All prompt with eager pity to fulfil
The full extent of their Creator's will.
But when the stern conditions were declar'd,
A mournful whisper through the host was heard;
And the whole hierarchy, with heads hung down,
Submissively declin'd the ponderous proffer'd crown.
Then, not till then, th' eternal Son from high
Rose in the strength of all the Deity;
Stood forth t' accept the terms, and underwent
A weight which all the frame of Heaven had bent,
Nor he himself could bear, but as Omnipotent.
Now, to remove the least remaining doubt,
That ev'n the blear-ey'd sects may find her out,
Behold what heavenly rays adorn her brows,
What from his wardrobe her belov'd allows
To deck the wedding-day of his unspotted spouse.
Behold what marks of majesty she brings;
Richer than ancient heirs of eastern kings:
Her right hand holds the sceptre and the keys,
To show whom she commands, and who obeys:
With these to bind, or set the sinner free,
With that to assert spiritual loyalty.
One in herself, not rent by schism, but sound,
Entire, one solid shining diamond;

Not sparkles shatter'd 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, th' insulting rage
Of heretics oppos'd 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 blotches, 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 water'd 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
Convey'd to every clime, in every age.

Here let my sorrow give my satire place,
To raise new blushes on my British race;
Our sailing ships like common sewers we use,
And through our distant colonies diffuse
The draught of dungeons and the stench of stews,
Whom, when their home-bred honesty is lost,
We disembogue on some far Indian coast:
Thieves, panders, paillards, sins of every sort;
Those are the manufactures we export;
And these the missioners our zeal has made:
For, with my country's pardon be it said,
Religion is the least of all our trade.

Yet some improve their traffic more than we;

For they on gain, their only God, rely,
And set a public price on piety.
Industrious of the needle and the chart,
They run full sail to their Japonian mart;
Prevention fear, and, prodigal of fame,
Sell all of Christian to the very name;

Nor leave enough of that to hide their naked shame.
Thus, of three marks, which in the creed we view,
Not one of all can be apply'd to you:
Much less the fourth; in vain, alas! you seek
Th' ambitious title of apostolic:

God-like descent! 'tis well your blood can be
Provided noble in the third or fourth degree:
For all of ancient that you had before,
(I mean what is not borrow'd from our store)
Was error fulminated o'er and o'er ;
Old heresies condemn'd in ages past,
By care and time recover'd from the blast.

"Tis said with ease, but never can be prov'd, The church her old foundations has remov'd, And built new doctrines on unstable sands; Judge that, ye winds and rains; you prov'd her, yet she stands.

Those ancient doctrines charg'd on her for new,
Show when, and how, and from what hands they

grew.

We claim no power, when heresies grow bold,
To coin new faith, but still declare the old.
How else could that obscene disease be purg'd,
When controverted texts are vainly urg'd?
To prove tradition new, there's somewhat more
Requir'd, than saying 'twas not us'd before.
Those monumental arms are never stirr'd,
Till schism and heresy call down Goliah's sword.
Thus, what you call corruptions, are, in truth,
The first plantations of the gospel's youth;
Old standard faith; but cast your eyes again,
And view those errors which new sects maintain,
Or which of old disturb'd the church's peaceful reign;
And we can point each period of the time,
When they began, and who begot the crime;
Can calculate how long th' eclipse endur'd,
Who interposed, what digits were obscur'd:
Of all which are already pass'd away
We know the rise, the progress, and decay.

Despair at our foundations then to strike,
Till you can prove your faith apostolic;
A limpid stream drawn from the native source;
Succession lawful in a lineal course.
Prove any church, oppos'd to this our head,
So one, so pure, so unconfin'dly spread,
Under one chief of the spiritual state,

The members all combin'd, and all subordinate.
Show such a seamless coat, from schism so free,
In no communion joined with heresy.
If such a one you find, let truth prevail :
Till when, your weights will in the balance fail:
A church unprincipled kicks up the scale.
But if you cannot think (nor sure you can
Suppose in God what were unjust in man?)
That he, the fountain of eternal grace,
Should suffer falsehood for so long a space
To banish truth, and to usurp her place:
That seven successive ages should be lost,
And preach damnation at their proper cost;
That all your erring ancestors should die,

Drown'd in th' abyss of deep idolatry:
If piety forbid such thoughts to rise,
Awake, and open your unwilling eyes:
God hath left nothing for each age undone,
From this to that wherein he sent his Son:

Then think but well of him, and half your work is done.
See how his church, adorn'd with every grace,
With open arms, a kind forgiving face,
Stands ready to prevent her long-lost son's embrace.
Not more did Joseph o'er his brethren weep,
Nor less himself could from discovery keep,
When in the crowd of suppliants they were seen,
And in their crew his best-beloved Benjamin.
That pious Joseph in the church behold,
To feed your famine, and refuse your gold;
The Joseph you exil'd, the Joseph whom you sold.'
Thus, while with heavenly charity she spoke,
A streaming blaze the silent shadows broke,
Shot from the skies; a cheerful natural light:
The birds obscene to forests wing'd their flight,
And gaping graves receiv'd the wandering guilty
spright.

Such were the pleasing triumphs of the sky,
For James's late nocturnal victory;
The pledge of his Almighty Patron's love,
The fireworks which his angels made above.
I saw myself the lambent easy light
Gild the brown horror, and dispel the night:
The messenger with speed the tidings bore:
News, which three labouring nations did restore;
But Heaven's own Nuntius was arriv'd before.

By this, the Hind had reach'd her lonely cell,
And vapours rose, and dews unwholesome fell;
When she, by frequent observation wise,
As one who long on heaven had fix'd her eyes,
Discern'd a change of weather in the skies.
The western borders were with crimson spread,
The moon descending look'd all-flaming red;
She thought good manners bound her to invite
The stranger dame to be her guest that night.
"Tis true, coarse diet, and a short repast,
(She said) were weak inducements to the taste
Of one so nicely bred, and so unus'd to fast:
But what plain fare her cottage could afford,
A hearty welcome at a homely board,
Was freely her's; and, to supply the rest,
An honest meaning, and an open breast:
Last, with content of mind, the poor man's wealth,
A grace-cup to their common patron's health.
This she desir'd her to accept, and stay,
For fear she might be wilder'd in her way,
Because she wanted an unerring guide:
And then the dew-drops on her silken hide
Her tender constitution did declare,
Too lady-like a long fatigue to bear,

And rough inclemencies of raw nocturnal air.
But most she fear'd that, travelling so late,
Some evil-minded beasts might lie in wait,
And without witness wreak their hidden hate.

The Panther, though she lent a listening ear,
Had more of lion in her than to fear :
Yet, wisely weighing, since she had to deal
With many foes, their numbers might prevail,
Return'd her all the thanks she could afford,
And took her friendly hostess at her word:
Who entering first her lowly roof, a shed

With hoary moss and winding ivy spread,
Honest enough to hide an humble hermit's head,
Thus graciously bespoke her welcome guest:
So might these walls, with your fair presence blest,
Become your dwelling-place of everlasting rest,
Not for a night, or quick revolving year:
Welcome an owner, not a sojourner.
This peaceful seat my poverty secures;
War seldom enters but where wealth allures;
Nor yet despise it; for this poor abode
Has oft receiv'd, and yet receives, a God:
A God, victorious of a Stygian race,

Here laid his sacred limbs, and sanctify'd the place.
This mean retreat did mighty Pan contain:
Be emulous of him, and pomp disdain,
And dare not to debase your soul to gain.

The silent stranger stood amaz'd to see
Contempt of wealth, and wilful poverty:
And, though ill habits are not soon controll'd,
A while suspended her desire of gold.
But civilly drew in her sharpen'd paws,
Not violating hospitable laws,

And pacify'd her tail, and lick'd her frothy jaws.
The Hind did first her country cates provide;
Then couch'd herself securely by her side.

PART III.

Much malice mingled with a little wit,
Perhaps, may censure this mysterious writ:
Because the Muse has peopled Caledon
With panthers, bears, and wolves, and beast unknown,
As if we were not stock'd with monsters of our own.
Let Esop answer, who has set to view
Such kinds as Greece and Phrygia never knew;
And mother Hubbard, in her homely dress,
Has sharply blam'd a British lioness;
That queen, whose feast the factious rabble keep,
Expos'd obscenely naked and asleep.
Led by those great examples, may not I
The wanted organs of their words supply?
If men transact like brutes, 'tis equal then
For brutes to claim the privilege of men.

Others our Hind of folly will indite,
To entertain a dangerous guest by night.
Let those remember, that she cannot die
Till rolling time is lost in round eternity;
Nor need she fear the Panther, though untam'd,
Because the lion's peace was now proclaim'd:
The wary savage would not give offence,
To forfeit the protection of her prince;
But watch'd the time her vengeance to complete,
When all her furry sons in frequent senate met.
Meanwhile she quench'd her fury at the flood,
And with a lenten salad cool'd her blood.

Their commons, though but coarse, were nothing scant,
Nor did their minds an equal banquet want.

For now the Hind, whose noble nature strove

T'express her plain simplicity of love,

Did all the honours of her house so well,
No sharp debates disturb'd the friendly meal.
She turn'd the talk, avoiding that extreme,
To common dangers past, a sadly pleasing theme;
Remembering every storm which toss'd the state,
When both were objects of the public hate,
And dropt a tear betwixt for her own children's fate.
Nor fail'd she then a full review to make

Of what the Panther suffer'd for her sake:
Her lost esteem, her truth, her loyal care,
Her faith unshaken to an exil'd heir,
Her strength t' endure, her courage to defy;
Her choice of honourable infamy.

On these, prolixly thankful, she enlarg'd;
Then with acknowledgment herself she charg'd;
For friendship, of itself an holy tie,

Is made more sacred by adversity.

Now should they part, malicious tongues would say,
They met like chance companions on the way,
Whom mutual fear of robbers had possess'd;
While danger lasted, kindness was profess'd;
But, that once o'er, the short-liv'd union ends;
The road divides, and there divide the friends.
The Panther nodded when her speech was done,
And thank'd her coldly in a hollow tone:
But said, her gratitude had gone too far
For common offices of Christian care.
If to the lawful heir she had been true,
She paid but Cæsar what was Cæsar's due.
I might, she added, with like praise describe
Your suffering sons, and so return your bribe:
But incense from my hands is poorly priz'd;
For gifts are scorn'd where givers are despis'd.
I serv'd a turn, and then was cast away;
You, like the gaudy fly, your wings display,

Your charity for alms may safely spare,
For alms are but the vehicles of prayer.
My daily bread is literally implor'd;
I have no barns nor granaries to hoard.
If Cæsar to his own his hand extends,
Say which of yours his charity offends:
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 fate you see
My crying sins are not of luxury.
Some juster motive sure your mind withdraws,
And makes you break our friendship's holy laws;
For barefac'd envy is too base a cause.

Show more occasion for your discontent; Your love, the wolf, would help you to invent: 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 profess'd of all your kind.

But then, perhaps, the wicked world would think, The wolf design'd to cat as well as drink.

This last allusion gall'd the Panther more,

This heard, the matron was not slow to find
What sort of malady had seiz'd her mind:
Disdain, with gnawing envy, fell despight,
And canker'd malice, stood in open sight:
Ambition, interest, pride without control,
And jealousy, the jaundice of the soul;
Revenge, the bloody minister of ill,
With all the lean tormentors of the will.
'Twas easy now to guess from whence arose
Her new-made union with her ancient foes,
Her forc'd civilities, her faint embrace,
Affected kindness with an alter'd face:
Yet durst she not too deeply probe the wound,
As hoping still the nobler parts were sound:
But strove with anodynes t' assuage the smart,
And mildly thus her medicine did impart.

Complaints of lovers help to ease their pain;
It shows a rest of kindness to complain;
A friendship loth to quit its former hold;
And conscious merit may be justly bold.
But much more just your jealousy would show,
If others' good were injury to you:
Witness, ye heavens, how I rejoice to see
Rewarded worth and rising loyalty.
Your warrior offspring that upheld the crown,
The scarlet honour of your peaceful gown,
Are the most pleasing objects I can find,
Charms to my sight, and cordials to my mind:
When virtue spooms before a prosperous gale,
My heavy wishes help to fill the sail;
And if my prayers for all the brave were heard,
Cæsar should still have such, and such should still
reward.

The labour'd earth your pains have sow'd and till'd; '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,

Yet seem'd she not to wrinch, though shrewdly pain'd:
But thus her passive characters maintain'd.

I never grudg'd, whate'er my foes report,
Your flaunting fortune in the lion's court.
You have your day, or you are much bely'd,
But I am always on the suffering side:
You know my doctrine, and I need not say,
I will not, but I cannot disobey.
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 grand-dame Gold;
Inquire into your years, and laugh to find
Your crazy temper shows you much declin'd.
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 piss upon your grave.

Your sons of latitude that court your grace,
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 God 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:

Nor blame them for intruding in your line;
Fat bishoprics are still of right divine.

Think you your new French proselytes are come
To starve abroad, because they starv'd 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 t' other side,
That many churches may for many mouths provide.
More vacant pulpits would more converts make;
All would have latitude enough to take:
The rest unbenefic'd 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.

Your Delphic sword, the Panther then replied,
Is double-edg'd, and cuts on either side:
Some sons of mine, who bear upon their shield
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,
Allur'd with gain, for any will declare.
Bare lies with bold assertions they can face;
But dint of argument is out of place.
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 prov'd, and by himself profess'd,
That conscience, conscience would not let him rest:
I mean, not till possess'd of her he lov'd,
And old uncharming Catharine was remov'd.
For sundry years before he did complain,
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, reply'd the Hind, as sure as all
The writings of Saint Peter and Saint Paul:
On that decision let it stand or fall.
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 increas'd.
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:

[note,

Your broad-way sons would never be too nice
To close with Calvin, if he paid their price;
But rais'd three steeples higher, would change their
And quit the cassock for the canting-coat.
Now, if you damn this censure, as too bold,
Judge by yourselves, and think not others sold.
Meantime my sons accus'd, by fame's report,
Pay full 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.
How they should speed, their fortune is untry'd;
For not to ask, is not to be deny'd.

For what they have, their God and king they bless,
And hope they should not murmur, had they less.
But if reduc'd subsistence to implore,

In common prudence they would pass your door.
Unpity'd Hudibras, your champion friend,
Has shown how far your charities extend.
This lasting verse shall on his tomb be read,
"He sham'd you living and upbraids you dead."
With odious atheist names 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, 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 perjur'd murderer survives.
This said, she paus'd a little, and suppress'd
The boiling indignation of her breast.
She knew the virtue of her blade, nor would
Pollute her satire with ignoble blood:
Her panting foe she saw before her eye,
And back she drew the shining weapon dry.
So when the generous lion has in sight
His equal match, he rouzes for the fight;
But when his foe lies prostrate on the plain,
He sheaths his paws, uncurls his angry mane,
And, pleas'd with bloodless honours of the day,
Walks over and disdains th' inglorious prey.
So James, if great with less we may compare,
Arrests his rolling thunder-bolts in air;
And grants ungrateful friends a lengthen'd space,
T' implore the remnants of long-suffering grace.
This breathing-time the matron took; and then
Resum'd the thread of her discourse again.
Be vengeance wholly left to powers divine,
And let Heaven judge betwixt your sons and mine;
If joys hereafter must be purchas'd 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 case, but, oh, how hardly try'd
By haughty souls to human honour ty❜d!
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.
'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, And starts aside, and flounders at the cross.

Instruct him better, gracious God! 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 God's anointed he revil'd;
A king and princess dead! did Shimei worse?
The curser's punishment should fright the curse:
Your son was warn'd, and wisely gave it o'er,
But he who counsel'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 dæmon 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;
To that long story little answer needs:
Confront but Henry's words with Henry's deeds.
Were space allow'd, with ease it might be prov'd,
What springs his blessed reformation mov'd.
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 pæan sound,
A treatise of humility is found:

'Tis found, but better it had ne'er been sought,
Than thus in protestant procession brought.
The fam'd 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 ignoblest theft of fame.
My altars kindled first that living coal;
Restore, or practise better what you stole :
That virtue could this humble verse inspire,
"Tis all the restitution I require.

Glad was the Panther that the charge was clos'd,
And none of all her favourite sons expos'd.
For laws of arms permit each injur'd 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.
Yet Christian laws allow not such redress;
Then let the greater supersede the less.
But let th' abettors of the Panther's crime
Learn to make fairer wars another time.
Some characters may sure be found to write
Among her sons; for 'tis no common sight,
A spotted dam, and all her offspring white.

The savage, though she saw her plea controll'd, Yet would not wholly seem to quit her hold, But offer'd fairly to compound the strife, And judge conversion by the convert's life. 'Tis true, she said, I think it somewhat strange, So few should follow profitable change: For present joys are more to flesh and blood, Than a dull prospect of a distant good. "Twas well alluded by a son of mine,

(I hope to quote him is not to purloin)
Two magnets, heaven and earth, allure to bliss
The larger loadstone that, the nearer this:
The weak attraction of the greater fails;
We nod awhile, but neighbourhood prevails:
But when the greater proves the nearer too,
I wonder more your converts come so slow.
Methinks in those who firm with me remain,
It shows a nobler principle than gain.

Your inference would be strong, the Hind reply'd,
If yours were in effect the suffering side:
Your clergy's sons their own in peace possess,
Nor are their prospects in reversion less.
My proselytes are struck with awful dread;
Your bloody comet-laws hang blazing o'er their head;
The respite they enjoy but only lent,

The best they have to hope, protracted punishment.
Be judge yourself, if interest may prevail,
Which motives, yours or mine, will turn the scale.
While pride and pomp allure, and plenteous ease,
That is, till man's predominant passions cease,
Admire no longer at my slow increase.

By education most have been misled;
So they believe, because they so were bred.
The priest continues what the nurse began,
And thus the child imposes on the man.
The rest I nam'd before, nor need repeat:
But interest is the most prevailing cheat,
The sly seducer both of age and youth;
They study that, and think they study truth.
When interest fortifies an argument,
Weak reason serves to gain the will's assent;
For souls, already warp'd, receive an easy bent.
Add long prescription of establish'd laws,
And pique of honour to maintain a cause,
And shame of change, and fear of future ill,
And zeal, the blind conductor of the will;
And chief among the still-mistaking crowd,
The fame of teachers obstinate and proud,
And more than all the private judge allow'd;
Disdain of fathers which the dance began;
And last, uncertain whose the narrower span,
The clown unread, and half-read gentleman.

To this the Panther, with a scornful smile:
Yet still you travel with unwearied toil,
And range around the realm without control,
Among my sons for proselytes to prowl,
And here and there you snap some silly soul.
You hinted fears of future change in state;
Pray Heaven you did not prophesy your fate!
Perhaps, you think your time of triumph near,
But may mistake the season of the year;
The swallow's fortune gives you cause to fear.
For charity, reply'd the matron, tell
What sad mischance those pretty birds befel.

Nay, no mischance, the savage dame reply'd,
But want of wit in their unerring guide,
And eager haste, and gaudy hopes, and giddy pride.
Yet wishing timely warning may prevail,
Make you the moral, and I'll tell the tale.

The swallow, privileg'd above the rest Of all the birds, as men's familiar guest, Pursues the sun in summer brisk and bold, But wisely shuns the persecuting cold: Is well to chancels and to chimneys known, Though 'tis not thought she feeds on smoke alone.