Friend, said the Hind, you quit your former ground, Where all your faith you did on Scripture found: Now 'tis Tradition join'd with Holy Writ; But thus your memory betrays your wit.

No, said the Panther, for in that I view, When your tradition's forged, and when 'tis true.

I set them by the rule, and, as they square, Or deviate from, undoubted doctrine there, This oral fiction, that old faith declare. 180

Hind: The Council steer'd, it seems, a different course; They tried the Scripture by Tradition's force: But you Tradition by the Scripture try; Pursued by sects, from this to that you fly, Nor dare on one foundation to rely.

The Word is then deposed, and in this view, You rule the Scripture, not the Scripture you.

Thus said the dame, and, smiling, thus pursued: I see Tradition then is disallow'd, When not evinced by Scripture to be true, 190 And Scripture, as interpreted by you.

But here you tread upon unfaithful ground; Unless you could infallibly expound: Which you reject as odious Popery, And throw that doctrine back with scorn on me.

Suppose we on things traditive divide, And both appeal to Scripture to decide; By various texts we both uphold our claim, Nay, often ground our t.i.tles on the same: After long labour lost, and time's expense, 200 Both grant the words, and quarrel for the sense.

Thus all disputes for ever must depend; For no dumb rule can controversies end.

Thus, when you said, Tradition must be tried By Sacred Writ, whose sense yourselves decide, You said no more, but that yourselves must be The judges of the Scripture sense, not we.

Against our Church-Tradition you declare, And yet your clerks would sit in Moses' chair; At least 'tis proved against your argument, 210 The rule is far from plain, where all dissent.

If not by Scriptures, how can we be sure, Replied the Panther, what Tradition's pure?

For you may palm upon us new for old: All, as they say, that glitters, is not gold.

How but by following her, replied the dame, To whom derived from sire to son they came; Where every age does on another move, And trusts no farther than the next above; Where all the rounds like Jacob's ladder rise, 220 The lowest hid in earth, the topmost in the skies.

Sternly the savage did her answer mark, Her glowing eye-b.a.l.l.s glittering in the dark, And said but this: Since lucre was your trade, Succeeding times such dreadful gaps have made, 'Tis dangerous climbing: to your sons and you I leave the ladder, and its omen too.

Hind: The Panther's breath was ever famed for sweet; But from the Wolf such wishes oft I meet: You learn'd this language from the Blatant Beast, 230 Or rather did not speak, but were possess'd.

As for your answer, 'tis but barely urged: You must evince Tradition to be forged; Produce plain proofs: unblemish'd authors use As ancient as those ages they accuse; 'Till when 'tis not sufficient to defame: An old possession stands, 'till elder quits the claim.

Then for our interest, which is named alone To load with envy, we retort your own, For when Traditions in your faces fly, 240 Resolving not to yield, you must decry.

As when the cause goes hard, the guilty man Excepts, and thins his jury all he can; So when you stand of other aid bereft, You to the Twelve Apostles would be left.

Your friend the Wolf did with more craft provide To set those toys, Traditions, quite aside; And Fathers too, unless when, reason spent, He cites them but sometimes for ornament.

But, madam Panther, you, though more sincere, 250 Are not so wise as your adulterer: The private spirit is a better blind, Than all the dodging tricks your authors find.

For they, who left the Scripture to the crowd, Each for his own peculiar judge allow'd; The way to please them was to make them proud.

Thus, with full sails, they ran upon the shelf: Who could suspect a cozenage from himself?

On his own reason safer 'tis to stand, Than be deceived and d.a.m.n'd at second-hand. 260 But you, who Fathers and Traditions take, And garble some, and some you quite forsake, Pretending Church-authority to fix, And yet some grains of private spirit mix, Are like a mule, made up of differing seed, And that's the reason why you never breed; At least not propagate your kind abroad, For home dissenters are by statutes awed.

And yet they grow upon you every day, While you, to speak the best, are at a stay, 270 For sects, that are extremes, abhor a middle way.

Like tricks of state, to stop a raging flood, Or mollify a mad-brain'd senate's mood: Of all expedients never one was good.

Well may they argue, nor can you deny, If we must fix on Church authority, Best on the best, the fountain, not the flood; That must be better still, if this be good.

Shall she command who has herself rebell'd?

Is Antichrist by Antichrist expell'd? 280 Did we a lawful tyranny displace, To set aloft a b.a.s.t.a.r.d of the race?

Why all these wars to win the Book, if we Must not interpret for ourselves, but she?

Either be wholly slaves, or wholly free.

For purging fires Traditions must not fight; But they must prove Episcopacy's right.

Thus those led horses are from service freed; You never mount them but in time of need.

Like mercenaries, hired for home defence, 290 They will not serve against their native prince.

Against domestic foes of hierarchy These are drawn forth, to make fanatics fly; But, when they see their countrymen at hand, Marching against them under Church-command, Straight they forsake their colours, and disband.

Thus she, nor could the Panther well enlarge With weak defence against so strong a charge; But said: For what did Christ his Word provide, If still his Church must want a living guide? 300 And if all saving doctrines are not there, Or sacred penmen could not make them clear, From after ages we should hope in vain For truths, which men inspired could not explain.

Before the Word was written, said the Hind, Our Saviour preach'd his faith to human kind: From his apostles the first age received Eternal truth, and what they taught believed.

Thus by Tradition faith was planted first; Succeeding flocks succeeding pastors nursed. 310 This was the way our wise Redeemer chose (Who sure could all things for the best dispose), To fence his fold from their encroaching foes.

He could have writ himself, but well foresaw The event would be like that of Moses' law; Some difference would arise, some doubts remain, Like those which yet the jarring Jews maintain.

No written laws can be so plain, so pure, But wit may gloss, and malice may obscure; Not those indited by his first command, 320 A prophet graved the text, an angel held his hand.

Thus faith was ere the written word appear'd, And men believed not what they read, but heard.

But since the apostles could not be confined To these, or those, but severally design'd Their large commission round the world to blow, To spread their faith, they spread their labours too.

Yet still their absent flock their pains did share; They hearken'd still, for love produces care, And, as mistakes arose, or discords fell, 330 Or bold seducers taught them to rebel, As charity grew cold, or faction hot, Or long neglect their lessons had forgot, For all their wants they wisely did provide, And preaching by epistles was supplied: So great physicians cannot all attend, But some they visit, and to some they send.

Yet all those letters were not writ to all; Nor first intended but occasional, Their absent sermons; nor if they contain 340 All needful doctrines, are those doctrines plain.

Clearness by frequent preaching must be wrought: They writ but seldom, but they daily taught.

And what one saint has said of holy Paul, "He darkly writ," is true, applied to all.

For this obscurity could Heaven provide More prudently than by a living guide, As doubts arose, the difference to decide?

A guide was therefore needful, therefore made; And, if appointed, sure to be obey'd. 350 Thus, with due reverence to the Apostle's writ, By which my sons are taught, to which submit; I think those truths their sacred works contain, The Church alone can certainly explain; That following ages, leaning on the past, May rest upon the Primitive at last.

Nor would I thence the Word no rule infer, But none without the Church-interpreter.

Because, as I have urged before, 'tis mute, And is itself the subject of dispute. 360 But what the Apostles their successors taught, They to the next, from them to us is brought, The undoubted sense which is in Scripture sought.

From hence the Church is arm'd, when errors rise, To stop their entrance, and prevent surprise; And, safe entrench'd within, her foes without defies.

By these all festering sores her Councils heal, Which time or has disclosed, or shall reveal; For discord cannot end without a last appeal.

Nor can a Council national decide, 370 But with subordination to her guide; (I wish the cause were on that issue tried.) Much less the Scripture; for suppose debate Betwixt pretenders to a fair estate, Bequeath'd by some legator's last intent; (Such is our dying Saviour's Testament:) The will is proved, is open'd, and is read; The doubtful heirs their differing t.i.tles plead: All vouch the words their interest to maintain, And each pretends by those his cause is plain. 380 Shall then the Testament award the right?

No, that's the Hungary for which they fight; The field of battle, subject of debate; The thing contended for, the fair estate.

The sense is intricate, 'tis only clear What vowels and what consonants are there.

Therefore 'tis plain, its meaning must be tried Before some judge appointed to decide.

Suppose, the fair apostate said, I grant, The faithful flock some living guide should want, 390 Your arguments an endless chase pursue; Produce this vaunted leader to our view, This mighty Moses of the chosen crew.

The dame, who saw her fainting foe retired, With force renew'd, to victory aspired; And, looking upward to her kindred sky, As once our Saviour own'd his Deity, p.r.o.nounced his words:--"She whom ye seek am I,"

Nor less amazed this voice the Panther heard, Than were those Jews to hear a G.o.d declared. 400 Then thus the matron modestly renew'd: Let all your prophets and their sects be view'd, And see to which of them yourselves think fit The conduct of your conscience to submit: Each proselyte would vote his doctor best, With absolute exclusion to the rest: Thus would your Polish diet disagree, And end, as it began, in anarchy: Yourself the fairest for election stand, Because you seem crown-general of the land: 410 But soon against your superst.i.tious lawn Some Presbyterian sabre would be drawn: In your establish'd laws of sovereignty The rest some fundamental flaw would see, And call rebellion gospel-liberty.

To Church-decrees your articles require Submission modified, if not entire.

Homage denied, to censures you proceed: But when Curtana[113] will not do the deed.

You lay that pointless clergy-weapon by, 420 And to the laws, your sword of justice, fly.

Now this your sects the more unkindly take (Those prying varlets. .h.i.t the blots you make), Because some ancient friends of yours declare, Your only rule of faith the Scriptures are, Interpreted by men of judgment sound, Which every sect will for themselves expound; Nor think less reverence to their doctors due For sound interpretation, than to you.

If then, by able heads, are understood 430 Your brother prophets, who reform'd abroad; Those able heads expound a wiser way, That their own sheep their shepherd should obey.

But if you mean yourselves are only sound, That doctrine turns the Reformation round, And all the rest are false reformers found; Because in sundry points you stand alone, Not in communion join'd with any one; And therefore must be all the Church, or none.

Then, till you have agreed whose judge is best, 440 Against this forced submission they protest: While sound and sound a different sense explains, Both play at hardhead till they break their brains; And from their chairs each other's force defy, While unregarded thunders vainly fly.

I pa.s.s the rest, because your Church alone Of all usurpers best could fill the throne.

But neither you, nor any sect beside, For this high office can be qualified, With necessary gifts required in such a guide. 450 For that which must direct the whole must be Bound in one bond of faith and unity: But all your several Churches disagree.

The consubstantiating Church and priest Refuse communion to the Calvinist: The French reform'd from preaching you restrain, Because you judge their ordination vain; And so they judge of yours, but donors must ordain.

In short, in doctrine, or in discipline, Not one reform'd can with another join: 460 But all from each, as from d.a.m.nation, fly; No union they pretend, but in Non-Popery.

Nor, should their members in a Synod meet, Could any Church presume to mount the seat, Above the rest, their discords to decide; None would obey, but each would be the guide: And face to face dissensions would increase; For only distance now preserves the peace.

All in their turns accusers, and accused: Babel was never half so much confused: 470 What one can plead, the rest can plead as well; For amongst equals lies no last appeal, And all confess themselves are fallible.

Now since you grant some necessary guide, All who can err are justly laid aside: Because a trust so sacred to confer 476 Shows want of such a sure interpreter; And how can he be needful who can err?

Then, granting that unerring guide we want, That such there is you stand obliged to grant: 480 Our Saviour else were wanting to supply Our needs, and obviate that necessity.

It then remains, the Church can only be The guide, which owns unfailing certainty; Or else you slip your hold, and change your side, Relapsing from a necessary guide.

But this annex'd condition of the crown, Immunity from errors, you disown; Here then you shrink, and lay your weak pretensions down.

For petty royalties you raise debate; 490 But this unfailing universal state You shun; nor dare succeed to such a glorious weight; And for that cause those promises detest With which our Saviour did his Church invest; But strive to evade, and fear to find them true, As conscious they were never meant to you: All which the Mother Church a.s.serts her own, And with unrivall'd claim ascends the throne.

So, when of old the Almighty Father sate In council, to redeem our ruin'd state, 500 Millions of millions, at a distance round, Silent the sacred consistory crown'd, To hear what mercy, mix'd with justice, could propound: All prompt, with eager pity, to fulfil The full extent of their Creator's will.

But when the stern conditions were declared, A mournful whisper through the host was heard, And the whole hierarchy, with heads hung down, Submissively declined the ponderous proffer'd crown.

Then, not till then, the Eternal Son from high 510 Rose in the strength of all the Deity: Stood forth to accept the terms, and underwent A weight which all the frame of heaven had bent.

Nor he himself could bear, but as Omnipotent.

Now, to remove the least remaining doubt, That even the blear-eyed sects may find her out, Behold what heavenly rays adorn her brows, What from his wardrobe her beloved allows To deck the wedding-day of his unspotted spouse.

Behold what marks of majesty she brings; 520 Richer than ancient heirs of eastern kings!

Her right hand holds the sceptre and the keys, To show whom she commands, and who obeys: With these to bind, or set the sinner free, With that to a.s.sert spiritual royalty.

One in herself, not rent by schism,[114] but sound, Entire, one solid shining diamond; Not sparkles shatter'd into sects like you: One is the Church, and must be to be true: One central principle of unity. 530 As undivided, so from errors free, As one in faith, so one in sanct.i.ty.

Thus she, and none but she, the insulting rage Of heretics opposed from age to age: Still when the giant-brood invades her throne, She stoops from heaven, and meets them half way down, And with paternal thunder vindicates her crown.

But like Egyptian sorcerers you stand, And vainly lift aloft your magic wand, To sweep away the swarms of vermin from the land: 540 You could like them, with like infernal force, Produce the plague, but not arrest the course.

But when the boils and blotches, with disgrace 543 And public scandal, sat upon the face, Themselves attack'd, the Magi strove no more, They saw G.o.d's finger, and their fate deplore; Themselves they could not cure of the dishonest sore.