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The reft were ftruggling ftill with death, and lay
The Crows and Ravens rights, an undefended prey :
Excepting Martin's race; for they and he
Had gain'd the fhelter of a hollow tree:
But foon discover'd by a sturdy clown,
He headed all the rabble of a town,

And finish'd them with bats, or poll'd them down.
Martin himself was caught alive, and try'd
For treas'nous crimes, because the laws provide
No Martin there in winter fhall abide.

High on an oak, which never leaf fhall bear,
He breath'd his laft, expos'd to open air;
And there his corps unblefs'd, is hanging fill,
To show the change of winds with his prophetic bill.
The patience of the Hind did almost fail;

For well fhe mark'd the malice of the tale:
Which ribbald art their church to Luther owes ;
In malice it began, by malice grows;

He fow'd the Serpent's teeth, an iron-harvest rose.
But most in Martin's character and fate,

She faw her flander'd fons, the Panther's hate,
The people's rage, the perfecuting ftate:
Then faid, I take th' advice in friendly part;
You clear your confcience, or at least your heart
Perhaps you fail'd in your forefeeing skill,
For fwallows are unlucky birds to kill:
As for my fons the family is bless'd,
Whofe ev'ry child is equal to the rest:

No church reform'd can boast a blameless line;
Such Martins build in yours, and more than mine :
Or elfe an old fanatic author lies,

Who fumm'd their fcandals up by centuries.
But thro' your parable I plainly fee
The bloody laws, the crowd's barbarity;
The fun-fhine that offends the purblind fight:
Had fome their wishes, it would soon be night.

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Miftake

Mistake me not; the charge concerns not you:
Your fons are malecontents, but yet are true,
As far as non-refiftance makes them fo;
But that's a word of neutral sense you know,
A paffive term, which no relief will bring,
But trims betwixt a rebel and a king.

Reft well affur'd, the Pardelis reply'd,
My fons would all support the regal fide,
Tho' heaven forbid the caufe by battle fhould be try'd.
The matron anfwer'd with a loud amen,
And thus purfu'd her argument again.

If as you fay, and as I hope no lefs,

Your fons will practise what yourselves profefs,
What angry power prevents our prefent peace?
The Lion, ftudious of our common good,
Defires (and kings defires are ill withstood)
To join our nations in a lafting love;
The bars betwixt are easy to remove;
For fanguinary laws were never made above.
If you condemn that prince of tyranny,

Whose mandate forc'd your Gallic friends to fly,
Make not a worfe example of your own;
Or cease to rail at caufelefs rigour fhown,
And let the guiltless perfon throw the ftone.
His blunted fword your fuff'ring brotherhood.
Have feldom felt; he ftops it short of blood:
But you have ground the perfecuting knife,
And fet it to a rafor edge on life.

Curft be the wit, which cruelty refines,
Or to his father's rod the scorpion's joins ;
Your finger is more grofs than the great monarch's

loins.

But you, perhaps, remove that bloody note,
And stick it on the first reformer's coat.
Oh let their crime in long oblivion fleep:

'Twas theirs indeed to make, 'tis yours to keep.

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Unjuft,

Unjuft, or juft, is all the queftion now;
"Tis plain, that not repealing you allow.

To name the teft would put you in a rage;
You charge not that on any former age,
But fmile to think how innocent you stand,
Arm'd by a weapon put into your hand,
Yet ftill remember that you wield a fword
Forg'd by your foes against your fov'reign lord;
Defign'd to hew th' imperial cedar down,
Defraud fucceffion, and dif-heir the crown.
T'abhor the makers, and their laws approve,
Is to hate traitors, and the treafon love.
What means it elfe, which now your children say,
We made it not, nor will we take away?

Suppofe fome great oppreffor had by flight
Of law, diffeis'd your brother of his right,
Your common fire furrend'ring in a fright;
Would you to that unrighteous title stand,
Left by the villain's will to heir the land?
More juft was Judas, who his Saviour fold;
The facrilegious bribe he could not hold,
Nor hang in peace, before he render'd back the gold.
What more could you have done, than now you do,
Had Oates and Bedlow, and their plot been true?
Some fpecious reasons for those wrongs were found;
Their dire magicians threw their mists around,
And wife men walk'd as on inchanted ground.
But now when time has made th' impofture plain,
(Late tho' he follow'd truth, and limping held her train)
What new delufion charms your cheated eyes again?
The painted harlot might a while bewitch,

But why the hag uncas'd, and all obfcene with itch?
The first reformers were a modest race;

Our peers poffefs'd in peace their native place;
And when rebellious arms o'erturn'd the ftate,

They fuffer'd only in the common fate:

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But

But now the fov'reign mounts the regal chair,
And mitred feats are full, yet David's bench is bare.
Your answer is, they were not difpoffeft;
They need but rub their mettle on the test
To prove their ore: 'twere well if gold alone
Were touch'd and try'd on your discerning stone;
But that unfaithful test unfound will pafs
The drofs of atheists, and fectarian brass:
As if th' experiment were made to hold
For base production, and reject the gold.
Thus men ungodded may to places rise,
And fects may be preferr'd without disguise:
No danger to the church or ftate from these;
The papift only has his writ of ease.
No gainful office gives him the pretence
To grind the fubject, or defraud the prince.
Wrong confcience, or no confcience, may deferve
To thrive, but ours alone is privileg❜d to starve.

Still thank yourselves, you cry; your noble race
We banish not, but they forfake the place;
Our doors are open: true, but ere they come,
You tofs your 'censing teft, and fume the room;
As if 'twere Toby's rival to expel,

And fright the fiend who could not bear the smell.
To this the Panther sharply had reply'd;

But having gain'd a verdict on her fide,
She wifely gave the lofer leave to chide;
Well fatisfy'd to have the But and Peace,
And for the plaintiff's caufe fhe car'd the lefs,
Because the fu'd in forma pauperis ;

Yet thought it decent fomething fhould be faid,
For fecret guilt by filence is betray'd.
So neither granted all, nor much deny'd,
But anfwer'd with a yawning kind of pride.
Methinks fuch terms of proffer'd peace you bring,
As once Æneas to th' Italian king:

By long poffeffion all the land is mine;
You ftrangers come with your intruding line,
To share my scepter, which you call to join.
You plead like him an ancient pedigree,
And claim a peaceful feat by fate's decree.
In ready pomp your facrificer ftands,
T' unite the Trojan and the Latin bands,
And, that the league more firmly may be ty'd,
Demand the fair Lavinia for your bride.
Thus plaufibly you veil th' intended wrong,
But ftill you bring your exil'd gods along
And will endeavour, in fucceeding space,
Those houshold puppets on our hearths to place.
Perhaps fome barb'rous laws have been preferr'd;
I spake against the test, but was not heard;
These to refcind, and peerage to restore,
My gracious fov'reign would my vote implore:
I owe him much, but owe my conscience more.
Confcience is then your plea, reply'd the dame,
Which well inform'd will ever be the fame.

But
yours is much of the camelion hue,
To change the die with every distant view.
When first the Lion fat with awful fway,
Your confcience taught your duty to obey:
He might have had your statutes and your test;
No confcience but of fubjects was profefs'd.
He found your temper, and no farther try'd,
But on that broken reed your church rely'd.
In vain the sects affay'd their utmost art,
With offer'd treasure to efpoufe their part;

Their treasures were a bribe too mean to move his
heart.

But when by long experience you had prov'd,
How far he could forgive, how well he lov'd;
A goodness that excell'd his godlike race,
And only short of heaven's unbounded grace;

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