Here ends the Reign of this pretended` Dove;

All Prophecies accomplish'd from above, For Shiloh comes the Scepter to remove. Reduc'd from Her Imperial High Abode, Like Dyonysius to a private Rod, 1260 The Passive Church, that with pretended Grace

Did Her distinctive Mark in duty place, Now Touch'd, Reviles her Maker to his Face.) What after happen'd is not hard to guess; The small Beginnings had a large Encrease, And Arts and Wealth succeed (the secret spoils of Peace.)

'Tis said the Doves repented, tho' too late Become the Smiths of their own Foolish Fate: Nor did their Owner hasten their ill hour: But, sunk in Credit, they decreas'd in Pow'r: Like Snows in warmth that mildly pass away, Dissolving in the Silence of Decay. 1172 The Buzzard, not content with equal place, Invites the feather'd Nimrods of his Race, To hide the thinness of their Flock from Sight,

And all together make a seeming, goodly Flight:

But each have sep'rate Interests of their own; Two Czars, are one too many for a throne.

Nor can th' usurper long abstain from Food, Already he has tasted Pigeons Blood: 1280 And may be tempted to his former fare, When this Indulgent Lord shall late to Heav'n repair.

Bare benting times, and moulting Months may come,

When lagging late, they cannot reach their home :

Or Rent in schism, (for so their Fate decrees,) Like the Tumultuous Colledge of the Bees; They fight their Quarrel, by themselves opprest;

The Tyrant smiles below, and waits the falling feast.

Thus did the gentle Hind her fable end, Nor would the Panther blame it, nor commend; 1290

But, with affected Yawnings at the close,
Seem'd to require her natural repose.
For now the streaky light began to peep;
And setting stars admonish'd both to sleep.
The Dame withdrew, and wishing to her
Guest

The peace of Heav'n, betook her self to

rest.

Ten thousand Angels on her slumbers waite With glorious Visions of her future state.

f

But vainly with their forked Tongues they threat;

For Opposition makes a Heroe Great.
To needful Succour all the good will run ;
And Jove assert the Godhead of his Son. 60
O still repining at your present state,
Grudging your selves the Benefits of Fate,
Look up, and read in Characters of Light
A Blessing sent you in your own Despight.
The Manna falls, yet that Coelestial Bread
Like Jews you munch, and murmure while
you feed.

May not your Fortune be like theirs, Exil'd,
Yet forty Years to wander in the Wild:
Or if it be, may Moses live at least 69
To lead you to the Verge of promis'd Rest!
Tho' Poets are not Prophets, to foreknow
What Plants will take the Blite, and what
will grow,

By tracing Heav'n his Footsteps may be found;

Behold! how awfully He walks the round! God is abroad, and, wondrous in his ways, The Rise of Empires, and their Fall surveys; More (might I say) than with an usual eye, He sees his bleeding Church in Ruine lye, And hears the Souls of Saints beneath his

The Father's Soul with an undaunted view Looks out, and takes our Homage as his due. See on his future Subjects how He smiles, Nor meanly flatters, nor with craft beguiles; But with an open face, as on his Throne, Assures our Birthrights and assumes his own.

Born in broad Day-light, that th' ungrateful Rout

May find no room for a remaining doubt: Truth, which it self is light, does darkness shun,

120

Enough of Early Saints one womb has giv'n;

Enough encreas'd the Family of Heav'n: Let them for his and our Attonement go; And Reigning blest above, leave him to Rule below.

Enough already has the Year foreslow'd His wonted Course, the Seas have overflow'd, The Meads were floated with a weeping Spring, 171

And frighten'd birds in Woods forgot to sing;

The Strong-limb'd Steed beneath his harness faints,

And the same shiv'ring sweat his Lord attaints.

When will the Minister of Wrath give o're ? Behold him; at P Araunah's threshing-floor. He stops, and seems to sheathe his flaming brand;

Pleas'd with burnt Incense, from our David's hand.

David has bought the Jebusites abode,
And rais'd an Altar to the Living God. 180
Heav'n, to reward him, make his Joys
sincere ;

No future Ills, nor Accidents appear
To sully and pollute the Sacred Infants
Year.

Five Months to Discord and Debate were giv❜n:

He sanctifies the yet remaining Sev'n. Sabbath of Months! henceforth in Him be blest,

And prelude to the Realms perpetual Rest!
Let his Baptismal Drops for us attone;
Lustrations for 9 Offences not his own.
Let Conscience, which is Int'rest ill disguis'd,
In the same Font be cleans'd, and all the
Land Baptiz'd.

191

Un-nam'd as yet; at least unknown to
Fame:

there a strife in Heav'n about his
Name ?

Where every Famous Predecessour vies, And makes a Faction for it in the Skies?