Thus when the heir was from the vineyard thrown,
The rich possession was the murderers' own.
In vain to sophistry they have recourse;
By proving theirs no plot, they prove 'tis worse,
Unmask'd rebellion, and audacious force;
Which though not actual, yet all eyes may see
'Tis working, in the' immediate pow'r to be;
For, from pretended grievances they rise,
First to dislike, and after to despise;
Then, Cyclop like, in human flesh to deal,
Chop up a minister at every meal ;
Perhaps not wholly to melt down the King,
But clip his regal rights within the ring:
From thence to' assume the power of peace and war,
And ease him, by degrees, of public care.
Yet, to consult his dignity and fame,
He should have leave to exercise the name,
And hold the cards, while Commons play'd the
For what can power give more than food and drink,
To live at ease, and not be bound to think?
These are the cooler methods of their crime,
But their hot zealots think 'tis loss of time;
On utmost bounds of loyalty they stand,
And grin and whet like a Croatian band,
That waits impatient for the last command.
Thus outlaws open villany maintain;
They steal not, but in squadrons scower the plain;
And if their power the passengers subdue,
The most have right, the wrong is in the few.
Such impious axioms foolishly they show,
For in some soils republics will not grow;
Our temperate isle will no extremes sustain
Of popular sway or arbitrary reign;
But slides 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 wholesome tempest purges what it breeds,
To recommend the calmness that succeeds.
But thou, the pander of the people's hearts,
O crooked soul, and serpentine in arts!
Whose blandishments a loyal land have whor'd,
And broke the bonds she plighted to her lord;
What curses on thy blasted name will fall!
Which age to age their legacy shall call;
For all must curse the woes that must descend on all.
Religion thou hast none; thy Mercury
Has past through every sect, or theirs through thee: But what thou giv'st, that venom still remains, And the pox'd nation feels thee in their brains. What else inspires the tongues, and swells the breasts Of all thy bellowing renegado priests,
That preach up thee for God; dispense thy laws;
And with thy stum ferment their fainting canse;
Fresh fumes of madness raise, and toil and sweat
To make the formidable cripple great?
Yet should thy crimes succeed, should lawless pow'r
Compass those 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 hast any) must be one
That lets the world and human-kind alone;
A jolly god, that passes hours too well
To promise heav'n, or threaten us with hell:
That unconcern'd can at rebellion sit,
And wink at crimes he did himself commit.
A tyrant theirs; the heav'n their priesthood paints
A conventicle of gloomy sullen saints;
A heav'n, like bedlam, slovenly and sad,
Foredoom'd for souls with false religion mad.
Without a vision poets can foreshow
What all but fools, by common sense, may know:
If true succession from our isle should fail,
And crowds profane with impious arms prevail;
Not thou, nor those thy factious arts engage,
Shall reap that harvest of rebellious rage,
With which thou flatter'st thy decrepit age.
The swelling poison of the several sects,
Which, wanting vent, the nation's health infects,
Shall burst its bag: and, fighting out their way,
The various venoms on each other prey.
The Presbyter, puft 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 short shall be his reign; his rigid yoke
And tyrant power will puny sects provoke;
And frogs and toads, and all the tadpole train,
Will croak to Heav'n for help from this devouring
The cut-throat Sword and clamorous Gown shall jar, In sharing their ill-gotten spoils of war:
Chiefs shall be grudg'd the part which they pre
Lords envy lords, and friends with every friend
About their impious merit shall contend.
The surly Commons shall respect deny,
And justle Peerage out with property.
Their General either shall his trust betray,
And force the crowd to arbitrary sway;
Or they suspecting his ambitious aim,
In hate of kings, shall cast anew the frame,
And thrust out Collatine that bore their name.
Thus inborn broils the factions would engage,
Or wars of exil'd heirs, or foreign rage,
Till halting Vengeance overtook our age:
And our wild labours, wearied into rest,
Reclin❜d us on a rightful monarch's breast.
-Pudet hac opprobria vobis
Et dici potuisse, et non potuisse refelli.
ALL human things are subject to decay,
And, when Fate summons, monarchs must obey.
This Flecnoe found, who, like Augustus, young
Was call'd to empire, and had govern❜d long;
In prose and verse was own'd, without dispute,
Through all the realms of Nonsense, absolute.
This aged prince, now flourishing in peace,
And blest with issue of a large increase,
Worn out with business, did at length debate
To settle the succession of the state;
And, pondering which of all his sons was fit
To reign, and wage immortal war with Wit,
Cried-"Tis resolv'd; for Nature pleads that he
Should only rule who most resembles me.
Shadwell alone my perfect image bears,
Mature in dulness from his tender years;
Shadwell alone, of all my sons, is be
Who stands confirm'd in full stupidity:
The rest to some faint meaning make pretence,
But Shadwell never deviates into sense.
Some beams of wit on other souls may fall,
Strike through, and make a lucid interval;
But Shadwell's genuine night admits no ray,
His rising fogs prevail upon the day.
Besides, his goodly fabric fills the eye,
And seems design'd for thoughtless majesty:
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