For what can power give more than food and drink,
To live at ease, and not be bound to think?
Thefe are the cooler methods of their crime,
But their hot zealots think 'tis lofs of time;
On utmost bounds of loyalty they stand,
And grin and whet like a Croatian band ;
That waits impatient for the laft command.
Thus outlaws open villainy maintain,
They fteal not, but in fquadrons fcour the plain :
And if their power the paffengers fubdue,
The most have right, the wrong is in the few.
Such impious axioms foolishly they fhow,
For in fome foils republics will not grow :
Our temperate ifle will no extremes fuftain,
Of popular fway or arbitrary reign:
But flides between them both into the best,
Secure in freedom, in a monarch blest,
And though the climate vex'd with various winds,
Works through our yielding bodies on our minds,
The wholefome tempeft purges what it breeds,
To recommend the calmnefs that fucceeds.
But thou, the pander of the people's hearts,
O crooked foul, and ferpentine in arts,
Whose blandishments a loyal land have whor'd,
And broke the bonds fhe plighted to her lord;
What curfes on thy blafted name will fall!
Which age to age their legacy fhall call;
For all muft curfe the woes that must defcend on all.
Religion thou haft none: thy Mercury
Hae pafs'd through every fect, or theirs through thee.
But what thou giv'ft, that venom still remains;
And the pox'd nation feels thee in their brains.
What else infpires the tongues and fwells the breasts
Of all thy bellowing renegado priefts,
That preach up thee for God; difpenfe thy laws;
And with the ftum ferment their fainting caufe?
Fresh fumes of madness raise; and toil and fweat
To make the formidable cripple great.
Yet fhould thy crimes fucceed, fhould lawless power
Compass thofe ends thy greedy hopes devour,
Thy canting friends thy mortal foes would be,
Thy God and theirs will never long agree;
For thine, if thou haft any, must be one
That lets the world and human-kind alone:
A jolly god, that paffes hours too well
To promife heaven, or threaten us with hell.
That unconcern'd can at rebellion fit,
And wink at crimes he did himself commit.
A tyrant theirs; the heaven their priesthood paints
A conventicle of gloomy fullen faints;
A heaven like Bedlam, flovenly and fad;
Fore-doom'd for fouls, with false religion, mad.
Without a vision poets can forefhow
What all but fools by common fenfe may know:
If true fucceffion from our ifle fhould fail,
And crowds profane with impious arms prevail,
Not thou, nor thofe thy factious arts engage,
Shall that harvest of rebellious rage,
With which thou flattereft thy decrepit age.
The fwelling poifon of the feveral fects,
Which, wanting vent, the nation's health infects,
Shall burft its bag; and fighting out their way
The various venoms on each other prey.
The prefbyter puff'd up with spiritual pride,
Shall on the necks of the lewd nobles ride:
His brethren damn, the civil power defy;
And parcel out republic prelacy.
But fhort fhall be his reign: his rigid yoke
And tyrant power will puny fects provoke;
And frogs and toads, and all the tadpole train,
Will croak to heaven for help, from this devouring crane.
The cut-throat fword and clamorous gown fhall jar,
In fharing their ill-gotten fpoils of war:
Chiefs fhall be grudg'd the part which they pretend;
Lords envy lords, and friends with every friend
About their impious merit hall contend,
The furly commons fhall refpe&t deny,
And juftle peerage out with property.
Their general either hall his truit betray,
And force the crowd to arbitrary sway ;
Or they, fufpecting his ambitious aim,
In hate of kings fhall caft anew the frame;
And thruft out Collatine that bore their name.
Thus inborn broils the factions would ergage,
Or wars of exil'd heirs, or foreign rage,
Till halting vengeance overtook our age:
And our wild labours wearied into reft,
Reclin'd us on a rightful monarch's breat.
"Pudet hæc opprobria, vobis
"Et dici potuiffe, & non potuiffe refelli."
N times when princes cancel'd nature's law,
And declarations which themselves did draw;
When children us'd their parents to dethrone,
And gnaw their way, like vipers, to the crown;
Tarquin, a favage, proud, ambitious prince,
Prompt to expel, yet thoughtless of defence,
The envied fcepter did from Tullius fnatch,
The Roman king, and father by the match.
To form his party, hiftories report,
A fanctuary was open'd in his court,
Where glad offenders safely might resort.
Great was the crowd, and wondrous the fuccefs,
For those were fruitful times of wickedness;
And all, that liv'd obnoxious to the laws,
Flock'd to prince Tarquin, and embrac'd his cause.
'Mongst these a pagan priest for refuge fled ;
A prophet deep in godly faction read;
A fycophant, that knew the modish way
To cant and plot, to flatter and betray,
To whine and fin, to fcribble and recant,
A fhameless author, and a luftful faint.
To ferve all times he could diftinctions coin,
And with great eafe flat contradictions join :
A traitor now, once loyal in extreme,
And then obedience was his only theme:
He fung in temples the moft paffive lays,
And wearied monarchs with repeated praise ;
But manag'd aukwardly that lawful part;
To vent foul lies and treafon was his art,
And pointed libels at crown'd heads to dart.
This priest, and others learned to defame,
First murder injur'd Tullius in his name;
With blackeft calumnies their fovereign load,
A poifon'd brother, and dark league abroad;
A fon unjustly top'd upon the throne,
Which yet was prov'd undoubtedly his own;
Though, as the law was there, 'twas his behoof,
Who difpoffefs'd the heir, to bring the proof.
This hellish charge they back'd with dismal frights,
The lofs of property and facred rights,
And freedom, words which all falfe patriots ufe,
As fureft names the Romans to abuse.
Jealous of kings, and always malecontent,
Forward in change, yet certain to repent.
Whilft thus the plotters needful fears create,
Tarquin with open force invades the state.
Lewd nobles join him with their feeble might,
And atheist fools for dear religion fight.
The priests their boafted principles difown,
And level their harangues against the throne.
Vain promises the people's minds allure,
Slight were their ills, but desperate the cure.
'Tis hard for kings to steer an equal course,
And they who banish one, oft gain a worse.
Those heavenly bodies we admire above,
Do every day irregularly move;
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