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A fullen thing, whofe coarseness suits the crowd ;
No foreign schemes make eafy Capio roam,
From all professions careless Airy fies, For, all professions can't be good, he cries, 80 And here a fault, and there another views, And lives unfix'd for want of heart to chuse. So men, who know what some loose girls have done, For fear of marrying such, will marry none.
The Charms of all, obsequious Courtly strike; 85 On each he doats, on each attends alike; And thinks, as diff'rent countries deck the dame, The dresses altering, and the fex the fame; So fares Religion, chang'd in ourward show, But 'tis Religion still, where'er we go:
This blindness springs from an excess of light,
But thou of force must one Religion own,
On a large mountain, at the Basis wide, 105
Yet labour so, that, ere faint age arrive,
And Nystries ask believing, which to View
Be Truth, so found, with sacred heed po Test,
Would'st thou to Pow'r a proper duty shew? 'Tis thy first task the bounds of pow'r to know ; The bounds once past, it holds the name no more, 135 Its nature alters, which it own'd before, Nor were submission humbleness expreft, But all a low Idolatry at best.
Pow'r from above subordinately spread, Streams like a fountain from th' eternal head;
140 There, calm and pure the living waters flow, But roar a Torrent or a Flood below; Each flow'r, ordain’d the Margins to adorn, Each native Beauty, from its roots is torn, And left on Deserts, Rocks, and Sands, or toft 145 All the long travel, and in Ocean loft ;
So fares the soul, which more that Pow'r reveres
NOTE s. This noble fimilitude, with which the Satire concludes, Dr. Parnell did not seem to understand; or was not able to express it in its original force. Dr. Donne says,
“ As streams are, Pow'r is; those blest fow'rs that dwell “ At the rough streams calm head, thrive, and do well; “ But having left their roots, and themselves given “ To the streams tyrannous rage, alas, are driven “ Through mills, rocks, and woods, and at last, almost “ Consum'd in going, in the Sea are lost.
“ So perish Souls,” &c. Dr. Donne exprelly compares power to streams: but the comparison of fouls to flowers being only implied, Dr. Parnell overlooked that part ; and so has hurt the whole thought, by making the flowers paffive; whereas the Original says, they leave their roots, and give themse'ves to the stream: that is, wilfully prefer human Authority to divine ; and this makes thein the object of his Satire ; which they would not have been, were they irresistibly carried away, as the Imitation supposes.
SAT I RE
IR, though (I thank God for it) I do hate
Perfectly all this town; yet there's one state In all ill things, so excellently best, That hate towards them, breeds pity towards the
rest. Though Poetry, indeed, be such a fin, As, I think, that brings Dearth and Spaniards in: Though like the pestilence, and old-fashion'd love, Ridlingly it catch men, and doth remove Never, till it be starv'd out; yet their state Is
poor, disarm'd, like Papists, not worth hate.
One (likeawretch, which at barrejudg’das dead, Yet prompts him which stands next, and cannot
read, And saves his life) gives Idiot Actors means, (Starving himself) to live by's labour'd scenes, As in some Organs, Puppits dance above, And bellows pant below, which them do move. One would move love by rythmes; but witch
craft's charms Bring not now their old fears, nor their old harms: