ABSALON AND ACHITOPHEL. A POEM.  
— Si Propius stes  
Te Capiet Magis—  
The Second Editon; Augmented and Revised.   

TO THE READER.  
'Tis not my intention to make an apology for my Poem: Some will think it needs no excuse: and others will receive none. The design, I am sure, is honest: but he who draws his Pen for one party, must expect to make enemies of the other. For, Wit and Fool are consequents of Whig and Tory; and every man is a Knave or an Ass to the contrary side. There's a treasury of Merits in the fanatic Church, as well as in the Papist; and a Pennyworth to be had of Saintship, Honesty, and Poetry, for the Loud, the Factious, and the Blockheads: But the longest Chapter in Deuteronomy has not Curses enough for an Anti- Bromingham. My comfort is, their manifest prejudice to my Cause, will render their judgement of less Authority against me. Yet if a Poem have a Genius, it will force its own reception in the World. For there's a sweetness in good Verse, which tickles even while it hurts: And, no man can be heartily angry with him, who pleases him against his will. The commendation of Adverversaries, is the greatest triumph of a Writer; because it never comes unless extorted. But I can be satisfied on more easy terms: If I happen to please the more moderate sort, I shall be sure of an honest party; and, in all probability, of the best Judges; for, the least concerned, are commonly the least corrupt: And I confess I have laid in for those, by rebating the Satire, (where Justice would allow it) from carrying too sharp an edge. They who can criticise so weakly, as to imagine I have done my worst, may be convinced at their own cost, that I can write severely, with more ease than I can gently. I have but laughed at some men's Follies, when I could have declaimed against their Vices; and other men's Virtues I have commended, as freely as I have taxed their Crimes. And now, if you are a malicious Reader, I expect you should return upon me, that I affect to be thought more impartial than I am. But if men are not to be judged by their Professions, God forgive you Commonwealths-men, for professing so plausibly for the Government. You cannot be so unconscionable, as to charge me for not subscribing of my name; for that would reflect too grossly upon your own party, who never dare, though they have the advantage of a Jury to secure them  
If you like not my Poem, the fault may possibly be in my writing (though 'tis hard for an Author to judge against himself;) But, more probably, 'tis in your Morals, which cannot bear the truth of it. The violent, on both sides, will condemn the character of Absalon, as either too favourably, or too hardly drawn. But they are not the violent whom I desire to please; The fault, on the right hand, is to Extenuate, Palliate and Indulge; and, to confess freely, I have endeavoured to commit it. Besides the respect which I owe his Birth, I have a greater for his Heroic Virtues; and David himself could not be more tender of the Young man's Life, than I would be of his Reputation. But, since the most excellent Natures are always the most easy; and, as being such, are the soon perverted by ill Counsels, especially when baited with Fame and Glory; 'tis no more a wonder that he withstood not the temptation of Achitophel, than it was for Adam not to have resisted the two Devils, the Serpent and the Woman. The conclusion of the Story I purposely forbore to prosecute, because I could not obtain from myself to show Absalon unfortunate. The Frame of it was cut out but for a Picture to the waist; and if the Draught be so far true, 'tis as much as I designed.  
Were I the Inventor, who am only the Historian, I should certainly conclude the Piece with the reconcilement of Absalon to David; And who knows but this may come to pass? Things were not brought to an extremity where I left the Story; there seems yet to be room left for a Composure, hereafter there may only be for Pity. I have not so much as an uncharitable wish against Achitophel, but am content to be accused of a good natured Error; and, to hope with Origen, that the Devil himself may at last be saved. For which reason, in this Poem, he is neither brought to set his House in order, nor to dispose of his Person afterwards, as he in wisdom shall think sit. God is infinitely merciful, and his Vicegerent is only not so, because he is not Infinite.  
The true end of Satire, is the amendment of Vices by correction; And he who writes honestly, is no more an enemy to the Offender, than the Physician to the Patient, when he prescribes harsh Remedies to an inveterate Disease; for those are only in order to prevent the Surgeon's work of an Ense Rescindendum, which I wish not to my very enemies. To conclude all, If the Body Politic have any Analogy to the Natural, in my weak judgement, an Act of Oblivion were as necessary in a Hot, distempered State, as an Opiate would be in a raging Fever.   

To the unknown Author of this Admirable Poem.  

I Thought, forgive my sin, the boasted fire  
Of Poet's Souls did long ago expire;  
Of Folly or of Madness did accuse  
The Wretch that thought himself possessed with Muse;  
Laughed at the God within, that did inspire  
With more than humane thoughts, the tuneful Choir;  
But sure 'tis more than Fancy or the Dream  
Of Rhimers slumbering by the Muse's stream.  
Some livelier spark of Heaven, and more refined  
From earthly dross, fills the great Poet's mind.  
Witness these mighty and immortal lines,  
Thro each of which th' informing Genius shines.  
Scarce a Diviner flame inspired the King,  
Of whom thy Muse does so sublimely sing.  
Not David's Self could in a Nobler Verse  
His gloriously offending Son rehearse,  
Tho in his Breast the Prophet's fury met,  
The Father's Fondness, and the Poet's Wit.   

Here all consent in Wonder and in Praise,  
And to the unknown Poet Altars raise.  
Which thou must needs accept with equal joy,  
As when Aeoenas heard the Wars of Troy;  
Wrapped up himself in darkness and unseen,  
Extolled with Wonder by the Tyrian Queen.  
Sure thou already art secure of Fame;  
Nor want'st new Glories to exalt thy Name:  
What Father else would have refused to own  
So great a Son as Godlike Absalon?    

To the unknown Author of this Excellent Poem.  

TAke it as earnest of a Faith renewed,  
Your Theme is vast, your Verse divinely good;  
Where though the Nine their beauteous strokes repeat,  
And the turned lines on golden Anvils beat,  
It looks as if they struck 'em at a heat.  
So all serenely great, so just, refined,  
Like Angels love to humane seed inclined,  
It starts a Giant, and exalts the kind.  
'Tis spirit seen, whose fiery Atoms roll  
So brightly fierce, each syllable's a Soul:  
'tis minature of man, but he's all heart;  
'tis what the World would be, but wants the art.  
To whom even the fanatics Altars raise,  
Bow in their own despite, and grin your praise.  
As if a Milton from the dead arose,  
Filled off his rust, and the right party chose.  
Nor, Sir, be shocked at what the gloomy say,  
Turn not your feet too inward nor too splay;  
'Tis gracious all, and great; push on your Theme,  
Lean your grieved head on David's Diadem;  
David, that Rebel Israel's envy moved,  
David, by God, and all good men beloved.   

The Beauties of your Absalon excel,  
But more the Charms of Charming Annabel;  
Of Annabel, than May's first morn, more bright;  
Cheerful as Summer's Noon, and chaste as Winter's Night.  
Of Annabel, the Muse's dearest Theme,  
Of Annabel, the Angel of my dream.  
Thus let a broken Eloquence attend,  
And to your Masterpiece these shadows send.    

ABSALON and ACHITOPHEL.  
A POEM  

IN pious times, e'er Priest-Craft did begin,  
Before Polygamy was made a sin;  
When Man, on many, multiplied his kind,  
E'er one to one was, cursedly, confined;  
When Nature prompted, & no law denied  
Promiscuous Use of Concubine and Bride;  
Then, Israel's Monarch, after Heavens own heart,  
His vigorous warmth did, variously, impart  
To Wives and Slaves; And, wide as his Command,  
Scattered his Maker's Image through the Land.  
Michal, of Royal blood, the Crown did wear;  
A Soil ungrateful to the Tiller's care;  
Not so the rest; for several Mothers bore  
To Godlike David several Sons before.  
But since like slaves his bed they did ascend,  
No True Succession could their seed attend.  
Of all this Numerous Progeny was none  
So beautiful so brave as Absalon:  
Whether, inspired by some diviner Lust,  
His Father got him with a greater Gust;  
Or that his Conscious destiny made way,  
By manly beauty to Imperial sway.  
Early in Foreign fields he won Renown  
With Kings and States allied to Israel's Crown;  
In Peace the thoughts of War he could remove,  
And seemed as he were only born for love.  
What e'er he did, was done with so much ease,  
In him alone, 'twas Natural to please  
His motions all accompanied with grace;  
And Paradise was opened in his face.  
With secret Joy, indulgent David viewed  
His Youthful Image in his Son renewed:  
To all his wishes Nothing he denied;  
〈…〉  
What faults he had (for who from faults is free?  
His Father could not, or he would not see.  
Some warm excesses, which the Law forbore,  
Were construed Youth that purged by boiling o'er;  
And Amnon's Murder, by a specious Name,  
Was called a Just Revenge for injured Fame.  
Thus Praised, and Loved, the Noble Youth remained,  
While David, undisturbed in Zion reigned.  
But Life can never be sincerely blest;  
Heaven punishes the bad, and proves the best.  
The jews, a Headstrong, Moody, Murmuring race,  
As ever tried th' extent and stretch of grace;  
God's pampered people whom, debauched with ease,  
No King could govern, nor no God could please;  
(Gods they tried of every shape and size  
That God-smiths could produce, or Priests devise;)  
These Adam-wits, too fortunately free,  
Began to dream they wanted liberty;  
And when no rule, no precedent was found  
Of men, by Laws less circumscribed and bound;  
They led their wild desires to woods and Caves;  
And thought that all but Savages were Slaves.  
They who, when Saul was dead, without a blow,  
Made foolish Isbosheth the Crown forgo;  
Who banished David did from Hebron bring,  
And, with a General Shout, Proclaimed him King:  
Those very jews, who, at their very best,  
Their Humour more than Loyalty expressed,  
Now, wondered why, so long, they had obeyed  
An Idol-Monarch which their hands had made,  
Thought they might ruin him they could create;  
Or melt him to that Golden Calf, a State.  
But these were random bolts, No formed Design,  
Nor Interest made the Factious Crowd to join:  
The sober part of Israel, free from stain,  
Well knew the value of a peaceful reign:  
And, looking backward with a wise affright,  
Saw Seams of wounds, dishonest to the sight:  
In contemplation of whose ugly Scars,  
They Cursed the memory of Civil Wars.  
The moderate sort of men, thus qualified,  
Inclined the Balance to the better side:  
And, David's mildness managed it so well,  
The Bad found no occasion to rebel.  
But, when to Sin our biased Nature leans,  
The careful Devil is still at hand with means,  
And providently pimps for ill desires:  
The good Old Cause revived, a Plot requires.  
Plots, true or false, are necessary things,  
To raise up Commonwealths, and ruin Kings.  
Th' Inhabitants of old jerusalem  
Were jebusites, the Town so called from them;  
And their's the Native Right—  
But when the chosen people grew more strong,  
The rightful Cause at length became the wrong:  
And every loss the men of jebus bore,  
They still were thought God's enemies the more:  
Thus, worn and weakened, well or ill content,  
Submit they must to David's Government:  
Impoverished, and deprived of all Command,  
Their Taxes doubled as they lost their Land;  
And, what was harder yet to flesh and blood,  
Their Gods disgraced and burnt like common wood:  
This set the Heathen Priesthood in a flame;  
For Priests of all Religions are the same:  
Of whatsoever descent their Godhead be,  
Stock, Stone, or other homely Pedigree,  
In his defence his Servants are as bold,  
As if he had been born of beaten Gold.  
The jewish Rabbins though their enemies,  
In this conclude them honest men and wise.  
For 'twas their duty, all the Learned think,  
T' espouse his Cause by whom they eat and drink.  
From hence began that Plot, the Nation's curse,  
Bad in itself, but represented worse.  
Raised in extremes, and in extremes decried;  
With Oaths affirmed, with dying Vows denied.  
Not weighed, or winnowed by the multitude;  
But swallowed in the mass, unchewed and crude.  
Some Truth there was, but dashed and brewed with Lies;  
To please the Fools, and puzzle all the Wise,  
Succeeding times did equal folly call,  
Believing nothing, or believing all,  
Th' Egyptian Rites the Jebusites embraced;  
Where Gods were recommended by their taste.  
〈…〉 must needs be good,  
〈…〉 once for Worship and for Food.  
〈…〉 could not introduce these Gods;  
〈…〉, in former days was odds.  
So Fraud was used, (the Sacrificers trade,)  
Fools are more hard to conquer than persuade.  
Their busy Teachers mingled with the jews;  
And raked, for Converts, even the Court and Stews:  
Which Hebrew Priests the more unkindly took,  
Because the Fleece accompanies the Flock.  
Some thought they God's Anointed meant to slay  
By Guns, invented since full many a day.  
Our Author swears it not; but who can know  
How far the Devil and jebusites may go?  
This Plot, which failed for want of common sense,  
Had yet a deep and dangerous consequence:  
For, as when raging Fevers boil the blood,  
The standing Lake soon floats into a flood;  
And every hostile humour, which before  
Slept quiet in its Channels, bubbles o'er;  
So, several Factions 〈…〉 Ferment,  
Work up to 〈…〉.  
Some by their friends, 〈…〉 thought wise,  
Opposed the power, to 〈…〉 not rise.  
Some had in Courts 〈…〉 from thence,  
Like Fiends, were 〈…〉  
Some, by their 〈…〉 grown,  
From pardoned 〈…〉 Throne;  
Were raised in 〈…〉  
Strong Bands, if 〈…〉 tie.  
Of these the 〈…〉  
A Name to 〈…〉  
For close 〈…〉  
Sagacious, Bold, and 〈…〉  
Restless, unfixt in Principle and Place;  
In Power unpleased, impatient of Disgrace.  
A fiery Soul, which working out its way,  
Fretted the Pigmy-Body to decay;  
And o'er informed the Tenement of Clay.  
A daring Pilot in extremity;  
Pleased with the Danger, when the Waves went high  
He sought the Storms; but for a Calm unfit,  
Would Steer to nigh the Sands, to boast his Wit,  
Great Wits are sure to Madness near allied;  
And thin Partitions do their Bounds divide:  
Else, why should he, with Wealth and Honour blest,  
Refuse his Age the needful hours of rest?  
Punish a Body which he could not please;  
Bankrupt of Life, yet Prodigal of ease?  
And all to leave, what with his Toil he won,  
To that unfeathered, two legged thing, a Son:  
God, while his Soul did huddled Notions try;  
And born a shapeless Lump, like Anarchy.  
In friendship false, implacable in hate:  
Resolved to ruin, or to Rule the State.  
To compass this, the Triple Bond he broke;  
The Pillars of the public Safety shook:  
And fitted Israel for a Foreign Yoke.  
Then, seized with Fear, yet still affecting Fame,  
Usurped a Patriot's All-atoning Name.  
So easy still it proves in factious times,  
With public Zeal to cancel private crimes:  
How safe is Treason, and how sacred ill,  
Where none can sin against the people's will:  
Where Crowds can wink; and no offence be known,  
Since in another's guilt they find their own.  
Yet, Fame deserved, no Enemy can grudge;  
The Statesman we abhor, but praise the Judge.  
In Israel's Courts ne'er sat an Abbethdin  
With more discerning eyes, or hands more clean:  
Unbribed, unsought, the Wretched to redress;  
Swift of Dispatch, and easy of Access.  
Oh, had he been content to serve the Crown,  
With virtues only proper to the Gown;  
Or, had the rankness of the Soil been freed  
From Cockle, that oppressed the Noble seed:  
David, for him his tuneful Harp had strung,  
And Heaven had wanted one Immortal song.  
But wild Ambition loves to slide, not stand;  
And Fortune's Ice prefers to Virtue's Land:  
Achitophel, grown weary to possess  
A lawful Fame, and lazy Happiness;  
Disdained the Golden Fruit to gather free,  
And lent the Crowd his Arm to shake the Tree.  
Now, manifest of Crimes, contrived long since,  
He stood at bold Defiance with his Prince:  
Held up the Buckler of the people's Cause,  
Against the Crown; and skulked behind the Laws.  
The wished occasion of the Plot he takes;  
Some circumstances finds, but more he makes.  
By buzzing Emissaries, fills the ears  
Of listening Crowds, with jealousies and fears  
Of Arbitrary Counsels brought to light,  
And proves the King himself a jebusite:  
Weak Arguments! which yet he knew full well,  
Were strong with People easy to Rebel.  
For, governed by the Moon, the giddy jews  
Tread the same tract when she the Prime renews:  
And once in twenty years, their Scribes Record,  
By natural Instinct they change their Lord.  
Achitophel still wants a Chief, and none  
Was found so fit as Warlike Absalon:  
Not, that he wished his Greatness to create,  
(For politicians neither love nor hate:)  
But, for he knew, his Title not allowed,  
Would keep him still depending on the Crowd,  
That Kingly power, thus ebbing out, might be  
Drawn to the dregs of a Democracy.  
Him he attempts, with studied Arts to please.  
And sheds his Venom, in such words as these  
Auspicious Prince! at whose Nativity  
Some Royal Planet ruled the Southern Sky;  
Thy longing Country's Darling and Desire;  
Their cloudy Pillar, and their guardian Fire:  
Their second Moses, whose extended Wand  
Divides the Seas, and shows the promised Land:  
Whose dawning Day, in every distant age,  
Has exercised the Sacred Prophet's rage:  
The people's Prayer, the glad Diviners Theme,  
The young men's Vision, and the old men's Dream!  
Thee, Saviour, Thee, the Nations Vows confess;  
And, never satisfied with seeing, bless:  
Swift, unbespoken Pomps, thy steps proclaim,  
And stammering Babes are taught to lisp thy Name.  
How long wilt thou the general Joy detain;  
Starve, and defraud the people of thy Reign?  
Content ingloriously to pass thy days  
Like one of Virtue's Fools that feeds on praise;  
Till thy fresh Glories, which now shine so bright,  
Grow stale and tarnish with our daily sight.  
Believe me, Royal Youth, thy Fruit must be,  
Or gathered ripe, or rot upon the Tree.  
Heaven, has to all allotted, soon or late,  
Some lucky Revolution of their Fate:  
Whose motions, if we watch and guide with skill,  
(For humane good depends on humane Will,)  
Our Fortune rolls, as from a smooth descent,  
And, from the first Impression, takes the bent:  
But, if unseized, she glides away like wind;  
And leaves repenting Folly far behind.  
Now, now she meets you, with a glorious prize,  
And spreads her Locks before her as she flies.  
Had thus old David, from whose Loins you spring,  
Not dared, when Fortune called him, to be King,  
At Gath an Exile he might still remain,  
And Heavens Anointing Oil had been in vain.  
Let his successful Youth your hopes engage;  
But eat th' example of Declining Age:  
Behold him setting in his Western Skies,  
The Shadows lengthening as the Vapours rise.  
He is not now, as when on Jordan's sand  
The joyful People thronged to see him Land,  
Covering the Beach, and blackening all the Strand  
But, like the Prince of Angels from his height,  
Comes tumbling downward with diminished light;  
Betrayed by one poor Plot to public Scorn,  
(Our only blessing since his cursed Return.)  
Those heaps of people which one Sheaf did bind,  
Blown off, and scattered by a puss of wind:  
What strength can he to your designs oppose,  
Naked of Friends, and round beset with Foes?  
If Pharaoh's doubtful Succour he should use,  
A Foreign Aid would more incense the jews:  
Proudly Egypt would dissembled Friendship bring;  
Foment the War, but not support the King:  
Nor would the Royal Party e'er unite  
With Pharoah's Arms, t'assist the jebusite;  
Or if they should, their Interest soon would break,  
And, with such odious Aid, make David weak.  
All sorts of men, by my successful Arts,  
abhoring Kings, estrange their altered Hearts  
〈…〉 And 'tis the general Cry,  
Religion, Commonwealth, and Liberty:  
〈…〉 Champion of the public Good,  
Add to their Arms a Chief of Royal Blood;  
〈…〉 hope, and what applause  
〈…〉 gain by such a cause?  
Not barren Praise alone, that gaudy Flower,  
〈…〉 but solid Power:  
And Nobler limited command,  
Giv'n by Love of all your native Land,  
〈…〉 title, long, and dark,  
Drawn from the mouldy Rolls of Noah's Ark.  
What cannot praise effect in mighty Minds,  
When Flattery Sooths, and when Ambition blinds!  
Desire of Power, on earth a vicious weed,  
〈…〉 from High, is of Celestial seed:  
〈…〉 And when men aspire,  
〈…〉 too much of Heavenly Fire.  
〈…〉 too covetous of Fame,  
Too full of Angel's Metal in his frame;  
Unwarily was led from Virtue's ways;  
Made drunk with Honour, and debauched with praise.  
Half loath, and half consenting to the ill,  
(For Loyal Blood within him struggled still)  
He thus replied— And what pretence have I  
To take up Arms for public liberty?  
My Father Governs with unquestioned right;  
The Faith's Defender, and mankind's delight:  
Good, gracious, just, observant of the Laws;  
And Heaven by wonder has espoused his cause.  
Whom has he wronged in all his Peaceful Reign?  
Who sues for Justice to his Throne in vain?  
What millions has he pardoned of his Foes,  
Whom just revenge did to his wrath expose?  
Mild, easy, humble, studious of our good;  
Inclined to mercy, and averse from blood;  
If mildness ill with stubborn Israel suit,  
His crime is God's beloved Attribute.  
What could he gain, his people to betray,  
Or change his right, for arbitrary sway?  
Let haughty Pharaoh curse with such a Reign,  
His fruitful Nile, and yoke a servile Train.  
If David's Rule jerusalem displease,  
The Dog-star heats their brains to this disease.  
Why then should I, encouraging the bad,  
Turn Rebel, and run popularly mad?  
Were he a Tyrant who, by lawless Might,  
Oppressed the Jews, and raised the jebusite,  
Well might I mourn; but Nature's holy bands  
Would curb my spirits, and restrain my hand:  
The people might assert their liberty;  
But what was right in them, were crime in me.  
His favour leaves me nothing to require;  
Prevents my wishes, and outruns desire.  
What more can I expect while David lives?  
All but his Kingly Diadem he gives;  
And that: But there he paused; then sighing, said,  
Is Justly destined for a worthier Head.  
For when my Father from his toils shall rest,  
And late augment the number of the blessed:  
〈…〉 shall the Throne ascend;  
Of the Collateral Line where that shall end.  
His Brother, though oppressed with vulgar spite,  
Yet dauntless and secure of native right,  
Of every Royal Virtue stands possessed;  
Still Dear to all the Bravest, and the Best.  
His Courage Foes, his Friends his Truth Proclaim;  
His Loyalty the King, the World his Fame.  
His mercy even th'offending Crowd will find;  
For sure he comes of a forgiving kind.  
Why should I then repine at Heaven's decree;  
Which gives me no pretence to Royalty?  
Yet oh that Fate, propitiously inclined,  
Had raised my Birth, or had debased my mind;  
To my large Soul, not all her treasure lent,  
And then betrayed it to a mean Descent.  
I find, I find my mounting spirits bold,  
And David's part disdains my Mother's mould.  
Why am I scanted by a niggard Birth?  
My Soul disclaims the kindred of her Earth:  
And made for Empire, whispers me within;  
Desire of Greatness is a Godlike sin.  
Him staggering so when Hells dire Agent found,  
While fainting Virtue scarce maintained her ground,  
He pours fresh Forces in, and thus replies:  
Th' Eternal God, supremely good and wise,  
Imparts not these prodigious Gifts in vain;  
What wonders are reserved to bless your Reign?  
Against your will your Arguments have shown,  
Such virtue's only given to guide a Throne.  
Not that your Father's mildness I condemn?  
But manly force becomes the Diadem.  
'Tis true, he grants the people all they crave;  
And more perhaps than Subjects ought to have:  
For lavish grants suppose a Monarch tame,  
And more his Goodness than his Wit proclaim.  
But when should people strive their Bonds to break,  
If not when Kings are negligent or weak?  
Let him give on till he can give no more,  
The thrifty Sanhedrin shall keep him poor:  
And every shekel which he can receive,  
Shall cost a limb of his Prerogative.  
To ply him with new Plots, shall be my care;  
Or plunge him deep in some expensive war;  
Which, when his Treasure can no more supply,  
He must, with the remains of Kingship, buy.  
His faithful Friends, our jealousies and fears,  
Call jebusites; and Pharaoh's Pensioners:  
Whom, when our fury from his aid has torn,  
He shall be naked left to public scorn.  
The next Successor, whom I fear and hate,  
My arts have made obnoxious to the State;  
Turned all his Virtues to his overthrow,  
And gained our Elders to pronounce a foe.  
His Right, for sums of necessary Gold,  
Shall first be pawned, and afterwards be sold:  
Till time shall ever-wanting David draw,  
To pass your doubtful Title into Law:  
If not; the people have a Right supreme  
To make their Kings; for Kings are made for them.  
All Empire is no more than Power in trust:  
Which when resumed, can be no longer just.  
Succession, for the general good designed,  
In its own wrong a Nation cannot bind:  
If altering that, the people can relieve,  
Better one suffer, than a Nation grieve.  
The jews well knew their power: e'er Saul they chose,  
God was their King, and God they durst depose.  
Urge now your Piety, your Filial Name,  
A Father's right, and fear of future Fame;  
The public good, that universal call,  
To which even Heaven submitted, answers all.  
Nor let his Love enchant your generous mind;  
'tis Nature's trick to propagate her kind.  
Our fond Begetters, who would never die,  
Love but themselves in their posterity.  
Or let his kindness by th' effects be tried,  
Or let him lay his vain pretence aside.  
God said he loved your Father; could he bring  
A better proof, than to Anoint him King?  
It surely showed he loved the Shepherd well,  
Who gave so fair a Flock as Israel.  
Would David have you thought his Darling Son?  
What means he then, to Alienate the Crown?  
The name of Godly he may blush to bear:  
'Tis after God's own heart to cheat his Heir.  
He to his Brother gives Supreme Command;  
To you a Legacy of Barren Land:  
Perhaps th'old Harp, on which he thrums his Lays:  
Or some dull Hebrew Ballad in your praise.  
Then the next Heir, a Prince, severe and wise,  
Already looks on you with jealous eyes;  
Sees through the thin disguises of your arts,  
And marks your progress in the people's hearts.  
Though now his mighty Soul its grief contains;  
He meditates revenge who least complains.  
And like a Lion, slumbering in the way,  
Or sleep-dissembling, while he waits his prey,  
His fearless Foes within his distance draws;  
Constrains his roaring, and contracts his paws:  
Till at the last, his time for fury found,  
He shoots with sudden vengeance from the ground:  
The prostrate Vulgar, passes o'er, and spares;  
But with a Lordly rage, his Hunter's tears.  
Your case no tame expedients will afford;  
Resolve on death, or conquest by the Sword,  
Which for no less a Stake than Life, you draw;  
And Self-defence is Nature's eldest Law.  
Leave the warm people no considering time;  
For then Rebellion may be thought a crime.  
Prevail yourself of what occasion gives,  
But try your Title while your Father lives:  
And that your Arms may have a fair pretence,  
Proclaim, you take them in the King's defence:  
Whose sacred Life each minute would expose,  
To Plots, from seeming friends, and secret foes.  
And who can sound the depth of David's Soul?  
Perhaps his fear, his kindness may control.  
He fears his Brother, though he loves his Son,  
For plighted Vows too late to be undone.  
If so, by force he wishes to be gained;  
Like women's lechery to seem constrained:  
Doubt not; but when he most affects the Frown;  
Commit a pleasing Rape upon the Crown.  
Secure his Person to secure your Cause;  
They who possess the Prince, possess the Laws.  
He said, and this Advice above the rest,  
With Absalom's mild nature suited best;  
Unblamed of Life (Ambition set aside,)  
Not stained with cruelty, nor puffed with pride.  
How happy had he been, if destiny  
Had higher placed his Birth, or not so high!  
His Kingly Virtues might have claimed a Throne;  
And blest all other Country's but his own:  
But charming Greatness, since so few refuse;  
'Tis juster to lament him, than accuse.  
Strong were his hopes a Rival to remove,  
With blandishments to gain the public love;  
To head the Faction while their Zeal was hot,  
And popularly prosecute the Plot.  
To farther this, Achitophel unites  
The malcontents of all the Israelites:  
Whose differing Parties he could wisely join,  
For several ends, to serve the same design.  
The best, and of the Princes some were such,  
Who thought the power of Monarchy too much:  
Mistaken men, and Patriots in their hearts;  
Not wicked, but seduced by impious arts.  
By these the springs of Property were bend,  
And would so high, they cracked the Government.  
The next for Interest sought t'embroil the State,  
To sell their duty at a dearer rate;  
And make their jewish Markets of the Throne:  
Pretending public good, to serve their own.  
Others thought Kings an useless heavy load,  
Who cost too much, and did too little good.  
These were for laying honest David by,  
On Principles of pure good Husbandry.  
With them joined all th' Haranguers of the throng,  
That thought to get Preferment by the tongue.  
Who follow next, a double danger bring,  
Not only hating David, but the King,  
The Solymaean Rout; well versed of old,  
In godly Faction, and in Treason bold;  
Cowering and quaking at a Conqu'ror's sword,  
But lofty to a Lawful Prince restored;  
Saw with disdain an Ethnic Plot begun,  
And scorned by jebusites to be outdone.  
Hot Levites headed these; who pulled before  
From th' Ark, which in the Judge's days they bore,  
Resumed their Cant, and with a zealous cry  
Pursued their old belov'd Theocracy.  
Where Sanhedrin and Priest enslaved the Nation,  
And justified their spoils by inspiration:  
For who so fit for Reign as Aaron's Race,  
If once Dominion they could found in Grace?  
These led the Pack; the not of surest scent,  
Yet deepest mouthed against the Government.  
A numerous Host of dreaming Saints succeed;  
Of the true old Enthusiastic breed:  
Against form and order they their Power employ;  
Nothing to build, and all things to destroy.  
But far more numerous was the herd of such,  
Who think too little, and who talk too much.  
These, out of mere instinct, they knew not why,  
Adored their Father's God, and Property:  
And, by the same blind benefit of Fate,  
The Devil and the Jebusite did hate:  
Born to be saved, even in their own despite;  
Because they could not help believing right.  
Such were the tools; but a whole Hydra more  
Remains, of sprouting heads too long, to score.  
Some of their Chiefs were Princes of the Land:  
In the first rank of these did Zimri stand:  
A man so various, that he seemed to be  
Not one, but all mankind's epitome.  
Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong;  
Was every thing by starts, and nothing long:  
But, in the course of one revolving Moon,  
Was Chemist, Fidler, Statesman, and Buffoon:  
Then all for Women, Painting, Rhyming, Drinking;  
Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking.  
Blessed Madman, who could every hour employ,  
With something new to wish, or to enjoy!  
Railing and praising were his usual themes,  
And both (to show his judgement) in extremes:  
So over-violent, or over-civil,  
That every man, with him, was God or Devil.  
In squandring wealth was his peculiar art:  
Nothing went unrewarded, but desert.  
Beggared by fools, whom still he found too late:  
He had his Jest, and they had his Estate.  
He laughed himself from Court; then sought relief  
By forming parties, but could ne'er be Chief:  
For, spite of him, the weight of business fell  
On Absalon and wise Achitophel:  
Thus, wicked but in will, of means bereft,  
He left not Faction, but of that was left.  
Titles and Names 'twere tedious to rehearse  
Of Lords, below the dignity of Verse.  
Wits, Warriors, Common-wealthsmen, were the best:  
Kind Husbands and mere Nobles all the rest.  
And, therefore in the name of dulness, be  
The well hung Balaam, and cold Caleb free.  
And canting Nadab let oblivion damn,  
Who made new Porridge for the Paschal Lamb.  
Let friendships holy band, some names assure:  
Some their own worth, and some let scorn secure.  
Nor shall the Rascal Rabble here have place,  
Whom Kings no Titles gave, and God no Grace:  
Not bull-faced jonas, who could Statutes draw  
To mean Rebellion, and make Treason Law.  
But he though bad, is followed by a worse,  
The wretch, who heavens Anointed dared to curse.  
Shimei, whose youth did early promise bring  
Of zeal to God, and hatred to his King;  
Did wisely from expensive sins refrain,  
And never broke the Sabbath, but for gain:  
Nor ever was he known an Oath to vent,  
Or curse, unless against the Government.  
Thus heaping wealth by the most ready way  
Among the Jews, which was to cheat and pray;  
The City, to reward his pious Hate  
Against his Master, chose him Magistrate:  
His hand a Vare of Justice did uphold;  
His Neck was loaded with a Chain of Gold.  
During his Office, Treason was no Crime;  
The Sons of Belial had a glorious Time:  
For Shimei, though not prodigal of pelf,  
Yet loved his wicked Neighbour as himself:  
When to or three were gathered to declaim  
Against the Monarch of jerusalem,  
Shimei was always in the midst of them.  
And, if they Cursed the King when he was by,  
Would rather Curse, than break good Company.  
If any durst his Factious Friends accuse,  
He pact a Jury of dissenting jews:  
Whose fellow-feeling, in the godly Cause,  
Would free the suffering Saint from humane Laws.  
For Laws are only made to punish those,  
Who serve the King, and to protect his Foes.  
If any leisure time he had from Power,  
(Because 'tis Sin to misimploy an hour;)  
His business was, by writing, to Persuade,  
That Kings were Useless, and a Clog to Trade:  
And, that his noble Style he might refine,  
No Rechabite more shunned the fumes of Wine.  
chaste were his Cellars; and his Shrieval Board  
The Grossness of a City Feast abhorred:  
His Cooks, with long disuse, their Trade forgot;  
Cool was his Kitchen; though his Brains were hot.  
Such frugal Virtue Malice may accuse;  
But sure 'twas necessary to the jews:  
For Towns one burnt, such Magistrates require  
As dare not tempt God's Providence by fire.  
With spiritual food he fed his servants well,  
But free from flesh that made the Jews Rebel:  
And Moses' Laws he held in more account,  
For forty days of Fasting in the Mount.  
To speak the rest, who better are forgot,  
Would tire a well breathed Witness of the Plot:  
Yet, Corah, thou shalt from oblivion pass;  
Erect thyself thou Monumental Brass:  
High as the Serpent of thy metal made,  
While Nations stand secure beneath thy shade.  
What though his Birth were base, yet Comets rise  
From earthy vapours ere they shine in Skies.  
Prodigious Actions may as well be done  
By Weaver's Issue, as by Princes Son.  
This Arch-Attestor for the public good,  
By that one Deed Ennobles all his Blood.  
Who ever asked the Witnesses high race,  
Whose Oath with Martyrdom did Stephen grace?  
Ours was a Levite, and as times went then,  
His Tribe were Godalmighty's Gentlemen.  
Sunk were his eyes, his voice was harsh and loud,  
Sure signs he neither choleric was, nor proud:  
His long chin proved his wit; his Saintlike grace  
A Church Vermilion, and a Moses's face;  
His memory, miraculously great,  
Could Plots, exceeding man's belief, repeat;  
Which, therefore cannot be accounted lies,  
For humane wit could never such devise.  
Some future Truths are mingled in his Book;  
But, where the witness failed, the Prophet spoke:  
Some things like visionary slights appear;  
The Spirit caught him up, the Lord knows where:  
And gave him his Rabinical degree  
Unknown to Foreign University.  
His judgement yet his memory did excel;  
Which pieced his wondrous Evidence so well:  
And suited to the temper of the times;  
Then groaning under Jebusitick crimes.  
Let Israel, foes suspect his heavenly call,  
And rashly judge his wit Apocryphal;  
Our Laws for such affronts have forfeits made:  
He takes his life, who takes away his trade.  
Were I my sel● in witness Corahs' place,  
The wretch who did me such a dire disgrace,  
Should whet my memory, though once forgot,  
To make him an Appendix of my Plot.  
His zeal to Heaven, made him his Prince despise,  
And load his person with indignities:  
But zeal peculiar privilege affords;  
Indulging latitude to deeds and words.  
And Corah might for Agag's murder call,  
In terms as course as Samuel used to Saul.  
What others in his Evidence did join,  
(The best that could be had for love or coin,)  
In Corah's own predicament will fall:  
For witness is a common name to all.  
Surrounded thus with friends of every sort,  
Deluded Absalon, forsakes the Court:  
Impatient of high hopes, urged with renown:  
And fired with near possession of a Crown,  
Th' admiring Crowd are dazzled with Surprise,  
And on his goodly person feed their eyes:  
His Joy Concealed, he sets himself to show:  
On each side bowing popularly low:  
His looks, his gestures, and his words he frams,  
And with familiar ease repeats their Names.  
Thus, formed by Nature, furnished out with Arts,  
He glides unfelt into their secret hearts:  
Then, with a kind compassionating look,  
And sighs, bespeaking pity e'er he spoke:  
Few words he said; but easy those and fit:  
More slow than Hybla drops, and far more sweet.  
I mourn, my Countrymen, your lost Estate;  
Tho far unable to prevent your fate:  
Behold a Banished man, for your dear cause  
Exposed a prey to Arbitrary Laws!  
Yet oh! that I alone could be undone,  
Cut of from Empire, and no more a Son!  
Now all your Liberties a spoil are made;  
Egypt and Tyrus intercept your Trade,  
And jebusites your Sacred Rites invade.  
My Father, whom with reverence yet I Name,  
Charmed into Ease, is careless of his Fame:  
And, bribed with petty sums of Foreign Gold,  
Is grown in Batsheba's Embraces old:  
Exalts his Enemies, his Friends destroys:  
And all his power against himself employs.  
He gives, and let him give my right away:  
But why should he his own, and yours betray?  
He only, he can make the Nation bleed,  
And he alone from my revenge is freed.  
Take then my tears (with that he wiped his Eyes)  
'tis all the Aid my present power supplies:  
No Court Informer can these Arms accuse;  
These Arms may Sons against their Father's use,  
And, 'tis my wish, the next Successor's Reign  
May make no other Israelite complain.  
Youth, Beauty, Graceful Action, seldom fail:  
But Common Interest always will prevail:  
And pity never Ceases to be shown  
To him, who makes the people's wrongs his own.  
The Crowd, (that still believe their Kings oppress)  
With lifted hands their young Messiah bless:  
Who now begins his Progress to ordain;  
With Chariots, Horsemen, and a numerous train:  
From East to West his Glories he displays:  
And, like the Sun, the promised Land survays.  
Fame runs before him as the morningstar;  
And shouts of Joy salute him from afar:  
Each house receives him as a Guardian God;  
And Consecrates the place of his abode;  
But hospitable treats did most commend  
Wise Issachar, his wealthy western friend.  
This moving Court, that caught the people's Eyes:  
And seemed but pomp, did other ends disguise.  
Achitophel had formed it with intent  
To sound the depth, and fathom where it went:  
The people's hearts, distinguish Friends from Foes;  
And try their strength, before they come to blows  
Yet all was coloured with a smooth pretence  
Of specious love, and duty to their Prince.  
Religion, and Redress of Grievances,  
Two names, that always cheat and always please,  
Are often urged; and good king David's life  
Endangered by a Brother and a Wife.  
Thus in a Pageant Show, a Plot is made;  
And Peace itself is War in Masquerâde.  
Oh foolish Israel! never warned by ill,  
Still the same bait, and circumvented still!  
Did ever men forsake their present ease,  
In midst of health Imagine a disease;  
Take pains Contingent mischiefs to foresee,  
Make Heirs for Monarches, and for God decree?  
What shall we think! can people give away  
Both for themselves and Sons, their Native sway?  
Then they are left Defensless, to the Sword  
Of each unbounded Arbitrary Lord:  
And Laws are vain, by which we Right enjoy,  
If Kings unquestioned can those laws destroy.  
Yet, if the Crowd be Judge of fit and Just,  
And Kings are only Officers in trust,  
Then this resuming Covenant was declared  
When Kings were made, or is for ever barred:  
If those who gave the Sceptre, could not tie  
By their own deed their own Posterity,  
How then could Adam bind his future Race?  
How could his forfeit on mankind take place?  
Or how could heavenly Justice damn us all,  
Who ne'er consented to our Father's fall?  
Then Kings are slaves to those whom they Command,  
And Tenants to their People's pleasure stand.  
Add, that the Power for property allowed,  
Is mischeivously seated in the Crowd:  
For who can be secure of private Right,  
If Sovereign sway may be dissolved by might?  
Nor is the People's Judgement always true:  
The most may err as grossly as the few.  
And faultless Kings run down, by Common Cry,  
For Vice, Oppression, and for Tyranny.  
What Standard is there in a fickle rout,  
Which, flowing to the mark, runs faster out?  
Nor only Crowds, but Sanhedrins may be  
Infected with this public lunacy:  
And share the madness of rebellious times,  
To marther Monarches for imagined crimes.  
If they may give and take when e'er they please,  
Not Kings alone, (the Godheads Images,)  
But Government itself at length must fall  
To Nature's state, where all have right to all.  
Yet, grant our Lords the people Kings can make,  
What prudent men a settled Throne would shake?  
For whatsoever their sufferings were before,  
That change they covet makes them suffer more.  
All other Errors but disturb a State;  
But Innovation is the blow of Fate.  
If ancient Fabrics nod, and threat to fall,  
To patch the flaws, and buttress up the wall,  
Thus far 'tis duty; but here fix the mark:  
For all beyond it is to touch our Ark.  
To change Foundations, cast the Frame anew,  
Is work for Rebels who base Ends pursue:  
At once Divine and Humane Laws control;  
And mend the parts by ruin of the whole.  
The Tampering World is subject to this Curse,  
To Physic their Disease into a worse.  
Now what relief can Righteous David bring?  
How Fatal 'tis to be too good a King!  
Friends he has few, so high the Madness grows;  
Who dare be such, must be the people's Foes,  
Yet some there were, even in the worst of days;  
Some let me name, and Naming is to praise.  
In this short File Barzillai first appears;  
Barzillai crowned with Honour and with Years,  
Long since, the rising Rebels he withstood  
In Regions waste, beyond the Iordans Flood,  
Unfortunately Brave to buoy the Sat;  
But sinking underneath his Master's Fate,  
In exile with his Godlike Prince he mourned;  
For him he Suffered, and with him Returned.  
The Court he practised, not the Courtier's art;  
Large was his Wealth, but larger was his Heart;  
Which, well the Noblest Objects knew to choose,  
The Fight Warrior, and Recording Muse.  
His bed could once a Fruitful Issue boast,  
Now more than half a Father's Name is lost.  
His eldest hope, with every Grace adorned,  
By me (so Heaven will have it) always mourned,  
And always honoured, snatched in manhoods prime  
B' unequal fates, and providences crime;  
Yet not before the Goal of Honour won,  
All parts fulfilled of Subject and of Son;  
Swift was the Race, but short the time to run.  
Oh narrow circle, but of Power divine,  
Scanted in space, but perfect in thy Line!  
By Sea, by Land, thy matchless worth was known;  
Arms thy delight, and War was all thy own:  
Thy force, infused, the fainting Tyrians propped:  
And haughty Pharaoh found his Fortune stopped.  
Oh ancient Honour, oh unconquered hand,  
Whom foes unpunished never could withstand!  
But Israel was unworthy of thy Name;  
Short is the date of all immoderate fame.  
It looks as Heaven our ruin had designed,  
And durst not trust thy fortune and thy mind.  
Now, free from earth, thy disencumbred Soul  
Mounts up, and leaves behind the Clouds and starry Pole:  
From thence thy kindred legions may'st thou bring  
To aid the guardian Angel of thy King.  
Here stop my Muse, here cease thy painful slight;  
No pinions can pursue immortal height:  
Tell good Barzillai thou canst sing no more,  
And tell thy soul she should have fled before;  
Or fled she with his life, and left this Verse  
To hang on her departed Parton's Hearse?  
Now take thy steepy flight from Heaven, and see  
If thou canst find on earth another He;  
Another He would be too hard to find,  
See then whom thou canst see not far behind:  
Zadock the Priest, whom, shunning power and place,  
His lowly mind advanced to David's Grace:  
With him the Sagan of jerusalem,  
Of hospitable soul, and noble stem;  
Him of the western doom, whose weighty sense  
Flows in fit words, and heavenly Eloquence.  
The Prophet's sons by such example led,  
To Learning and to Loyalty were bred:  
For Colleges on bounteous Kings depend,  
And never Rebel was to Arts a friend.  
To these succeed the Pillars of the Laws,  
Who best could plead, and best can judge a Cause.  
Next them a train of Loyal Peers ascend:  
Sharp judging Adriel, the Muse's friend,  
Himself a Muse;— In Sanhedrins' debate  
True to his Prince; but not a Slave of State.  
Whom David's love with Honours did adorn,  
That from his disobedient Son were torn.  
jotham of piercing wit, and pregnant thought,  
Endued by Nature, and by Learning taught  
To move Assemblies, who but only tried  
The worse awhile, then chose the better side;  
Nor chose alone, but turned the balance too;  
So much the weight of one brave man can do.  
Hushai the friend of David in distress,  
In public storms of manly steadfastness;  
By foreign Treaties he informed his Youth;  
And joined experience to his native truth.  
His frugal care supplied the wanting Throne,  
Frugal for that, but bounteous of his own:  
'Tis easy conduct when Exchequers flow,  
But hard the task to manage well the low:  
For Soverereign Power is too depressed or high,  
When Kings are forced to sell, or Crowds to buy.  
Indulge one labour more, my weary Muse,  
For Amiel, who can Amiel's praise refuse?  
Of ancient Race by Birth, but Nobler yet  
In his own worth, and without Title great:  
The Sanhedrin-long time as Chief he ruled,  
Their Reason guided, and their Passion cooled;  
So dextrous was he in the Crown's defence,  
So formed to speak a Loyal Nations sense,  
That as their Band was Israel's Tribes in small,  
So fit was he to represent them all.  
Now rasher Charioteers the Seat ascend,  
Whose loose Carriers his steady Skill commend:  
They, like th'unequal Ruler of the day,  
Misguide the seasons, and mistake the way;  
While he withdrawn at their mad labour smiles,  
And safe enjoys the Sabbath of his toils.   

These were the chief, a small, but faithful Band  
Of Worthies, in the Breach who dared to stand,  
And tempt th'united Fury of the Land.  
With grief they viewed such powerful Engines bend,  
To batter down the lawful Government.  
A numerous Faction with pretended frights,  
In Sanhedrins to plume the Regal Rights.  
The true Successor from the Court removed:  
The Plot, by hireling Witnesses improved,  
These Ills they saw, and as their Duty bound,  
They showed the King the danger of the Wound:  
That no concessions from the Throne would please,  
But Lenitives fomented the Disease:  
That Absalon, ambitious of the Crown,  
Was made the Lure to draw the People down:  
That false Achitophel's pernicious Hate,  
Had turned the Plot to ruin Church and State:  
The Council violent, the Rabble worse:  
That Shimei taught jerusalem to curse.  
With all these loads of injuries oppressed,  
And long revolving in his careful Breast,  
Th' event of things; at last his patience tired,  
Thus from his Royal Throne by Heaven inspired,  
The Godlike David spoke; with awful fear  
His Train their Maker in their Master hear  
Thus long have I, by native mercy swayed  
My wrongs dissembled my revenge delayed:  
So willing to forgive th' Offending Age;  
So much the Father did the King assuage.  
But now so far my Clemency they slight,  
Th' offenders question my forgiving right.  
That one was made for many, they contend:  
But 'tis to Rule, for that's a Monarch's end.  
They call my tenderness of Blood, my fear:  
Though manly tempers can the longest bear.  
Yet, since they will divert my Native course,  
'Tis time to show I am not good by force,  
Those heaped Affronts that haughty subjects bring,  
Are burdens for a Camel, not a King:  
Kings are the public Pillars of the State,  
Born to sustain and prop the Nations weight  
If my Young Samson will pretend a Call  
To shake the Column, let him share the Fall  
But oh that yet he would repent and live!  
How easy 'tis for Parents to forgive!  
With how few Tears a Pardon might be won  
From Nature, pleading for a Darling Son!  
Poor pitied Youth, by my Paternal care,  
Raised up to all the height his frame could bear:  
Had God ordained his fate for Empire born,  
He would have given his Soul another turn:  
Gulled with a Patriot's name, whose modern sense  
Is one that would by Law Supplant his Prince:  
The People's Brave, the Politicians Tool;  
Never was Patriot yet, but was a Fool.  
Whence comes it that Religion and the Laws  
Should more be Absaloms than David's Cause?  
His old Instructor, ere he lost his place,  
Was never thought endued with so much Grace:  
Good heavens, how Faction can a Patriot paint!  
My Rebel ever proves my people's Saint:  
Would They impose an Heir upon the Throne?  
Let Sanhedrims be taught to give their own.  
A King's at least a part of Government;  
And mine as requisite as their Consent:  
Without my leave a future King to choose,  
Infers a Right the present to Depose:  
True, they Petition me t' approve their Choice!  
But Esau's hand suit ill with Iacob's voice.  
My pious Subjects for my safety pray,  
Which to secure they take my Power away.  
From Plots and Treasons Heaven preserve my years,  
But save me most from my Petitioners.  
Unsatiate as the barren Womb or Grave.  
God cannot grant so much as they can Crave.  
What then is left but with a jealous Eye  
To guard the small remains of Royalty?  
The Law shall still direct my peaceful Sway,  
And the same Law teach Rebels to obey:  
Votes shall no more established Power control,  
Such Votes as make a part exceed the whole:  
No groundless Clamours shall my Friends remove,  
Nor Crowds have power to punish ere they prove:  
For Gods, and Godlike Kings their Care express,  
Still to defend their servants in distress.  
Oh that my Power to saving were confined;  
Why am I forced, like Heaven, against my mind,  
To make Examples of another kind?  
Must I at length the Sword of Justice draw?  
Oh cursed Effects of necessary Law!  
How ill my Fear they by my Mercy scan,  
Beware the Fury of a patient Man.  
Law they require, let Law then show her face;  
They could not be content to look on Grace,  
Her hinder parts, but with a during Eye  
To tempt the terror of her Front, and die.  
By their own Arts 'tis righteously decreed,  
Those dire Artificers of Death shall bleed.  
Against themselves their Witnesses will swear  
Till Viperlike their Mother Plot they tear:  
And suck for Nutriment that bloody gore  
Which was their Principle of Life before.  
Their Belial with their Belzebub will fight;  
Thus on my Foes, my Foes shall do me right:  
Nor doubt th' event: for factious crowds engage  
In their first Onset, all their Brutal Rage;  
Then, let 'em take an unresisted course,  
Retire and Traverse, and delude their force:  
But when they stand all breathless, urge the fight,  
And rise upon 'em with redoubled might:  
For lawful Power is still Superior found,  
When long driven back, at length it stands the ground.  
He said. Th' Almighty, nodding, gave consent;  
And Peals of Thunder shook the Firmament:  
Henceforth a Series of new time began,  
The mighty Years in long Procession ran:  
Once more the Godlike David was Restored,  
And willing nations knew their Lawful Lord.   
FINIS