65 A fullen thing, whofe coarfenefs fuits the crowd; He grants Salvation centers in his own, From youth to age he grafps the proffer'd dame, 75 For, all profeffions can't be good, he cries, And lives unfix'd for want of heart to chufe. So men, who know what fome loofe girls have done, For fear of marrying fuch, will marry none. 80 The Charms of all, obfequious Courtly ftrike; 85 On each he doats, on each attends alike; And thinks, as diff'rent countries deck the dame, But 'tis Religion ftill, where'er we go: This blindness springs from an excess of light, On a large mountain, at the Bafis wide, Yet labour fo, that, ere faint age arrive, 95 100 105 110 115 To work at present is the ufe of day, For man's employ much thought and deed remain, And Myft'ries afk believing, which to View 120 Ah! fool and wretch, who let'ft thy foul be ty'd 125 To buman Laws! Or muft it fo be try'd? Or will it boot thee, at the latest day, When Judgment fits, and Justice asks thy plea, 130 This holds alike, and each may plead the fame. Nor were fubmiffion humbleness expreft, Pow'r from above fubordinately fpread, Each flow'r, ordain'd the Margins to adorn, Each native Beauty, from its roots is torn, 140 And left on Deferts, Rocks, and Sands, or toft 145 All the long travel, and in Ocean loft; So fares the foul, which more that Pow'r reveres NOTES. This noble fimilitude, with which the Satire concludes, Dr. Parnell did not seem to understand; or was not able to exprefs it in its original force. Dr. Donne fays, "As ftreams are, Pow'r is; those bleft flow'rs that dwell "At the rough ftreams 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 "Confum'd in going, in the Sea are lost. "So perish Souls," &c. Dr. Donne exprefly compares power to ftreams: but the comparifon 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 fays, they leave their roots, and give themselves to the fiream: that is, wilfully prefer human Authority to divine; and this makes them the object of his Satire; which they would not have been, were they irresistibly carried away, as the Imitation fuppofes. R 4 SATIRE II. STRE R, though (I thank God for it) I do hate Perfectly all this town; yet there's one state In all ill things, fo excellently beft, That hate towards them, breeds pity towards the reft. Though Poetry, indeed, be such a fin, As, I think, that brings Dearth and Spaniards in: Is poor, difarm'd, like Papifts, not worth hate. One (like a wretch, which at barre judg'd as dead, Yet prompts him which stands next, and cannot read, And faves his life) gives Idiot Actors means, (Starving himself) to live by's labour'd scenes. As in fome Organs, Puppits dance above, And bellows pant below, which them do move. One would move love by rythmes; but witchcraft's charms Bring not now their old fears, nor their old harms; |