The mitre, which his sacred head has worn, Though blasts from contrariety of winds, Is but one thing under two different names; seen, Confesses ignorance to judge between ; And must to human reasoning opposite conclude, To point out which is moderation, which is fortitude. XI. Thus Sancroft, in the exaltation of retreat, Short glimm'rings of the prelate glorified; Which the disguise of greatness only served to hide. Why should the Sun, alas! be proud To lodge behind a golden cloud; Though fringed with ev'ning gold the cloud appears so gay, 'Tis but a low-born vapour kindled by a ray: The dazzling glory dims their prostituted sight, This wilderness, the world, like that poetic wood of old, Bears one, and but one branch of gold, And which (to heavenly soil transplanted) will im prove, To be, as 'twas below, the brightest plant above; As well as here below, (The goddess Muse herself has told me so) Where high patrician souls, dress'd heavenly gay, Sit clad in lawn of purer woven day. There some high-spirited throne to Sancroft shall be given, In the metropolis of Heaven; Chief of the mitred saints, and from archprelate here, Translated to archangel there. 10. XII. Since, happy saint, since it has been of late To lose the providence of thy cares, That begs the pow'rful blessing of thy pray'rs. Some angel say, what were the nation's crimes, That sent these wild reformers to our times: Say what their senseless malice meant, To tear religion's lovely face: Strip her of ev'ry ornament and grace; In striving to wash off th' imaginary paint? Religion now does on her death-bed lie, Heart-sick of a high fever and consuming atrophy; How the physicians swarm to show their mortal skill, And by their college arts methodically kill: Cordials are in their talk, while all they mean Since Heaven and Cato both are pleas'd emperor, rebellious man, Depos'd from off his seat, It fell and broke with its own weight Into small states and principalities, By many a petty lord possess'd, But ne'er since seated in one single breast. Where none ever led the way, Nor ever since but in descriptions found; With rules to search it, yet obtain’d by none. II. We have too long been led astray; Too long have our misguided souls been taught And we, the bubbled fools, Spend all our present life, in hopes of golden rules. III. But what does our proud ignorance Learning call? In that deep grave a book; Think that she there does all her treasures hide, And that her troubled ghost still haunts there since she died. Confine her walks to colleges and schools; Her priest, her train, and followers show They purchase knowledge at th' expense Rudeness, ill-nature, incivility, And, sick with dregs and knowledge grown, Which greedily they swallow down, Still cast it up, and nauseate company. IV. Curst be the wretch! nay doubly curst! To curse our greatest enemy) (Which since has seiz'd on all the rest) That knowledge forfeits all humanity; Taught us, like Spaniards, to be proud and poor, And fling our scraps before our door! Thrice happy you have 'scap'd this general pest; Those mighty epithets, learn'd, good, and great, Which we ne'er join'd before, but in romances meet, We find in you at last united grown. You cannot be compar'd to one: I must like him that painted Venus' face, Virgil and Epicurus will not do, Their courting a retreat like you, Unless I put in Cæsar's learning too: ས. Let not old Rome boast Fabius's fate; But you by peace *. You bought it a cheaper rate; * Sir William Temple was ambassador to the States of Holland, and had a principal share in the negotiations which preceded the treaty of Nimeguen, 1679. |