No More Learning

Both their sad tongues quite lost the power to speak,
And their kind hearts seemed both prepared to break.
]

[Footnote 40: Perhaps the most extraordinary instance of flattery,
wrought up to impiety, occurs in Mrs Behn's address to the queen on the
death of her husband:

Methinks I see you like the queen of heaven,
To whom all patience and all grace was given;
When the great lord of life himself was laid
Upon her lap, all wounded, pale, and dead;
Transpierced with anguish, even to death transformed,
So she bewailed her god, so sighed, so mourned,
So his blest image in her heart remained,
So his blest memory o'er her soul still reigned;
She lived the sacred victim to deplore,
And never knew, or wished a pleasure more.
]

[Footnote 41: These are even more numerous than the Elegiasts on
Charles's death. In the Luttrell Collection there are the following
rare pieces.

"_Panegyris Jacobi serenissimi, &c. regi ipso die inaugurationis. _"

"A Poem on Do. by R. Philips. "

"On Do. by a Young Gentleman. "

"A Panegyrick on Do. by the Author of the Plea for Succession. "

"A New Song on Do. "

"A Poem on Do. by John Philips. "

"A Poem upon the Coronation, by J. Baber, Esq. "

"A Pindarique to their Sacred Majesties on their Coronation. "

"A Poem on Do. by R. Mansell, Gent. "

"A Panegyrick on Do. by Peter Ker;" with whose rapturous invitation to
the ships to strand themselves for joy, we shall conclude the list:

Let subjects sing, bells ring, and cannons roar;
And every ship come dancing to the shore.
]

[Footnote 42: Dryden, perhaps, recollected the poem of Fitzpayne
Fisher on Cromwell's death, entitled, _Threnodia Triumphalis in obitum
serenissimi Nostri Principis Olivari, Angliæ Scotiæ Hiberniœ cum
dominationibus ubicunque jacentibus Nuperi protectoris, (Qui obiit.
Septemb. 3tio. ) Ubi stupendæ passim victoriæ, et incredibiles domi
forasque successus, Heroico carmine, succinctim perstringuntur. Per
Fitzpaynæum Piscatorem. Londini, 1658. _]




THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS.


I.

Thus long my grief has kept me dumb:
Sure there's a lethargy in mighty woe,
Tears stand congealed, 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 unconcerned 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 feared.
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 an hurricane on Indian seas,
The tempest rose;
An unexpected burst of woes,[43]
With scarce a breathing space betwixt,
This now becalmed, 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,
As 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. [44]


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 addrest,
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 prayed,
Nor knew nor wished those vows he made,
On his own head should be repaid.
Soon as the ill-omen'd rumour reached his ear,
(Ill news is winged 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 unarrayed 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 looked 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's, 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,
Seemed 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 willed eternally to come.
Mercy above did hourly plead
For her resemblance here below;
And mild forgiveness intercede
To stop the coming blow.
New miracles approached the etherial throne,
Such as his wonderous life had oft and lately known,
And urged that still they might be shown.
On earth his pious brother prayed and vowed,
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
Knocked at the gates of heaven, and knocked aloud;
The first well-meaning rude petitioners. [45]
All for his life assailed 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 deferred:
Against the sun the shadow went;
Five days, those five degrees, were lent,
To form our patience, and prepare the event. [46]
The second causes took the swift command,
The medicinal head, the ready hand,
All eager to perform their part;[47]
All but eternal doom was conquered 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,[48]
Took the same train, the same impetuous bound:
The drooping town in smiles again was drest,
Gladness in every face exprest,
Their eyes before their tongues confest.
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 past.
Above the rest heroic James appeared,
Exalted more, because he more had feared.
His manly heart, whose noble pride
Was still above
Dissembled hate, or varnished love,
Its more than common transport could not hide;
But like an eagre[49] rode in triumph o'er the tide.
Thus, in alternate course,
The tyrant passions, hope and fear,
Did in extremes appear,
And flashed 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 a while on liking[50] 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 med'cines tried,
And every noble remedy applied;
With emulation each essayed
His utmost skill; nay, more, they prayed:
Never was losing game with better conduct played.
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 battered from afar
With all the cannon of the medicinal war;
No gentle means could be essayed,
'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 Cæsar underwent
The malice of their art, nor bent
Beneath whate'er their pious rigour could invent.
In five such days he suffered more
Than any suffered in his reign before;
More, infinitely more, than he,
Against the worst of rebels could decree,
A traitor, or twice pardoned enemy.
Now art was tired without success,
No racks could make the stubborn malady confess.
The vain insurancers of life,
And he who most performed, and promised less,
Even Short[51] himself, forsook the unequal strife.
Death and despair was 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 unconcernedly 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 looked as when he conquered and forgave.


VII.

As if some angel had been sent
To lengthen out his government,
And to foretel as many years again,
As he had numbered in his happy reign;
So cheerfully he took the doom
Of his departing breath,
Nor shrunk nor stept aside for death;
But, with unaltered pace, kept on,
Providing for events to come,
When he resigned the throne.
Still he maintained 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:[52]
He took and prest 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 disobeyed;
Not when the most severe commands were laid;
Nor want, nor exile, with his duty weighed:[53]
A prince on whom, if heaven its eyes could close,
The welfare of the world it safely might repose.


VIII.

That king, 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 save from cruelty:[54]
Those, for whom love could no excuses frame,
He graciously forgot to name.
Thus far my muse, though rudely, has designed
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 begged 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 rebelled.
Perhaps the godlike hero, in his breast,
Disdained, or was ashamed to show,
So weak, so womanish a woe,
Which yet the brother and the friend so plenteously confest.


IX.

Amidst that silent shower, the royal mind
An easy passage found,
And left its sacred earth behind;
Nor murmuring groan expressed, 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 knew him there.
That peace which made thy prosperous reign to shine,
That peace thou leav'st 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 poured
Into the nation's bleeding wound,[55]
And care, that after kept it sound,
For numerous blessings yearly showered,
And property with plenty crowned;
For freedom, still maintained 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 entailed 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 fixed 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,
Could 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-tempered 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 may'st chuse
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 drained from all, and all they knew;
His apprehension quick, his judgment true,
That the most learned, 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 high way;[56]
With rank Geneva weeds run o'er,
And cockle, at the best, amidst the corn it bore:
The royal husbandman appeared,
And ploughed, and sowed, and tilled;
The thorns he rooted out, the rubbish cleared,
And blest the obedient field
When strait a double harvest rose,
Such as the swarthy Indian mows,
Or happier climates near the Line,
Or paradise manured, and drest 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
Attend his wonderous 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. [57]
Even they could thrive in his auspicious reign;
And such a plenteous crop they bore
Of purest and well-winnowed 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 heldst 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 toiled, he gained, 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 questioned 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 born,
Twice twelve we numbered since his blest return:
So strictly wer't thou just to pay,
Even to the driblet of a day. [58]
Yet still we murmur, and complain
The quails and manna should no longer rain:
Those miracles 'twas needless to renew;
The chosen flock 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 formed 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 master-piece.


XVI.

View then a monarch ripened 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 prest,
So early was the Deity confest;
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 opprest, the higher still he rose.
Those were the preludes of his fate,
That formed his manhood, to subdue
The hydra of the many-headed hissing crew.


XVII.

As after Numa's peaceful reign,
The martial Ancus[59] did the sceptre wield,
Furbished 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,
Restiff 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 designed,
Or, with malignant penury,
To starve the royal virtues of his mind.
Faith is a Christian's and a subject's test;
Oh 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. [60]
Behold e'en 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 recognize his ancient lord again;
And, with a willing hand, restores
The fasces of the main.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 43: Note 1. ]

[Footnote 44: Alluding to the fable of Hercules supporting the heavenly
sphere when Atlas was fatigued. ]

[Footnote 45: A very ill-timed sarcasm on those, who petitioned Charles
to call his parliament. See p. 311. ]

[Footnote 46: 2 Kings, chap. xx. ]

[Footnote 47: Note II. ]

[Footnote 48: Note III. ]

[Footnote 49: An _eagre_ is a tide swelling above another tide, which
I have myself observed in the river Trent. --DRYDEN. This species of
combat between the current and the tide is well known on the Severn;
and, so far back as the days of William of Malmesbury, was called the
_Higre_. Unhappy is the vessel, says that ancient historian, on whom
its force falls laterally. _De Gestis Pontificum_, Lib. IV. --Drayton
describes the same river,

----With whose tumultuous waves,
Shut up in narrower bounds, the Higre wildly raves,
And frights the straggling flocks the neighbouring shores to fly.
Afar as from the main it comes with hideous cry;
And on the angry front the curled foam doth bring,
The billows 'gainst the bank when fiercely it doth fling,
Hurls up the scaly ooze, and makes the scaly brood
Leap madding to the land affrighted from the flood;
O'erturns the toiling barch whose steersman does not launch,
And thrust the furrowing beak into her ravening paunch.

_Poly-Albion_, Song VII.
]

[Footnote 50: To engage upon _liking_, (an image rather too familiar
for the occasion,) is to take a temporary trial of a service, or
business, with licence to quit it at pleasure. ]

[Footnote 51: Note IV. ]

[Footnote 52: Note V. ]

[Footnote 53: Alluding to the Duke's banishment to Flanders. See note
on "Absalom and Achitophel," Vol. IX. p. 384. ]

[Footnote 54: The testament of king David, by which he bequeathed to
his son the charge of executing vengeance on those enemies whom he had
spared during his life, has been much canvassed by divines. I indulge
myself in a tribute to a most venerable character, when I state, that
the most ingenious discourses I ever heard from the pulpit, were upon
this and other parts of David's conduct, in a series of lectures by
the late Reverend Dr John Erskine, one of the ministers of the Old
Greyfriars church in Edinburgh. ]

[Footnote 55: King Charles' first parliament, from passing the Act of
Indemnity, and taking other measures to drown all angry recollection of
the civil wars, was called the Healing Parliament. ]

[Footnote 56: A similar line occurs in the _Annus Mirabilis_, St. 160:

Beyond the year, and out of heaven's high-way.

The expression is originally Virgil's:

_Extra anni, solisque vias_.
]

[Footnote 57: See the Astræa Redux. Note VI. ]

[Footnote 58: Reckoning from the death of his father, Charles had
reigned thirty-six years and eight days; and, counting from his
restoration, twenty-four years, eight months, and nine days. ]

[Footnote 59: Ancus Martius, who succeeded the peaceful Numa Pompilius
as king of Rome. ]

[Footnote 60: Note VII. ]




NOTES

ON

THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS.


Note I.

_An unexpected burst of woes. _--P. 62.

Charles II. enjoyed excellent health, and was particularly careful
to preserve it by constant exercise. His danger, therefore, fell
like a thunder-bolt on his people, whose hearts were gained by his
easy manners and good humour, and who considered, that the worst
apprehensions they had ever entertained during his reign, arose from
the religion and disposition of his successor. The mingled passions of
affection and fear produced a wonderful sensation on the nation. The
people were so passionately concerned, that North says, and appeals to
all who recollected the time for the truth of his averment, that it was
rare to see a person walking the street with dry eyes. _Examen. _ p. 647.


Note II.
_The second causes took the swift command,
The medicinal head, the ready hand,
All eager to perform their part. _--P. 64.

If there is safety in the multitude of counsellors, Charles did not
find it in the multitude of physicians. Nine were in attendance, all
men of eminence; the presence of the least of whom, Le Sage would have
said, was fully adequate to account for the subsequent catastrophe.
They were Sir Thomas Millington, Sir Thomas Witherby, Sir Charles
Scarborough, Sir Edmund King, Doctors Berwick, Charlton, Lower, Short,
and Le Fevre. They signed a declaration, that the king had died of an
apoplexy.


Note III.

_The joyful short-lived news soon spread around. _--P. 65.

An article was published in the Gazette, on the third day of the king's
illness, importing, "That his physicians now conceived him to be in
a state of safety, and that in a few days he would be freed from his
indisposition. "[61] North tells us, however, on the authority of his
brother, the Lord Keeper, that the only hope which the physicians
afforded to the council, was an assurance, (joyfully communicated,)
that the king was ill of a violent fever. The council seeing little
consolation in these tidings, one of the medical gentlemen explained,
by saying, that they now knew what they had to do, which was to
administer the cortex. This was done while life lasted,[62] although
some of the physicians seem to have deemed the prescription improper;
in which case, Charles, after escaping the poniards and pistols of the
Jesuits, may be said to have fallen a victim to their bark.


Note IV.

_And he who most performed, and promised less,
Even Short himself, forsook the unequal strife. _--P. 67.

Dr Thomas Short, an eminent physician, who came into the court practice
when Dr Richard Lower, who formerly enjoyed it, embraced the political
principles of the Whig party. Short, a Roman Catholic, and himself a
Tory, was particularly acceptable to the Tories. To this circumstance
he probably owes the compliment paid him by our author, and another
from Lord Mulgrave to the same purpose. Otway reckons, among his
selected friends,

Short, beyond what numbers can commend. [63]

Duke has also inscribed to him his translation of the eleventh Idyllium
of Theocritus; beginning,

O Short! no herb nor salve was ever found,
To ease a lover's heat, or heal his wound.

Dr Short, as one of the king's physicians, attended the death-bed of
Charles, and subscribed the attestation, that he died of an apoplexy.
Yet there has been ascribed to him an expression of dubious import,
which caused much disquisition at the time; namely, that "the king had
not fair play for his life. " Burnet says plainly, that "Short suspected
poison, and talked more freely of it than any Protestant durst venture
to do at the time. " He, adds, that "Short himself was taken suddenly
ill, upon taking a large draught of wormwood wine, in the house of
a Popish patient near the Tower; and while on his death-bed, he
told Lower, and Millington, and other physicians, that he believed
he himself was poisoned, for having spoken too freely of the king's
death. "[64] Mulgrave states the same report in these words, which,
coming from a professed Tory, are entitled to the greater credit: "I
am obliged to observe, that the most knowing and most deserving of all
his physicians did not only believe him poisoned, but thought himself
so too, not long after, for having declared his opinion a little too
boldly. "[65] North, in confutation of this report, has interpreted
Short's expression, as meaning nothing more than that the king's malady
was mistaken by his physicians, who, by their improper prescriptions,
deprived nature of fair play;[66] and he appeals to all the eminent
physicians who attended Dr Short in his last illness, whether he did
not fall a victim to his own bold method, in using the cortex. Upon
the whole, whatever opinion this individual physician may have adopted
through mistake, or affectation of singularity, and whatever credit
faction, or indeed popular prejudice in general, may have given to
such rumours at the time, there appears no solid reason to believe
that Charles died of poison. Both Burnet and Mulgrave say, that they
never heard a hint that his brother was accessary to such a crime; and
it is very unlikely that any zealous Catholic should have had either
opportunity, or inclination, to hasten the reign of a prince of that
religion, by the unsolicited service of poisoning his brother. The
other physicians, several of whom, Lower, for example, were Whigs, as
well as Protestants, gave no countenance to this rumour, which was
circulated by a Catholic. And, as the symptoms of the king's disorder
are decidedly apoplectic, the report may be added to those with which
history abounds, and which are raised and believed only because an
extraordinary end is thought most fit for the eminent and powerful.

Short, as we have incidentally noticed, survived his royal patient but
a few months. He was succeeded in his practice by Ratcliffe, the famous
Tory physician of Queen Anne's reign.


Note V.

_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. _--P. 69.

The historical accounts of the dying requests of Charles are
contradictory and obscure. It seems certain, that he earnestly
recommended his favourite mistress, the Duchess of Portsmouth, to the
protection of his successor. He had always, he said, loved her, and
he now loved her at the last. The Bishop of Bath presented to him his
natural son, the Duke of Richmond; whom he blessed, and recommended,
with his other children, to his successor's protection; adding, "Do
not let poor Nelly[67] starve. " He seems to have said nothing of the
Duke of Monmouth, once so much beloved, and whom, shortly before, he
entertained thoughts of recalling from banishment, and replacing in
favour; perhaps he thought, any recommendation to James of a rival so
hated would be ineffectual. Burnet says, he spoke not a word of the
queen. Echard, on the contrary, affirms, that, at the exhortation of
the Bishop of Bath, Charles sent for the queen, and asked and received
her pardon for the injuries he had done her bed. [68] In Fountainhall's
Manuscript, the queen is said to have sent a message, requesting
his pardon if she had ever offended him: "Alas, poor lady! " replied
the dying monarch, "she never offended me; I have too often injured
her. "[69] This account seems more probable than that of Echard; for
so public a circumstance, as a personal visit from the queen to her
husband's death-bed, could hardly have been disputed by contemporaries.


Note VI.

_The officious muses came along,
A gay harmonious quire, like angels ever young;
The muse, that mourns him now, his happy triumph sung. _--P. 74.

In Dryden's Life, we had occasion to remark the effect of the
Restoration upon literature. It was not certainly its least important
benefit, that it opened our poet's own way to distinction; which is
thus celebrated by Baber:

----till blest years brought Cæsar home again,
Dryden to purpose never drew his pen.
He, happy favourite of the tuneful nine!
Came with an early offering to your shrine;
Embalmed in deathless verse the monarch's fame;
Verse, which shall keep it fresh in youthful prime,
When Rustal's sacred gift must yield to time.


Note VII.

_Faith is a Christian's and a subject's test. _--P. 78.

James, as well as his poet, was not slack in intimating to his
subjects, that he expected them to possess a proper portion of this
saving virtue. And, that they might not want an opportunity of
exercising it, he was pleased, by his own royal proclamation, to
continue the payment of the duties of the custom-house, which had been
granted by parliament only during his brother's life.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 61: RALPH, Vol. I. p. 834. ]

[Footnote 62: Life of Lord Keeper Guilford, p. 253. ]

[Footnote 63: Epistle to Mr Duke. ]

[Footnote 64: Burnet's History of his own Times. End of Book III. ]

[Footnote 65: Character of Charles II. , Sheffield Duke of Buckingham's
Works, Vol. II. p. 65. ]

[Footnote 66: One Dr Stokeham is said to have alleged, that the king's
fit was epileptic, not apoplectic, and that bleeding was _ex diametro_
wrong. ]

[Footnote 67: Nell Gwyn. ]

[Footnote 68: Echard's History, p. 1046. ]

[Footnote 69: Dalrymple's Memoirs, 8vo. vol. i. p. 66. ]




THE

HIND AND THE PANTHER,

A POEM.


IN THREE PARTS.

----_Antiquam exquirite matrem_----
----_Et vera incessu patuit Dea_. VIRG.




THE

HIND AND THE PANTHER.


In the Life of Dryden, there is an attempt to trace the progress and
changes of those religious opinions, by which he was unfortunately
conducted into the errors of Popery. With all the zeal of a now
convert, he seems to have been impatient to invite others to follow his
example, by detailing, in poetry, the arguments which had appeared to
him unanswerable. "The Hind and the Panther" is the offspring of that
rage for proselytism, which is a peculiar attribute of his new mother
church. The author is anxious, in the preface, to represent this poem
as a task which he had voluntarily undertaken, without receiving even
the subject from any one. His assertion seems worthy of full credit;
for, although it was the most earnest desire of James II. to employ
every possible mode for the conversion of his subjects, there is room
to believe, that, if the poem had been written under his direction,
the tone adopted by Dryden towards the sectaries would have been much
more mild. It is a well-known point of history, that, in order to
procure as many friends as possible to the repeal of the test act and
penal laws against the Catholics, James extended indulgence to the
puritans and sectarian non-conformists, the ancient enemies of his
person, his family, and monarchical establishments in general. Dryden
obviously was not in this court secret; the purpose of which was to
unite those congregations, whom he has described under the parable
of bloody bears, boars, wolves, foxes, &c. in a common interest with
the Hind, against the exclusive privileges of the Panther and her
subjects. His work was written with the precisely opposite intention of
recommending an union between the Catholics and the church of England;
at least, of persuading the latter to throw down the barriers, by which
the former were kept out of state employments. Such an union had at
one time been deemed practicable; and, in 1685, pamphlets had been
published, seriously exhorting the church of England to a league with
the Catholics, in order to root out the sectaries as common enemies
to both. The steady adherence of the church of England to Protestant
principles, rendered all hopes of such an union abortive; and, while
Dryden was composing his poem upon this deserted plan, James was taking
different steps to accomplish the main purpose both of the poet and
monarch.

The power of the crown to dispense, at pleasure, with the established
laws of the kingdom, had been often asserted, and sometimes exercised,
by former English monarchs. A king was entitled, the favourers of
prerogative argued, to pardon the breach of a statute, when committed;
why not, therefore, to suspend its effect by a dispensation _a priori_,
or by a general suspension of the law? which was only doing in general,
what he was confessedly empowered to do in particular cases. But a
doctrine so pernicious to liberty was never allowed to take root in the
constitution; and the confounding the prerogative of extending mercy to
individual criminals, with that of annulling the laws under which they
had been condemned, was a fallacy easily detected and refuted. Charles
II. twice attempted to assert his supposed privilege of suspending
the penal laws, by granting a general toleration; and he had, in both
cases, been obliged to retract, by the remonstrances of Parliament. [70]
But his successor, who conceived that his power was situated on a more
firm basis, and who was naturally obstinate in his resolutions, was
not swayed by this recollection. He took every opportunity to exercise
the power of dispensing with the laws, requiring Catholics to take the
test agreeable to act of Parliament. He asserted his right to do so in
his speech to the Parliament, on 9th November, 1685; he despised the
remonstrances of both Houses, upon so flagrant and open a violation of
the law; and he endeavoured, by a packed bench, and a feigned action
at law, to extort a judicial ratification of his dispensing power. At
length, not contented with granting dispensations to individuals, the
king resolved at once to suspend the operation of all penal statutes,
which required conformity with the church of England, as well as of the
test act.

On the 4th of April, 1687, came forth the memorable Declaration of
Indulgence, in favour of all non-conformists of whatever persuasion;
by which they were not only protected in the full exercise of their
various forms of religion, but might, without conformity, be admitted
to all offices in the state. With what consequences this act of
absolute power was attended, the history of the Revolution makes
us fully acquainted; for it is surely unnecessary to add, that the
indulgence occasioned the petition and trial of the bishops, the most
important incident in that momentous period.

About a fortnight after the publishing of this declaration of
indulgence, our author's poem made its appearance; being licensed
on the 11th April, 1687, and published a few days after. If it was
undertaken without the knowledge of the court, it was calculated,
on its appearance, to secure the royal countenance and approbation.
Accordingly, as soon as it was published in England, a second edition
was thrown off at a printing office in Holyroodhouse, Edinburgh, then
maintained for the express purpose of disseminating such treatises as
were best calculated to serve the Catholic cause. [71] If the Protestant
dissenters ever cast their eyes upon profane poetry, "The Hind and the
Panther" must have appeared to them a perilous commentary on the king's
declaration; since it shows clearly, that the Catholic interest alone
was what the Catholic king and poet had at heart, and that, however
the former might now find himself obliged to court their favour,
to strengthen his party against the established church, the deep
remembrance of ancient feuds and injuries was still cherished, and the
desire of vengeance on the fanatics neither sated nor subdued.

In composing this poem, it may be naturally presumed, that Dryden
exerted his full powers. He was to justify, in the eyes of the world,
a step which is always suspicious; and, by placing before the public
the arguments by which he had been induced to change his religion,
he was at once to exculpate himself, and induce others to follow his
example. He chose, for the mode of conveying this instruction, that
parabolical form of writing, which took its rise perhaps in the East,
or rather which, in a greater or less degree, is common to all nations.
An old author observes, that there is "no species of four-footed
beasts, of birds, of fish, of insects, reptiles, or any other living
things, whose nature is not found in man. How exactly agreeable to the
fox are some men's tempers; whilst others are profest bears in human
shape. Here you shall meet a crocodile, who seeks, with feigned tears,
to entrap you to your ruin; there a serpent creeps, and winds himself
into your affections, till, on a sudden, when warmed with favours, he
will bite and sting you to death. Tygers, lions, leopards, panthers,
wolves, and all the monstrous generations of Africa, may be seen
masquerading in the forms of men; and 'tis not hard for an observing
mind to see their natural complexions through the borrowed vizard. "[72]
Dryden conceived the idea, of extending to religious communities the
supposed resemblance between man and the lower animals. Under the
name of a "milk-white Hind, immortal and unchanged," he described
the unity, simplicity, and innocence of the church, to which he had
become a convert; and under that of a Panther, fierce and inexorable
towards those of a different persuasion, he bodied forth the church
of England, obstinate in defending its pale from encroachment, by the
penal statutes and the test act. [73] There wanted not critics to tell
him, that he had mistaken the character of either communion. [74] The
inferior sects are described under the emblem of various animals,
fierce and disgusting in proportion to their more remote affinity
to the church of Rome. And in a dialogue between the two principal
characters, the leading arguments of the controversy between the
churches, at least what the poet chose to consider as such, are
formally discussed.

But Dryden's plan is far from coming within the limits of a fable or
parable, strictly so called; for it is strongly objected, that the
poet has been unable to avoid confounding the real churches themselves
with the Hind and the Panther, under which they are represented. "The
hind," as Johnson observes, "at one time is afraid to drink at the
common brook, because she may be worried; but, walking home with the
panther, talks by the way of the Nicene fathers, and at last declares
herself to be the Catholic church. " And the same critic complains,
"that the king is now Cæsar, and now the lion, and that the name Pan is
given to the Supreme Being. " "The Hind and Panther transversed, or the
City and Country Mouse," which was written in ridicule of this poem,
turns chiefly upon the incongruity of the emblems adopted by Dryden,
and the inconsistencies into which his plan had led him. [75] This
ridicule, and the criticism on which it is founded, seems, however, to
be carried a little too far. If a fable, or parable, is to be entirely
and exclusively limited to a detail which may suit the common actions
and properties of the animals, or things introduced in it, we strike
out from the class some which have always been held the most beautiful
examples of that style of fiction. It is surely as easy to conceive a
Hind and Panther discussing points of religion, as that the trees of
the forest should assemble together to chuse a king, invite different
trees to accept of that dignity, and, finally, make choice of a
bramble. Yet no one ever hesitates to pronounce Jotham's Parable of
the Trees one of the finest which ever was written. Or what shall we
say of one of the most common among Æsop's apologues, which informs us
in the outset, that the lion, the ox, the sheep, and the ass, went a
hunting together, on condition of dividing equally whatever should be
caught? Yet this and many other fables, in which the animals introduced
act altogether contrary to their nature, are permitted to rank without
censure in the class which they assume. Nay, it may be questioned
whether the most proper fables are not those in which the animals are
introduced as acting upon the principles of mankind. For instance,
if an author be compared to a daw, it is no fable, but a simile; but
if a tale be told of a daw who dressed himself in borrowed feathers,
a thing naturally impossible, the simile becomes a proper fable.
Perhaps, therefore, it is sufficient for the fabulist, if he can point
out certain original and leading features of resemblance betwixt his
emblems, and that which they are intended to represent, and he may be
permitted to take considerable latitude in their farther approximation.
It may be farther urged in Dryden's behalf, that the older poets whom
he professed to imitate, Spenser, for example, in "Mother Hubbart's
Tale," which he has actually quoted, and Chaucer, in that of the "Nun's
Priest's tale" have stepped beyond the simplicity of the ancient
fable, and introduced a species of mixed composition, between that and
downright satire. The names and characters of beasts are only assumed
in "Mother Hubbart's Tale," that the satirist might, under that slight
cloak, say with safety what he durst not otherwise have ventured upon;
and in the tale of Chaucer, the learned dialogue about dreams is only
put into the mouths of a cock and hen, to render the ridicule of such
disquisitions more poignant. Had Spenser been asked, why he described
the court of the lion as exactly similar to that of a human prince, and
introduced the fox as composing madrigals for the courtiers? he would
have bidden the querist,

----Yield his sense was all too blunt and base,
That n'ote without a hound fine footing trace.

And if the question had been put to the bard of Woodstock, why, he
made his cock an astrologer, and his hen a physician, he would have
answered, that his satire might become more ludicrous, by putting
these grave speeches into the mouths of such animals. Dryden seems to
have proposed as his model this looser kind of parable; giving his
personages, indeed, the names of the Hind and Panther, but reserving to
himself the privilege of making the supposed animals use the language
and arguments of the communities they were intended to represent. I
must own, however, that this licence appears less pardonable in the
First Part, where he professes to use the majestic turn of heroic
poetry, than in those which are dedicated to argument and satire.

Dryden has, in this very poem, given us two examples of the more
pure and correct species of fable. These, which he terms in the
preface Episodes, are the tale of the Swallows seduced to defer their
emigration, and that of the Pigeons, who chose a Buzzard for their
king. [78] It is remarkable, that, as the former is by much the most
complete story, so, although put in the mouth of a representative of
the heretical church, it proved eventually to contain a truth sorrowful
to our author, and those of the Roman Catholic persuasion: For, while
the Buzzard's elevation (Bishop Burnet by name) was not attended with
any peculiar evil consequences to the church of England, the short
gleam of Popish prosperity was soon overcast, and the priests and their
proselytes plunged in reality into all the distress of the swallows in
the Panther's fable.

In conformity to our author's plan, announced in the preface, the
fable is divided into Three Parts. The First is dedicated to the
general description and character of the religious sects, particularly
the churches of Rome and of England. And here Dryden has used the
more elevated strain of heroic poetry. In the Second, the general
arguments of the controversy between the two churches are agitated,
for which purpose a less magnificent style of language is adopted.
In the Third and last Part, from discussing the disputed points of
theology, the Hind and Panther descend to consider the particulars in
which their temporal interests were judged at this period to interfere
with each other. And here Dryden has lowered the tone of his verse to
that of common conversation. We must admit, with Johnson, that these
distinctions of style are not always accurately adhered to. The First
Part has familiar lines; as, for instance, the four with which it
concludes:

Considering her a civil well-bred beast,
And more a gentlewoman than the rest,
After some common talk, what rumours ran,
The lady of the spotted muff began.

Some passages are not only mean in expression, but border on
profaneness; as,

The smith divine, as with a careless beat,
Struck out the mute creation at a heat;
But when at last arrived to human race,
The Godhead took a deep considering space.

On the other hand, the Third Part has passages in a higher tone of
poetry; particularly the whole character of James in the fable of
the Pigeons and the Buzzard: but it is enough to fulfil the author's
promise in the preface, that the parts do each in general preserve a
peculiar character and style, though occasionally sliding into that of
the others.

It is a main defect of the plan just detailed, that it necessarily
limited the interest of the poem to that crisis of politics when it was
published. A work, which the author announces as calculated to attract
the favour of friends, and to animate the malevolence of enemies, is
now read with cold indifference. He launched forth into a tide of
controversy, which, however furious at the time, has long subsided,
leaving his poem a disregarded wreck, stranded upon the shores which
the surges once occupied.

Setting aside this original defect, the First and Last Parts of the
poem, in particular, abound with passages of excellent poetry. In the
former, it is worthy attention, with what ease and command of his
language and subject Dryden passes from his sublime description of the
immortal Hind, to brand and stigmatise the sectaries by whom she was
hated and persecuted; a rare union of dignity preserved in satire,
and of satire engrafted upon heroic poetry. The reader cannot, at
the same time, fail to observe the felicity with which the poet has
assigned prototypes to the dissenting churches, agreeing in character
with that which he meant to fix upon their several congregations.
The Bear, unlicked to forms, is the emblem of the Independents, who
disclaimed them;[79] the Wolf, which hunts in herds, to the classes and
synods of the Presbyterian church; the Hare, to the peaceful Quakers;
the wild Boar, to the fierce and savage Anabaptists, who ravaged
Germany, the native country of that animal. With similar felicity, the
"bird, who warned St Peter of his fall," is, from that circumstance,
and his nocturnal vigils, afterwards assigned as the representative
of the Catholic clergy. Above all, the attention is arrested by the
pointed description of those dark and sullen enthusiasts, who, scarcely
agreeing among themselves upon any peculiar points of doctrine, rested
their claim to superior sanctity upon abominating and contemning those
usual forms of reverence, by which men, in all countries since the
beginning of the world, have agreed to distinguish public worship from
ordinary or temporal employments. The whole of this First Part of the
poem abounds with excellent poetry, rising above the tone of ordinary
satire, and yet possessing all its poignancy. The difference, to
those against whom it is directed, is like that of being blasted by a
thunder-bolt, instead of being branded with a red-hot iron.

The First Part of "The Hind and Panther," although chiefly dedicated to
general characters, contains some reasoning on the grand controversy,
similar to that which occupies the Second. The author displays, with
the utmost art and energy of argumentative poetry, the reasons by
which he was himself guided in adopting the Roman Catholic faith. He
is led into this discussion, by mentioning the heretical doctrine of
the Unitarians; and insists, that the Protestant churches, which have
consented to postpone human reason to faith, by acquiescing in the
orthodox doctrine of the Trinity, are not entitled to appeal to the
authority which they have waived, for arguments against the mystery
of the real presence in the eucharist. This was a favourite mode
of reasoning of the Catholics at the time, as may be seen from the
numerous treatises which they sent forth upon the controversy. It is
undoubtedly very fit to impose on the vulgar, but completely overshoots
the mark at which it aims. For, if our yielding humble belief to one
abstruse doctrine of divinity be sufficient to debar the exercise of
our reason respecting another, it is obvious, that, by the same reason,
the appeal to our understanding must be altogether laid aside in
matters of doubtful orthodoxy. The Protestant divines, therefore, took
a distinction; and, while they admitted they were obliged to surrender
their human judgment in matters of divine revelation which were above
their reason, they asserted the power of appealing to its guidance in
those things of a finite nature which depend on the evidence of sense,
and the consequent privileges of rejecting any doctrine, which, being
within the sphere of human comprehension, is nevertheless repugnant
to the understanding: therefore, while they received the doctrine
of the Trinity as an infinite mystery, far above their reason, they
contended against that of transubstantiation as capable of being tried
by human faculties, and as contradicted by an appeal to them. In a
subsequent passage, the author taxes the church of England with an
attempt to reconcile contradictions, by admitting the real presence in
the eucharist, and yet denying actual transubstantiation. Dryden boldly
appeals to the positive words of scripture, and sums his doctrine thus:

The literal sense is hard to flesh and blood,
But nonsense never can be understood.

Granting, however, the obscurity or mystery of the one doctrine, it is
a hard choice to be obliged to adopt, in its room, that which asserts
an acknowledged impossibility.

In the Second Part, another point of the controversy is agitated;
the infallibility, namely, which is claimed by the Roman church. The
author appears here to have hampered himself in the toils of his own
argument in a former poem. He had asserted in the "Religio Laici,"
that the Scriptures contained all things necessary for salvation;
while he yet admitted, that those, whose bent inclined them to the
study of polemical divinity, were to be guided by the expositions of
the fathers, and the earlier, especially the written, traditions of
the Church. There is, as has been noticed in the remarks on "Religio
Laici," a certain vacillation in our author's arguments concerning
tradition, while yet a Protestant, which prepares us for his finally
reposing his doubts in the bosom of that church, which pretends to
be the sole depositary of the earlier doctrines of Christianity, and
claims a right to ascertain all doubts in point of faith, by the same
mode, and with the same unerring certainty, as the original church in
the days of the apostles and fathers. These doubts, with which Dryden
seems to have been deeply impressed while within the pale of the Church
of England, he now objects to her as inconsistencies, and accuses
her of having recourse to tradition, or discarding it, as suited the
argument which, for the time, she had in agitation. It is unnecessary
here to trace the various grounds on which reformed churches prove,
that the chain of apostolical tradition has been broken and shivered;
and that the church, claiming the proud title of Infallible, has
repeatedly sanctioned heresy and error. Neither is it necessary to
shew, how the Church of England stops short in her reception of
traditions, adopting only those of the primitive church. Something on
these points may be found in the notes. I may remark, that Dryden is
of the Gallican or _low_ Church of Rome, if I may so speak, and rests
the infallibility which he claims for her in the Pope and Council of
the Church, and not in the Vicar of Christ alone. In point of literary
interest, this Second Part is certainly beneath the other two. It
furnishes, however, an excellent specimen of poetical ratiocination
upon a most unpromising subject.

The Third Part refers entirely to the politics of the day; and the
poet has endeavoured, by a number of arguments, to remove the deep
jealousy and apprehensions which the king's religion, and his zeal
for proselytism, had awakened in the Church of England. He does not
even spare to allege a recent adoption of presbyterian doctrines, as
the reason for her unwonted resistance to the royal will; and all the
vigour of his satire is pointed against the latitudinarian clergy,
or, as they were finally called, the Low Church Party, who now began
to assert, what James at length found a melancholy truth, that the
doctrine of passive obedience and non-resistance was not peremptorily
binding, when the church herself was endangered by the measures of the
monarch. Stillingfleet, the personal antagonist of our author, in the
controversy concerning the Duchess of York's posthumous declaration of
faith, is personally and ferociously attacked.