But of king David's foes be this the doom,
May all be like the young man Absalom;
And for my foes may this their blessing be,
To talk like Doeg and to write like thee.

TRADITION.

[From Religio Laici; November, 1682.]

Must all tradition then be set aside? This to affirm were ignorance or pride. Are there not many points, some needful sure To saving faith, that Scripture leaves obscure, Which every sect will wrest a several way? For what one sect interprets, all sects may. We hold, and say we prove from Scripture plain, That Christ is GOD; the bold Socinian From the same Scripture urges he's but MAN. Now what appeal can end the important suit? Both parts talk loudly, but the rule is mute. Shall I speak plain, and in a nation free Assume an honest layman's liberty?

I think, according to my little skill,

To my own mother Church submitting still,
That many have been saved, and many may,
Who never heard this question brought in play.
The unlettered Christian, who believes in gross,
Plods on to Heaven and ne'er is at a loss;
For the strait gate would be made straiter yet,
Were none admitted there but men of wit.
The few by Nature formed, with learning fraught,
Born to instruct, as others to be taught,
Must study well the sacred page; and see
Which doctrine, this or that, does best agree
With the whole tenour of the work divine,

And plainliest points to Heaven's revealed design;
Which exposition flows from genuine sense,
And which is forced by wit and eloquence.

Not that tradition's parts are useless here,
When general, old, disinteressed, and clear:
That ancient Fathers thus expound the page
Gives truth the reverend majesty of age,
Confirms its force by biding every test,
For best authorities, next rules, are best;
And still the nearer to the spring we go,
More limpid, more unsoiled, the waters flow.
Thus, first traditions were a proof alone,
Could we be certain such they were, so known:
But since some flaws in long descent may be,
They make not truth but probability.
Even Arius and Pelagius durst provoke
To what the centuries preceding spoke.
Such difference is there in an oft-told tale,
But truth by its own sinews will prevail.
Tradition written, therefore, more commends
Authority than what from voice descends:
And this, as perfect as its kind can be,
Rolls down to us the sacred history:
Which, from the Universal Church received,
Is tried, and after for its self believed.

[From The Hind and the Panther, Part I; April, 1687.]

Panting and pensive now she ranged alone,
And wandered in the kingdoms once her own.
The common hunt, though from their rage restrained
By sovereign power, her company disdained,
Grinned as they passed, and with a glaring eye
Gave gloomy signs of secret enmity.

'Tis true she bounded by and tripped so light,
They had not time to take a steady sight;
For truth has such a face and such a mien
As to be loved needs only to be seen.

The bloody Bear, an independent beast,
Unlicked to form, in groans her hate expressed.

Among the timorous kind the quaking Hare
Professed neutrality, but would not swear.
Next her the buffoon Ape, as atheists use,
Mimicked all sects and had his own to choose;
Still, when the Lion looked, his knees he bent,
And paid at church a courtier's compliment.
The bristled baptist Boar, impure as he,
But whitened with the foam of sanctity,
With fat pollutions filled the sacred place
And mountains levelled in his furious race;
So first rebellion founded was in grace.
But, since the mighty ravage which he made
In German forests1 had his guilt betrayed,
With broken tusks and with a borrowed name,

He shunned the vengeance and concealed the shame,
So lurked in sects unseen.

With greater guile

False Reynard fed on consecrated spoil;

The graceless beast by Athanasius first

Was chased from Nice, then by Socinus nursed,
His impious race their blasphemy renewed,

And Nature's King through Nature's optics viewed;
Reversed they viewed him lessened to their eye,
Nor in an infant could a God descry.

New swarming sects to this obliquely tend,
Hence they began, and here they all will end.
What weight of ancient witness can prevail,
If private reason hold the public scale?
But, gracious God, how well dost Thou provide
For erring judgments an unerring guide!
Thy throne is darkness in the abyss of light,
A blaze of glory that forbids the sight.

O teach me to believe Thee thus concealed,
And search no farther than Thyself revealed;
But her alone for my director take,

Whom Thou hast promised never to forsake!

My thoughtless youth was winged with vain desires;
My manhood, long misled by wandering fires,

1 The allusion is more especially to the Anabaptist doings at Münster.

Followed false lights; and when their glimpse was gone,

My pride struck out new sparkles of her own.

Such was I, such by nature still I am;

Be Thine the glory and be mine the shame!

THE UNITY OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH.

[From The Hind and the Panther, Part II.]

'One in herself, not rent by schism, but sound, Entire, one solid shining diamond,

Not sparkles shattered into sects like you:
One is the Church, and must be to be true,
One central principle of unity;

As undivided, so from errors free;

As one in faith, so one in sanctity.

Thus she, and none but she, the insulting rage
Of heretics opposed from age to age;

Still when the giant-brood invades her throne,

She stoops from heaven and meets them half way down,
And with paternal thunder vindicates her crown.

But like Egyptian sorcerers you stand,

And vainly lift aloft your magic wand

To sweep away the swarms of vermin from the land.
You could like them, with like infernal force,
Produce the plague, but not arrest the course.
But when the boils and botches with disgrace
And public scandal sat upon the face,
Themselves attacked, the Magi strove no more,
They saw God's finger, and their fate deplore;
Themselves they could not cure of the dishonest sore.
'Thus one, thus pure, behold her largely spread,
Like the fair ocean from her mother-bed;

From east to west triumphantly she rides,

All shores are watered by her wealthy tides.
The gospel-sound, diffused from pole to pole,
Where winds can carry and where waves can roll,
The self-same doctrine of the sacred page
Conveyed to every clime, in every age.

}

THE BUZZARD1.

[From The Hind and the Panther, Part III.]

'A portly prince, and goodly to the sight,
He seemed a son of Anak for his height:
Like those whom stature did to crowns prefer;
Black-browed and bluff, like Homer's Jupiter;
Broad-backed and brawny built for love's delight,
A prophet formed to make a female proselyte.
A theologue more by need than genial bent;
By breeding sharp, by nature confident,

Interest in all his actions was discerned;

More learned than honest, more a wit than learned;
Or forced by fear or by his profit led,

Or both conjoined, his native clime he fled :
But brought the virtues of his heaven along;
A fair behaviour, and a fluent tongue.

And yet with all his arts he could not thrive,
The most unlucky parasite alive.

Loud praises to prepare his paths he sent,
And then himself pursued his compliment;
But by reverse of fortune chased away,
His gifts no longer than their author stay;
He shakes the dust against the ungrateful race,
And leaves the stench of ordures in the place.
Oft has he flattered and blasphemed the same,
For in his rage he spares no sovereign's name:
The hero and the tyrant change their style
By the same measure that they frown or smile.
When well received by hospitable foes,
The kindness he returns is to expose;

For courtesies, though undeserved and great,

No gratitude in felon-minds beget;

As tribute to his wit, the churl receives the treat.
His praise of foes is venomously nice;

1 Burnet, afterwards Bishop of Salisbury.

2 Scotland.