Suppose some great oppressor had by slight 710
  Of law, disseised your brother of his right,
  Your common sire surrendering in a fright;
  Would you to that unrighteous title stand,
  Left by the villain’s will to heir the land? 
  More just was Judas, who his Saviour sold;
  The sacrilegious bribe he could not hold,
  Nor hang in peace, before he render’d back the gold. 
  What more could you have done, than now you do,
  Had Oates and Bedlow, and their plot been true? 
  Some specious reasons for those wrongs were found; 720
  Their dire magicians threw their mists around,
  And wise men walk’d as on enchanted ground. 
  But now when time has made the imposture plain
  (Late though he follow’d truth, and limping held her train),
  What new delusion charms your cheated eyes again? 
  The painted harlot might a while bewitch,
  But why the hag uncased, and all obscene with itch?

   The first Reformers were a modest race;
  Our peers possess’d in peace their native place;
  And when rebellious arms o’erturn’d the state, 730
  They suffer’d only in the common fate: 
  But now the Sovereign mounts the regal chair,
  And mitred seats are full, yet David’s bench is bare. 
  Your answer is, they were not dispossess’d;
  They need but rub their metal on the test
  To prove their ore:  ’twere well if gold alone
  Were touch’d and tried on your discerning stone;
  But that unfaithful Test unsound will pass
  The dross of atheists, and sectarian brass: 
  As if the experiment were made to hold 740
  For base production, and reject the gold. 
  Thus men ungodded may to places rise,
  And sects may be preferr’d without disguise: 
  No danger to the Church or State from these;
  The Papist only has his writ of ease. 
  No gainful office gives him the pretence
  To grind the subject, or defraud the prince. 
  Wrong conscience, or no conscience, may deserve
  To thrive, but ours alone is privileged to starve. 
  Still thank yourselves, you cry; your noble race 750
  We banish not, but they forsake the place;
  Our doors are open:  true, but ere they come,
  You toss your ’censing Test, and fume the room;
  As if ’twere Toby’s[129] rival to expel,
  And fright the fiend who could not bear the smell.

    To this the Panther sharply had replied;
  But having gain’d a verdict on her side,
  She wisely gave the loser leave to chide;
  Well satisfied to have the But and Peace,
  And for the plaintiff’s cause she cared the less, 760
  Because she sued in forma pauperis;
  Yet thought it decent something should be said;
  For secret guilt by silence is betray’d. 
  So neither granted all, nor much denied,
  But answer’d with a yawning kind of pride: