65 A fullen thing, whofe coarseness fuits the crowd, To vifit his, and vifit none befide, He grants Salvation centers in his own, From youth to age he grafps the proffer'd dame, So men, who know what fome loofe girls have done, The Charms of all, obfequious Courtly strike; And thinks, as diff'rent countries deck the dame, But 'tis Religion ftill, where'er we go: 71 75 80 85 90 This blindness fprings from an excess of light, May all be bad: doubt wifely for the best; On a large mountain, at the Basis wide, Yet labour fo, that, e're faint age arrive, And Age is twilight to the night of fate. To work at present is the use of day: For man's employ much thought and deed remain, And Myft'ries afk believing, which to View Be Truth, fo found, with facred heed poffeft, 120 Ah! fool and wretch, who let'ft thy foul be ty'd 125 Would'st thou to Pow'r a proper duty shew? 130 'Tis thy first task the bounds of pow'r to know; Nor were fubmiffion humbleness exprest, Pow'r, from above fubordinately spread, Each flow'r, ordain'd the Margins to adorn, 140 And left on Deserts, Rocks, and Sands, or toft 145 All the long travel, and in Ocean loft; So fares the foul, which more that Pow'r reveres This noble Similitude, with which the Satire concludes, Dr. Parnell did not seem to understand, and fo was not able to exprefs, in its original force. Dr. Donne fays, "As ftreams are, power is, those bleft flowers 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, etc. Dr. Donne compares Power or Authority to Streams; and Souls to Flowers; but not being fo explicite in the latter, Dr. Parnell overlooked that part of the Simile, and fo has hurt the whole thought, by making the Flowers paffive; whereas the Original 'fays they leave their roots, and give themselves to the stream: 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 irrefiftibly carried away, as the Imitation supposes. S SATIRE II. IR; though (I thank God for it) I do hate In all ill things fo excellently best, That hate towards them, breeds pity towards the rest. Though Poetry, indeed, be fuch 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, difarm'd, like Papists, 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 fcenes. As in fome Organs, Puppits dance above And bellows pant bellow, which them do move. |