« ПредишнаНапред »
Have sharply tax'd your converts, who, unfed,
Have follow'd you for miracles of bread ;
Such who themselves of no religion are,
Allur'd with gain, for any will declare ;
Bare lies with bold assertions they can face ;
But dint of argument is out of place : 200
The grim logician puts them in a fright;
'Tis easier far to flourish than to fight.
Thus our eighth Henry's marriage they defame;
They say the schism of beds began the game,
Divorcing from the church to wed the dame :
Tho' largely prov'd, (and by himself profess'd,)
That conscience, conscience would not let him rest;
I mean, not till possess’d of her he lov'd,
And old uncharming Catharine was remov'd.
For sundry years, before, he did complain, 210
And told his ghostly confessor his pain.
With the same impudence, without a ground,
They say, that look the reformation round,
No Treatise of Humility is found.
But if none were, the Gospel does not want ;
Our Saviour preach'd it; and I hope you grant
His sermon on the mount was Protestant,
No doubt, reply'd the Hind, as sure as all
The writings of St. Peter and St. Paul;
On that decision let it stand or fall. 220
Now, for my converts, who, you say, unfed,
Have follow'd me for miracles of bread;
Judge not by hear-say; but observe, at least,
If, since their change, their loaves have been
The Lion buys no converts; if he did,
Beasts would be sold as fast as he could bid.
Tax those of int’rest, who conform for gain,
Or stay the market of another reign;
Your broad-way sons would never be too nice
To close with Calvin, if he paid their price ; 230
But, rais'd three steeples high'r, would change
And quit the cassock for the canting coat.
damn this censure, as too bold, Judge by yourselves, and think not others sold.
Meantime, my sons accus'd by Fame's report,
Pay small attendance at the Lion's court,
Nor rise with early crowds, nor flatter late ;
For silently they beg who daily wait.
Preferment is bestow'd that comes unsought,
Attendance is a bribe, and then 'tis bought. 240
How they should speed their fortune is untry'd ;
For not to ask, is not to be deny'd.
For what they have, their God and king they bless,
And hope they should not murmur had they less ;
But if reduc'd subsistence to implore,
In common prudence they would pass your door.
Unpitied Hudibras, your champion friend,
Has shewn how far your charities extend :
This lasting verse shall on his tomb be read, 249
" He sham'd you living, and upbraids you dead."
With odious Atheist names you load your foes:
Your lib'ral clergy why did I expose ?
It never fails--in charities like those.
In climes where true religion is profess'd,
That imputation were no laughing jest.
But Imprimatur, with a chaplain's name,
Is here sufficient licence to defame.
What wonder is 't that black detraction thrives ?
The homicide of names is less than lives;
And yet the perjur'd murderer survives ! 260
This said, she paus’d a little, and suppress’d
The boiling indignation of her breast.
She knew the virtue of her blade, nor would
Pollute her satire with ignoble blood :
Her panting foe she saw before her eye,
And back she drew the shining weapon dry.
So when the gen'rous lion has in sight
His equal match, he rouzes for the fight :
But when his foe lies prostrate on the plain,
He sheaths his paws, uncurls his angry mane, 270
And, pleas'd with bloodless honours of the day,
Walks over, and disdain's th' inglorious prey.
So James, if great with less we may compare,
Arrests his rolling thunderbolts in air,
And grants ungrateful friends a lenghten'd space,
T'izplore the remnants of long-suff'ring grace.
This breathing-time the Matron took; and then Resum'd: the thread of her discourse again. Be vengeance wholly left to pow'rs divine : And let Heav'n judge betwixt your sons and mine ; If joys hereafter must be purchas'd here, 271 With loss of all that mortals hold so dear,
Then welcome infamy and public shame,
And, last, a long farewell to worldly fame.
'Tis said with ease, but, oh, how hardly try'd
By haughty souls, to human honor tied !
O sharp convulsive pangs of agonizing pride !
Down then, thou rebel, never more to rise,
And what thou didst, and dost so nearly prize,
That fame, that darling fame, make that thy sa-
290 'Tis nothing thou has giv'n; then add thy tears For a long race of unrepenting years : 'Tis nothing yet, yet all thou hast to give : Then add those may-be years thou hast to live : Yet nothing still; then poor and naked come ; Thy Father will receive his unthrift home, And thy blest Saviour's blood discharge the mighty
Thus (she pursu'd) I discipline a son, Whose uncheck'd fury to revenge would run ; He champs the bit, impatient of his loss, 300 And starts aside, and flounders at the cross. Instruct him better, gracious God to knowAs thine is vengeance--so, forgiveness, too ; That suff'ring from ill tongues, he bears no more Iban what his sov'reign bears, and what his Sa
viour bore. It now remains for you to school your child, And ask why God's anointed he revild; A king and princess dead! Did Shimei worse ? The curser's punishment should fright the curse.
Your son was warn'd, and wisely gave it o'er, 310
But he who counsell’d him has paid the score ;
The heavy malice could no higher tend,
But woe to him on whom the weights descend !
So to permitted ills the demon flies;
His rage is aim'd at him who rules the skies;
Constrain’d to quit his cause, no succour found,
The foe discharges ev'ry tire around;
In clouds of smoke abandoning the fight ;
But his own thund'ring peals proclaim his flight.
In Henry's change, his charge as ill succeeds ;
To that long story little answer needs : 321
Confront but Henry's words with Henry's deeds.
Were space allow'd, with ease it might be provid
What springs his blessed reformation mov'd.
The dire effects appear’d in open sight,
Which, from the cause he calls a distant flight,
And yet no larger leap than from the sun to
light. Now let your sons a double pæan sound, A Treatise of Humility is found ; 'Tis found—but better it had ne'er been sought, 330 Than thus in Protestant procession brought. The fam'd original through Spain is known, Rodriguez' work, my celebrated son, Which yours, by ill translating, made his own; Conceal'd its author, and usurp'd the name, The basest and ignoblest theft of fame. My altars kindled first that living coal ; Restore or practise better what you stole :