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But that once o'er, the short-liv'd union ends : The road divides, and there divide the friends.

The Panther nodded when her speech was done, And thank'd her coldly in a hollow tone : But said, her gratitude had gone too far For common offices of Christian care. If to the lawful heir she had been true, She paid but Cæsar what was Cæsar's due. I might, she added, with like praise describe Your suff'ring sons, and so return your bribe : But incense from my hands is poorly priz'd; For gifts are scorn'd, where givers are despis'd. I serv'd a turn, and then was cast away ; You, like the gaudy fly, your wings display, And sip the sweets, and bask in your great pa

tron's day

This heard, the Matron was not slow to find What sort of malady had seiz'd her mind : Disdain, with gnawing Envy, fell Despight, 70 And canker'd Malice, stood in open sight: Ambition, Int'rest, Pride without control, And Jealousy, the jaundice of the soul ; Revenge, the bloody minister of ill, With all the lean tormentors of the will. 'Twas easy now to guess from whence arose Her new-made union with her ancient foes, Her forc'd civilities, her faint embrace, Affected kindness, with an alter'd face : Yet durst she not too deeply probe the wound, 80 As hoping still the nobler parts were sound:

But strove with anodynes tassuage the smart,
And mildly thus her med'cine did impart.

Complaints of lovers help to ease their pain ;
It shows * a rest of kindness to complain,
A friendship loath to quit its former hold;
And conscious merit may be justly bold.
But much more just your jealousy would shew,
If others' good were injury to you :
Witness, ye Heav'ns, how I rejoice to see 90
Rewarded worth and rising loyalty.
Your warrior offspring that upheld the crown,
The scarlet honour of your peaceful gown,
Are the most pleasing objects I can find,
Charms to my sight, and cordials to my mind :
When virtue spooms before a prosp'rous gale,
My heaving wishes help to fill the sail ;
And if my pray’rs for all the brave were heard,
Cæsar should still have such, and such should
still reward.

99 The labour'd earth, your pains have sow'd and till'd; 'Tis just you reap the product of the field: Yours be the harvest, 'tis the beggar's gain To glean the fallings of the loaded wain. Such scatter'd ears as are not worth your care, Your charity for alms may safely spare, For alms are but the vehicles of pray'r. My daily bread is litrally implor'd; I have no barns, nor granaries to hoard.

* Remains of kindness,

}

If Cæsar to his own his hand extends,
Say, which of yours his charity offends ? 110
You know he largely gives to more than are

his friends.
Are you defrauded when he feeds the poor?
Our mite decreases nothing of your store.
I am but few, and by your fare you see
My crying sins are not of luxury.
Some juster motive sure your mind with draws,
And makes you break our friendship’s holy laws ;
For barefac'd envy is too base a cause.

Shew more occasion for your discontent:
Your love, the Wolf, would help you to invent
Some German quarrel ; or, as times go now, 121
Some French, where force is uppermost, will do.
When at the fountain's head, (as merit ought
To claim the place,) you take a swilling draught,
How easy 'tis an envious eye to throw,
And tax the sheep for troubling streams below;
Or call her (when no farther cause you find)
An enemy profess’d of all your kind.
But then, perhaps, the wicked world would think
The Wolf design’d to eat as well as drink, 130

This last illusion gall’d the Panther more, Because, indeed, it rubb’d upon the sore : Yet seem'd she not to wince, tho'shrewdly pain’d; But, thus, her passive character maintain'd.

I never grudg'd (whate'er my foes report,) Your flaunting fortune in the lion's court,

You have your day, or you are much bely’d,
But I am always on the suff'ring side :
You know my

doctrine; and I need not say I will not, for I cannot disobey.

140 On this firm principle I ever stood, He, of my sons, who fails to make it good, By one rebellious act, renounces to my blood.

Ah! said the Hind, how many sons have you, Who call you mother whom you never knew ! But most of them, who that relation plead, Are such ungracious youths as wish you dead. They gape at rich revenues which you hold, And, fain, would nibble at your grandame Gold; Inquire into your years, and laugh to find 150 Your crazy temper shews you much declin'd. Were you not dim, and doted, you might see A pack of cheats that claim a pedigree, No more of kin to you, than you to me. Do you not know that, for a little coin, Heralds can foist a name into the line ? They ask your blessing but for what you have, But once possess'd of what with care you save, The wanton boys would piss upon your grave.

Your sons of latitude, that court your grace, Tho' most resembling you in form and face, Are far the worst of your pretended race ; 162. And, (but I blush your honesty to blot,) Pray God you prove them lawfully begot: For in some Popish libels I have read, The wolf has been too busy in your bed ;

At least her hinder parts, the belly-piece,
The paunch, and all that Scorpio claims are his.
Their malice, too, a sore suspicion brings ;
For tho’ they dare not bark, they snarl at kings :
Nor blame them for intruding in your line; 171
Fat bishoprics are still of right divine.

Think you your new French proselytes are come
To starve abroad, because they starv'd at home ?
Your benefices twinkled from afar ;
They found the new Messiah by the star :
Those Swisses fight on any side for pay,
And 'tis the living that conforms, not they.
Mark with what management their tribes divide :
Some stick to you, and some to t' other side,
That many churches

may

for provide.

181 More vacant pulpits would more converts make; All would have latitude enough to take ; The rest, unbenefic’d, your sects maintain ; For ordinations without cures are vain, And chamber practice is a silent gain. Your sons of breadth at home, are much like

these; Their soft and yielding metals run with ease ; They melt, and take the figure of the mould,But harden, and preserve it best in gold. 190

Your Delphic sword, the Panther then reply'd, Is doubled-edg'd, and cuts on either side. Some sons of mine, who bear upon their shield Three steeples argent in a sable field,

many mouths

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