Whom neither yawning gulfs of deep despair,
Nor scorching heats of burning line could scare;
Whom seas, nor storms, nor wrecks could make refrain
From propagating holy faith, and gain.
'If he but nod commissions out to kill,
But beckon lives of heretics to spill,
Let the inquisition rage, fresh cruelties
Make the dire engines groan with tortured cries:
Let Campo Flori every day be strewed
With the warm ashes of the Lutheran brood;
Repeat again Bohemian slaughters o'er,
And Piedmont valleys drown with floating gore
Swifter than murdering angels, when they fly
On errands of avenging destiny,
Fiercer than storms let loose, with eager haste
Lay cities, countries, realms, whole nature waste,
Sack, ravish, burn, destroy, slay, massacre,
Till the same grave their lives and names inter.
'These are the rights to our great Mufti due,
The sworn allegiance of your sacred vow.
What else we in our votaries require,
What other gift, next follows to enquire.
'And first it will our great advice befit,
What soldiers to your lists you ought admit.
To natives of the church, and faith, like you,
The foremost rank of choice is justly due:
'Mongst whom the chiefest place assign to those,
Whose zeal has mostly signalized the cause.
But let not entrance be to them denied,
Whoever shall desert the adverse side;
Omit no promises of wealth, or power,
That may inveigled heretics allure;
successful of all the Roman Catholic missionaries. The great scene of his labours was the East Indies and Japan. His zeal led him to contemplate the conversion of the Chinese; but he died on the voyage. He was the patron saint of the Queen of James II., and his aid was invoked when her majesty desired a son. In reference to this august occasion, his life by Bouhours was translated into English by Dryden.
