So fond of loud report, that not to miss
Of being known (his last and utmost bliss)
He rather would be known for what he is.
'Such was, and is, the captain of the Test,
Though half his virtues are not here express'd,
The modesty of Fame conceals the rest.
The spleenful Pigeons never could create
A prince more proper to revenge their hate:
Indeed more proper to revenge than save;
A king whom in his wrath the' Almighty gave;
For all the grace the landlord had allow'd
But made the Buzzard and the Pigeons proud;
Gave time to fix their friends, and to seduce the
crowd.
They long their fellow-subjects to enthral,
Their patron's promise into question call,
And vainly think he meant to make them lords of
False fears their leaders fail'd not to suggest,
As if the Doves were to be dispossess'd;
Nor sighs, nor groans, nor goggling eyes did want;
For now the Pigeons too had learn'd to cant.
The house of prayer is stock'd with large increase,
Nor doors nor windows can contain the press:
For birds of every feather fill the' abode;
E'en atheists, out of envy, own a God;
And, reeking from the stews, adulterers come,
Like Goths and Vandals, to demolish Rome.
That conscience, which to all their crimes was mute,
Now calls aloud, and cries to persecute;
No rigour of the laws to be released,
[quest; And much the less, because it was their lord's reThey thought it great their sovereign to control, And named their pride Nobility of soul.
'Tis true, the Pigeons, and their prince elect, Were short of power their purpose to effect; But with their quills did all the hurt they could, And cuff'd the tender chickens from their food; And much the Buzzard in their cause did stir, Though naming not the patron, to infer, With all respect, he was a gross idolater. • But when the' imperial owner did espy That thus they turn'd his grace to villany, Not suffering wrath to discompose his mind, He strove a temper for the' extremes to find, So to be just, as he might still be kind; Then, all maturely weigh'd, pronounced a doom Of sacred strength for every age to come. By this the Doves their wealth and state possess, No rights infringed, but licence to oppress : Such power have they as factious lawyers long To crowns ascribed, that kings can do no wrong: But since his own domestic birds have tried The dire effects of their destructive pride, He deems that proof a measure to the rest, Concluding well within his kingly breast, His fowls of Nature too unjustly were oppress'd. He therefore makes all birds of every sect Free of his farm, with promise to respect Their several kinds alike, and equally protect. His gracious edict the same franchise yields To all the wild increase of woods and fields, And who in rocks aloof, and who in steeples builds; To Crows the like impartial grace affords, And Choughs and Daws, and such republic birds: Secured with ample privilege to feed,
Each has his district and his bounds decreed;
Combined in common interest with his own,
But not to pass the Pigeons' Rubicon.
Here ends the reign of his pretended Dove,
All prophecies accomplish'd from above;
For Shiloh comes the sceptre to remove.
Reduced from her imperial high abode,
Like Dionysius to a private rod,
The passive church, that with pretended grace
Did her distinctive mark in duty place,
Nor touch'd, reviles her Maker to his face.
What after happen'd is not hard to guess:
The small beginnings had a large increase,
And arts of wealth succeed, the sacred spoils of
peace.
"Tis said the Doves repented, though too late,
Become the smiths of their own foolish fate;
Nor did their owner hasten their ill hour,
But, sunk in credit, they decreased in power:
Like snows in warmth, that mildly pass away,
Dissolving in the silence of decay.
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 altogether make a seeming goodly flight:
But each have separate interests of their own;
Two czars are one too many for a throne.
Nor can the' usurper long abstain from food;
Already he has tasted Pigeons' blood,
And may be tempted to his former fare,
When this indulgent lord shall late to Heaven
[come, Bare-benting times, and moulting months may When, lagging late, they cannot reach their home;
Or rent in schism (for so their fate decrees)
Like the tumultuous college of the bees,
They fight their quarrel, by themselves oppress'd,
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;
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 Heaven, betook herself to rest.
Ten thousand angels on her slumbers wait,
With glorious visions of her future state.
THOU hast inspired me with thy soul, and I
Who ne'er before could ken of poetry,
Am grown so good proficient, I can lend
A line in commendation of my friend.
Yet 'tis but of the second hand; if aught
There be in this, 'tis from thy fancy brought.
Good thief, who darest, Prometheus-like, aspire,
And fill thy poems with celestial fire:
Enliven'd by these sparks divine, their rays
Add a bright lustre to thy crown of bays,
Young eaglet, who thy nest thus soon forsook,
So lofty and divine a course hast took,
As all admire, before the down begin
To peep, as yet, upon thy smoother chin;
And making Heaven thy aim, hast had the grace
To look the sun of righteousness i' the' face.
What may we hope, if thou go'st on thus fast!
Scriptures at first, enthusiasms at last!
1 These were entitled Sion and Parnassus; or Epigrams on several Texts of the Old and New Testament,' and published in 1650; when Dryden was at Trinity College.
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