60 But that once o'er, the short-liv'd union ends: This heard, the Matron was not slow to find With all the lean tormentors of the will. Yet durst she not too deeply probe the wound, 80 But strove with anodynes t' assuage the smart, Complaints of lovers help to ease their pain; Witness, ye Heav'ns, how I rejoice to see 90 Your warrior offspring that upheld the crown, And if my pray'rs for all the brave were heard, Cæsar should still have such, and such should still reward. 99 The labour'd earth, your pains have sow'd and till'd; Remains of kindness. If Cæsar to his own his hand extends, Say, which of yours his charity offends? 1100 You know he largely gives to more than are his friends. Are you defrauded when he feeds the poor? Some juster motive sure your mind with draws, } Shew more occasion for your discontent: Your love, the Wolf, would help you to invent Some German quarrel; or, as times go now, 121 Some French, where force is uppermost, will do. When at the fountain's head, (as merit ought To claim the place,) you take a swilling draught, How easy 'tis an envious eye to throw, And tax the sheep for troubling streams below; Or call her (when no farther cause you find) An enemy profess'd of all your kind. But then, perhaps, the wicked world would think The Wolf design'd to eat as well as drink, 130 This last illusion gall'd the Panther more, Because, indeed, it rubb'd upon the sore : Yet seem'd she not to wince, tho' shrewdly pain'd; But, thus, her passive character maintain'd. I never grudg'd (whate'er my foes report,) Your flaunting fortune in the lion's court, You have your day, or you are much bely'd, 140 Ah! said the Hind, how many sons have you, Who call you mother whom you never knew! But most of them, who that relation plead, Are such ungracious youths as wish you dead. They gape at rich revenues which you hold, And, fain, would nibble at your grandame Gold; Inquire into your years, and laugh to find 150 Your crazy temper shews you much declin'd. Were you not dim, and doted, you might see A pack of cheats that claim a pedigree, No more of kin to you, than you to me. Do you not know that, for a little coin, Heralds can foist a name into the line? They ask your blessing but for what you have, But once possess'd of what with care you save, The wanton boys would piss upon your grave. Your sons of latitude, that court your grace, Tho' most resembling you in form and face, Are far the worst of your pretended race; 162 And, (but I blush your honesty to blot,) Pray God you prove them lawfully begot: For in some Popish libels I have read, The wolf has been too busy in your bed; At least her hinder parts, the belly-piece, For tho' they dare not bark, they snarl at kings: Think you your new French proselytes are come To starve abroad, because they starv'd at home? Your benefices twinkled from afar ; They found the new Messiah by the star : 181 More vacant pulpits would more converts make; } Your sons of breadth at home, are much like these; Their soft and yielding metals run with ease; 190 Your Delphic sword, the Panther then reply'd, Is doubled-edg'd, and cuts on either side. |