See where she comes, with that high air and mein, Which marks, in bonds, the greatness of a queen. What pity 'tis!--but I no charms must see In her, who to our gods is enemy.---- Fair foe of heaven, whence comes this haughty pride, [_To her._ Or, is it frenzy does your mind misguide To scorn our worship, and new gods to find? _S. Cath._ Nor pride, nor frenzy, but a settled mind, Enlightened from above, my way does mark. _Max._ Though heaven be clear, the way to it is dark. _S. Cath._ But where our reason with our faith does go, We're both above enlightened, and below. But reason with your fond religion fights, For many gods are many infinites: This to the first philosophers was known, Who, under various names, adored but one; Though your vain poets, after, did mistake, Who every attribute a god did make; And so obscene their ceremonies be, As good men loath, and Cato blushed to see. _Max._ War is my province!--Priest, why stand you mute? You gain by heaven, and, therefore, should dispute. _Apol._ In all religions, as in ours, there are Some solid truths, and some things popular. The popular in pleasing fables lie; The truths, in precepts of morality. And these to human life are of that use, That no religion can such rules produce. _S. Cath._ Then let the whole dispute concluded be Betwixt these rules, and christianity. _Apol._ And what more noble can your doctrine preach, Than virtue, which philosophy does teach? To keep the passions in severest awe, To live to reason, nature's greatest law; To follow virtue, as its own reward; And good and ill, as things without regard. _S. Cath._ Yet few could follow those strict rules they gave; For human life will human frailties have; And love of virtue is but barren praise, Airy as fame; nor strong enough to raise The actions of the soul above the sense. Virtue grows cold without a recompence. We virtuous acts as duty do regard; Yet are permitted to expect reward. _Apol._ By how much more your faith reward assures, So much more frank our virtue is than yours. _S. Cath._ Blind men! you seek e'en those rewards you blame: But ours are solid; yours an empty name. Either to open praise your acts you guide, Or else reward yourselves with secret pride. _Apol._ Yet still our moral virtues you obey; Ours are the precepts, though applied your way. _S. Cath._ 'Tis true, your virtues are the same we teach; But in our practice they much higher reach. You but forbid to take another's due, But we forbid even to desire it too: Revenge of injuries you virtue call; But we forgiveness of our wrongs extol: Immodest deeds you hinder to be wrought, But we proscribe the least immodest thought. So much your virtues are in ours refined, That yours but reach the actions, ours the mind.