Now let your sons a double pæan sound, A Treatise of Humility is found. 'Tis found, but better it had ne'er been sought, 330 Than thus in Protestant procession brought. The famed original through Spain is known, Rodriguez' work, my celebrated son, Which yours, by ill-translating, made his own; Conceal'd its author, and usurp'd the name, The basest and ignoblest theft of fame. My altars kindled first that living coal; Restore, or practice better, what you stole: That virtue could this humble verse inspire, 'Tis all the restitution I require. 340 Glad was the Panther that the charge was closed, And none of all her favourite sons exposed. For laws of arms permit each injured man, To make himself a saver where he can. Perhaps the plunder'd merchant cannot tell The names of pirates in whose hands he fell; But at the den of thieves he justly flies, And every Algerine is lawful prize. No private person in the foe's estate Can plead exemption from the public fate. 350 Yet Christian laws allow not such redress; Then let the greater supersede the less. But let the abettors of the Panther's crime Learn to make fairer wars another time. Some characters may sure be found to write Among her sons; for 'tis no common sight, A spotted dam, and all her offspring white. The savage, though she saw her plea controll'd, Yet would not wholly seem to quit her hold, But offer'd fairly to compound the strife, 360 And judge conversion by the convert's life. 'Tis true, she said, I think it somewhat strange, So few should follow profitable change: For present joys are more to flesh and blood, Than a dull prospect of a distant good. 'Twas well alluded by a son of mine (I hope to quote him is not to purloin), Two magnets, heaven and earth, allure to bliss; The larger loadstone that, the nearer this: The weak attraction of the greater fails; 370 We nod a while, but neighbourhood prevails: But when the greater proves the nearer too, I wonder more your converts come so slow. Methinks in those who firm with me remain, It shows a nobler principle than gain. Your inference would be strong, the Hind replied, If yours were in effect the suffering side: Your clergy's sons their own in peace possess, Nor are their prospects in reversion less. My proselytes are struck with awful dread; 380 Your bloody comet-laws hang blazing o'er their head; The respite they enjoy but only lent, The best they have to hope, protracted punishment. Be judge yourself, if interest may prevail, Which motives, yours or mine, will turn the scale. While pride and pomp allure, and plenteous ease, That is, till man's predominant passions cease, Admire no longer at my slow increase.