far, When he cut down the banks that made the bar? 70 Seas follow but their nature to invade; But he by art our native strength betray'd. So Samson to his foe his force confess'd, And, to be shorn, lay slumbering on her breast. But when this fatal counsel, found too late, Exposed its author to the public hate; When his just sovereign, by no impious way Could be seduced to arbitrary sway; Forsaken of that hope he shifts his sail, Drives down the current with a popular gale; 80 And shows the fiend confess'd without a veil. He preaches to the crowd that power is lent, But not convey'd, to kingly government; That claims successive bear no binding force, That coronation oaths are things of course; Maintains the multitude can never err, And sets the people in the papal chair. The reason's obvious: interest never lies; The most have still their interest in their eyes; The power is always theirs, and power is ever wise. 90 Almighty crowd, thou shortenest all dispute-- Power is thy essence; wit thy attribute! Nor faith nor reason make thee at a stay, Thou leap'st o'er all eternal truths, in thy Pindaric way! Athens, no doubt, did righteously decide, When Phocion and when Socrates were tried: As righteously they did those dooms repent; Still they were wise whatever way they went. Crowds err not, though to both extremes they run; To kill the father, and recall the son. 100 Some think the fools were most, as times went then, But now the world's o'erstock'd with prudent men. The common cry is even religion's test-- The Turk's is at Constantinople best; Idols in India; Popery at Rome; And our own worship only true at home: And true, but for the time 'tis hard to know How long we please it shall continue so. This side to-day, and that to-morrow burns; So all are God Almighties in their turns. 110 A tempting doctrine, plausible and new; What fools our fathers were, if this be true! Who, to destroy the seeds of civil war, Inherent right in monarchs did declare: And, that a lawful power might never cease, Secured succession to secure our peace. Thus property and sovereign sway, at last, In equal balances were justly cast: But this new Jehu spurs the hot-mouth'd horse-- Instructs the beast to know his native force; 120 To take the bit between his teeth, and fly To the next headlong steep of anarchy. Too happy England, if our good we knew, Would we possess the freedom we pursue! The lavish government can give no more: Yet we repine, and plenty makes us poor. God tried us once; our rebel-fathers fought, He glutted them with all the power they sought: Till, master'd by their own usurping brave, The free-born subject sunk into a slave. 130 We loathe our manna, and we long for quails; Ah, what is man when his own wish prevails! How rash, how swift to plunge himself in ill! Proud of his power, and boundless in his will! That kings can do no wrong, we must believe; None can they do, and must they all receive? Help, Heaven! or sadly we shall see an hour, When neither wrong nor right are in their power! Already they have lost their best defence-- The benefit of laws which they dispense. 140 No justice to their righteous cause allow'd; But baffled by an arbitrary crowd. And medals graved their conquest to record, The stamp and coin of their adopted lord.

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 find, Engender'd on the slime thou leav'st behind. Sedition has not wholly seized on thee, Thy nobler parts are from infection free. Of Israel's tribes thou hast a numerous band, But still the Canaanite is in the land. Thy military chiefs are brave and true; Nor are thy disenchanted burghers few. 180 The head[84] is loyal which thy heart commands, But what's a head with two such gouty hands? The wise and wealthy love the surest way, And are content to thrive and to obey. But wisdom is to sloth too great a slave; None are so busy as the fool and knave. Those let me curse; what vengeance will they urge, Whose ordures neither plague nor fire can purge? Nor sharp experience can to duty bring, Nor angry Heaven, nor a forgiving king! 190 In gospel-phrase, their chapmen they betray; Their shops are dens, the buyer is their prey. The knack of trades is living on the spoil; They boast even when each other they beguile. Customs to steal is such a trivial thing, That 'tis their charter to defraud their king. All hands unite of every jarring sect; They cheat the country first, and then infect. They for God's cause their monarchs dare dethrone, And they'll be sure to make his cause their own. 200 Whether the plotting Jesuit laid the plan Of murdering kings, or the French Puritan, Our sacrilegious sects their guides outgo, And kings and kingly power would murder too.

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 And ease him, by degrees, of public care. Yet, to consult his dignity and fame, He should have leave to exercise the name, And hold the cards, while commons play'd the game. For what can power give more than food and drink, To live at ease, and not be bound to think? These are the cooler methods of their crime, But their hot zealots think 'tis loss of time; On utmost bounds of loyalty they stand, And grin and whet like a Croatian band, 240 That waits impatient for the last command. Thus outlaws open villainy maintain, They steal not, but in squadrons scour the plain; And if their power the passengers subdue, The most have right, the wrong is in the few. Such impious axioms foolishly they show, For in some soils republics will not grow: Our temperate isle will no extremes sustain, Of popular sway or arbitrary reign; But slides between them both into the best, 250 Secure in freedom, in a monarch blest: And though the climate, vex'd with various winds, Works through our yielding bodies on our minds. The wholesome tempest purges what it breeds, To recommend the calmness that succeeds.

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 hæc opprobria, vobis Et dici potuisse, et non potuisse refelli."

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES:

[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.]

* * * * *

RELIGIO LAICI; OR, A LAYMAN'S FAITH.

AN EPISTLE.

THE PREFACE.

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 me wholly to omit. I am sensible enough that I had done more prudently to have followed his opinion: but then I could not have satisfied myself that I had done honestly not to have written what was my own. It has always been my thought, that heathens who never did, nor without miracle could, hear of the name of Christ, were yet in a possibility of salvation. Neither will it enter easily into my belief, that before the coming of our Saviour the whole world, excepting only the Jewish nation, should lie under the inevitable necessity of everlasting punishment, for want of that revelation, which was confined to so small a spot of ground as that of Palestine. Among the sons of Noah we read of one only who was accursed; and if a blessing in the ripeness of time was reserved for Japhet (of whose progeny we are), it seems unaccountable to me, why so many generations of the same offspring, as preceded our Saviour in the flesh, should be all involved in one common condemnation, and yet that their posterity should be entitled to the hopes of salvation: as if a bill of exclusion had passed only on the fathers, which debarred not the sons from their succession: or that so many ages had been delivered over to hell, and so many reserved for heaven; and that the devil had the first choice, and God the next. Truly I am apt to think, that the revealed religion which was taught by Noah to all his sons, might continue for some ages in the whole posterity. That afterwards it was included wholly in the family of Shem is manifest; but when the progenies of Ham and Japhet swarmed into colonies, and those colonies were subdivided into many others, in process of time their descendants lost by little and little the primitive and purer rites of divine worship, retaining only the notion of one Deity; to which succeeding generations added others: for men took their degrees in those ages from conquerors to gods. Revelation being thus eclipsed to almost all mankind, the light of nature, as the next in dignity, was substituted; and that is it which St Paul concludes to be the rule of the heathens, and by which they are hereafter to be judged. If my supposition be true, then the consequence which I have assumed in my poem may be also true; namely, that Deism, or the principles of natural worship, are only the faint remnants or dying flames of revealed religion in the posterity of Noah: and that our modern philosophers--nay, and some of our philosophising divines--have too much exalted the faculties of our souls, when they have maintained that by their force mankind has been able to find out that there is one supreme agent or intellectual Being which we call God: that praise and prayer are his due worship; and the rest of those deducements, which I am confident are the remote effects of revelation, and unattainable by our discourse, I mean as simply considered, and without the benefit of divine illumination. So that we have not lifted up ourselves to God, by the weak pinions of our reason, but he has been pleased to descend to us; and what Socrates said of him, what Plato writ, and the rest of the heathen philosophers of several nations, is all no more than the twilight of revelation, after the sun of it was set in the race of Noah. That there is something above us, some principle of motion, our reason can apprehend, though it cannot discover what it is by its own virtue. And, indeed, it is very improbable, that we, who by the strength of our faculties cannot enter into the knowledge of any Being, not so much as of our own, should be able to find out by them, that supreme nature, which we cannot otherwise define than by saying it is infinite; as if infinite were definable, or infinity a subject for our narrow understanding. They who would prove religion by reason, do but weaken the cause which they endeavour to support: it is to take away the pillars from our faith, and to prop it only with a twig; it is to design a tower like that of Babel, which, if it were possible, as it is not, to reach heaven, would come to nothing by the confusion of the workmen. For every man is building a several way; impotently conceited of his own model and his own materials: reason is always striving, and always at a loss; and of necessity it must so come to pass, while it is exercised about that which is not its own proper object. Let us be content at last to know God by his own methods; at least, so much of him as he is pleased to reveal to us in the sacred Scriptures: to apprehend them to be the Word of God is all our reason has to do; for all beyond it is the work of faith, which is the seal of Heaven impressed upon our human understanding.

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 the Christians; then the anathema reaches not the heathens, who had never heard of Christ, and were nothing interested in that dispute. After all, I am far from blaming even that prefatory addition to the creed, and as far from cavilling at the continuation of it in the Liturgy of the Church, where, on the days appointed, it is publicly read: for I suppose there is the same reason for it now, in opposition to the Socinians, as there was then against the Arians; the one being a heresy, which seems to have been refined out of the other; and with how much more plausibility of reason it combats our religion, with so much more caution it ought to be avoided: therefore the prudence of our Church is to be commended, which has interposed her authority for the recommendation of this creed. Yet to such as are grounded in the true belief, those explanatory creeds, the Nicene and this of Athanasius, might perhaps be spared; for what is supernatural will always be a mystery, in spite of exposition; and for my own part, the plain Apostles' creed is most suitable to my weak understanding, as the simplest diet is the most easy of digestion.

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 malicious glosses, all men of reason conclude credible. If there be anything more than this required of me, I must believe it as well as I am able, in spite of the witnesses, and out of a decent conformity to the votes of parliament; for I suppose the Fanatics will not allow the private spirit in this case. Here the infallibility is at least in one part of the government; and our understandings as well as our wills are represented. But to return to the Roman Catholics, how can we be secure from the practice of Jesuited Papists in that religion? For not two or three of that order, as some of them would impose upon us, but almost the whole body of them are of opinion, that their infallible master has a right over kings, not only in spirituals but temporals. Not to name Mariana, Bellarmine, Emanuel Sa, Molina, Santare, Simancha,[85] and at least twenty others of foreign countries; we can produce of our own nation, Campian, and Doleman or Parsons; besides, many are named whom I have not read, who all of them attest this doctrine, that the pope can depose and give away the right of any sovereign prince, _si vel paulum deflexerit_, if he shall never so little warp: but if he once comes to be excommunicated, then the bond of obedience is taken off from subjects; and they may, and ought to drive him, like another Nebuchadnezzar, _ex hominum Christianorum dominatu_, from exercising dominion over Christians; and to this they are bound by virtue of divine precept, and by all the ties of conscience, under no less penalty than damnation. If they answer me, as a learned priest has lately written, that this doctrine of the Jesuits is not _de fide_; and that consequently they are not obliged by it, they must pardon me, if I think they have said nothing to the purpose; for it is a maxim in their church, where points of faith are not decided, and that doctors are of contrary opinions, they may follow which part they please; but more safely the most received and most authorised. And their champion Bellarmine has told the world, in his Apology, that the king of England is a vassal to the pope, _ratione directi domini_, and that he holds in villanage of his Roman landlord: which is no new claim put in for England. Our chronicles are his authentic witnesses, that King John was deposed by the same plea, and Philip Augustus admitted tenant. And which makes the more for Bellarmine, the French king was again ejected when our king submitted to the church, and the crown was received under the sordid condition of a vassalage.

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 a madness to be sober alone, while the nation continues drank: but that saying of their father Cres. is still running in my head, that they may be dispensed with in their obedience to an heretic prince, while the necessity of the times shall oblige them to it: for that, as another of them tells us, is only the effect of Christian prudence; but when once they shall get power to shake him off, an heretic is no lawful king, and consequently to rise against him is no rebellion. I should be glad, therefore, that they would follow the advice which was charitably given them by a reverend prelate of our church; namely, that they would join in a public act of disowning and detesting those Jesuitic principles; and subscribe to all doctrines which deny the pope's authority of deposing kings, and releasing subjects from their oath of allegiance: to which I should think they might easily be induced, if it be true that this present pope has condemned the doctrine of king-killing, a thesis of the Jesuits maintained, amongst others, _ex cathedra_, as they call it, or in open consistory.

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 numerous party of fanatic members of the one, or the encouragement of any favourite in the other, whose covetousness was gaping at the patrimony of the Church. They who will consult the works of our venerable Hooker, or the account of his life, or more particularly the letter written to him on this subject by George Cranmer, may see by what gradations they proceeded: from the dislike of cap and surplice, the very next step was admonitions to the parliament against the whole government ecclesiastical: then came out volumes in English and Latin in defence of their tenets: and immediately practices were set on foot to erect their discipline without authority. Those not succeeding, satire and railing was the next: and Martin Mar-prelate, the Marvel of those times, was the first Presbyterian scribbler, who sanctified libels and scurrility to the use of the good old cause: which was done, says my author, upon this account; that their serious treatises having been fully answered and refuted, they might compass by railing what they had lost by reasoning; and, when their cause was sunk in court and parliament, they might at least hedge in a stake amongst the rabble: for to their ignorance all things are wit which are abusive; but if Church and State were made the theme, then the doctoral degree of wit was to be taken at Billingsgate: even the most saint-like of the party, though they durst not excuse this contempt and vilifying of the government, yet were pleased, and grinned at it with a pious smile; and called it a judgment of God against the hierarchy. Thus sectaries, we may see, were born with teeth, foul-mouthed and scurrilous from their infancy: and if spiritual pride, venom, violence, contempt of superiors, and slander, had been the marks of orthodox belief, the presbytery and the rest of our schismatics, which are their spawn, were always the most visible church in the Christian world.

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 light; With Socrates may see their Maker's face, 210 While thousand rubric-martyrs want a place. Nor does it balk my charity to find The Egyptian bishop[88] of another mind: For though his creed eternal truth contains, 'Tis hard for man to doom to endless pains All who believed not all his zeal required; Unless he first could prove he was inspired. Then let us either think he meant to say This faith, where publish'd, was the only way; Or else conclude that, Arius to confute, 220 The good old man, too eager in dispute, Flew high; and as his Christian fury rose, Damn'd all for heretics who durst oppose.

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 sense, With vain traditions stopp'd the gaping fence, Which every common hand pull'd up with ease: What safety from such brushwood-helps as these! If written words from time are not secured, 270 How can we think have oral sounds endured? Which thus transmitted, if one mouth has fail'd, Immortal lies on ages are entail'd: And that some such have been, is proved too plain, If we consider interest, church, and gain.

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 at a loss; For the strait gate would be made straiter yet, Were none admitted there but men of wit. The few by nature form'd, with learning fraught, Born to instruct, as others to be taught, Must study well the sacred page; and see Which doctrine, this or that, does best agree With the whole tenor of the work divine: 330 And plainliest points to Heaven's reveal'd design: Which exposition flows from genuine sense; And which is forced by wit and eloquence. Not that tradition's parts are useless here, When general, old, disinteress'd, and clear: That ancient Fathers thus expound the page, Gives Truth the reverend majesty of age: Confirms its force, by biding every test; For best authority's next rules are best. And still the nearer to the spring we go, 340 More limpid, more unsoil'd, the waters flow. Thus first traditions were a proof alone, Could we be certain such they were, so known: But since some flaws in long descent may be, They make not truth but probability. Even Arius and Pelagius durst provoke To what the centuries preceding spoke. Such difference is there in an oft-told tale: But Truth by its own sinews will prevail. Tradition written, therefore, more commends 350 Authority, than what from voice descends: And this, as perfect as its kind can be, Rolls down to us the sacred history: Which from the Universal Church received, Is tried, and after for itself believed.

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 went, 380 Poor laymen took salvation on content; As needy men take money, good or bad: God's Word they had not, but th' priest's they had. Yet, whate'er false conveyances they made, The lawyer still was certain to be paid. In those dark times they learn'd their knack so well, That by long use they grew infallible. At last a knowing age began to inquire If they the Book, or that did them inspire: And making narrower search, they found, though late, 390 That what they thought the priest's, was their estate; Taught by the will produced, the written Word, How long they had been cheated on record. Then every man who saw the title fair, Claim'd a child's part, and put in for a share: Consulted soberly his private good, And saved himself as cheap as e'er he could.

'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 soar In search of heaven, than all the Church before: Nor can we be deceived, unless we see The Scripture and the Fathers disagree. 440 If, after all, they stand suspected still, (For no man's faith depends upon his will): 'Tis some relief, that points not clearly known, Without much hazard may be let alone: And after hearing what our Church can say, If still our reason runs another way, That private reason 'tis more just to curb, Than by disputes the public peace disturb. For points obscure are of small use to learn: But common quiet is mankind's concern. 450

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.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES:

[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 £15,000, 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.]

* * * * *

THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS:

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. The amazing news of Charles at once were spread, At once the general voice declared, "Our gracious prince was dead." No sickness known before, no slow disease, To soften grief by just degrees: But like a hurricane on Indian seas, The tempest rose; An unexpected burst of woes; With scarce a breathing space betwixt-- This now becalm'd, and perishing the next. As if great Atlas from his height Should sink beneath his heavenly weight, And with a mighty flaw, the flaming wall (At once it shall), Should gape immense, and rushing down, o'erwhelm this nether ball; So swift and so surprising was our fear: Our Atlas fell indeed, but Hercules was near.

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. Heaven half repented of the doom, And almost grieved it had foreseen, What by foresight it will'd eternally to come. Mercy above did hourly plead For her resemblance here below; And mild forgiveness intercede To stop the coming blow. New miracles approach'd the ethereal throne, Such as his wondrous life had oft and lately known, And urged that still they might be shown. On earth his pious brother pray'd and vow'd, Renouncing greatness at so dear a rate, Himself defending what he could, From all the glories of his future fate. With him the innumerable crowd Of armed prayers Knock'd at the gates of Heaven, and knock'd aloud; The first well-meaning rude petitioners, All for his life assail'd the throne, All would have bribed the skies by offering up their own. So great a throng not Heaven itself could bar; 'Twas almost borne by force as in the giants' war. The prayers, at least, for his reprieve were heard; His death, like Hezekiah's, was deferr'd: Against the sun the shadow went; Five days, those five degrees, were lent To form our patience and prepare the event. The second causes took the swift command, The medicinal head, the ready hand, All eager to perform their part; All but eternal doom was conquer'd by their art: Once more the fleeting soul came back To inspire the mortal frame; And in the body took a doubtful stand, Doubtful and hovering like expiring flame, That mounts and falls by turns, and trembles o'er the brand.

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 change their sway. Such were our counter-tides at land, and so Presaging of the fatal blow, In their prodigious ebb and flow. The royal soul, that, like the labouring moon, By charms of art was hurried down, Forced with regret to leave her native sphere, Came but awhile on liking here: Soon weary of the painful strife, And made but faint essays of life: An evening light Soon shut in night; A strong distemper, and a weak relief, Short intervals of joy, and long returns of grief.

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 Cæsar 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! So saints, by supernatural power set free, Are left at last in martyrdom to die; Such is the end of oft-repeated miracles. Forgive me, Heaven, that impious thought! 'Twas grief for Charles, to madness wrought, That question'd thy supreme decree. Thou didst his gracious reign prolong, Even in thy saints' and angels' wrong, His fellow-citizens of immortality: For twelve long years of exile borne, Twice twelve we number'd since his blest return: So strictly wert thou just to pay, Even to the driblet of a day. Yet still we murmur and complain, The quails and manna should no longer rain; Those miracles 'twas needless to renew; The chosen stock has now the promised land in view.

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, No drum, or louder trumpet, needs To inspire the coward, warm the cold-- His voice, his sole appearance makes them bold. Gaul and Batavia dread the impending blow; Too well the vigour of that arm they know; They lick the dust, and crouch beneath their fatal foe. Long may they fear this awful prince, And not provoke his lingering sword; Peace is their only sure defence, Their best security his word: In all the changes of his doubtful state, His truth, like Heaven's, was kept inviolate, For him to promise is to make it fate. His valour can triumph o'er land and main; With broken oaths his fame he will not stain; With conquest basely bought, and with inglorious gain.

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.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES:

[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!

* * * * *

THE HIND AND THE PANTHER.

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 to the one nor the other of these is this satire any way intended: it is aimed only at the refractory and disobedient on either side. For those who are come over to the royal party are consequently supposed to be out of gun-shot. Our physicians have observed, that, in process of time, some diseases have abated of their virulence, and have in a manner worn out their malignity, so as to be no longer mortal; and why may not I suppose the same concerning some of those who have formerly been enemies to kingly government, as well as Catholic religion? I hope they have now another notion of both, as having found, by comfortable experience, that the doctrine of persecution is far from being an article of our faith.

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.

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