But when the imperial owner did espy,
  That thus they turn’d his grace to villany, 1230
  Not suffering wrath to discompose his mind,
  He strove a temper for the extremes to find,
  So to be just, as he might still be kind;
  Then, all maturely weigh’d, pronounced a doom
  Of sacred strength for every age to come. 
  By this the Doves their wealth and state possess,
  No rights infringed, but licence to oppress: 
  Such power have they as factious lawyers long
  To crowns ascribed, that Kings can do no wrong. 
  But since his own domestic birds have tried 1240
  The dire effects of their destructive pride,
  He deems that proof a measure to the rest,
  Concluding well within his kingly breast,
  His fowls of nature too unjustly were oppress’d. 
  He therefore makes all birds of every sect
  Free of his farm, with promise to respect
  Their several kinds alike, and equally protect. 
  His gracious edict the same franchise yields
  To all the wild increase of woods and fields,
  And who in rocks aloof, and who in steeples builds:  1250
  To Crows the like impartial grace affords,
  And Choughs and Daws, and such republic birds: 
  Secured with ample privilege to feed,
  Each has his district, and his bounds decreed;
  Combined in common interest with his own,
  But not to pass the Pigeon’s Rubicon.

    Here ends the reign of this pretended Dove;
  All prophecies accomplish’d from above,
  From Shiloh comes the sceptre to remove. 
  Reduced from her imperial high abode, 1260
  Like Dionysius to a private rod,
  The Passive Church, that with pretended grace
  Did her distinctive mark in duty place,
  Now touch’d, reviles her Maker to his face.

   What after happen’d is not hard to guess: 
  The small beginnings had a large increase,
  And arts and wealth succeed, the secret spoils of peace. 
  ’Tis said, the Doves repented, though too late,
  Become the smiths of their own foolish fate: 
  Nor did their owner hasten their ill hour; 1270
  But, sunk in credit, they decreased in power: 
  Like snows in warmth that mildly pass away,
  Dissolving in the silence of decay.

   The Buzzard, not content with equal place,
  Invites the feather’d Nimrods of his race;
  To hide the thinness of their flock from sight,
  And all together make a seeming goodly flight: 
  But each have separate interests of their own;
  Two Czars are one too many for a throne. 
  Nor can the usurper long abstain from food; 1280
  Already he has tasted Pigeons’ blood: 
  And may be tempted to his former fare,
  When this indulgent lord shall late to heaven repair. 
  Bare benting times, and moulting months