No More Learning

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.

* * * * *


PART I.

A milk-white Hind, immortal and unchanged,
Fed on the lawns, and in the forest ranged;
Without unspotted, innocent within,
She fear'd no danger, for she knew no sin.
Yet had she oft been chased with horns and hounds,
And Scythian shafts; and many winged wounds
Aim'd at her heart; was often forced to fly,
And doom'd to death, though fated not to die.

Not so her young; for their unequal line
Was hero's make, half human, half divine. 10
Their earthly mould obnoxious was to fate,
The immortal part assumed immortal state.
Of these a slaughter'd army lay in blood,
Extended o'er the Caledonian wood,
Their native walk; whose vocal blood arose,
And cried for pardon on their perjured foes.
Their fate was fruitful, and the sanguine seed,
Endued with souls, increased the sacred breed.
So captive Israel multiplied in chains,
A numerous exile, and enjoy'd her pains. 20
With grief and gladness mix'd, the mother view'd
Her martyr'd offspring, and their race renew'd;
Their corpse to perish, but their kind to last,
So much the deathless plant the dying fruit surpass'd.

Panting and pensive now she ranged alone,
And wander'd in the kingdoms once her own,
The common hunt, though from their rage restrain'd
By sovereign power, her company disdain'd;
Grinn'd as they pass'd, and with a glaring eye
Gave gloomy signs of secret enmity. 30
'Tis true, she bounded by, and tripp'd so light,
They had not time to take a steady sight;
For truth has such a face and such a mien,
As to be loved needs only to be seen.

The bloody Bear, an independent beast,
Unlick'd to form, in groans her hate express'd.
Among the timorous kind the quaking Hare[94]
Profess'd neutrality, but would not swear.
Next her the buffoon Ape[95], as Atheists use,
Mimick'd all sects, and had his own to choose: 40
Still when the Lion look'd, his knees he bent,
And paid at church a courtier's compliment.
The bristled Baptist Boar, impure as he,
But whiten'd with the foam of sanctity,
With fat pollutions fill'd the sacred place,
And mountains levell'd in his furious race;
So first rebellion founded was in grace.
But since the mighty ravage, which he made
In German forests, had his guilt betray'd,
With broken tusks, and with a borrow'd name; 50
He shunn'd the vengeance, and conceal'd the shame:
So lurk'd in sects unseen. With greater guile
False Reynard[96] fed on consecrated spoil:
The graceless beast by Athanasius first
Was chased from Nice, then by Socinus nursed:
His impious race their blasphemy renew'd,
And nature's King through nature's optics view'd.
Reversed they view'd him lessen'd to their eye,
Nor in an infant could a God descry:
New swarming sects to this obliquely tend, 60
Hence they began, and here they all will end.

What weight of ancient witness can prevail,
If private reason hold the public scale?
But, gracious God, how well dost thou provide
For erring judgments an unerring guide!
Thy throne is darkness in the abyss of light,
A blaze of glory that forbids the sight.
O teach me to believe thee thus conceal'd,
And search no farther than thyself reveal'd;
But her alone for my director take, 70
Whom thou hast promised never to forsake!
My thoughtless youth was wing'd with vain desires;
My manhood, long misled by wandering fires,
Follow'd false lights; and when their glimpse was gone,
My pride struck out new sparkles of her own.
Such was I, such by nature still I am;
Be thine the glory, and be mine the shame.
Good life be now my task; my doubts are done:
What more could fright my faith, than Three in One?
Can I believe Eternal God could lie 80
Disguised in mortal mould and infancy?
That the great Maker of the world could die?