PART II.

DAME, said the Panther, times are mended well,
Since late among the Philistines you fell.

The toils were pitch'd, a spacious track of ground,
With expert huntsmen was encompass'd round;
Th' inclosure narrow'd, the sagacious pow'r
Of hounds and death drew nearer ev'ry hour:
'Tis true the younger Lion scap'd the snare,
But all your priestly calves lay struggling there,
As sacrifices on their altars laid,

While you their careful mother wisely fled,
Not trusting Destiny to save your head:
For whate'er promises you have apply'd
To your unfailing church, the surer side
Is four fair legs, in danger to provide :
And whate'er tales of Peter's chair you tell,
Yet, saving rev'rence of the miracle,

The better luck was your's to 'scape so well.

As I remember, said the sober Hind,
Those toils were for your own dear self design'd,
As well as me; and with the self-same throw,
To catch the quarry and the vermin too,
Forgive the sland'rous tongue that call'd you so.
Howe'er you take it now, the common cry
Then ran you down for your rank loyalty.

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Besides, in Popery they thought you nurst,
As evil tongues will ever speak the worst,
Because some forms, and ceremonies some,
You kept, and stood in the main question dumb.
Dumb you were born indeed; but thinking long,
The Test, it seems, at last, has loos'd your tongue. 30
And to explain what your forefathers meant,

By real presence in the sacrament,

After long fencing push'd against a wall,

Your salvo comes, that he's not there at all: There chang'd your faith, and what may change may fall.

Who can believe what varies every day,

Nor ever was, nor will be at a stay?

Tortures may force the tongue untruths to tell, And I ne'er own'd myself infallible,

Reply'd the Panther; grant such presence were,
Yet in your sense I never own'd it there.
A real virtue we by faith receive,

And that we in the sacrament believe.
Then said the Hind, as you the matter state,
Not only Jesuits can equivocate:

For real, as you now the word expound,
From solid substance dwindles to a sound.
Methinks an Æsop's fable you repeat:

You know who took the shadow for the meat;

Your church's substance thus you change at will,
And yet retain your former figure still.

Dryden.]

Kij

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I freely grant you spoke to save your life,
For then you lay beneath the butcher's knife.
Long time you fought, redoubl'd batt'ry bore,
But, after all, against yourself you swore;
Your former self; for every hour your form
Is chop'd and chang'd, like winds before a storm.
Thus fear and int' rest will prevail with some,
For all have not the gift of martyrdom.

The Panther grinn'd at this, and thus reply'd:
That men may err was never yet deny'd:
But, if that common principle be true,
The canon, Dame, is levell'd full at you.
But shunning long disputes, I fain would see
That wondrous wight Infallibility:

Is he from heav'n, this mighty champion, come,
Or lodg'd below in subterranean Rome?
First seat him somewhere and derive his race,
Or else conclude that nothing has no place.
Suppose, though I disown it, said the Hind,
The certain mansion were not yet assign'd,
The doubtful residence no proof can bring
Against the plain existence of the thing.
Because philosophers may disagree,
If sight b' emission or reception bẹ,
Shall it be thence inferr'd I do not see?
But you require an answer positive,

Which yet, when I demand, you dare not give,
For fallacies in universals live,

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I then affirm that this unfailing guide,

In pope and gen'ral councils must reside;
Both lawful, both combin'd; what one decrees
By num'rous votes, the other ratifies:
On this undoubted sense the church relies.
'Tis true some doctors in a scantier space,
I mean in each apart, contract the place:
Some, who to greater length extend the line,
The churches' after acceptation join.

This last circumference appears too wide;
The church diffus'd is by the council ty'd;
As members, by their representatives
Oblig'd to laws which prince and senate gives.
Thus some contract, and some enlarge the space;
In pope and council who denies the place,
Assisted from above with God's unfailing grace;
Those canons all the needful points contain,
Their sense so obvious, and their words so plain,
That no disputes about the doubtful text,

Have hitherto the lab'ring world perplex'd;

If any should in after-times appear,

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New councils must be call'd to make the meaning clear; Because in them the pow'r supreme resides,

And all the promises are to the guides.

This may be taught with sound and safe defence;
But mark how sandy is your own pretence,
Who, setting councils, pope, and church aside,
Are ev'ry man his own presuming guide.

The sacred books, you say, are full and plain,
And every needful point of truth contain:
All who can read interpreters may be:

Thus, though your several churches disagree,
Yet ev'ry saint has to himself alone,
The secret of this philosophic stone.

These principles your jarring sects unite,
When diff'ring doctors and disciples fight.
Though Luther, Zuinglius, Calvin, holy chiefs,
Have made a battle royal of beliefs;

Or like wild horses sev'ral ways have whirl'd
The tortur'd text about the Christian world.
Each Jehu lashing on with furious force,
That Turk or Jew could not have us'd it worse;
No matter what dissention leaders make,
Where every private man may save a stake;
Rul'd by the Scripture and his own advice,
Each has a blind by-path to Paradise;
Where driving in a circle slow or fast,
Opposing sects are sure to meet at last.
A wondrous charity you have in store
For all reform'd to pass the narrow door;
So much, that Mahomet had scarcely more:
For he, kind prophet, was fór damning none,
But Christ and Moses were to save their own:
Himself was to secure his chosen race,
Tho' reason good for Turks to take the place.

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