For what he may be, with our heavy hope
To trust upon his soul. So, fold by fold,
Explore this mummy in the priestly cope
Transmitted through the darks of time, to catch
The man within the wrappage, and discern
How he, an honest man, upon the watch
Full fifty years, for what a man may learn,
Contrived to get just there; with what a snatch
Of old world oboli he had to earn
The passage through; with what a drowsy sop
To drench the busy barkings of his brain;
What ghosts of pale tradition, wreathed with hop
'Gainst wakeful thought, he had to entertain
For heavenly visions; and consent to stop
The clock at noon, and let the hour remain
(Without vain windings up) inviolate,
Against all chimings from the belfry. Lo!
From every given pope, you must abate,
Albeit you love him, some things-good, you know
Which every given heretic you hate
Claims for his own, as being plainly so.
A pope must hold by popes a little,—yes,
By councils,—from Nicæa up to Trent,—
By hierocratic empire, more or less
Irresponsible to men,-he must resent
Each man's particular conscience, and repress
Inquiry, meditation, argument,
As tyrants faction. Also, he must not
Love truth too dangerously, but prefer
"The interests of the Church," because a blot
Is better than a rent in miniver,—
Submit to see the people swallow hot
Husk-porridge which his chartered churchmen stir
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