No More Learning

To keep in tim« the Scotch and English bound.
What the ocean binds is by the bishops rent,
As seas make islands in the continent.
Nature in vain us in one land compiles.
If the cathedral still shall have its isles.
Nothing, not bogs nor sands nor seas nor Alps,
Separates the world so as the bishops scalps ;
Stretch for the line their surcingle alone,
'Twill make a more inhabitable zone.
The friendly loadstone has not more combined,
Than bishops cramped the commerce of mankind.
Had it not been for such a bias strong.
Two nations ne'er had missed the mark so long.



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132 THE rOEMS

The world in all doth but two nations bear,
The good, the bad, and these mixed everywhere ;
Under each pole place either of these two.
The bad will basely, good will bravely, do ;
And few, indeed, can parallel our climes,
For worth heroic, or heroic crimes^
The trial would, however, be too nice,
Which stronger were, a Scotch or English vice ;
Or whether the same virtue would reflect.
From Scotch or English heart, the same effect.
Nation is all but name, a Shibboleth,
Where a mistaken accent causes death.
In Paradise names only nature showed.
At Babel names from pride and discord flowed ;
And ever since men, with a female spite,
First call each other names, and then they fight.
Scotland and England cause a just uproar ;
Do man and wife signify rogue and whore ?
Say but a Scot and straight we fall to sides ;
That syllable like a Picts* wall divides.
Rational men's words pledges are of peace ;
Perverted, serve dissension to increase.
For shame extirpate from each loyal breast
That senseless rancour, against interest.
One king, one faith, one language, and one i«le,
English and Scotch, 'tis all but cross and pile.
Charles, our great soul, this only understands ;
He our affections both, and wills, commands ;
And where twin-sympathies cannot alone.
Knows the last secret, how to make us one.



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OP MARYELL. 133

Just SO the prudent husbandman, that sees
The idle tumult of his factious bees,
The morning dews, and flowers, neglected grown,
The hive a comb-case, every bee a drone,
Powders them o'er, till none discerns his foes,
And all themselves in meal and friendship lose ;
The insect kingdom straight begins to thrive.
And all work honey for the common hive.

Pardon, young hero, this so long transport.
Thy death more noble did the same extort.
My former satire for this verse forget,
My fault against my recantation set
I single did against a nation write.
Against a nation thou didst singly fight.
My differing crimes do more thy virtue raise.
And, such my rashness, best thy valour praise.

Here Douglas smiling said, he did intend,
Afler such frankness shown, to be his friend.