⟨Pindarick Poem on the Indulgence of Liberty of Conscience. 1687⟩

A Pindarick-Poem UPON HIS Most Sacred Majestie's LATE GRACIOUS INDULGENCE, In Granting a Toleration, and Liberty of Conscience in Matters of RELIGION.

Virgil,
O Meliboee; Deus nobis haec otia fecit.

LONDON, Printed for J. S. in the Year 1687.

The Preface.

THE Occasion of this Poem has been a Subject sufficiently bandied about by all parties; not an useless Pen in Town but has consumed both Ink and Paper in the Defence or Opposition of it: which makes it not at all strange, that a Poet should be concer­ned in a matter so vulgarly canvas'd, since Custome looks upon such to be (as really they are) the greatest Busibodies of the Nation. And since it is a Cause that has deserved all Men's assistance in its Defence; I know not why it may not merit a Poet's Talent in its Praise. For that which will admit an Argument to Maintain it, may justly allow a Commendation to Illustrate it. And if for the support of a bad Cause they are allowed to bring Argu­ments, there is little reason why a good One should be barr'd of its glory: For what has gain'd the advantage in Prose, may justly claim its deserts in Ʋerse. If ren­son and equity will prevail, there is the less to say; If not, 'tis to no purpose to speak. Its excuse is already [Page]pleaded, and we commit its Defence to those who have written of this Subject.

For the Poem it self, as there is no extraordinary matter in it, so nothing more than ordinary ought to be expected in its behalf. The Stile (me suppose) is grave, suitable to the Design; and if there be extrava­gancy in it, let it go for an excursion of wit, if you please, if 'twill not bear the force of a Subsidiary Argu­ment. The inequality of the verse can be no prejudice with those who understand Poetry; and as for the Ig­norant, the Author thinks he has no need to give Bail, that every Passage shall answer their strict Rules, and comply with their Humour. If any thing may seem to over-lash, he is willing to believe he may justifie himself by the liberty of the best Authors who have wrote in this kind, and till the Exceptions are made, he shall forbear any further Vindication.

A Pindarick Poem Upon his Most Sacred, &c.

I.
WHAT Saint, what Angel wilt thou Sing,
What Mortal God, my Muse, to equal Glories bring?
Swift with the wings of nimble Fancy fly
Thorow the wide unbounded Sky,
And meet the noblest Monarch on his way,
That th' English Scepter e're did sway:
He's now returning from the conquer'd West,
From trave'ling Countries to reform the State.
Toyls and Cares have long opprest
Our watchful Prince's anxious Breast.
Strange are the means propos'd by Fate
To make a Nation in its Monarch great:
The People slumber, and in peaceful ease,
Flowing with Plenty and Delight,
Plenty by Day, and Charms by Night,
With calmest thoughts their quiet Souls do please:
Whil'st our Great Monarch (to whose care
Kingdoms and Laws committed are)
With watchful eyes and thoughts profound,
Next under Providence, does guard our Land around.
And yet with trembling horrour we have seen
Some with Ambition fir'd, or mov'd with spleen,
[Page 2] Whil'st our Hesperian Dragon he,
With unclos'd eyes guarded our Lives and Liberty,
Like the bold Argonants of Greece,
Attempt to slay the Dragon, and enjoy the Fleece
II.
Whatever be the real cause of Warrs,
Of our Rebellions and intestine Jarrs,
Religion still is the pretence:
This specious Name
Kindles and blows the threatning flame,
Which up and down [like Fire-Balls] hurl'd,
Breaks out in distant places, and inflames the World.
Popery's marching in; Arm, Arm:
'Tis overcast, there needs must be a Storm:
Let us not tamely die,
Nor yet ignobly fly.
These sounds do all the long-ear'd Mobile alarm,
This voice the active Rebels strait does charm.
Hence flow disordered Riots, hence
Of Christian Blood the vast expence▪
Unhappy Nation, that in thee
Religion shou'd prove the deadly cause
Of raising Factions, violating Laws
With popular and loud applause:
Alas that Christianity
Should seldom in our Isle agree
To dwell with Christian Love and Charity;
With our own Arms the Prince of Hell does slay,
[Page 3] And with a conquering hand
Captivates our wretched Land:
And when he's pleas'd with mortal Lives to play,
And with a word great Hosts by mutual wounds destroy,
He sends a Ghostly Fury out
To scatter Fears and Jealousies about;
Who with her snaky Locks, and Torch in hand,
Runs howling through our Land:
Now your Religion does on tip-toe stand;
Help, my brave English Souls, assist the falling Maid.
The word's no sooner said,
But the mad Nation with a Feaver burns,
And all things into noise and raging Tempest turns.
III.
But now no more shall that ill-boding sound,
Which us'd to scatter Jealousies around,
Our happy Isle confound.
No more shall the pretext of partial Laws,
Fram'd to uphold a single Cause,
Engross the publick Priviledge and Right,
In which all have an equal share,
And all alike concerned are
To make their Native and Inherent Title clear.
The interposing hedges now are waste;
Now all the luscious Honey taste:
Lo! their enlivened Spirits rise,
And dart new vigour thro' their eyes:
The free and open day we see at last,
And the Whole Isle's become but one inclosed Paradise.
[Page 4] No more those direful Sounds we hear,
The vanish'd Fantoms now no more appear;
No more we're frightned with their Spells,
Their nasty horns are shrunk into their shells.
No more they dare appear in sight:
To their detested Beds
They silently withdraw their heads,
Like Birds obscene, they fly before the conquering light.
IV.
In all the Realms that constituted be
By the Eternal Word, Divine Decree,
None is more Great, more Absolute and Free
Than the old English Monarchy.
Tyrants may use more Power, but none by Heaven
More large and unconfin'd to any Prince is given.
To Laws he does submit; but Laws in vain may strive
And grapple with his great Prerogative,
If he the force of's Royal Power would show,
And like Apollo, draw his silver Bow,
Which never, never will he draw,
For he has spake the word, a word that's firmer than a Law.
Great is a British Prince, and James as great
(Tho' we the Chronicles should rowl)
To find a Monarch of a braver Soul)
As any Prince that ever Rul'd the State.
Great as he is, yet does he not presume
To rule the Conscience, force the mind,
That heavenly Spark that's ever unconfin'd.
This is a power supream, which God alone
Reserves to his Almighty Throne.
[Page 5] Not God himself does forcibly compel,
Nor with strong violence reduce the will,
But with his gentle Spirit does influence
And softly glide into our yielding sense:
Does not (as once of old) descend
In Fire and rustling Winds, to gain his end;
But like a gentle Dove does always come,
A welcome Ghest, perswading Friend,
And in our Body's Temple finds a Room.
V.
Go bid the Poles, my Muse, together meet,
Bid East and West each other greet,
Command the Stars from their fixt Orbs to fly,
Bid the dull Earth ascend and kiss the Sky;
As soon you may the Course of Nature change
As force the mind from steady Faith to range;
Force may provoke a tim'rous Soul to sin:
Prest, she may own that black is white,
And play the juggling Hypocrite:
But (prithee) wash the Aethiop's Skin,
Rather than strive a free assent to gain
By dint of Cudgel-Arguments, and Syllogisms of pain.
That Church that labours to compell the Will,
Our Breasts with sudden Jealousies does fill,
That 'tis a desperate and tottering Cause,
Whose Basis is not Reason, but the Penal Laws.
The man that labours to perswade,
Does not the Body with rough force invade,
[Page 6] But in soft Rhetorick does wind
Himself into the Mind.
Since Faith is free, the Turk as well may hope
By his false Reasons to convert the Pope,
As our mistaken Land expect to see
An universal Unity
Establish'd by the breach of Peace and Charity.
VI.
When first our Mighty Prince began to sway
The British Scepter, and dispence
O're all his Realm a warm and gentle Influence,
Thus to the English Church was heard to say:
Pardon, most Loyal Maid (for thou art she
Didst always pray and fight for Monarchy,
Stood'st firm when 'twas a Crime to own
Any branch o'th' English Throne)
Pardon (for 'tis no Life to live in pain)
If I free Liberty do give,
That all Religions may live;
Let others live, and thou alone shalt Reign:
Since Heaven doth cause his rain to fall,
And Sun to shine alike on all,
And does to me this God-like favour show
To be his Representative below,
Why shou'd you thus unjustly strive
To intercept alone this influence of mine?
Wou'd it not justly (think you?) move
My Anger, and convert your Love
[Page 7] Into the highest flames of rage,
If in this loose unquiet Age
Any shou'd vouch himself to be
The rightful Monarch to this Realm but me?
And can you think that Heaven won't
Resent the unparal'd affront,
Shou'd he me like an Adversary find,
Dethroning his Vicegerent of the Mind?
VII.
Illustrious Prince! what wonders hast thou done
By this one single Act alone?
What various Natures dost thou joyn?
How sweetly do they all combine?
How many different Stars in different lustres shine,
Adorning this bright Sphere of thine?
As various Instruments do all conspire,
Grave Organs with the warbling Lute,
Viols with Cornets, and the Flute,
To joyn in one harmonious Quire:
So we at length, Great James, compos'd by thee,
Like different Notes agree
To make up one melodious Harmony.
Thus when the great Dictatour had in vain
Assay'd to cultivate a stubborn Land,
And much expence of time and blood had spent,
And many dangers underwent,
To make the restless people understand
The mighty blessings which they might obtain
Beneath the shadow of his pow'rful Reign:
[Page 8] At length the kind Augustus came,
And gently dissipates the flame:
With a soft touch compos'd affairs of State,
Dissolv'd the curs'd Triumvirate;
Wild Anthony's rebellious pow'rs o'recome,
And fixt a lasting peace in Rome;
To a sweet calm reduc'd the quiet Earth,
Fit for the Prince of Peace his glorious birth.
If there be any that repine
At this excessive Grant of thine,
Let them before thy Justice fall,
And grace thy Triumphs with their Funeral.
Thy goodness is almost too great for to be prais'd,
Thy glory on magnifick Pillars rais'd
On its own Center firmly stands,
And needs not the Assistance of our hands:
Enlightned with its own increasing rays,
Conspicuously around it self displays:
The gawdy lustre does amaze,
And with an overwhelming light
Exhausts and drowns the beams of our unable sight.
FINIS.

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