No More Learning

245

Better it were to live in cloister's lock,
Or in fair fields to rule the easy flock :
She blames them only who the court restrain,
And where all England serves, themselves would
reign.

Bold and accursed are they who all this while
Have strove to isle this monarch from this isle,
And to improve themselves by false pretence.
About the common prince have raised a fence ;
The kingdom from the crown distinct would see,
And peel the bark to bum at last the tree.
As Ceres corn, and Flora is the spring,
As Bacchus wine, the Country is the King.

Not so does rust insinuating wear,
Nor powder so the vaulted bastion tear.
Nor earthquakes so an hollow isle o'erwhelm,
As scratching courtiers undermine a realm.
And through the palace's foundations bore.
Burrowing themselves to hoard their guilty

store.
The smallest vermin make the greatest waste,
And a poor warren once a city rased.
But th'^ey whom bom to virtue and to wealth,
Nor guilt to flattery binds, nor want to stealth ;
Whose generous conscience, and whose courage

high.
Does with clear counsels their large souls

supply ;



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246 THE POEMS

Who serve the king with their estates and care,
And as in love on paiiiaments can stare ;
Where few the number, choice is there less

hard;
Give us this court, and rule without a guard.



MKD or m wan past.



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OF MARVELL. 247



INSTRUCTIONS TO A PAINTER.

PABT n.
Spread a large canvas, Painter, to contain
The great assembly, and the numerous train ;
Where all about him shall in triumph sit,
Abhorring wisdom, and despising wit ;
Hating all justice, and resolved to fight,
To rob their native country of their right.

First draw his Highness prostrate to the

. south,
Adoring Rome, this label in his mouth, —
'* Most holy father ! being joined in league
** With father Patrick, Danby, and with Teague,
" Thrown at your sacred feet, I humbly bow,
" I, and the wise associates of my vow,
** A vow, nor fire nor sword shall ever end,
^ Till all this nation to your footstool bend.
" Thus armed with zeal and blessing from your

hands,
**I'll raise my Papists, and my Irish bands,.



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248 THE POEK8

" And by a noble well-contrived plot,

" Managed by wise Fitz-Gerald, and by Scott,

^ Prove to the worid, I'll make old England

know,
^ That common sense is my eternal foe.
^ I ne'er can fight in a more glorious cause,
** Than to destroy their liberty and laws ;
*• Their House of Commons, and their House of

Lords,
<< Their parchment precedents, and dull records,
** Shall these e'er dare to contradict my will,
*' And think a prince o'the blood can
** It is our birthright to have power
*♦ Shall they e'er dare to think they shall decide
*<The way to heaven, and who shall be my

guide?
^ Shall they pretend to say, that bread is bread,
" If We affirm it is a God indeed ?
" Or there 's no Purgatory for the dead ?
" That extreme unction is but common oil?
^ And not infallible the Roman soil ?
<^ I '11 have those villains in our notions rest ;
"And I do say it, therefore 'it 's the best"

Next, Painter, draw his Mordaunt by his side,
Conveying his religion and his bride :
He, who long since abjured the royal line.
Does now in popery with his master join.
Then draw the princess with her golden locks,
. Hastening to be envenomed with the pox.



t my will, 1

1 e'er do ill?