The Poetical Works of John Dryden Volume I Part 32

The labour'd earth your pains have sow'd and till'd; 100 '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 prayer.

My daily bread is literally implored; I have no barns nor granaries to h.o.a.rd.

If Caesar 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 withdraws, And makes you break our friends.h.i.+p's holy laws; For barefaced envy is too base a cause.

Show more occasion for your discontent; Your love, the Wolf, would help you to invent: 120 Some German quarrel, or, as times go now, 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 possess'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 allusion gall'd the Panther more, Because indeed it rubb'd upon the sore.

Yet seem'd she not to wince, though shrewdly pain'd: But thus her pa.s.sive character maintain'd.

I never grudged, whate'er my foes report, Your flaunting fortune in the Lion's court.

You have your day, or you are much belied, But I am always on the suffering side: You know my doctrine, and I need not say, I will not, but 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 shows you much declined.

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 you blessing but for what you have; But once possess'd of what with care you save, The wanton boys would p.i.s.s upon your grave.

Your sons of lat.i.tude that court your grace, 160 Though most resembling you in form and face.

Are far the worst of your pretended race.

And, but I blush your honesty to blot, Pray G.o.d 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 though they dare not bark, they snarl at kings: 170 Nor blame them for intruding in your line; Fat bishoprics are still of right divine.

Think you your new French proselytes[121] are come To starve abroad, because they starved 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 the other side, 180 That many churches may for many mouths provide.

More vacant pulpits would more converts make; All would have lat.i.tude enough to take: The rest unbeneficed 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 replied, Is double-edged, and cuts on either side.

Some sons of mine, who bear upon their s.h.i.+eld Three steeples argent in a sable field, Have sharply tax'd your converts, who unfed Have follow'd you for miracles of bread; Such who themselves of no religion are, Allured with gain, for any will declare.

Bare lies with bold a.s.sertions 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: Though largely proved, and by himself profess'd, That conscience, conscience would not let him rest:

I mean, not till possess'd of her he loved, And old, uncharming Catherine was removed.

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, The Sermon on the Mount was Protestant.

No doubt, replied the Hind, as sure as all The writings of Saint Peter and Saint 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 hearsay, but observe at least, If since their change their loaves have been increased.

The Lion buys no converts; if he did, Beasts would be sold as fast as he could bid.

Tax those of interest 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, raised three steeples higher, would change their note, And quit the ca.s.sock for the canting-coat.

Now, if you d.a.m.n this censure, as too bold, Judge by yourselves, and think not others sold.

Meantime my sons, accused 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 untried; For not to ask, is not to be denied.

For what they have, their G.o.d and king they bless, And hope they should not murmur, had they less.

But if reduced, subsistence to implore, In common prudence they should pa.s.s your door.

Unpitied Hudibras,[122] your champion friend, Has shown how far your charities extend.

This lasting verse shall on his tomb be read, "He shamed you living, and upbraids you dead." 250

With odious atheist names[123] you load your foes; Your liberal 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,[124] 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 perjured murderer survives. 260

This said, she paused a little, and suppress'd The boiling indignation of her breast.

She knew the virtue of her blade, nor would Pollute her satire with ign.o.ble blood: Her panting foe she saw before her eye, And back she drew the s.h.i.+ning weapon dry.

So when the generous Lion has in sight His equal match, he rouses for the fight; But when his foe lies prostrate on the plain, He sheaths his paws, uncurls his angry mane, 270 And, pleased with bloodless honours of the day, Walks over and disdains the inglorious prey.

So James, if great with less we may compare, Arrests his rolling thunderbolts in air!

And grants ungrateful friends a lengthen'd s.p.a.ce, To implore the remnants of long-suffering grace.

This breathing-time the matron took; and then Resumed the thread of her discourse again.

Be vengeance wholly left to powers divine, And let Heaven judge betwixt your sons and mine: 280 If joys hereafter must be purchased here 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 tried By haughty souls to human honour tied!

O sharp convulsive pangs of agonizing pride!

Down then, thou rebel, never more to rise, And what thou didst, and dost, so dearly prize, That fame, that darling fame, make that thy sacrifice. 290 'Tis nothing thou hast given, 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 sum.

Thus (she pursued) 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 G.o.d, to know, As thine is vengeance, so forgiveness too: That, suffering from ill tongues, he bears no more Than what his sovereign bears, and what his Saviour bore.

It now remains for you to school your child, And ask why G.o.d's anointed he reviled; A king and princess dead! did s.h.i.+mei worse?

The cursor'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 every tire around, In clouds of smoke abandoning the fight; But his own thundering peals proclaim his flight.

In Henry's change his charge as ill succeeds; 320 To that long story little answer needs: Confront but Henry's words with Henry's deeds.

Were s.p.a.ce allow'd, with ease it might be proved, What springs his blessed Reformation moved.

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 paean 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 famed 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 ign.o.blest theft of fame.

My altars kindled first that living coal; Restore, or practice better, what you stole: That virtue could this humble verse inspire, 'Tis all the rest.i.tution I require. 340

Glad was the Panther that the charge was closed, And none of all her favourite sons exposed.

For laws of arms permit each injured man, To make himself a saver where he can.

Perhaps the plunder'd merchant cannot tell The names of pirates in whose hands he fell; But at the den of thieves he justly flies, And every Algerine is lawful prize.

No private person in the foe's estate Can plead exemption from the public fate. 350 Yet Christian laws allow not such redress; Then let the greater supersede the less.

But let the abettors of the Panther's crime Learn to make fairer wars another time.