The charge of muscles, nerves, and of the brain, Through viewless conduits spirits to dispense; The springs of motion from the seat of sense. 'Twas not the hasty product of a day, But the well-ripen'd fruit of wise delay. 170 He, like a patient angler, ere he strook, Would let him play a while upon the hook. Our healthful food the stomach labours thus, At first embracing what it straight doth crush. Wise leeches will not vain receipts obtrude, While growing pains pronounce the humours crude: Deaf to complaints, they wait upon the ill, Till some safe crisis authorise their skill. Nor could his acts too close a vizard wear, To 'scape their eyes whom guilt had taught to fear, 180 And guard with caution that polluted nest, Whence Legion twice before was dispossess'd: Once sacred house; which, when they enter'd in, They thought the place could sanctify a sin; Like those that vainly hoped kind Heaven would wink, While to excess on martyrs' tombs they drink. And as devouter Turks first warn their souls To part, before they taste forbidden bowls: So these, when their black crimes they went about, First timely charm'd their useless conscience out. 190 Religion's name against itself was made; The shadow served the substance to invade: Like zealous missions, they did care pretend Of souls in show, but made the gold their end. The incensed powers beheld with scorn from high An heaven so far distant from the sky, Which durst, with horses' hoofs that beat the ground, And martial brass, belie the thunder's sound. 'Twas hence at length just vengeance thought it fit To speed their ruin by their impious wit. 200 Thus Sforza, cursed with a too fertile brain, Lost by his wiles the power his wit did gain. Henceforth their fougue[24] must spend at lesser rate, Than in its flames to wrap a nation's fate. Suffer'd to live, they are like helots set, A virtuous shame within us to beget. For by example most we sinn'd before, And glass-like clearness mix'd with frailty bore. But, since reform'd by what we did amiss, We by our sufferings learn to prize our bliss: 210 Like early lovers, whose unpractised hearts Were long the May-game of malicious arts, When once they find their jealousies were vain, With double heat renew their fires again. 'Twas this produced the joy that hurried o'er Such swarms of English to the neighbouring shore, To fetch that prize, by which Batavia made So rich amends for our impoverish'd trade. Oh! had you seen from Schevelin's[25] barren shore, (Crowded with troops, and barren now no more,) 220 Afflicted Holland to his farewell bring True sorrow, Holland to regret a king! While waiting him his royal fleet did ride, And willing winds to their lower'd sails denied. The wavering streamers, flags, and standard out,