And lack of knowledge, and with cause enough: 'Tis therefore sober and good men are sad For England's glory, seeing it wax pale And sickly, while her champions wear their hearts Healthful and undisturb'd by factious fumes, 505 510 Such were they not of old, whose temper'd blades 515 Dispers'd the shackles of usurp'd control, And hew'd them link from link; then Albion's sons Were sons indeed; they felt a filial heart Beat high within them at a mother's wrongs; And, shining each in his domestick sphere, 520 Shone brighter still, once call'd to publiek view. 'Tis therefore many, whose sequester'd lot Forbids their interference, looking on We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works Die too the deep foundations that we lay, Time ploughs them up, and not a trace remains. A distant age asks where the fabrick stood; 535 And in the dust, sifted and search'd in vain, The undiscoverable secret sleeps. But there is yet a liberty, unsung By poets, and by senators unprais'd, Which monarchs cannot grant, nor all the pow'rs 540 A liberty, which persecution, fraud, Are grand, no doubt, and worthy of the word 545 550 555 560 565 570 No forfeiture, and of its fruits he sends Large prelibation oft to saints below. Of these the first in order, and the pledge, 575 Is liberty; a flight into his arms, Ere yet mortality's fine threads give way, Chains are the portion of revolted man, 580 585 To a vile clod, so draws him, with such force Resistless from the centre he should seek, 590 That he at last forgets it. All his hopes Tend downward; his ambition is to sink, 595 600 Fortune, and dignity; the loss of all That can ennoble man and make frail life, Short as it is, supportable. Still worse, Far worse than all the plagues with which his sins Infect his happiest moments, he forbodes 606 Ages of hopeless mis'ry. Future death, And death still future. Not a hasty stroke, Like that which sends him to the dusty grave: But unrepealable, enduring, death. 610 Scripture is still a trumpet to his fears: What none can prove a forgery, may be true; What none but bad men wish exploded, must. That scruple checks him. Riot is not loud Nor drunk enough to drown it. In the midst 615 Peace ensues, On fancied Innocence. Again he falls, 621 625. Scoffs at her own performance. Reason now 630 "Hath God indeed giv'n appetites to man, 635 And stor❜d the earth so plenteously with means To gratify the hunger of his wish; And doth he reprobate, and will he damn The use of his own bounty? making first 640 So strict, that less than perfect must despair? And gesture, they propound to our belief? 645 651 Nay-Conduct hath the loudest tongue. The voice The unequivocal, authentick deed, We find sound argument, we read the heart." Such reas'nings (if that name must needs belong T'excuses in which reason has no part) Serve to compose a spirit well inclin'd And sin without disturbance. Often urg'd, 656 660 He slights the strokes of conscience. Nothing moves, Or nothing much, his constancy in ill; Vain tamp'ring has but foster'd his disease; 'Tis desp'rate, and he sleeps the sleep of death. Haste, now, philosopher, and set him free. 670 Charm the deaf serpent wisely. Make him hear Of rectitude and fitness, moral truth How lovely, and the moral sense how sure, Consulted and obey'd, to guide his steps Directly to the first and only fair. 675 Spare not in such a cause. Spend all the pow'rs Be most sublimely good, verbosely grand, And with poetick trappings grace thy prose, Till it out-mantle all the pride of verse. 680 Ah, tinkling cymbal, and high sounding brass, The eclipse, that intercepts truth's heav'nly beam Grace makes the slave a freeman. 'Tis a change That turns to ridicule the turgid speech And stately tone of moralists, who boast 690 |