138
The Hind and the Panther.
But, by reverse of Fortune chac'd away,His Gifts no longer than their Author stay:He shakes the Dust against th' ungrateful race,And leaves the stench of Ordures in the place.Oft has he flatter'd, and blasphem'd the same,For in his Rage, he spares no Sov'rains name:The Hero, and the Tyrant change their styleBy the same measure that they frown or smile;When well receiv'd by hospitable Foes,The kindness he returns, is to expose:For Courtesies, tho' undeserv'd and great,No gratitude in Fellon-minds beget, As tribute to his Wit, the churl receives the treat.His praise of Foes is venemously Nice,So touch'd, it turns a Vertue to a Vice:A Greek, and bountiful forewarns us twice.Sev'n Sacraments he wisely do's disown,Because he knows Confession stands for one;Where Sins to sacred silence are convey'd,And not for Fear, or Love, to be betray'd:
But