 | Divine Poems |  |
Scylla and Carybdis.
Two gulfs there are 'twixt which 'tis hard to sail,
And not be shipwrackt: here prophanenesse stands
With all it's brood of vices at its tayle,
There superstition with its numerous bands
And not be shipwrackt: here prophanenesse stands
With all it's brood of vices at its tayle,
There superstition with its numerous bands
Of false traditions; 'twas the main intent
Of our late Pilots between both to steere:
But froward fate, to seamen incident,
Made them mistake their way; for whiles they fear
Of our late Pilots between both to steere:
But froward fate, to seamen incident,
Made them mistake their way; for whiles they fear
97
To sink into the gulf of superstition,
They in the gulfe of profanation fal,
And in the furious heate of opposition
'Gainst Papists, are like to turn Atheists all.
They in the gulfe of profanation fal,
And in the furious heate of opposition
'Gainst Papists, are like to turn Atheists all.
So some of th' ancient Fathers in dispute
Against one heresie, did too much bend
Unto another, and their arrow shoot
Besides the mark, thus marre what they would mend.
Against one heresie, did too much bend
Unto another, and their arrow shoot
Besides the mark, thus marre what they would mend.
But cannot we keep in the middle region
Except we sink too low, or soar too high?
Is there no moderate temper in religion,
But we must either scorch'd or frozen die?
Except we sink too low, or soar too high?
Is there no moderate temper in religion,
But we must either scorch'd or frozen die?
What hath the Church no habitable part,
Betwixt the torrid and the frozen Zone?
Nor hath the Churchman learnt as yet the Art
O' th' moralist, that vertue leans to none
Betwixt the torrid and the frozen Zone?
Nor hath the Churchman learnt as yet the Art
O' th' moralist, that vertue leans to none
Of the extremes, but in the center lyes?
So doth religious Truth, if we could find
It's track out; but the fault is in our eyes
That wil not see, or rather in our mind,
So doth religious Truth, if we could find
It's track out; but the fault is in our eyes
That wil not see, or rather in our mind,
That wil not keep the road and safest way
Which by the best and wisest men is gone,
But rather through unbeaten deserts stray,
Which lead to nothing but confusion.
Which by the best and wisest men is gone,
But rather through unbeaten deserts stray,
Which lead to nothing but confusion.
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O God, be thou our Pilot once again,
Or put some Pharos up, that by the light
Our ship the Church may saile safe through the main,
And not be swallow'd by these gulfs i'th' night.
Or put some Pharos up, that by the light
Our ship the Church may saile safe through the main,
And not be swallow'd by these gulfs i'th' night.
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