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The Hind and the Panther.
No sure to those the Rebel would not yield,
Squadrons of Texts he marshal'd in the field;
That was but civil war, an equal set,
Where Piles with piles, and Eagles Eagles met.
With Texts point-blank and plain he fac'd the Foe:
And did not Sathan tempt our Saviour so?
The good old Bishops took a simpler way,
Each ask'd but what he heard his Father say,
Or how he was instructed in his youth,
And by traditions force upheld the truth.
Squadrons of Texts he marshal'd in the field;
That was but civil war, an equal set,
Where Piles with piles, and Eagles Eagles met.
With Texts point-blank and plain he fac'd the Foe:
And did not Sathan tempt our Saviour so?
The good old Bishops took a simpler way,
Each ask'd but what he heard his Father say,
Or how he was instructed in his youth,
And by traditions force upheld the truth.
The Panther smil'd at this, and when, said she,
Were those first Councils disallow'd by me?
Or where did I at sure tradition strike,
Provided still it were Apostolick?
Were those first Councils disallow'd by me?
Or where did I at sure tradition strike,
Provided still it were Apostolick?
Friend, said the Hind, you quit your former ground,
Where all your Faith you did on Scripture found,
Now, 'tis tradition join'd with holy writ,
But thus your memory betrays your wit.
Where all your Faith you did on Scripture found,
Now, 'tis tradition join'd with holy writ,
But thus your memory betrays your wit.
No,
