The works of John Dryden Illustrated with notes, historical, critical, and explanatory, and a life of the author, by Sir Walter Scott |
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ON MR. DRYDEN'S RELIGIO LAICI. |
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 | The works of John Dryden |  |
ON MR. DRYDEN'S RELIGIO LAICI.
Begone, you slaves, you idle vermin, go,
Fly from the scourges, and your master know;
Let free, impartial men from Dryden learn
Mysterious secrets of high concern,
And weighty truths, solid convincing sense,
Explained by unaffected eloquence.
Fly from the scourges, and your master know;
Let free, impartial men from Dryden learn
Mysterious secrets of high concern,
And weighty truths, solid convincing sense,
Explained by unaffected eloquence.
What can you, Reverend Levi, here take ill?
Men still had faults, and men will have them still;
He that hath none, and lives as angels do,
Must be an angel;—but what's that to you?
Men still had faults, and men will have them still;
He that hath none, and lives as angels do,
Must be an angel;—but what's that to you?
While mighty Lewis finds the Pope too great,
And dreads the yoke of his imposing seat,
Our sects a more tyrannic power assume,
And would for scorpions change the rods of Rome.
That Church detained the legacy divine;
Fanatics cast the pearls of heaven to swine:
What, then, have honest thinking men to do,
But choose a mean between the usurping two?
And dreads the yoke of his imposing seat,
Our sects a more tyrannic power assume,
And would for scorpions change the rods of Rome.
That Church detained the legacy divine;
Fanatics cast the pearls of heaven to swine:
What, then, have honest thinking men to do,
But choose a mean between the usurping two?
Nor can the Egyptian patriarch blame a muse,
Which for his firmness does his heat excuse;
Whatever counsels have approved his creed,
The preface, sure, was his own act and deed.
Our Church will have the preface read, you'll say:
'Tis true, but so she will the Apocrypha;
And such as can believe them freely may
Which for his firmness does his heat excuse;
Whatever counsels have approved his creed,
The preface, sure, was his own act and deed.
Our Church will have the preface read, you'll say:
'Tis true, but so she will the Apocrypha;
And such as can believe them freely may
But did that God, so little understood,
Whose darling attribute is being good,
From the dark womb of the rude chaos bring
Such various creatures, and make man their king,
Yet leave his favourite, man, his chiefest care,
More wretched than the vilest insects are?
Whose darling attribute is being good,
From the dark womb of the rude chaos bring
Such various creatures, and make man their king,
Yet leave his favourite, man, his chiefest care,
More wretched than the vilest insects are?
35
O! how much happier and more safe are they,
If helpless millions must be doom'd a prey
To yelling furies, and for ever burn
In that sad place, from whence is no return,
For unbelief in one they never knew,
Or for not doing what they could not do!
If helpless millions must be doom'd a prey
To yelling furies, and for ever burn
In that sad place, from whence is no return,
For unbelief in one they never knew,
Or for not doing what they could not do!
The very fiends know for what crime they fell,
And so do all their followers that rebel;
If then a blind, well-meaning Indian stray,
Shall the great gulf be showed him for the way?
And so do all their followers that rebel;
If then a blind, well-meaning Indian stray,
Shall the great gulf be showed him for the way?
For better ends our kind Redeemer died,
Or the fallen angels' rooms will be but ill supplied.
Or the fallen angels' rooms will be but ill supplied.
That Christ, who at the great deciding day,
(For he declares what he resolves to say),
Will damn the goats for their ill-natured faults,
And save the sheep for actions, not for thoughts,
Hath too much mercy to send them to hell,
For humble charity, and hoping well.
(For he declares what he resolves to say),
Will damn the goats for their ill-natured faults,
And save the sheep for actions, not for thoughts,
Hath too much mercy to send them to hell,
For humble charity, and hoping well.
To what stupidity are zealots grown,
Whose inhumanity, profusely shown
In damning crowds of souls, may damn their own!
Whose inhumanity, profusely shown
In damning crowds of souls, may damn their own!
I'll err, at least, on the securer side,
A convert free from malice and from pride.
A convert free from malice and from pride.
Roscommon.
| The works of John Dryden | |