The joyless morning late arofe, and found A dreadful defolation reign around,
Some bury'd in the fnow, fome frozen to the ground.
The reft were struggling 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 shelter 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 shall bear,
He breath'd his laft, expos'd to open air;
And there his corps unblefs'd, is hanging still,
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
But moft in Martin's character and fate,
She faw her flander'd fons, the Panther's hate, The people's rage, the perfecuting state :
Then faid, I take th' advice in friendly part;
You clear your confcience, or at least your heart:
Perhaps you fail'd in your foreseeing skill,
For Swallows are unlucky birds to kill:
As for my fons, the family is blefs'd,
Whose ev'ry child is equal to the rest:
No church reform'd can boaft a blameless line; Such Martins build in yours, and more than .mine:
Or elfe an old fanatic author lies,
Who fumm'd their scandals 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 foon be night.
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 fenfe 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 fupport the regal fide, Tho heaven forbid the caufe by battle should be try'd.
The matron anfwer'd with a loud Amen, And thus purfu'd her argument again.
If as you say, and as I hope no less,
Your fons will practife what yourselves pro
What angry power prevents our present 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 rigor shown,
And let the guiltless perfon throw the stone.
His blunted fword your fuff'ring brotherhood
Have feldom felt; he stops it short of blood:
But
you have ground the perfecuting knife, And fet it to a razor edge on life.
Curs'd be the wit, which cruelty refines,
Or to his father's rod the fcorpion'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 reformers coat.
Oh let their crime in long oblivion fleep:
"Twas theirs indeed to make, 'tis yours to keep.
Unjuft, or just, is all the question 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 ftand,
Arm'd by a weapon put into your hand.
Yet ftill remember, that you weild a fword
Forg'd by your foes against your fov'reign lord,
Defign'd to hew th' imperial cedar down,
Defraud fucceffion, and difheir the crown.
T'abhor the makers, and their laws approve,
Is to hate traitors, and the treafon love.
What means it else, which now your children fay,
We made it not, nor will we take away?
Suppose fome great oppreffor had by flight
Of law, diffeis'd your brother of his right,
Your common fire furrendering a fright;
Would you to that unrighteous title stand,
Left by the villain's will to heir the land?
More just 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 reafons 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' imposture plain,
(Late tho he follow'd truth, and limping held
her train)
What new delufion charms your cheated
The painted harlot might a while bewitch,
But why the hag uncas'd, and all obscene with itch?
The first reformers were a modeft race;
And when rebellious arms o'erturn'd the state,
They fuffer'd only in the common fate:
But now the fov'reign mounts the regal chair,
And mitred feats are full, yet David's bench is
bare.
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