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John Dryden - The Hind And The Panther, A Poem In Three Parts : Part III.
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(A cruse of water and an ear of corn,) 
Yet still they grudged that modicum, and thought 
A sheaf in every single grain was brought. 
Fain would they filch that little food away, 
While unrestrained those happy gluttons prey; 
And much they grieved to see so nigh their hall, 
The bird that warned St. Peter of his fall; 
That he should raise his mitred crest on high, 
And clap his wings, and call his family 
To sacred rites; and vex the ethereal powers 
With midnight matins at uncivil hours; 
Nay more, his quiet neighbours should molest, 
Just in the sweetness of their morning rest. 
Beast of a bird, supinely when he might 
Lie snug and sleep, to rise before the light! 
What if his dull forefathers used that cry, 
Could he not let a bad example die? 
The world was fallen into an easier way; 
This age knew better than to fast and pray. 
Good sense in sacred worship would appear, 
So to begin, as they might end the year. 
Such feats in former times had wrought the falls 
Of crowing chanticleers in cloistered walls. 
Expelled for this, and for their lands, they fled; 
And sister Partlet, with her hooded head, 
Was hooted hence, because she would not pray abed. 
The way to win the restiff world to God, 
Was to lay by the disciplining rod, 
Unnatural fasts, and foreign forms of prayer; 
Religion frights us with a mien severe. 
`Tis prudence to reform her into ease, 
And put her in undress, to make her please; 
A lively faith will bear aloft the mind, 
And leave the luggage of good works behind. 
“Such doctrines in the Pigeon-house were taught; 
You need not ask how wondrously they wrought; 
But sure the common cry was all for these, 
Whose life and precepts both encouraged ease. 
Yet fearing those alluring baits might fail, 
And holy deeds o`er all their arts prevail, 
(For vice, though frontless, and of hardened face, 
Is daunted at the sight of awful grace,) 
An hideous figure of their foes they drew, 
Nor lines, nor looks, nor shades, nor colours true; 
And this grotesque design exposed to public view. 
One would have thought it an Egyptian piece, 
With garden-gods, and barking deities, 
More thick than Ptolemy has stuck the skies. 
All so perverse a draught, so far unlike, 
It was no libel where it meant to strike. 
Yet still the daubing pleased, and great and small, 
To view the monster, crowded Pigeon-hall. 
There Chanticleer was drawn upon his knees, 
Adorning shrines, and stocks of sainted trees; 
And by him, a misshapen, ugly race, 
The curse of God was seen on every face: 
No Holland emblem could that malice mend, 
But still the worse the look, the fitter for a fiend. 
“The master of the farm, displeased to find 
So much of rancour in so mild a kind, 
Enquired into the cause, and came to know, 
The passive Church had struck the foremost blow; 
With groundless fears, and jealousies possest, 
As if this troublesome intruding guest 
Would drive the birds of Venus from their nest, 
A deed his inborn equity abhorred; 
But interest will not trust, though God should plight his word. 
“A law, the source of many future harms, 
Had banished all the poultry from the farms; 
With loss of life, if any should be found 
To crow or peck on this forbidden ground. 
That bloody statute chiefly was designed 
For Chanticleer the white, of clergy kind; 
But after-malice did not long forget 
The lay that wore the robe and coronet. 
For them, for their inferiors and allies, 
Their foes a deadly Shibboleth devise; 
By which unrighteously it was decreed, 
That none to trust, or profit, should succeed, 
Who would not swallow first a poisonous wicked weed; 
Or that, to which old Socrates was cursed, 
Or henbane juice to swell them till they burst. 
“The patron, as in reason, thought it hard 
To see this inquisition in his yard, 
By which the sovereign was of subjects` use debarred. 
All gentle means he tried, which might withdraw 
The effects of so unnatural a law; 
But still the dove-house obstinately stood 
Deaf to their own, and to their neighbours` good; 
And which was worse, if any worse could be, 
Repented of their boasted loyalty; 
Now made the champions of a cruel cause, 
And drunk with fumes of popular applause: 
For those whom God to ruin has designed, 
He fits for fate, and first destroys their mind. 
“New doubts indeed they daily strove to raise, 
Suggested dangers, interposed delays, 
And emissary Pigeons had in store, 
Such as the Meccan prophet used of yore, 
To whisper counsels in their patron`s ear, 
And veiled their false advice with zealous fear. 
The master smiled to see them work in vain, 
To wear him out, and make an idle reign: 
He saw, but suffered their protractive arts, 
And strove by mildness to reduce their hearts; 
But they abused that grace to make allies, 
And fondly closed with former enemies; 
For fools are double fools, endeavouring to be wise. 
“After a grave consult what course were best, 
One, more mature in folly than the rest, 
Stood up, and told them, with his head aside, 
That desperate cures must be to desperate ills applied: 
And therefore, since their main impending fear 
Was from the increasing race of Chanticleer, 
Some potent bird of prey they ought to find, 
A foe professed to him, and all his kind: 
Some haggard Hawk, who had her eyry nigh, 
Well pounced to fasten, and well winged to fly; 
One they might trust, their common wrongs to wreak. 
The Musquet and the Coystrel were too weak, 
Too fierce the Falcon; but, above the rest, 
The noble Buzzard ever pleased me best: 
Of small renown, `tis true; for, not to lie, 
We call him but a Hawk by courtesy. 
I know he haunts the Pigeon-house and Farm, 
And more, in time of war, has done us harm: 
But all his hate on trivial points depends; 
Give up our forms, and we shall soon be friends. 
For Pigeons` flesh he seems not much to care; 
Crammed Chickens are a more delicious fare. 
On this high potentate, without delay, 
I wish you would confer the sovereign sway; 
Petition him to accept the government, 
And let a splendid embassy be sent. 
“This pithy speech prevailed, and all agreed, 
Old enmities forgot, the Buzzard should succeed. 
“Their welcome suit was granted, soon as heard, 
His lodgings furnished, and a train prepared, 
With B`s upon their breast, appointed for his guard. 
He came, and, crowned with great solemnity, 
‘God save king Buzzard!’ was the general cry. 
“A portly prince, and goodly to the sight, 
He seemed a son of Anak for his height: 
Like those whom stature did to crowns prefer, 
Black-browed, and bluff, like Homer`s Jupiter; 
Broad-backed, and brawny-built for love`s delight, 
A prophet formed to make a female proselyte; 
A theologue more by need than genial bent, 
By breeding sharp, by nature confident. 
Interest in all his actions was discerned; 
More learned than honest, more a wit than learned; 
Or forced by fear, or by his profit led, 
Or both conjoined, his native clime he fled; 
But brought the virtues of his heaven along, 
A fair behaviour, and a fluent tongue. 
And yet with all his arts he could not thrive, 
The most unlucky parasite alive; 
Loud praises to prepare his paths he sent, 
And then himself pursued his compliment; 
But by reverse of fortune chased away, 
His gifts no longer than their author stay; 
He shakes the dust against the ungrateful race, 
And leaves the stench of ordures in the place. 
Oft has he flattered and blasphemed the same; 
For in his rage he spares no sovereign`s name: 
The hero and the tyrant change their style, 
By the same measure that they frown or smile. 
When well received by hospitable foes, 
The kindness he returns, is to expose; 
For courtesies, though undeserved and great, 
No gratitude in felon-minds beget; 
As tribute to his wit, the churl receives the treat. 
His praise of foes is venomously nice; 
So touched, it turns a virtue to a vice; 
‘A Greek, and bountiful, forewarns us twice.’ 
Seven sacraments he wisely does disown, 
Because he knows confession stands for one; 
Where sins to sacred silence are conveyed, 
And not for fear, or love, to be betrayed: 
But he, uncalled, his patron to control, 
Divulged the secret whispers of his soul; 
Stood forth the accusing Satan of his crimes, 
And offered to the Moloch of the times. 
Prompt to assail, and careless of defence, 
Invulnerable in his impudence, 
He dares the world; and, eager of a name, 
He thrusts about, and jostles into fame. 
Frontless, and satire-proof, he scours the streets, 
And runs an Indian-muck at all he meets. 
So fond of loud report, that, not to miss 
Of being known, (his last and utmost bliss,) 
He rather would be known for what he is. 
“Such was, and is, the Captain of the Test, 
Though half his virtues are not here expressed; 
The modesty of fame conceals the rest. 
The spleenful Pigeons never could create 
A prince more proper to revenge their hate; 
Indeed, more proper to revenge, than save; 
A king, whom in his wrath the Almighty gave: 
For all the grace the landlord had allowed, 
But made the Buzzard and the Pigeons proud; 
Gave time to fix their friends, and to seduce the crowd. 
They long their fellow-subjects to enthral, 
Their patron`s promise into question call, 
And vainly think he meant to make them lords of all. 
“False fears their leaders failed not to suggest, 
As if the Doves were to be dispossest; 
Nor sighs, nor groans, nor goggling eyes did want, 
For now the Pigeons too had learned to cant. 
The house of prayer is stocked with large increase; 
Nor doors, nor windows, can contain the press, 
For birds of every feather fill the abode; 
E`en atheists out of envy own a God, 
And, reeking from the stews, adulterers come, 
Like Goths and Vandals to demolish Rome. 
That conscience, which to all their crimes was mute, 
Now calls aloud, and cries to persecute: 
No rigour of the laws to be released, 
And much the less, because it was their Lord`s request; 
They thought it great their sovereign to control, 
And named their pride, nobility of soul. 
“`Tis true, the Pigeons, and their prince elect, 
Were short of power, their purpose to effect; 
But with their quills did all the hurt they could, 
And cuffed the tender Chickens from their food: 
And much the Buzzard in their cause did stir, 
Though naming not the patron, to infer, 
With all respect, he was a gross idolater. 
“But when the imperial owner did espy, 
That thus they turned his grace to villainy, 
Not suffering wrath to discompose his mind, 
He strove a temper for the extremes to find, 
So to be just, as he might still be kind; 
Then, all maturely weighed, pronounced a doom 
Of sacred strength for every age to come. 
By this the Doves their wealth and state possess, 
No rights infringed, but licence to oppress: 
Such power have they as factious lawyers long 
To crowns ascribed, that kings can do no wrong. 
But since his own domestic birds have tried 
The dire effects of their destructive pride, 
He deems that proof a measure to the rest, 
Concluding well within his kingly breast, 
His fowls of nature too unjustly were opprest. 
He therefore makes all birds of every sect 
Free of his farm, with promise to respect 
Their several kinds alike, and equally protect. 
His gracious edict the same franchise yields 
To all the wild increase of woods and fields, 
And who in rocks aloof, and who in steeples builds: 
To Crows the like impartial grace affords, 
And Choughs and Daws, and such republic birds; 
Secured with ample privilege to feed, 
Each has his district, and his bounds decreed; 
Combined in common interest with his own, 
But not to pass the Pigeons` Rubicon. 
“Here ends the reign of this pretended Dove; 
All prophecies accomplished from above, 
For Shiloh comes the sceptre to remove. 
Reduced from her imperial high abode, 
Like Dionysius to a private rod, 
The passive Church, that with pretended grace 
Did her distinctive mark in duty place, 
Now touched, reviles her Maker to his face. 
“What after happened is not hard to guess; 
The small beginnings had a large increase, 
And arts and wealth succeed the secret spoils of peace. 
`Tis said, the Doves repented, though too late, 
Become the smiths of their own foolish fate: 
Nor did their owner hasten their ill hour, 
But, sunk in credit, they decreased in power; 
Like snows in warmth that mildly pass away, 
Dissolving in the silence of decay. 
“The Buzzard, not content with equal place, 
Invites the feathered Nimrods of his race, 
To hide the thinness of their flock from sight, 
And all together make a seeming goodly flight: 
But each have separate interests of their own; 
Two Czars are one too many for a throne. 
Nor can the usurper long abstain from food; 
Already he has tasted Pigeon`s blood, 
And may be tempted to his former fare, 
When this indulgent lord shall late to heaven repair. 
Bare benting times, and moulting months may come, 
When, lagging late, they cannot reach their home; 
Or rent in schism, (for so their fate decrees,) 
Like the tumultuous college of the bees, 
They fight their quarrel, by themselves opprest, 
The tyrant smiles below, and waits the falling feast.” 
Thus did the gentle Hind her fable end, 
Nor would the Panther blame it, nor commend; 
But, with affected yawnings at the close, 
Seemed to require her natural repose; 
For now the streaky light began to peep, 
And setting stars admonished both to sleep. 
The Dame withdrew, and, wishing to her guest 
The peace of heaven, betook herself to rest: 
Ten thousand angels on her slumbers wait, 
With glorious visions of her future state.
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