The Panther[104] sure the noblest, next the Hind, And fairest creature of the spotted kind; Oh, could her inborn stains be wash'd away, She were too good to be a beast of prey! 330 How can I praise, or blame, and not offend, Or how divide the frailty from the friend? Her faults and virtues lie so mix'd, that she Nor wholly stands condemn'd, nor wholly free. Then, like her injured Lion, let me speak; He cannot bend her, and he would not break. Unkind already, and estranged in part, The Wolf begins to share her wandering heart. Though unpolluted yet with actual ill, She half commits, who sins but in her will. 340 If, as our dreaming Platonists report, There could be spirits of a middle sort, Too black for heaven, and yet too white for hell, Who just dropt half way down, nor lower fell; So poised, so gently she descends from high, It seems a soft dismission from the sky. Her house not ancient, whatsoe'er pretence Her clergy heralds make in her defence. A second century not half-way run, Since the new honours of her blood begun. 350 A Lion[105] old, obscene, and furious made By lust, compress'd her mother in a shade; Then, by a left-hand marriage, weds the dame, Covering adultery with a specious name: So Schism begot; and Sacrilege and she, A well match'd pair, got graceless Heresy. God's and king's rebels have the same good cause, To trample down divine and human laws: Both would be call'd reformers, and their hate Alike destructive both to Church and State: 360 The fruit proclaims the plant; a lawless prince By luxury reform'd incontinence; By ruins, charity; by riots, abstinence. Confessions, fasts, and penance set aside, Oh, with what ease we follow such a guide, Where souls are starved, and senses gratified! Where marriage pleasures midnight prayers supply, And matin bells, a melancholy cry, Are tuned to merrier notes, Increase and multiply. Religion shows a rosy-colour'd face; 370 Not batter'd out with drudging works of grace: A down-hill reformation rolls apace. What flesh and blood would crowd the narrow gate, Or, till they waste their pamper'd paunches, wait? All would be happy at the cheapest rate.