Poems on Affairs of State

If we into our selves, or round us look,
We find a God, exprest in Natures Book.
The Sacred Truth is writ in every Breast;
By every Clime and every Tongue confest:
Th'inconstant World kneel'd early to the Sun;
His fruitful Light Idolatry begun.
Saturn, Mercurius, Jupiter, and Mars,
Were but the Names of several wandring Stars.

446

Men worship'd with Idolatry; like theirs
Who slight our Kings, and court their Ministers.
Hero's that did great Actions here on Earth,
Were said at last to be of Heavenly Birth:
And when no man wou'd own the doubtful Child,
Then Jove or Mars the easy Nymph beguil'd.
But different Climes invented several Rites;
For Nature in variety delights:
Some sacrific'd a Child, others a Ram;
Unlike the Offrings, but the Zeal the same.
Some cut their Flesh, and whipt themselves with Rods,
As if their Blood and Torture pleas'd their Gods.
Bacchus with Feasts and Revels some ador'd;
Devoutly drank, and piously they whor'd.
Unnatural Sins defil'd their sensual Nights,
Till Heathen Virtue rose against such Rites,
And drove that lewd Religion out of Rome,
Damning by Law all Bacchanals to come.
Apis the Ox in Egypt was ador'd,
Their Gardens with Green Deities were stor'd;
Succeeding Times their Princes Deify'd,
And Priests and Temples for the Dead decreed;
In Venus Fame others their Daughters plac'd,
To be deflowr'd by Strangers as they past,
Who in her wanton Service entertain'd,
Still gave the Priest and Goddess what they gain'd.
Thus human Fancy toil'd in vain to find
A Service grateful to the Heavenly Mind.
And untaught Nature gave us a dim sight
Of Divine Beings, but no further Light.
Our God a Covenant with Mankind made,
The Womans Seed should bruise the Serpent's Head;
Then Abram's Race he for his People chose,
And holy Prophets from his Loins arose.

447

Moses more fully did his Will declare,
And mighty Wonders his Credentials were:
Among the rest, Error and Idols reign'd,
Peculiar Gods each Legislator feign'd.
At last he sent his Son to guide Mankind
In Sacred Paths, of their great Duty blind;
He taught us Worldly Greatness to despise,
To bear Reproach, and pardon Enemies.
Meekness a Virtue, till his time unknown,
(Which Christians properly may call their own)
He planted first, then his Apostles taught
The Truths he preach'd, and Wonders that he wrought;
And in their Sacred Pages 'tis alone
Man finds his Duty to the Heavenly Throne.

Who ever read, in Earnest or in Jest,
Of any white unchang'd Immortal Beast;
Or of an harmless Hind that knew no Fear,
Yet fled when Hunters and the Hounds drew near?
Sure never any Brute before complain'd
The Common Hunt her Company disdain'd.
Tell me what Young ones are unlike their Dams;
Thy Tales of Hero Make, are Heathen Shams.
Friend Bayes, I fear this Fable, and these Rhymes,
Were thy dull Penance for some former Crimes,
When thy free Muse her own brisk Language spoke,
And unbaptiz'd disdain'd the Christian Yoke.
Thy Spanish Fryer not thought himself reveng'd,
Until thy Stile, as well as Faith, were chang'd.
Our Church refus'd thee Orders, whence I find
Her call'd the Panther, that of Rome the Hind.
O wondrous Hind, whose White no Blood can stain
Of People massacred, or Monarchs slain.
Their Wealth, their Friends, and native Soil men leave,
Because they can't as they are bid, believe.
Some tortur'd, of their harsh Conversion die;
Others the Oar in cruel Gallies ply,
Till what their Hearts avow, their Lips deny.

448

Of all the Blood in such a Quarrel spilt,
Who shall absolve th'Absolvers from their Guilt?
If here thy Hind has lost some vocal Blood,
In France and Ireland she has spilt a Flood;
Not in a Legal way, where Treason mixt
With breach of Law, the double Guilt perplext.
For still the boasted Martyrs on her side,
Not for Religion, but for Treason dy'd:
They stuck so close, that we could never part
The Priest from Traytor in the Tyburn Cart,
Nor yet in open Field, where Force with Force
The Brave repel, and kill without remorse;
But in cold Blood, all Enmity laid down,
Friendship and Joy restor'd throughout the Town.
Supinely resting on a Monarch's Word,
Ten thousand felt e'er they could fear the Sword.
Lodg'd in his Palace, on pretence of care,
They for Protection ran into the Snare,
So rushes on the Hounds the frighted Hare.
The King relenting as it nearer drew,
Having the mighty Ruin full in view,
Wou'd have gone back, but Zeal knew no retreat;
Then kill, said he, all Hereticks you meet.
Keep this black Action from succeeding time,
Leave none alive, that may reproach the Crime.
Now rings the fatal Bell, Death is let loose,
He ranges uncontroul'd thro every House:
Down every Street he pours a Purple Flood,
And mounting Souls prevent their vocal Blood:
The Guise not spares the Husband of his Child;
Next the too easy Admiral is kill'd:
A Cross their Badg, and Heretick the Word,
(A strange Commission to a Christian Sword)
Alike all Ranks, all Ages, Sexes fare:
Thy Hind bids kill, and 'tis a Crime to spare.

449

The Lion and his Shaggy Dam stood by,
And from their Windows clapt the Tragedy.
Zeal runs through every Province with like Rage,
Nor cou'd two Months the Purple Flood asswage.
The Pope himself did the vast Murder bless,
And gave God Publick Thanks for the Success:
Before King Philip, in a Spanish Rant,
Twas stil'd the Triumph of Church Militant.
Thus Romish Fury like the Plague destroys,
Baths in Kings Blood, and Massacres enjoys.
So the third Henry fell, from the Priest's Knife;
In vain Ten Legions guard His Sacred Life.
The vile Assassinate thought Heaven his own,
When he the more than Hellish Act had done;
His Holiness the Murderer extol'd,
And Clement in the Book of Life enrol'd.
Next by Ravilliac's Hand great Bourbon dyes,
Belov'd, and guarded by his Enemies:
No publick Rage, scarce any private Frown,
All but the Church submitted to the Crown,
By a hot Novice's misguided Zeal,
In his full Glory, that Great Hero fell.
Three Popes with their Church Thunder shake his Throne,
No Heretick Right their learned Clergy own:
Birth-right, Descent, and Title, they declare
Not to be valu'd in a Pious War;
Nor wou'd the States admit him to the Crown,
Till first the Church receiv'd him for her Son.
Kings are but Means, Church-Greatness is the End;
He has best Right who will her Right defend.

Queen Mary's Reign might a just Poem make,
Where Prisons, Whips, and Burning at a Stake

450

Were common Punishments for Heresy,
And almost grown familiar to the Eye.
Four Reverend Prelates in blest Flames ascend,
And what in Life they taught, in Death defend.
Three hundred Martyrs her few Years devour,
Never did Flames so highly feast before;
She kill'd, and burnt, as if her cruel Mind
A Vestal Fire of Hereticks design'd.

Our Maiden Queen in vain the Monsieur woo'd;
In vain two Popes declare against her Blood;
Courtship and Malice she alike withstood,
Unwearied Malice, lasting as her Breath,
Teeming with Plots, Conspiracies, and Death.
By a fierce Pope her Realms are given away,
Spain fills with floting Towers the British Sea,
But Heaven in Storms forbids th'unlawful Prey;
And English Thunder with Celestial joins,
Scatters their Fleet, and sinks their vast Designs.
No sooner James on Albion's Throne was plac'd,
But Rome prepares t'exalt him with a Blast;
And in loud Flames prefer him to the Sky,
While round him Lords, and scatter'd Commons fly,
Short Blazing-Stars of Zealous Cruelty.
Nor had it fail'd, but for a silly Scroll
Sent to Monteagle from some melting Fool;
Who poorly grudg'd to sacrifice a Friend
To such a pious and important End:
Dost thou not think him below Judas damn'd,
Whom Pity thus unfainted and unman'd?

Unlick'd and Independant, as thy Bear,
'Tis plain, at first, all Christian Churches were;
Nor did St. Paul acknowledg Peter's Chair;
But fill'd with equal Light, and equal Grace,
Withstood him boldly to his Erring Face.

451

Too strait enclos'd, he overthrew the Fence,
And forc'd the Laws, unskilful to dispense.
But yet for Liberty he nobly fought:
That English Plant thou diggs'd up by the Root.
Too far alas he carry'd his Success,
The better sort oft wish'd it had been less.
He chang'd the Legal for a Lawless Lord;
So hard it is to rule a Conquering Sword.
War has Ten thousand Mischiefs in her Womb,
And fruitful Seeds of ev'ry Ill to come;
Instead of Curing she provokes the Smart,
Or drives the deadly Poyson to the Heart.
Thy Apes will all thy chosen Party take,
Whilst thy soft Numbers the Conversion make.
Like a starv'd Dog now fauns thy quaking Hare,
Can lye, and can dissemble, tho not swear.
Puss is familiar with our Nymrods grown,
Makes up the Cry to run the Panther down,
And has a sort of Leopard of her own.
A Motly Prince shining with inward Light,
Whose unarm'd passive Subjects never fight,
Drink no Man's Health, uncover not the Head,
As 'twere a mark of Grace to be ill-bred:
Titles because they want, they never give,
Cheat in few words, and without Oaths deceive;
Break for Ten thousand Pounds with Yea and Nay,
And when the Spirit moves-um, run away;
Proudly our Forms and Ways of speaking slight,
For what's their inward Spirit but their Wit,
Which good or bad is their pretended Light?
This Leopard, once a Gay and Spotted Beast,
A fair Hybernian Nymph wou'd have comprest;
Bold in his Youth, and Lustful in his Kind,
In Nightly howlings he exprest his mind.

452

A Rival Wolf, the Terror of the Wood,
Who of whole Herds had drank the reaking Blood;
His Jaws well arm'd, his frightful Bristles rear'd,
A dreadful Champion for the Dame appear'd:
Offers the Combate, which the Leopard shuns,
Forsakes the Dame, and from the Forest runs:
Thus he for shame and fear became a Saint,
And thinks to cover all with Thred-bare Cant,
With which he got a Wife for his supply,
The highest Prize of their poor Lottery;
Such was the doughty Scribe against the Test,
From whom all Sides must learn their Interest.

Thy Baptist Boar perhaps may think it odd
A new-born Child should cov'nant with his God,
Or go to Hell e'er he deserve the Rod.
From Holy Scripture they their Doctrine draw,
And may mistake, but do not break the Law;
While thy Infallible presumptuous Hind
To Bread alone the Eucharist confin'd,
Tho Wine, as well as Bread, the Sacred Text enjoin'd.

Thy graceless Fox, by Athanasius chain'd,
Popes, Councils, Emperors, awhile maintain'd,
Till the loud Nicene Hunt quite run her down,
And with thy Hind confest the Three in One,
Th'Eternal Father, Spirit and the Son.
Tho above Sense, this does not Sense oppose,
What Mortal the Divine Existence knows?
The Bread we see, we handle, tast, and smell;
Nor can a God within a Wafer dwell,
Or be devour'd by Thousands at a time,
In every Age, in every distant Clime.

453

A Body glorify'd mends not the matter,
Such things agree not with Corporeal Nature;
If on the Cross he ceas'd not to complain,
Can Christ be eaten now and feel no Pain?
Or like Prometheus Liver grows his Flesh,
That still these Eagles feed on him afresh?
Heaven for our Weakness does in vain provide,
Since erring Judgments may mistake the Guide,
Who tho unerring, is not so to me,
Unless I were Infallible as he.
Thy Throne of Darkness in a Pit of Light,
If not quite Nonsense, is a lofty Flight;
Since either damns us, why took Heaven no care
We should not sin? Yet such we should not err.
Th'Omnipotence of God who dares deny?
Yet that he can't destroy himself or lie,
Release the Damn'd, recal the Time once past,
Is on all hands without offence confest.
Christ stood before his Train in open Light,
With the same Body that escapes our Sight;
Which had none seen, the World had not believ'd,
Nay Thomas felt e'er he was undeceiv'd.
If our Redeemer then appeal'd to Sense,
To doubt their Verdict we have no pretence:
By Godlike Acts he prov'd his Deity,
The Lame he made to walk, the Blind to see;
Souls to their former Mansions he restor'd,
These Miracles Men saw e'er they ador'd.
But say what Sense, what Miracles attest
The Corp'ral Presence in the Eucharist,
That lying Wonder of a coz'ning Priest;
When God upheld, and Princes on their Knees,
Heaven Gates he shuts, and opens as he please.
All Reverence to the Word Divine is due,
But Man's Deductions are not always true;
The Turks, as well as we, make Faith their Guide,
So all Religions in the World beside;

454

But Faith should grafted upon Reason be,
Reason the Stock, and Faith the deathless Tree.

Thy Isgrim next with famish'd Face appears,
A Haggard Look, Predestinating Ears,
For what thou wilt still thy own Mother wears.
Teaching the Scriptures of themselves are plain,
And fully every saving Truth contain;
He barks at Miter'd Popes in Peter's Chair,
At Bishops grins, and would the Surplice tear:
Among their Brethren would their Charge divide,
Check their Ambition, and abate their Pride.
Affirms th'Elect are the true Church, and here
Since others may, Councils and Popes may err.
If they alone the Scripture might explain,
Christ spoke, and his Apostles writ in vain,
Till they were settled in their Spiritual Reign.
He grins at Picture-Worship, Saints, and Cross,
And would refine the Metal from the Dross;
Yet sets no foot on the Imperial Head,
As fair Matilda's Paramour once did;
When, all the Marks of Majesty laid down,
Fasting and Barefoot Henry alone,
Without his Guards, like a poor Pilgrim drest,
Beg'd for Admittance, and his Guilt confest
In vain, till fair Matilda us'd her Interest;
Her softer Charms over his Rage prevail'd,
And his Church-Thunder he at length recall'd.
So Venus beg'd, and would not be deny'd,
While the grim God lay panting by her Side;
And in the Flames of Love half melted down,
Promis'd bright Armour for the Godlike Son.
These are thy Isgrim's Doctrines; tell me now
Where's their Contempt of Heaven, or Kings below?
I'll not exempt some Times and Men from Blame,
For Priests of all Religions are the same;

455

No not the Panther, nor thy harmless Hind;
Full Power is of the persecuting Kind.

Unhappy Regions, Italy and Spain,
Under the Myter'd Tyrants double Reign,
Where Fire and Sword, Church-unity maintain.
Rome, once the gentlest Mistress of Mankind,
That Arms exalted, or that Arts refin'd;
Whose conquering Eagles travel'd with the Sun,
And a like Race of deathless Glory run,
One spreading Vertue, and the other Light
Through every Region in their prosp'rous Flight;
Nobly she fought, to Conquer, not Enslave,
And won Renown, but Peace and Plenty gave;
To injur'd Kings their Empire she renew'd,
And lawless Tyrants with just Arms pursu'd,
Improving still what ever she subdu'd;
Is now content, under a Sp'ritual Head,
And petty Dukes from his Corruption bred,
Poorly to languish in inglorious Peace,
Rebel to Honour, and mean Slave to Ease.
The Fruitful Regions of all Italy
Unpeopl'd, unmanur'd, deserted lie.
Nature in vain pours forth her various Store;
Rich is the Soil, but the vext Country poor,
While Prince or Priest their Industry devour.
So the Jackal upon the Lyon waits,
And what he leaves, the hungry Vermin eats.
These are the Blessings that she now enjoys,
Under a Tyrant of the Conclave's Choice,
Where French, or Spanish Pistols sway the Voice.
Thy noble Lyon do's bought Converts hate,
But Hope's a Bribe, Preferment is a Bait,
And mighty Blessings on all Converts wait;
Valiant they grow, and in an instant Wise,
And what their Nature wants, their Faith supplys.
One of these rising things who wou'd not be,
That were neglected, scorn'd, decay'd like thee?

456

Thy Panther next appears, Spotted 'tis true,
But like thy Hind, of a Celestial hew.
Her generous Lyon how can she offend,
Whose Sons and Writings for his Power contend?
Her Duty, Cæsar and her God divide,
Allowing no Supremacy beside.
When expert Huntsmen had the Wood beset,
All Arts, all Instruments of Ruin met;
Some at his Life, some aiming at his Crown,
None cou'd prevent his Fall, but Heaven alone:
(Tho well content thy Hind shou'd be ensnar'd)
Her Loyal Sons, thy generous Lion spar'd;
Th'Exclusive Bill in the Lords House they damn'd,
Pulpit and Press against the Act exclaim'd.

Not so the Clergy of too Jealous Rome,
Look'd on the Right of Henry to come;
Lest o'er the Flock one Heretick should reign,
Popes with the League, the League combines with Spain.
They level their Church-Thunder at his Crown,
Bishops and Nobles must their King disown,
Or else involv'd in the same Sentence lie,
The last effect of Spiritual Tyranny.
The League with Spanish Arms their King oppose;
And Zeal unites, whom Nature had made Foes;
Ten thousand men th'Italian Clergy send,
That might their Choice of a new King defend.
Our Church not thinks the Heart can go along
With Prayers utter'd in an unknown Tongue,
No more than how old Women can do harm
With barbarous words repeated in a Charm:
Nor from the Vulgar do's the Word conceal,
But opens wide to all that Heavenly Weal,
Where in plain words all saving Doctrines dwell.
All necessary Truths are short and clear,
She and th'Apostle bids us seek 'um there.

457

Finding no Track of an unerring Guide,
She sets Rome's haughty Plea to it aside;
Exacts no lewd Confession to a Priest,
Lodging our secret Sins in others Breasts,
A burden which the Primitive Church declin'd,
And which long after Innocent enjoin'd,
When first he Transubstantiation coin'd.
She makes no Saints, nor Pictures to adore,
Obeys her Maker, and enquires no more:
He Images forbid in Sacred Writ,
She fears the nice distinctions of your Wit;
Nor will Doulia nor Latria trust,
But to the plain and Sacred Text be just.
The Godhead's every where, we know not how,
Such real Presence all of us allow;
But that we eat his Flesh, or drink his Blood,
Is neither meant, believ'd nor understood.
So Jews, when their Old-Feasts they celebrate,
Call 'um the bitter Herbs their Fathers eat;
Not literally those which they did tast,
When by their Gates th'avenging Angel past;
But such as were in after-times design'd
To bring that great Deliverance to their mind.
From purging Flames, no Masses for the Dead
At a set Price are in our Churches said,
Nor act we Scriptures which all ought to read.
Your antient Doctrines we indeed reject,
But 'tis when elder Truths they contradict.
Of new Opinions thus we stand accus'd,
While we revive the Old too much abus'd.
Our Reformation's new, it is confest,
But our Religion is as old as Christ's.
The Israelites when out of Egypt led,
By Wonders rescu'd, and by Wonders fed,

458

Did not the Substance of the Calf adore,
Which was but their own Gold and Rings before.
Under that Figure they ador'd their God,
Who gave such Virtue to the sacred Rod;
Created Locusts, that devour'd their Corn,
And smote thro Pharaoh's Kingdom the first-Born;
Made the Red-Sea retire on either side,
Banish her rolling Waves, absent her Tide;
While they upon her sandy Bosom trod,
To Mortal men a new Impervious Road.
Yet God those sly Idolaters abhor'd,
And in their Calf disdain'd to be ador'd.
Scarce holy Moses cou'd his Wrath asswage,
Obtain their Pardon, and disarm his Rage;
Yet they directed their Intention right,
The Calf but brought their God before their sight;
What pleads thy Hind more than these Wretches might?

The Wolf and Bear too lately she escap'd,
In their rough Paws to be again entrap'd,
They but forsook her for resembling thee,
Worst Foe to man's and Christian's Liberty;
O Hind unchang'd! but 'tis in Cruelty.
To their mistaken sight she did appear
No Panther, but a sort of spotted Deer,
That might, when past the Glorys of her Prime,
Grow grey with Age, and become white in time.
They thought unlighted Tapers useless things,
Absurd as Altars without Offerings;
That Real Presence might grow Corporal,
And Men from Kneeling to Adoring fall.
Tho she resemble thee alas too much,
With Joy they find she never will be such;
She like a Loving Spouse endur'd it long,
And much abus'd, dissembled with the Wrong;

459

Till driven from the Table, she withdrew,
Forc'd from the Board, she left the Houshold too;
And never will the odious Tye renew.
Where is it said a Priest shall have no Wife?
Where's the command for a Monastick Life?
Our Wise Creator bid us fill the Land,
And shall we vow to break his first Command?
Our Sons and Daughters into Convents thrust,
And their hot Youth with untam'd Fryers trust?
'Tis true, they pay a sort of forc'd Consent,
But Pride and Friends forbid 'em to repent;
Like Cowards in a Battel they go on,
Asham'd and loth to run away alone;
Till tam'd by Custom and benum'd with Age,
Like Birds long kept they cannot leave the Cage.
A Rosy-colour'd Face Religion shews,
This every Convent, and Fat Abby knows.
The Pride of Cardinals, what Pen can trace?
When they appear, the Royal Blood gives place;
They may on Earth but by the Pope be try'd,
To kill 'um is a sort of Parricide.
This Henry found; the Guise unheeded falls,
But Bourbons Blood for the Church-Thunder calls;
Paris and Orleans reject his Reign,
And Sorbon Doctors their Revolt maintain,
Affirming that the People safely might
Against their King, when thus excommun'd, fight.
See here the boasted Loyalty of Rome,
And by their past, expect their Faith to come.
Men need not fear how they their Lives pollute,
Penance and Fasts kind Father will commute,
The Price of Sins they reasonably compute.
A tedious Lent th'Arabian Prophet made,
But Dispensations were no Eastern Trade;

460

His temperate Law the Joys of Wine abhor'd,
When he plurality of Wives restor'd;
Wisely foreseeing that Excess might spoil
The wish'd Increase of his unpeopled Soil;
Indulging thence their Nobler Appetites,
His new Religion to the Clime he fits.
But Natures Frailtys both alike relieve,
The Turks allow but what your Priests forgive.
The Text which bids a Bishop have one Wife,
Excuses Luther in his Married Life;
Nor has that Sacred Bed such Joys of Love,
To be mistook for Bacchannals above.
'Tis true, our Church is to our Isle confin'd,
No cruel Swords inforce it on Mankind;
No harsh Conversions stain our peaceful Faith,
Ours are th'Effects of Charity, not Wrath;
While Turks their Errors with their Empire spread,
And from Dragoons our Neighbours learn their Creed.
Japan and China with your Priests abound,
And Mass is said wherever Gain is found.
What Swede, what Norway Converts can you boast?
You never trade to any barren Coast.
Your Zeal burns dim, benum'd with Northern Cold,
But flames and rages in the Climes of Gold.
Once for three Years the Church had lost her Head,
Princes and Cardinals in no Pope agreed.
At length the weary'd Faction with one Voice
To Cardinal Dossa left the Sacred Choice.
He nam'd himself, defeating all their Hopes,
And shew'd us a new way of making Popes.
Urban and Clement did the World divide:
Scarce forty Years cou'd the dark Right decide.

461

Councils and Cardinals both their Titles damn'd,
And Alexander a third Pope proclaim'd.
Where all this time was Rome's unerring Guide?
Did he in none, or in all three reside?
Saint Peter cou'd no Successor declare,
He Clement nam'd, but Linus took the Chair.
If Popes be doubtful, who can Priesthood trust?
For if they fail, their long Succession must.
Since then false Popes as well as true ordain'd,
How can Rome's Holy Orders be maintain'd?
By Otho's Arms assisted, the Twelfth John,
Not full eighteen, his Papacy began:
His Mind was bloody, few and leud his Days;
His great Imperial Patron he betrays,
Assists his Foe; but Otho overcome,
And drove th'ingrateful Stripling out of Rome.
His Life in Corners he awhile prolong'd;
But fell at last by one whose Bed he wrong'd.
Sergius by force of Arms the Chair obtain'd,
And Pepin's Right Pope Zachary maintain'd:
Grandchild to Pepin, who his King dethron'd
At Rome, so early was Rebellion own'd.
And Valentine a Deacon, not a Priest,
Chosen by all, the Holy Seat possest.
Silvester on his Deathbed did declare,
The Devil and Magick plac'd him in the Chair.
Clement in pangs of Poison ends his days,
And Damasus, that gave it, takes the Place.
Victor the Third dy'd of a poisonous Sup;
And prov'd that more than Blood was in the Cup.
The Popedom virtuous Celestine resign'd,
The Sacred Charge he consciously declin'd;
Warn'd not anights by Heaven, as he thought,
But by Impostors Benedict had taught,

462

In broken Voices to disturb his Rest;
And tell him God was with his Reign displeas'd.
The pious Hermit caught in that false Snare,
Retires, and Benedict assumes the Chair,
Leaving the Hermit to the Jaylor's Care.
After the Death of Clement it appears,
The Holy Seat was vacant for two Years.
Where in those Days was Rome's unerring Guide?
Who thus omitted, might be laid aside.
Full forty Years his Holiness was split,
Half did at Rome, half at Avignion sit.
Each fiercely by his Followers maintain'd,
Both Wonders forg'd, and Revelations feign'd.
By temporal Arms both Popes assert their Right,
Princes and Nobles in both Parties fight.
John by a Council which at Constance met,
For Crimes and Vices was expel'd the Seat;
Which to confirm by Edict, they proclaim,
That next to Christ, a Council was Supreme.
Henry the Second made the Romans swear,
Without his leave not to confer the Chair.
He from a Pope receiv'd th'Imperial Crown,
But claim'd a Right to give the Triple one.
Thus sometimes Popes made Emperors, and then
They took upon 'em to make Popes agen.
Each propping at their need with others Might,
The weak Foundations of injurious Right.
So Phocas, when he had the Hate incur'd
Of his own Clergy for his murder'd Lord,
At Rome for lawful Emperor was own'd,
As if by Choice, or long Descent enthron'd.
He first (with that vile Flattery beguil'd)
Head of the Church the Roman Bishop stil'd.
None but Apelles might the Conqueror paint;
We want a Juvenal to draw this Saint.
His Holiness, a Father now indeed,
Might damn Election, and let Blood succeed.

463

John his First-born was Earl of Candia made,
Cæsar a Cardinal, of's Father's trade.
Jeffry the Third we Prince Squillaci find,
And bright Lucretia to Alphonso join'd.
These were the Comforts of his private Life,
While fair Vannocchia was esteem'd his Wife;
E'er wild Ambition taught him to aspire,
Or worldly Pomp misled his vain Desire:
But when once Pope, his Vice grew Villany,
A doubtful Friend, a cruel Enemy;
Faithless and Proud, oppressive was his Reign,
His Lust was Avarice, his God was Gain:
He brib'd the Conclave, and the Popedom bought,
But to just Ruin the vile Card'nal brought;
He Banish'd, Poison'd, or Imprison'd most
Of those Red-Caps, that put him to that Cost.
Cæsar with Arms lays wast his native Soil,
And with the French divides the odious Spoil;
And for Reward of his unnatural War,
Is promis'd Realms with Albret of Navarre:
But under vast Designs vast Treasures fail,
Places and Card'nals Caps are set to sale;
Extortion, Violence, and Simony,
Groan with the weight of War and Luxury.
Had Magus liv'd till now, and offer'd most,
Saint Peter's Heir had sold the Holy Ghost,
Dock'd the Entail, and the Succession crost.
All Projects failing, Murder is decreed,
But yet the Sacred Scarlet must not bleed,
Tho to their Wealth his Holiness succeed.
At Belvidere he makes a treacherous Feast,
Card'nals and wealthy Prelates are the Guests;
Where liquid Death, in private Bottels plac'd,
Attends the Cup th'invited Card'nals tast;

464

But by mistake, or Heaven's immediate Care,
He and his Son the deadly Potion share:
Thus damn'd and murder'd by himself he dies,
A wicked Priest, but worthy Sacrifice.
So many Villanies no long Race affords,
Nor rude Election of Pretorian Swords,
As have succeeded to this Sacred Chair;
They can usurp, kill, poison, but not err.
A General Council cannot err, some say,
Yet every Priest is Fallible, and may;
The Army can't, each Man may run away.
Heaven fix'd Salvation to the Name of Christ;
Whom he redeem'd, why damns the Popish Priest?
Believe in him, you have Eternal Life;
Make not the God of Peace the Subject of your Strife.
Christ said, the Gates of Hell should not prevail
Against the Church, nor should she ever fail;
Who knows but that the Spirit might intend,
To use Reformers to that Sacred end?
Differ we may, yet all have saving Faith,
Go the same Journey, tho each chuse his Path.
Error and Sin attend us here below,
That God that pardons Sin, will pardon Error too.
Were Picture-Worship no Idolatry,
I think it so, and 'twere a Crime in me;
Tho feign'd Conversion may the World deceive,
Men must be sav'd by what themselves believe.
This found thy Lion, and our Peace proclaim'd,
Calm'd our Dissensions, and our Fury tam'd.
The Panther, Wolf, the Hind, the Fox, the Hare,
And the whole Forest his Protection share;
The Ark did not more peacefully contain
Their warring Kinds, than his impartial Reign;
Truly devout, with an indulgent Eye,
He nobly views all sorts of Piety:
His generous Nature Persecution hates,
Heaven's easier Methods patiently he waits;

465

Thought by Experience that no outward Force
Can stop Religion's Immaterial Course:
Men Threats, and Death, and Torture not regard,
Whose thoughts are fix'd on the sublime Reward:
Their ravish'd Fancies ev'n in Flames delight,
And Heaven descends expanded to their sight;
With Grief, not Rage, he views the wandring Flock,
And sandy Cots, not founded on the Rock;
Born to Command, and forward to Controul,
His trembling Conscience checks his daring Soul.
No harsh Submission to his Will we pay,
Fearing we love, and loving we obey;
Deceit he scorns, and Force he will not use,
But by like means his great Designs pursues.
His Word he never, nor his Friend forgets,
His Smiles are Promises, and Frowns are Threats;
No idle Talk, no Laughter shakes the Room,
No loose Buffoons on their lewd Jests presume;
His Mirth is Royal, Pleasures are severe,
The Neighing Steed and Trumpet charm his Ear.
He flourishes that Sword he knows to use,
And the old Terror of our Arms renews.
Hunting (that flattering Image of the War)
Does but his Limbs for nobler Toils prepare.
Th'Extremes of Heat and Cold he learns to slight,
And sees the short Defence of trembling Flight;
Whether on foot he take his certain Aim,
Or on his fiery Steed pursue the Game.
Business and well-arm'd Troops his Time divide,
And War appears in all her harmless Pride;
Like a young Lion e'er he tast of Blood,
While from his Dam he draws his easy Food;
E'er Rage or Hunger drive him thro the Plains,
Of flying Herds to drink the reaking Veins.
Nor will out fierce Ambitious Neighbour dare
Provoke a Prince so well prepar'd for War;
Nor home-bred Treason show her odious Face,
Doubly subdu'd by Arms and Acts of Grace.

466

The Ax may cut off Traytors as they sprout,
But Mercy digs up Treason by the Root;
Above the Forms, yet true to the Intent
Of Law, he steers his steddy Government;
And only stretches his Prerogative,
To ease th'Opprest and let Offenders live.
So swift a Pity do's his Wrath succeed,
His fiercest Foes, but for Example bleed;
Not like those Princes who decline the Weight,
And glorious Toils of their exalted State:
By Heaven entrusted, and assisted too,
He will no Partner of his Cares allow.
His Mind has Motions perfectly her own;
And the firm Springs to Mortals are unknown.
The Crafty Courtier knows not where to bribe,
Nor where to cringe, nor fawn, the starving Tribe
Of a free Gift the charming Force he knows;
Unimportun'd, his Royal Bounty flows,
Like the ripe Clusters of the generous Vine,
Whose unprest running makes the noblest Wine.
The Zeal of Priests he curbs in the Debate,
When he determines the Affairs of State.
Thus freed from their vile Fears, his Royal Mind
That wise Indulgence for all Sects design'd;
He saw us languish, and our Trade decay,
Our Bankers break, our Seamen run away;
Our Churches fill'd with a dividing Herd,
Who but our Temples to our Jayls prefer'd.
Others of God, more than of Man afraid,
To Foreign Parts our gainful Trades convey'd.
Some for Plantations left their native Soil,
Their Wealth and Ease, for Poverty and Toil.
No Taxes, no Oppression, vext the Land;
Yet Power and Wealth he saw were at a stand.
His piercing Judgment the Disease descry'd;
His Goodness the blest Remedy apply'd;
Not like those Hirelings who had rather kill
With common Drugs, than hazard their own Skill:

467

But like a Father, and Physician too,
He trys the utmost that his Art can do;
Secure that at his Pleasure he can stop
The doubtful Medicine, shou'd the Patient droop.
Let Commonwealths boast Liberty no more,
She thrives as well beneath the Lyons Roar;
Not as with them, mean, sordid and ill-bred,
But like the Partner of a Royal Bed:
With all the Decent Charms of Beauty grac'd,
And next her Lord in Veneration plac'd,
Her Lord, from whom this Blessing we receive,
Greater than some thought Monarchy cou'd give.

Selden de Dis Syris Cap. 7.

Massacre under Charles the 9th of France, 1572.

Charles the 9th, and the Queen Mother.

Sixtus Quinens.

Henry the 4th of France.

Sixtus Quintus, Gregory the 4th and Innocent.

The Spanish Expedition in 1588.

The Gunpowder Treason confest by Garnet the Priest, and others at their Execution.

The Atheist.

The Quaker.

W. P. being challeng'd by a Gentleman, turn'd Quaker, that he might not be deem'd a Coward in not accepting the Challenge.

Liberius and Felix Popes.

Council held at Arles, another at Blois.

Valens, Constantius, and other Emperors.

Gregory VII. Pope, and Henry IV. Emperor. Anno 1080.

Church of England.

The 4th of France.

In the 4th Lateran Council, 1215.

The 3d of France.

Gregory at Rome, Benedict at Avignion, and Alexander chosen at Pisa under Charles the VI. See Mezeray, Thuanus, and other French Historians. 1409.

Celestine the I.

Duke of Ferara.

University of Virginia Library

A Poem, in defence of the Church of England;

In Opposition to the Hind and Panther, written by Mr. John Dryden.