to complete,
  When all her furry sons in frequent senate met;
  Meanwhile she quench’d her fury at the flood,
  And with a lenten salad cool’d her blood. 
  Their commons, though but coarse, were nothing scant,
  Nor did their minds an equal banquet want. 
  For now the Hind, whose noble nature strove 30
  To express her plain simplicity of love,
  Did all the honours of her house so well,
  No sharp debates disturb’d the friendly meal. 
  She turn’d the talk, avoiding that extreme,
  To common dangers past, a sadly-pleasing theme;
  Remembering every storm which toss’d the state,
  When both were objects of the public hate,
  And dropp’d a tear betwixt for her own children’s fate.

   Nor fail’d she then a full review to make
  Of what the Panther suffer’d for her sake:  40
  Her lost esteem, her truth, her loyal care,
  Her faith unshaken to an exiled heir,[120]
  Her strength to endure, her courage to defy;
  Her choice of honourable infamy. 
  On these, prolixly thankful, she enlarged;
  Then with acknowledgment herself she charged;
  For friendship, of itself an holy tie,
  Is made more sacred by adversity. 
  Now should they part, malicious tongues would say,
  They met like chance companions on the way, 50
  Whom mutual fear of robbers had possess’d;
  While danger lasted, kindness was profess’d;
  But that once o’er, the short-lived union ends;
  The road divides, and there divide the friends.

    The Panther nodded when her speech was done,
  And thank’d her coldly in a hollow tone: 
  But said her gratitude had gone too far
  For common offices of Christian care. 
  If to the lawful heir she had been true,
  She paid but Caesar what was Caesar’s due. 60
  I might, she added, with like praise describe
  Your suffering sons, and so return your bribe: 
  But incense from my hands is poorly prized;
  For gifts are scorn’d where givers are despised. 
  I served a turn, and then was cast away;
  You, like the gaudy fly, your wings display,
  And sip the sweets, and bask in your great patron’s day.

    This heard, the matron was not slow to find
  What sort of malady had seized her mind: 
  Disdain, with gnawing envy, fell despite, 70
  And canker’d malice stood in open sight: 
  Ambition, interest, pride without control,
  And jealousy, the jaundice of the soul;
  Revenge, the bloody minister of ill,
  With all the lean tormentors of the will. 
  ’Twas easy now to guess from whence arose
  Her new-made union with her ancient foes,
  Her forced civilities, her faint embrace,
  Affected kindness with an alter’d face: 
  Yet durst she not too deeply probe the wound, 80
  As hoping still the nobler parts were sound: 
  But strove with anodynes to assuage the smart,
  And mildly thus her medicine did impart.