Such was, and is, the Captain of the Test, Though half his virtues are not here express'd; The modesty of fame conceals the rest. The spleenful Pigeons never could create A prince more proper to revenge their hate: Indeed, more proper to revenge, than save; A king, whom in his wrath the Almighty gave: For all the grace the landlord had allow'd, 1200 But made the Buzzard and the Pigeons proud; Gave time to fix their friends, and to seduce the crowd. They long their fellow-subjects to enthral, Their patron's promise into question call, And vainly think he meant to make them lords of all. False fears their leaders fail'd not to suggest, As if the Doves were to be dispossess'd; Nor sighs, nor groans, nor goggling eyes did want; For now the Pigeons too had learn'd to cant. The house of prayer is stock'd with large increase; 1210 Nor doors nor windows can contain the press: For birds of every feather fill the abode; Even Atheists out of envy own a God: And, reeking from the stews, adulterers come, Like Goths and Vandals to demolish Rome. That Conscience, which to all their crimes was mute, Now calls aloud, and cries to persecute: No rigour of the laws to be released, And much the less, because it was their Lord's request: They thought it great their Sovereign to control, 1220 And named their pride, nobility of soul. 'Tis true, the Pigeons, and their prince elect, Were short of power, their purpose to effect: But with their quills did all the hurt they could, And cuff'd the tender Chickens from their food: And much the Buzzard in their cause did stir, Though naming not the patron, to infer, With all respect, he was a gross idolater.