The Anti-WEESILS. A POEM.
HAppy those peaceful
Lands, thrice happy they
Propitious Heaven has freed from
Beasts of Prey!
Where the rich
fleecy Housholds safely go,
And graze all day, fearless of any Foe,
Nor spoted
Pard, nor nimble
Tygar know.
Pan guards their Folds, by no fell Wolf distrest,
Both Sheep and Shepherd lay them down to rest.
Not so of old rich
Albion's fertile Soyl,
E're just severity had purg'd the Isle;
A
Wast there was, its Arms out-stretching wide,
Ardenna call'd, by Royal
Severn's side;
Where, in deep dismal
Groves, untrod by Men,
Coucht the
Wild Beasts in many a gloomy Den;
The
Kingly Lyon Lord and
Sovereign there,
The Fox, the Pard, the Tygar and the Bear.
All in the midst of the most secret shade,
Close in an unfrequented gloomy
glade,
The
Sovereign kept his
Court, but
late his own,
His
dying Brother newly left the Throne,
(Fairly or not, to Jove is only known.)
From
Caledonian Woods their Lineage came,
Proud of their Ancestors long purchas'd Fame:
Two Ages past to
warmer Worlds they run,
And bask in
Southern Brittains kinder Sun.
Where the
Wild Nations them their Lords confess,
New robb'd by Fate of their
lov'd Lyoness:
E're since they held our
Forrests wide command,
Now with a fix'd, now with a trembling Hand:
Sometimes wou'd on their
Free-born Subjects fall,
Grasping too
much they'd venture losing
all.
This cost a Life, the
best of all their Blood,
Torn by the furious
Rabble of the Wood:
Two of whose hapless
Race their Countrey chang'd,
And long, far off, in
Forreign Desarts rang'd,
'Till pittying
Jove, when all their hope was past,
To their own Realms restor'd 'em both at last;
Where in
soft Joys they quickly drown'd their Pain,
And little less than share an
equal Reign:
But
Prodigies can never long remain:
Two Suns are one too many for the Skyes,
And
that must set, that
this more bright may rise:
His
sudden Fall was ne're well understood,
He sets, at least in
Clouds, if not in
Blood.
What
Brutal Joy thro' all the
Wild was shown,
When next his
Brother Lyon fill'd the Throne!
The Beasts get
drunk to wish their Lord success,
What
reeling Loyalty did they express!
Than
Restauration Triumphs only less.
Whilst the
Wise few walk unobserved by,
To some lone Covert hast, and
steal a sigh.
For they too well their Prince's
Genius knew,
Or lov'd the
Old too well to wish a
New:
They knew his Inclinations harsh and
curst,
As one had been by old
Lycisca nurst;
That with his
Milk he suckt inveterate hate,
And Malice deep against the
Sylvan State;
Enough they though to
bear, too much to
wish their Fete.
Not so the giddy thoughtless multitude,
Whose Joy's all
muddy like themselves and
rude:
Thus
Jove was blest by every grateful
Frog,
When o're the
Fans King
Stork succeeds King
Log:
Their deep hoarse Notes they to his Honour raise,
And croak loud hollow Anthems in his Praise.
Thus the
New King of
Ardens ancient Grove
Is Crown'd, with all the Forrests
Fear or
Love:
The
Muses Birds themselves, which seldom fail
To build near Thrones, loud sung their —
Caesar, Hail!
The Brooks of distant
Cam and
Isis vye,
Which most shall please him with their Harmony.
Who with a surly pride the officious kindness
bore,
All was his due and they cou'd give no more,
'Tis true, nor we his memory wou'd wrong,
None but the Wolves cou'd please him with a song.
Who flockt from old
Jerne's sacred Soil,
And in full heards assault our trembling Isle;
From
Graves, and half
torn Carcasses they fled,
From lone Church-yards among the mangled dead.
Here a young Whelp comes ore, and there appears
Some
hoary Murderer of fifty years,
Of those who erst
Jerne's Plains orepour'd,
Husbands, and Wives, and Maids, and helpless Babes devour'd,
And long before
alone he fill'd the place
The King had a
strange love for all their Race:
A
Sympathy so violent and strong,
That shou'd we not his spotless
Mother wrong,
Who knew no
shame because she knew no
sin,
We'd think his
Sire of wild Sir
Isgrims kin,
The very same the
howl, the very same the
grin.
With these, when young, he'd always hunt and sport,
With these, when old, he fill'd his
Royal Court;
Ragged they came, with loud complaints and moans,
No Coat to hide their Flesh, no Flesh to hide their Bones.
Tho' soon they
Battend here, for not a
place
But now is fill'd with some of
Wolvish race;
How sleek their Coat, how plump their side, how full their Face.
This all the other
Beasts unkindly bore,
Keep in their
Dens, and fill the
Court no more;
Yet not so high as since were their resentments flown,
Because their
Liberty was still their own;
Their Rights, by antient
Forest-Laws secur'd
Which had from immemorial
times endur'd
In mounds as firm as
Soveraign Power immur'd:
All yet injoy'd their own, by none opprest,
Each in his
native Den could safely rest.
Tho' this
last blessing must not long remain,
And every freeborn Subject's doom'd to wear the Chain:
The manner thus — the Court its Toyls had set,
And taken a young vigorous
Lyonet;
(To their late Soveraign born, who did
compress
In
Forreign wilds a lovely Leopardess.)
So like the Royal Race, so goodly grown,
What Prince wou'd blush so fair a Son to own?
Hopes of a Crown, and t'was a glorious
prize
Had seiz'd too
soon on his unwary Eyes;
Nor longer Forreign Courts he'll now endure,
But sowses down on the deceitful
Lure,
And landing on the fatal Western Coast,
Was by his
false Jackal betray'd and lost.
And now the useless Vizard is cast by
Which was before seen thro' with half an Eye,
The
Panther shows his
Face, the Court begins
To dare the Day, and boast unblushing Sins:
What can a fairer happier juncture be
Than a
Rebellion crusht to hatch a
Tyranny?
Least Rebel
Sheep shou'd harmless
Wolves surprize,
Or the young
Lyon from the Dead shou'd rise;
A standing Army must the Groves secure
Of Bears, and Boars, and Wolves, a Heard impure.
Now they the old
Grand Forrest-Charter seize,
And
Liberties are only what they please:
Those are
kind Thieves who half your Gold restore,
You can't but thank 'em that they take no more.
Some Beasts, 'tis true, when
tamed were freed again,
But none beyond their
Circle and their Chain:
All were, without exceptions,
teddered down,
Tho' some had larger
Plats to graze upon:
A
Peace indeed proclaim'd with show of Grace,
Tho' 'twas alone t' oblige the
Wolvish Race.
The publick quiet can't too high be priz'd;
These
snarling Mastives must be sacrific'd.
Those
Shepherds who their Folds woul'd not betray,
From
Sheep and Folds at once were dragg'd away;
Their Folds to Thieves, their Flocks to Wolves, a prey,
In Dens and Darkness to expect their doom,
And
Goats and Swine exalted in their room.
This was to much, yet this they suffer'd too,
And now indeed they little else cou'd do;
Tho' they beyond a
Camels patience bore,
The
Passive Beasts must still prepare for more.
Must they pretend to
feel whose sence was gon,
Among their other
Rights, who now must still bear on?
They
laid on load as fast as at the first,
Nor must they
kick it off altho' they
burst.
Nor wou'd one Age suffice for their disgrace,
The
Slave must be
entail'd on all their Race.
This
Fate denys, but
Fate in vain says nay,
And Heaven, as well as Earth, the
Lyon must obey.
Tho' hateful Age came hastning on amain,
And what Promiscuous Loves had mist to drain,
Lickt the last drops of moisture from each shrivling Vein,
Yet did he not of the success despair,
And rather than have none, wou'd make some Wolf his
Heir.
Blest Heir, foretold by every dreaming Fowl,
The long-liv'd Crow, and Sage Prophetick Owl,
Who, e'er his Birth, described each matchless Grace,
And knew each Line in his Majestick Face.
The Lyoness consents, a
Whelp is found,
Who all their most Luxuriant Wishes crown'd.
'Twas safely to the Royal Den convey'd,
And with vain Vows, she crys,—
Lucina aid!
Miraculous Birth! No Grief nor Pangs succeed,
By
Proxy sure, a Lyoness may breed.
So
sound, so
firm, so
like the Royal Race,
The World might
spell his Father in his Face.
VVen the
last Stake, e'en
hope it self was gone,
He must be a double Brute that still bears on.
The Forrest sent repeated Envoys o'er,
And prest for succour at the
Belgic shoar,
VVhere they the bold
Nassovian Lyon find,
Made for the Saviour of the
Sylvan kind.
From
Britain he deduced his noble stem,
Only not nearest to the Diadem.
Rich in well-purchas'd Fame, and high Renown,
Fit for, below, and yet above a Crown:
He left his sweet repose, and calm recess,
And sighing left his lovely Lyoness.
Indues his Hide, dreadful with many a Scar,
And many an
Honest Mark, of many a Glorious War,
When erst with
Gallic Wolves almost opprest,
Whole Groves of Spears were broke against his ample Breast,
He shook 'em off, and with a furious bound.
Leapt o'er the Toils, and scatter'd Fate around.
Thus went he to glad
Albions cluster'd Shoar,
And with himself wafted Salvation o'er.
The Forrest trembled at his Kingly roar,
Whilst all the Coward Wolves —
Whom ev'n his Name did of their prey prevent,
With blood-shot Eyes glared backward as they went.
They spared his Arms, with fear already dead,
Swift fled the amazed King, his Guards before him fled.
So when the cheerful Harbinger of day,
Claps his bright Wings, and warns the Shades away.
The Birds obscene, flie from the ghastful Light,
And howling guilty Ghosts sink back to Conscious Night.
The
Royal Signs, in hasty flight thrown by,
Scepter and Crown, the Marks of Majesty,
A full convention of the Forrest meet,
And offer at their great Deliverer's Feet.
This never was with greater merit worn,
Nor
that, with steddier Justice ever born.
He lends 'em Light, nor does from theirs receive,
They
borrow better Glorys than they
give.
But shou'd high
Heaven it sels a King provide,
And drop him down from
Jove's Illustrious side,
Palladian-Form, all wou'd not like him well,
And some wou'd rather wish him sent from
Hell.
Like these, a Discontented, Murm'ring Crowd,
VVho dared not their Resentments snarl aloud:
Nay, joyn'd at first ith' general Applause,
To him who had retriev'd their Forrest Laws,
And pacify'd their Tails, and lickt their Frothy Jaws,
Yet steal from Court, in Coverts to complain:
They were indeed, unworthy such a Reign.
The Hound, the Ass, the Badger, Goat, and Swine,
These gladly did the unlucky Monkey joyn,
And some yet left o'th' Ancient Wolfish Line.
The
Hound, produc'd, 'tis thought, from mingled strains,
He had
Isgrims Blood, at least in half his Veins.
With him had oft, form some lone Vale, or Wood,
By early Morn return'd, his Muzzle dipt in Blood.
A Dog with Dogs, a Wolf whth Wolves wou'd be,
Never before o'th' weakest side was he,
Well verst in all the Tricks of Currish Flattery:
Oft welcome to the Mastiffs splendid board,
And while they flourish'd, treared like a Lord.
But when the Lyon frown'd, and they declin'd,
With all the holing Herd against 'em joyn'd.
Oft he at Court wou'd humbly begging stand,
As oft advanc'd to Ladys Lap and Hand.
Nay, t' has by some, been in loud Whispers said,
He staid not there, but crept into their Bed.
Unnatural Crime! — Tho' I'd believe as soon,
That the fair Sex shou'd doat on a
Babboon;
Tho 'scaped from many a Branch, his Fate holds fast,
He has still an itching to be
Hang'd at laft.
Next him, and not unlike, the
Badger came,
So near their Form, their Species thought the same.
His Fangs unmerciful, so curst his spite,
They never fail to meet, where e'er they bite,
The Soveraign gags him, when he can't asswage
His madness — This the Cause of all his Rage.
The
Swine, foul Epicure; whose all desire,
To feast on Grains, and roll on Beds of Mire.
The only Beast intemperate Draughts disgrace,
Degenerate from the sober Brutal Race,
And justly angry he to 'velost the sport
Of former Reigns — There's now no
Mud at court,
Levees and Couchees pass without the Swines resort.
For the same reason did the
Goat forbear,
To afford, as once, his Savory Presence there:
By
Pan, and all his Kingred Gods, he swore,
He'd never serve
a Prince that wou'd not Whore.
Nor did the
Monkey his Confederates fail,
Tho' he in old Adventures, lost his Tail;
Since, tho' in other Reigns, a useful Tool,
The Court's too busie now to play the Fool.
But how, i'th' Name of Dullness, came't to pass,
They to their Party won the plodding
Ass?
Neither for Council, nor for Action made,
So bold, he's even of his own Ears afraid;
Grave Soul-less thing, to Slavery inur'd,
He fears his Back shou'd be from
Loads secur'd,
Brays at the Court, because no Burden's there,
And thinks the sweetest thing on Earth's to
bear.
A Cave there was, far in the wildest waste,
It's Mouth with luckless
Ivy round embrac'd.
Which Fame reports, no Mortal Foot invades,
But
restless Sprights, and
discontented Shades,
Or, drawn by Dragons thro' the mirksome Air,
Canida foul, to keep her
Sabboths there;
With many a secret Charms, forbidden sound,
Calling the shackled Daemons from the ground,
By fearful Traveller shunn'd, who near it trace,
Loud Shrieks, and hollow Groans oft ecchoing from the place,
Yet meet these discontented Murmurers there,
The fittest Court for Mischief and Despair.
Grinding their Teeth, they here consult in vain,
How the old Lyon might his Throne regain,
And fill the Court again with all his Wolvish Train.
Clearly foreseen by th' Sage
Prophetick Ass,
Expecting what will never come to pass.
Here, while the rest discourse their grand concern,
The
Monkey's sent abroad some News to learn,
Where both we'll leave —
And, Ah! That it were such as these
alone,
Did the new Soveraigns happy Sway disown!
O Grief! O Shame! That others won't come in!
Only
Mistaken Loyalty their Sin.
They pay the
Belgian Lyon just esteem,
And own the Forrest, owe their
Lives to him;
Wish they cou'd give him more, and yet be
true,
But their
Allegiance think to their old Soveraign due.
Of these some
Mastiffs were, who whilom stood
Ready for their dear Flocks to loose their Blood.
For these undaunted Bravery had shown,
To save
their Liberties they lost their
own.
With these a
Generous Steed in Friendship ty'd,
For the
same Cause in fiercest Battle try'd,
From the
new Sovereign the
same Fears divide.
How did the
Wolfish Crew rejoyce the while,
And spite of their Misfortunes
grin'd a Smile.
Mistaken Malice thus it self to please,
Tho none so
near, eyt none so far from
these;
They wisht the Old Lion back,
he pray'd to
Jove
So great a
Curse from
Albion to remove.
The Chrystal Streams that drench the thirsty Land,
(Miraculous Streams, they flow'd at
Pan's Command)
Ungrate they scorn'd, and gazing from the Brink,
Or
troubling with their Feet, refus'd to drink:
He, like the thirsty
Hart, compell'd to go
From Horns and Hounds, and
winged Deaths below,
To some old hoary Mountain, vast and high,
Whose Shoulders,
Atlas-like, support the Sky;
Looks from the Brim, whose distant Prospect yields
Fair Brooks, Sweet Groves,
safe ever-smiling Fields,
Looks down with
longing Eyes views all around,
But ah! the Leap's too large, he cannot reach the ground.
They leave the Light, in secret Caves to vent
Their Rancor deep, and festring discontent,
He open Walks, his Vertue his Defence,
What need of Coverts where is Innocence?
Argu'd, discours'd to gain his doubtful Mind
That Satisfaction yet it could not find;
The greatest Favourites of the
new Sovereign's Court,
To his not seldom gladly did refort
Who fain would give what he so much did need,
They the
Yong Lion lov'd, yet lov'd the
Steed.
Of these an aged
Hart for Worth prefere'd,
Who sixty Summers now had rul'd the Herd.
Aged and Wise, than him none better knew,
Where the sharp
Dittany, and
Jove's own
Moly grew;
Against bleak
Storms and Rain, the surest
Fence,
Where
Serpents lurk, and how to drive 'em thence.
A pleasant Vale there was, with Woods embrac'd,
With purling Streams, and Riv'lets interlac'd,
Where oft sweet
Zephyr to his
Chloris brings
Panchean Odours on his Balmy Wings:
Not far from Cows, where wont the Steed to pass
His thoughtful hours, revolving on the Grass,
Him here he meets —
Neither unwelcom, nor perhaps unsent,
And press with Kingness and with Argument;
(For rarely Reason's Darts successless prove,
When edg'd with
Friendship, & when wing'd with
Love.)
He entertain'd him with a chearful Face,
And did his Offer willingly embrace:
By a small
Hilleck with thick Osiers crown'd
They couch'd 'em soft upon the verdant Ground;
Near a fair Brook, which gently murmuring ran,
Where soon the kind
Adviser thus began.
THE Anti-Weesils.
PART II.
So may great
Neptune ever grant increase
Of happy Years, and long unenvy'd Peace,
So kind
Apollo your lost
Health restore,
And hardly love his own
wing'd Courser more;
As I design your Happiness; as you
Believe my kind Intentions just and true.
But say, by all our ancient Friendship, say
So long what makes you from the
Pallace stray?
Why never yet did you at
Court appear?
And why this close retirement holds you here?
Nor sullen Malice is't, nor vain Desire
Of Rich
Caparisons, or mounting higher,
Has kept me thence, replies the generous
Steed,
Nor this I
have, nor those I
ask or
need:
Let the proud
Mule on golden Trappings doat,
Embroidered deep to hide his ragged Coat;
These Plains afford enough, and when they're gon,
Worst hap that may, the
Common's still my own:
But to be free, and tell you in a Word,
Allegiance to my last unhappy Lord
Still chains me here, and holds my Captive Mind
Stronger than Links of Adamant can bind;
That
Gordion Knot I now almost despair
My self to
unty, and less to
break it dare,
Tho either soon would make me free as air.
If that be all, rejoyn'd the
Hart, you're free,
Trust your own Eyes, unless amiss they see,
You are long since at perfect Liberty.
Those fatal Links whereof you thus complain,
Are only an Imaginary Chain:
Did not th'
Old Lion with enraged Claws
Rend
that at once, and all the
Forest Laws?
Level'd each Fence, and every ancient Hold,
And
Garison'd with Wolves each trembling Fold;
The faithful
Mastives too were dragg'd away
From their lov'd
Folds at once, and chearful
Day,
And in the
Royal Dungeon Fetter'd lay.
And worse than all, curst
Isgrim's Whelp design'd,
Posterity as well as us to blind,
To fill the
Throne, and Lord it o're the Sylvian kind.
Was ever
stupid Goodness more abus'd,
So much we
gave, he thought we'd nothing have
refus'd.
Of such Success may ne're such Masters fail,
As he who sent the
Dog to fetch his Tail.
Of Love repeat the Story, quoth the
Steed,
The courteous
Hart consenting, did proceed.
A
Yeoman once near
Arden was possess'd
Of three fair Farms,
and liv'd upon the best;
In all his Vertues list, (not over-large)
Too much
good Nature ne're was laid t'his charge;
His Servants he'd forgive, when first he'd
bang'd 'em,
And pardon all Offenders, when h'had
hang'd 'em.
A
Dog he had, with dreadful Teeth and Paws,
Who right or wrong would fight his Masters Cause;
True
Spaniel Breed, did those that beat him
love;
He was a right
old Dog at Stick or Glove;
To run, to
fetch and carry, or seek out,
To swim or dive, or range the Fields about;
Nimble as ever Juglers
Dog was seen,
And would as fast come
o're for King and Queen:
Besides an House-dog true— Heavens! how he'd roar,
If Friend or Foe came near his Masters
Door?
The more ungrateful he such Faith t'abuse,
So tame, so true a
Slave, so ill to use.
It chanc'd as on a day they went abroad,
His
Master met some Friends upon the
Road.
Or
Friends they were, or such at least they seem,
Tho more 'tis thought, they lov'd his
Flocks than him;
For this the
Dog they hate, whose watchful Cry
At midnight oft reveal'd when
Theeves were nigh,
And ask his
Master why the Cur he'd keep,
For nothing fit but
worrying harmless Sheep.
Friends, your mistaken Guess, says he, is lost;
Then his
good Qualities begins to boast:
The cheif, that he might
kick him like a Ball,
Yet durst he not refuse his Beck or Call;
To a revengeful
Snap did ne're incline,
His worst Resentments were a gentle
whine.
But I'll convince you all beyond dispute
My Power and his Subjection's
absolute.
His
Hanger drawn, he with a grisly Wound
Cuts off his Tail, and throws it on the ground;
Then, thinking
Spaniel-Love would still prevail,
He gives the Word—
There Fray,
go fetch thy Tail!
Anger, and Pain, and Shame at once Surprize,
The wounded
Cur, he rolls his bloody Eyes,
And scarce forbears, but at their Throats he flies.
How're no more with such a Lord will stay,
But at the next
Cross-road runs quite away.
Now let his Master walk from
France to
Spain,
He'll never such a Spaniel find again;
Who if he e're returns from whence he fled;
Will give 'em leave after his
Tail to send his
Head.
The
sober Steed kept Countenance a while,
But at the Stories end
indulg'd a Smile;
Then answer'd thus—The Moral I confess
Is but too plain for any one to guess,
As clear our Patience has
too far been try'd,
And what vvas felt, in vain would be deny'd;
That
Right or Wrong no longer were observed,
Nor
Property, nor
Oaths, nor
Laws preserv'd:
That the
Old Lion by his
Wolves misted,
Resolv'd on all our Liberties to tread;
Resolv'd our Spacious
Forest to enslave,
And
took those Charters which he never
gave.
But is not
here Obedience more Divine?
If he has broke his Oaths, must I break mine?
No need, return'd the
Hart, 'tis
loos'd before,
The Chain's unlink'd, and holds you now no more.
He has
his End unty'd, and sets you free,
VVou'd you be won to use your Liberty?
Nor with such
airy Chains your Conscience bind
And drag an useless Load of
Links behind.
I by your Judgment might perhaps abide
Did any
Forest Law the Case decide,
But this I ne're could see, the
Steed reply'd.
To this the
Hart— Tho such there once might be,
Expect not now those
Sacred Rolls to see,
Destroy'd long since by
wolfish Policy.
Yet Footsteps of a
Contract still remain,
Nor sure are our
Consents yet askt in vain,
The first glad day of each new Sovereigns Reigh:
And Contracts fastned with a mutual Oath
Have mutual Bands, whoe're
breaks one breaks both.
If his
Condition bee'nt therein declar'd,
'Tis so invidious, it might well be spar'd;
But Reason wills it should be still imply'd,
As 'tis betwixt the Bridegroom and his Bride.
VVhat
Reason dictates none can disapprove?
The Laws of Reason are the Laws of
Jove,
VVho gave the Kingly Lion Sovereign Sway,
Obliging all the
Forest to
obey;
For what but all the furry Nations Good,
Not that he still should revel in their Spoils and Blood.
Their dear-bought Prey by Force and Rapine seize,
And by his
Lawless Lust do what he please,
For our Defence, and not Destruction sent:
Protection is the end of
Government,
The Reason why o're
many, one prevails;
And when that Ground-work sinks, the Superstructure fails.
Better the
General than his
Army fall,
Tho
more than
one he be, he's less than
All.
All this I grant, might
Reason be the Rule;
But here, alas! we leave her
humble School.
The
Steed rejoyn'd—
Pan's Followers must aspire
To something vastly more sublime and higher.
Tho Reason Light in
common walks supply,
Tis sometimes Reason Reason to deny.
I'd Sacrifice my self at
Pan's Commands,
And who can
strike when he has ty'd their Hands?
That Pan has free'd 'em now, the
Hart rejoyn'd,
And who dares
knit what he'll himself
unbind?
From
Pan at first, 'tis true, all
Power did rise,
Laws are the measures of its
Exercise;
These our Obedience must
direct alone,
These bid submit to him that fill the
Throne.
But these strange Doctrins sure, reply'd the
Steed,
VVill
hallow Villany if it succeed.
False
Robbers and
Ʋsurpers will defend,
Nay ev'n the
Titans too, shou'd they attend,
And
Jove's own
Diadem from his shoulders rend.
High Heav'ns
Decree nought of
Injustice knows,
And what it does not
will, it may
dispose,
Replys the Hart— But tho' we cannot see
Into the
Councils of the Deity,
By the
Event at least they're understood,
Guided by that great
Law, the
Publick Good.
To that Asylum
Robbers cannot fly,
We justly them
resist, they justly die;
As justly we
Ʋsurpers may disown,
Till settled by
Consent, by
Law secur'd i'th' Throne.
Those
Sacred Beasts no other Title knew,
Who all the World ot their Obedience drew.
They
Rul'd at first, because they
overcame,
And willing Nations
yielded to the same:
What settled else the
Goat, the
Bear, the
Ram?
What all the four, whose sway was stretcht so wide,
And every
Kingdom in the Earth beside?
But thanks to
Jove, our case is much more fair,
The
vacant Throne is fill'd by the
immediate Heir,
Who to th'
young Lion yields the better share.
To all the
Forrest who such Love had shown,
Such
Valour for
her Title and
his own,
Such
Mercy as must melt and conquer quite,
All but a
Devil or a
Jacobite.
Who clear'd the
Wolves from
Brittains pester'd Shore,
We hear 'em howl their
Vespers here no more;
Whose
Whelps did all our Sacred Groves profance,
Nor spar'd the Temples of immortal
Pan.
Strong Arguments for the
young Lion move
Honour, Religion, Gratitude and Love.
Return'd the Steed, the chiefest I must own
Our
Altars had long since been
overthrown,
Had he not propt 'em. But since you began,
This once yet more I'll mention
mighty Pan,
Who will his
Pow'r, who will his
Priests believe,
Or to their
Oracles just Reverence give;
If as the
Wind their
Conscience changes so,
If
hot and
cold with the same
Breach they blow,
If thus their
practice give their
words the Lie,
If
Oaths they take, and
Oaths again deny?
Ev'n Pan himself we
hardly cou'd defend
If we all
change should rashly discommend
The Hart rejoins, tho' thro'
false Lights we see,
And think
he changes when 'tis only
we:
Thus shou'd his Followers act, the way he has shown,
Tho' after all 'tis no disgrace to own
Immortal is
immutable alone.
That
Change we may's by all the World confest,
The question's only whether
'tis for th' best?
And here 'tis plain, for shou'd we still teach on
Allegiance due when the
old Soveraign's gone;
No Hope, no Remedy, but all must bear
Such Miseries as drive 'em to
despair;
Nay e'en
refuse Salvation when it came,
And press all this in
Pans adored Name;
How soon wou'd then the Irreligious Crew
Conclude what was not
Good could ne're be
true,
And laugh aloud at once at
Pan and you?
Revenge shou'd rather to the
Fiends be given,
For
Mercy is the
Darling Name of Heav'n;
Let's then despise the
Rabble's rude complaints,
There wou'd be
Atheists tho' all
Priests were
Saints.
One heavy
prejudice, the
Steed rejoin'd
Hangs with
dead weight on my
emerging mind.
I know not how to think this Doctrine true,
To me it looks so
singular and
new;
Was't ever in the Forrest taught before?
Show me but that, and I desire no more.
Then that you're ours I now no longer fear,
Replies the Hart— See what you ask is here!
With that unfolds a Scroul, whose Date did show
It had been Writ at least Five Reigns ago.
When first the Royal
Caledonian Line
Forsook cold
Albany, and pass't the
Tyne,
In Concourse of the Furry Race decreed,
And by concurring Suffrages agreed,
Whence what he urg'd did plainly taught appear
Beyond Objections evident and clear.
I yield, I yield, the chearful Steed reply'd
And am henceforth of yours and Reasons side.
This Hour I'll to the Court— be you my Guide.
Gladly he the wisht Office did embrace,
For now indeed 'twas time to leave the place.
Since the fair Rising Moon bright Silver Beams
Began to Gild the softly curling Streams;
The Bear around his shining Stake did rome,
And lengthning Shadows becken'd Shepherds Home.
End of the Second Part.
PART III.
WHen Fame to Court did these Glad-tydings bear,
'Tis quickly guess't if they were welcom there.
Welcom as the two Friends, who closing their Debate,
Enter'd at once the Royal Palace gate;
The Soveraign saw, and nearer bid proceed,
Then stretcht his Scepter to the Convert Steed,
And bids his willing Officers restore
Those seemly Honours he enjoy'd before;
The while the News the tattling Goddess bore
In her swift flight to that unhappy place
Where met the Fav'rites of the Wolvish Race.
Where a free vent was to their Poyson given,
They Curst, they Bann'd, they Rail'd at Earth and Heaven.
But who can tell the rest— sure none can tell,
Unless they knew the wild Despair of Hell.
When this was added, by the
Monkey found,
As
Fame was busie to divulge it round,
Who mingling Truth with Lies, as 'tis her wont,
Beyond what was indeed inlarg'd the account
And told — (Ah that in this she had been true!)
The Generous
Mastives were converted too.
Scarce was the rage of the
Rebellious Crew
More black, more deep, more hideous or ferine
When late they heard the
Wonders of the Boyne:
When Troops of
Wolves upon the distant side
Did the
young Lions Kingly wrath abide.
When all the
Elements at once he stood,
And pass'd thro' Streams of Sweat, and Fire, and Blood,
Whilst the discolour'd Waves, a ghastly throng
Bodies and Shields, and Helms promiscuous roull'd along:
He wins the
Bank, amidst their
Troops he flies,
Shoots Thunder from his
Arms, and Lightning from his
Eyes;
They run, they fall, their well-known Bogs they find,
And leave long faint departing yells behind.
Scarce
then more heartily than
now they curst,
What help? the
poisonous Creatures else must burst.
They throw their ghastly flaming
Eye balls round,
And gnash their teeth, and lash their sides, and tare the ground.
But most the
Hound his Enmity exprest,
If possible, more
mad than all the rest;
From his wide Jaws, with fury doubly red,
He threw the
poisonous Foam, and thus he sed.
And has he basely then thus left i'th' lurch,
Our poor
distressed persecuted Church,
So small, so thin, so scorn'd by Beasts and Men,
Shut up within the
corner of a Den?
What Vengeance merits such a foul disgrace?
Speak all ye
Grandees of the Wolvish Race!
Ah! could I but my youthful
Fangs regain,
When warmth and fury flow'd in every vein,
When like a
Shaft I flew across the Plain,
And
worry'd every
Sheep that durst but stray
Beyond
their bounds out of the
Wolf's High-way,
Nor wou'd their
Soveraigns Royal Will obey.
Like
Aesons Age, cou'd mine renew-agen,
I'd quickly leave this melancholy
Den,
And venture all my
Teeth against his
Pen.
For not content
alone t'Apostatize
Others to damn for company, he trys.
But since I've nought but
will, say which of you
Will with more
strength the Noble game pursue?
Which will abate his Confidence and Pride?
Up starts the unlucky
Ape, and thus reply'd,
By
open War t'attempt him were but vain,
Perhaps disgrace and shame wou'd only gain
Some cunning
Stratagems more likely sound,
And I've the
very way this moment found.
Some pretty
Picture wou'd the business do,
His
Name beneath expos'd to publick view,
To which shall some
Street-Rymer lend a Line or two.
Think but how pleasant such a
sight appears;
A
Weesels Trunk to a
Horses Crest and Ears.
I with this monstrous sight about will go,
And be my self the
Zany to the show:
For I have
Merry-Andrews tricks good store,
And will for this invent a thousand more.
A brutal
Hum ran round the horrid
Cave,
And
Acclamations to the project gave,
Like that some
Fury from the
Daemons wins,
When she her
hateful Voy'ge to Earth begins.
Nor stay'd the
Ape, but from the
Cave did run,
And soon his worshipful design begun,
Which to a Miracle he did atchieve,
For 'tis a
subtler Beast than you'd believe;
Witty and wild, well verst in female Arts,
And is, to say the truth, a
Brute of parts:
Will show a thousand merry Tricks together,
Will bound i'th' Air as light as Cork or Feather,
Will vault or dance, or tumble, chuse you whether;
With his
Rare Show he wanders up and down,
By Pence apiece picks up full many a Crown,
Amusing each poor silly Country Clown:
Perswading them where er'e the fight was shown,
'Twas a strange Beast was lately come to Town.
Thus far'd the vulgar, but the wiser
few,
Who saw the
signs of Wolvish Craft all thro',
Cou'd not but praise the
Piece who er'e it made,
And own he was the
Master of his Trade.
A witty Thief, more cunning than his Fellows,
Who, if 'twere possible would scape the Gallows,
But none admired the Inventer's lucky Vein,
Like those
suspected of Sir Isgrim
's Strain.
They cluster round in Troops, they laugh, they grin,
Where e're the uncouth Monster's to be seen.
The
Steeds true Friends with different passions gaz'd,
Some griev'd, some smiled, these angry, those amaz'd;
Some speedily took care to let him know
That 'twas the
unlucky Monkey drest him so.
Ʋnmov'd he stands, the unequal War disowns,
Nor deigns a single stroke to crush his Bones.