THE MURMURERS. A POEM.  
O fortunati nimium, bona si sua nôrint Angligenae!  
LONDON, Printed for R. Baldwin. MDC LXXXIX.   

THE PREFACE To all the WORLD.  
AS I am not much obliged t'ye, so I don't much value your Censures, being a sort of a little Murmurer myself. And if you are as angry with me as I with you, 'twill be no great matter; for scold as loud as you please, I'm sure I shall be far enough out of hearing. However, I'd part as civilly as I can▪ and therefore done't much care if I've a word or two with you before I leave you.— For my Poem, take it as you find it. The Subject would have born much better, and I'm sure you have read much worse. For most of the Characters, they are so plain, if you are but Book-learned enough to be out of your Hornbook, you may guests who I mean by 'em. I don't care if I tell you Corah, Dathan, and Abiram are only Rovers, and take in all the Murmurers, by whatever Names or Titles. By Balaam▪ Mr. Bays, I mean your Worship! None c●n be ignorant whom I mean by Phinehas; and 'tis but too well known who Aaron is. Sans Ceremony,  
FAREWEL, Perhaps for ever  
From aboard his Majesty's Ship the— &.   

The Murmurers: A POEM.  

UNgrateful Israel, whom no Charms can bind,  
No Terrors fright into a better mind:  
Thy own, and all Humanity's Disgrace:  
Ah, sinful, stiffnecked, moody, murmuring Race!  
Doting on Miseries, in love with Pains!  
Like thee were ever any mad for Chains?  
Where are thy Groans when with the Bricks oppressed?  
Where all those sighs that heaved thy labouring breast?  
When without Straw thou thy full tale must pay,  
Lamenting all the night, and fainting all the day;  
When bending underneath th' unequal load,  
Thy gasping Vows and Prayers conquered God?  
So soon, alas! so soon hast thou forgot  
Th' ungrateful Tyrant's cursed Wiles and Plot,  
When bloody Pharaoh would at once destroy  
Each Father's pride, each Mother's tears and joy.  
When Israel's hopes must Sacrifices be,  
Black Tyrant! to thy savage Gods and thee:  
Fit Gods for such a King,— the Crocodile,  
And all the monstrous Spawn of teeming Nile.  
Yet hear! for Heaven in mercy still delights:  
O hear the Prophet, ere the Angel smites.  
See Israel, see, what favours thou hast found  
From Egypt's Court! see each ignoble wound,  
Incorrigible Slaves! See the foul tract  
Of Whips and Burdens worn on every back;  
Remember,— 'tis not yet, nor yet too late,  
Yet step aside, and eat impending Fate.  
Not even Pharao's Crown can ●eil or hide  
His Perjury, his Cruelty, and Pride.  
Even Lucifer was sacred ere he fell,  
But now the Wretch reigns absolute in Hell.  
O that a King had never been so base!  
Or truth would let us hide or change his Face.  
Why will his Murmurers thus their Lord expose,  
And rob of that small Fame 〈◊〉 has yet to lose?  
'Twas never yet thought Sacrilege to raze  
An Idol-Fane, but rather merits praise:  
Or who, besides their Priests, will count it Sin  
To burn the devilish Gods adored therein?  
By sure Succession Pharaoh filled the Throne,  
His Race and Name to ancient Abraham known;  
Tho his officious Courtiers called t' his aid  
Long Dynasties before the World was made.   

Thus, downwards, did his Daughter Scota grace  
(The first blessed Monarch of the Irish Race)  
His Daughter, nor could Apis give a Son,  
Tho Heaven sent Moses, his adopted one.  
The Daughter saved him must her Father drown,  
And made him Heir to the Egyptian Crown;  
Tho that too weak a bait for Moses proved,  
Too well he Israel's God and Israel loved.  
His injured People's woes too well he knew,  
Too well he saw, and seeing felt 'em too.  
He saw each Privilege and Grant was vain  
Confirmed in any other Pharao's Reign,  
When the fair Compact was with Israel made,  
And in blessed Goshen `they might freely trade.  
Good joseph now forgot, and all he did  
In Clouds of Court-Oblivion wrapped and hid:  
Although too high his Gratitude had flown,  
And made the Country Slaves to raise the Throne.  
New Taskmasters thro' Egypt sent he saw,  
And Pharao's Will was their unrighteous Law.  
Israel they ground, still made the Land more thin,  
And sucked the last free drop of Blood therein.  
He saw the brutish Idols they adored,  
Which all their Rivers, Fields, and Gardens stored:  
And Apis, who while Flowers and Herbs they strewed,  
The lazy Lubbar-God divinely lowed.  
These miseries he saw, and all the rest,  
And deep revolved in his sagacious breast.  
He saw those happy days approach, foretold  
So oft in holy Oracles of old,  
When happy Israel should be Slaves no more,  
Nor Idol-Kings, nor Idol-Gods adore▪  
No more their stupid Patience now be shown,  
Nor labour in those Kingdoms not their own.  
Owned a fair Cause, nor would the Tyrant please  
For all the charms of Grandeur or of Ease.  
He loved Reproach which did from Virtue rise,  
For this he Egypt's Treasures did despise:  
And when a cursed Egyptian dared to smite  
A Soul-less, poor, oppressed Israelite,  
Unfeared, he'd generously take his part,  
And stab th' insulting faithless Wretches heart.  
In Egypt's Wisdom skilled, what they concealed  
Even at one glance his piercing eyes revealed.  
How many deep and noble Truths impressed  
In mystic Figures on his Royal Breast!  
Nor could all Pharo's dark Magicians find  
The Secrets of his Hieroglyphic Mind.  
Grave in his Words▪ deliberate, wise, and slow,  
Wise as his Thoughts,— but fast his Actions flow.  
Thus Heaven's own Thunder's murmur long and wide,  
Ere they the Clouds, or guilty Man divide;  
But in a moment, when the bolt's let fly,  
Burst thro' the Air, rattle round Earth and Sky.  
Oft was his Courage known, and tried before,  
Near Meroe stained with Ethiopian Gore.  
When that proud King whole Worlds of Men had poured  
Thro trembling Nile, and half the Land devoured,  
He met, and checked his growing rage and pride,  
And drove him back thro' Regions waste and wide  
To the Recesses of his sunburnt Soil,  
As distant as the head of his own Nile.  
And when returned, with all these Trophies won,  
As unconcerned appeared as if he'd nothing done.  
Yet after this could quietly retreat  
From all the noisy Triumphs of the Great,  
With Laurels tired, with Trophies overpressed,  
In Godlike Solitude divinely blest.  
Thee, Sinai-Mount, and Horeb Hills he trod,  
And in the flaming Thicket talked with God.  
There he Instructions had, and Courage too  
For all the mighty things he was to do.  
He came to drive and purge the guilty Land,  
No Sword, no Spear, adorned or fenced his hand,  
He only waved about the wondrous Wand.  
He came,— th' Egyptian Gods before him fell,  
And knew, and fled the God of Israel.  
The trembling Waves no longer now could stay,  
His dread Commands the trembling Waves obey;  
Back back they roll, and show the secret way  
Where great Leviathan his Court did keep,  
And all the scaly Horrors of the Deep.  
Their ancient Beds and Palaces they leave,  
Which now more civil, humane Guests receive;  
Grin thro' the Crystal Walls, but cannot enter there,  
Their monstrous teeth they gnash, their monstrous eyeballs glare.   

Look back, glad Israel, now thou'rt safely o'er,  
And see all Egypt stretched around the shore.  
On every Sand and Rock exposed they lay,  
And all their Riches left, a second Prey.  
Now more deformed than even by Nature made,  
Whilst a dead Pale did their old Black invade.  
Grasping a Javelin here's a Carcase seen,  
With the same face, the same fierce angry mien  
With which he died: there stretched upon the Sand  
Another lies with threatening eyes and hand,  
Who grinned imperfect Murmurs as he fell,  
And thro' the hissing Ocean sunk to Hell.  
And now, on Mother Nature's firmer Land  
The mighty Leader of the chosen Band  
Safely arrived, with grateful Heart and Tongue  
Thus he, and thus delivered Israel sung:   


HYmns of praise, glad Israel, sing  
To our Saviour and our King.  
Make your Songs and make your Boasts  
Of the glorious Lord of Hosts,  
Who triumphantly does ride  
Over conquered Egypt's pride.  
From his Chariot in the Cloud  
He beholds and scorns the proud.  
Down the thundering Horses fall,  
Down the Rider, Horse and all,  
And their Rendezvouzes keep  
In the bosom of the Deep.   

Thou, Jehova, art our King,  
Thou our strength, and thee we'll sing.  
Thou our God alone shalt be,  
Our Salvation's only thee.  
To thee we'll lofty Temples raise,  
And ever sing Jehovas' praise,  
Show his Acts and mighty Powers,  
Our Father's God as well as ours.  
In our God we'll make our boasts,  
Our God alone's the Lord of Hosts:  
That's his name by which he's known,  
That's his name, and his alone.  
Pharao's Chariots, Egypt's Pride,  
And all their Host, are scattered wide.  
On the barren Beach they're cast,  
On the Rocks in pieces dashed,  
Whilst their mangled. Limbs and Gore  
Double-dye the sanguine shore.  
Down they like a Millstone fell,  
Down they sunk as deep as Hell.  
Worlds of Water drive away,  
And shut out the distant day.  
Wide and ●ast is thy Command,  
Glorious, Lord, is thy right ●and:  
Thy right hand thy Foes sure sat,  
Crushed beneath its vengeful weight.  
All thy vain relucting Foes  
Soon thy mighty Arm overthrows.  
All that stubble dare engage  
To meet and fight thy f●ry rage:  
Soon must all their Strength expire  
Who wrestle with consuming Fire.  
The Voice of God the Waves can stay,  
His Voice the trembling Waves obey:  
Equal with the Cliffs on shore  
Their solid Mountains break no more.  
Heaps on heaps they climb and rise,  
Till they reach the leaning Skies:  
Liquid Marble's solid grown,  
And all the Sea one Crystal stone.  
Sure the Foe did Conquest make;  
Thus he boasted, thus he spoke,  
I'll pursue and I'll overtake:  
I ll the trembling spoil divide,  
Glut my Lust, and glut my Pride;  
I my conquering Sword will draw,  
That my justice, that my Law.  
Drunk with Blood the Glutton shall  
Smite, destroy, devour 'em all.  
Ah, how weak must Mortals be  
When they dare con●●nd with thee!  
Thou a thousand Rods canst find,  
And they are weaker th●n the Wind.  
Thou didst cause thy Wind to blow,  
And thou didst cause thy Sea's overflow:  
Down like Lead i'th' Waves they fell,  
Down they sunk as deep as Hell.  
Who o'th' God's compared can be,  
Who, O Lord, is like to thee!  
Thee thy grovelling 〈◊〉 confess  
Glorious in thy Holiness,  
Awful in that praise we give  
To him we cannot see and live,  
Since even the Seraph when he sings  
Veils his Face with both his Wings.  
Nature knows thy dread right hand,  
And obeys her Lord's Command:  
Nor content, the greedy Waves,  
In their dark Wombs to make their Graves  
Further down they roll the Slaves  
Under Earth's unfathomed Cell,  
Where the Mother Waters dwell,  
Where horrid Night her Court does keep  
Among the Fountains of the Deep:  
But in mercy forth thou'st led  
That dear Flock which thou hast fed,  
From the shades of ●anging Night  
Brought 'em out to lovely Light,  
And shalt guide by thy right hand  
To their blessed, their promised Land,  
Whilst the Nations round shall hear,  
Shaken with grief, and froze with fear,  
Thee, proud Realm of Palestin  
And all the Anakims therein.  
Edom's Dukes in vain shall claim  
Their Warlike Father's mighty name:  
They and Moab's Heroes too,  
Amazed, both know not what to do,  
Whilst thy cursed Offspring, Canaan, run  
And melt as Snow before the Sun:  
Fear and dread their Arms shall charm  
By the greatness of thy Arm:  
Till as Stones or Led they lie,  
While thy chosen Folk pass by;  
While they pass unsprinkled o'er  
To wondering Jordan's distant shore.  
Them thou'lt bring, and them advance  
To thine own Inheritance;  
To those paths by Abraham trod  
In the holy Mount of God;  
In the place which thou hast made,  
In the Cherub's golden shade,  
Where thou dost delight to dwell,  
And bless thy own loved Israel;  
In that Sanctuary where  
Thou with a peculiar care  
Scatter'st Blessings wide and fast,  
Blessings which shall ever last;  
Blessings which shall still remain,  
And last as long as thou shalt reign.    

And with glad Omens now the chosen Seed  
For happy Canaan's blissful Regions speed,  
The Way but short, the Road direct and fair,  
Wine, Oil, and Milk, and Honey wait 'em there;  
Trophies and Laurels, and a fertile Soil,  
The wished Reward of all their former Toil.  
What can obstruct 'em now?— the Egyptian Host,  
Pharaoh and all his Army's broke and lost.  
For that rank Diet Egypt would afford,  
Those Onions which defiled and spread their Board,  
From Heaven's own Table they were now maintained,  
And round their Tents celestial Manna reigned:  
Manna, that gustful, that miraculous meat,  
That best, that wondrous Food which Angels eat.  
Pure and sincere, no relish of gross Earth,  
The taste, th' effects, confess its heavenly birth:  
No Pains from hence, no sad Diseases flow,  
As from our drossy mortal Food below;  
Enough for all, enough for none to waste,  
And still agreeable to every Taste:  
The Quintessence of all that's good and sweet,  
Noble or high, or grateful, in it meet.  
The News the Heathen Nations did confound,  
And scattered Terror far and wide around.  
Israel in Safety dwelled, in Peace and Bliss,  
Moses their Leader, as an Angel his.  
What further could their Happiness destroy,  
Alloy their Pleasure, or disturb their Joy,  
When the long-wished, long-promised Time appears,  
And brought, in decent Ranks, the harnessed Years?  
Heaven is their Friend, obsequious Earth bows low  
To be their Slave.— None but themselves their Foe.  
On clustered Iordan's Rivage now they stand,  
And just beyond survey blessed Canaan's Land.  
Rivers of Honey and of Nectar glide  
Along the laughing Fields, and by their side,  
Here creep sweet Flowers, there climbs the lofty Vine  
Whose ponderous Grapes are big with generous Wine.   

Here trembling Nations on their Knees await  
Those Masters long before decreed by Fate.  
O Joy, O Glory! Warrior's noble Pride!  
When Israel's Sons o'er captive Kings shall ride:  
Them at Megiddo, or at jabesh meet,  
And crush their stubborn Necks beneath their Feet.  
Scarce is their choice to die, or to obey,  
Sihon and Og already lead the way.  
But ah! too soon the blooming hopes were crossed  
And all their freshly springing Laurels lost:  
Heaven ne'er necessitates to good or ill,  
Nor will it save Mankind against his Will.  
The giddy Crowd resolve to conquer Fate,  
And both their Manna, and their Canaan hate;  
From their long-wished Salvation fain would fly,  
Sigh, weep, and murmur still, they know not why.  
Some by the Genius of their Nation spoiled,  
And ruined by a Heaven too calm and mild;  
jesurun kicked, because too fat and fair,  
Nor would the wanton Wretch his Master spare;  
Moses was meek, which they interpret dull,  
And Heaven was blind, because 'twas merciful.  
For Pharaoh and Apis they lament again,  
And rather choose a Stork than Log should reign:  
Wretches! of a forgiving Prince take care,  
Long my urged Goodness how ye tempt beware:  
Remember ancient Kishon's blushing Shore  
O'erflown with Idol-dust and Rebels Gore.  
Serpents and Plagues the disobedient wait,  
Or gaping Earth presents a blacker Fate.  
Out of mere dullness others damned would be,  
And others out of mere civility,  
Pity, they thought, to spoil good Company.  
Before the golden Calf they blindly bow,  
And groped the way to Hell, they knew not how.  
Old malleable Blockheads others are,  
Born with a Back and Ears like Issachar:  
Since Rest is good, why should they not lie still,  
Let their old Masters load 'em how they will?  
Tho not long since those Burdens did displease,  
And then how did they bray to Heaven for Ease;  
To any other shape desired to pass,  
A Horse, a Swine, any thing but an Ass.  
Others, though in their Hearts Egyptians still,  
From Egypt crowded up against their Will;  
I'th' wondrous Turn born swiftly down the Stream,  
And only thought the Miracle a Dream,  
Waked from th' Amaze, look back to Nile's rich Shore,  
And still, in secret, Egypt's Gods adore.  
Plain Cowards others, Egypt's Threats they hear,  
And backwards look, not out of love, but fear.  
(Ridiculous Fools,— nor e'er were Cowards wise.)  
Lest Pharaoh and his Host again should rise.  
Their hands to Bricks, and not to Swords enured,  
They'd hedge their Betts, on either side secured.  
True Bats, whom yet no Side nor Standard knows,  
Those Beasts of Birds are neither Friends nor Foes.  
Some, who old Pharao's Taskmasters were made,  
Nor could with ease forget their ancient Trade,  
Defend their Deeds, and would repeat the same,  
And long to be again at their old Game.  
The Sanhedrim's Revenge some justly dread,  
And Moses Sword that glitters o'er their Head,  
On further Ills precipitately run  
To make those safe which they've already done.  
Wickedly pious, others think it Sin  
To shake those Shackles off they've once been in:  
Unconscionably good, their want of Sense  
And Courage both they charge on Providence;  
They'll give it leave to fix a Tyrant's Crown,  
And set him up, but not to pull him down.  
When Deaths and Plagues it brings, they must submit,  
But not if it thinks Peace and Plenty fit.  
They a mere Moloch make of Israel's God,  
And give no Sceptre, but an Iron Rod.  
Those who against God's Laws and Man's rebel,  
And take their Power not from Heaven, but Hell;  
(For the All-good would ne'er his Creatures bind  
To what's a general Curse to all Mankind,)  
These Devils, like the Indians, they adore,  
Nay worse than them, still beg they'd plague 'em more:  
Their stiffnecked Ass' Loyalty they boast,  
Proud of that Skin which they've by bearing lost;  
As Highway Beggars grovelling on the ground,  
Take pride t' expose some nauseous, stinking Wound:  
If you'd to Hospitals the Wretches bear  
They'll scorn your Kindness, and rot cheaper there.  
But if some Godlike Hero Heaven provide,  
And sends him thundering from th' Almighty's side,  
Bad Men to crush, and Virtuous to reward,  
With Troops of Angels for his glorious Guard,  
To save a sinking Nation, State and Laws  
From sure Destructions greedy ravening Jaws,  
Their cross-grained Piety still comes i'th' way,  
Flounces, and starts, and chafes, and won't obey.  
Th' other Extreme, less gravely mad than these,  
In truth, God more than Moses does displease;  
Ten whole Commands? If this Religion be,  
Even Pharaoh made 'em easier Slaves than he.  
What though thick Clogs on Necks and Legs they wore,  
They then might creditably Swear and Whore:  
They needs must say the generous Tyrant still  
Left 'em free liberty of doing ill.  
No Shelomith's Son for Blasphemy was stoned,  
No bleeding Zimri e'er in Egypt groaned.  
Less bad than these, for Honour some contend,  
So long offending they're ashamed to mend.  
Humanity's too common Weakness known,  
Which all experience, though but few will own.  
Some who stood firm for Israel's Liberty,  
Altered, nor they, nor all the World know why;  
Whether from secret Emulation sprung  
Th' unhappy Change, or from some poisonous Tongue;  
Or whether more to Rest by Age inclined,  
Infirmed alike in Body and in Mind.  
How vain a thing is Greatness, and the blast  
Of popular Fame? how short a while they last?  
'Tis dangerous to be high, for Mortals then,  
Almost the Envy grow of Gods and Men.  
Great Aaron was i'th' holy Vestments clad,  
The first High priest that e'er saved Israel had;  
The holy Oil in plenteous Streams was shed,  
The holy Mitre graced his reverend Head;  
Urim and Thummim did his Breast adorn,  
The holy Ephod on his Shoulders worn:  
Aaron, who dared fierce Pharaoh meet, and tell  
The Grievances of groaning Israel.  
Who then like him durst stem the raging Tide  
Of Egypt's Cruelty, Despair, and Pride?  
Th' ungrateful Tyrant's still returning Rod:  
The Mouth of Moses, and the Mouth of God.  
O Father! O sad Israel's Grief and Love,  
Why didst thou move so far, or why no farther move?  
Cursed be that Son, and he deserves no less  
Who dares disclose his Father's Nakedness;  
Tho Israel too, by Aaron's naked made,  
When they forsaken Egypt's Gods obeyed.  
O draw a Veil, a thick, a dusky cloud,  
Before the Calf, before the kneeling Crowd.  
The stiffnecked Crowd, which has no Grace, no Shame,  
No Sense, no Weight, no Reason, but thy Name.  
Why should we hear? Why should we see and live,  
That deep, deep Slain which Heaven can ne'er forgive?   

Unrein thy satire, Muse, and give a vent  
To all thy just Revenge and Discontent.  
Corah is next, nor can we him abuse;  
May Corah's spiteful Soul inspire my Muse.  
Pride and Ambition in his Bosom dwell,  
And all the twisted Fiends of Earth and Hell.  
Revenge and Envy, and his Lust's defeat,  
And every Fury that attends the Great.  
He was, he would be so— though near the Throne,  
Would justle out his Prince and reign alone.  
Jehova the pretence, though he'd not care,  
Nor blush, though even Jehova's self were there.  
The old Idolatry he has refined,  
God in his Mouth, but Apis in his Mind.  
The Congregation's holy, (that's the Tool  
With which he works) and why should Moses rule?  
He takes too much upon him, but must know,  
We'll no Allegiance pay, as none we owe.  
Snarl on, cursed Corah, still blaspheme and rave,  
And patient Earth, and patient Heaven outbrave:  
Thy little Faction to the rest oppose,  
And stigmatize thy own as Israel's Foes.  
The day of Vengeance comes,— the blackening Sky  
With dark red Gleams declares the day of Vengeance nigh.  
With him Abiram and sly Dathan joined,  
Plain honest Men,— the public Good designed:  
Mind their own business, murmur in their Tent,  
And sigh at Moses his Misgovernment.  
Thus by a false Simplicity, with ease  
They lead the Congregation how they please.  
Dathan begins,— Nor would I Egypt choose,  
Nor would, dear Countrymen! this Manna lose:  
Moses, 'tis true, has a good Action done;  
Who envies him those Laurels which he has won?  
Tho 'twas his Interest too we must confess,  
'Twas a brave Undertaking— ne'ertheless.  
Nor will he a free People sure enslave,  
Who asked his Aid from others them to save.  
Yet can't we but reflect, with Manna cloyed,  
However good, on what we once enjoyed,  
Egyptian Dainties, lovely savoury Fare,  
Garlic and Onions, in such plenty there;  
Delicates so divine, that, truth to say,  
I'd them almost adore as well as they.  
Although the Levites tell us 'tis a Cheat  
One hour to worship what the next we eat,  
In all Religions some things dark there be,  
And this is an Egyptian Mystery.  
For Pharaoh— true that all things were not well,  
— He was misled— but must we then rebel?  
The Subjects, as i'th' sacred Rolls appears,  
To Egypt's Crown, almost four hundred Years.  
Thus he,— but mad Abiram swears and raves,  
We will not, no by Heaven, we won't be Slaves.  
Whom we have made, we can as soon unmake,  
And what with ease we gave, with ease can take:  
What has he done?— what mighty Action since?  
Moses,— that thinking, that unthinking Prince.  
He, and his Sanhedrin, supine and still,  
What have they done that's good? how much that's ill.  
They cannot, dare not touch us, no, they fear  
That Pharaoh yet should overtake 'em here.  
I'm for a Tyrant, or an Anarchy,  
Pharaoh my King, or I'll be King of me.  
Go on! swear, flatter, lie, dissemble, rave,  
And the next step, the very next's the Grave:  
You cannot escape— Nature's black horrid Womb  
Labours with Earthquakes to bring forth your Tomb.  
It rives, it gapes, you screech, you fall, you go  
To murmur with your Fellow-Fiends below.   

Nor shall even Heathen Balaam be forgot,  
Nor his cursed Midianitish Wives and Plot.  
(Even Balaam's Ass could preach, and since we find  
Taught other Brutes, the Panther and the Hind.)  
Dear he loved the Wages of Deceit,  
And God's own Israel did as dearly hate.  
A Sorcerer, who any thing could be,  
Transformed, as quick as thought, t' a Bird, a Tree,  
And e'er his monstrous Shapes you throughly scan,  
Be that unfeathered two legged thing a Man.  
But than what sweet, what charming Notes he sung,  
What Honey dropped from his false Siren Tongue.  
Would Angels choose in mortal Verse to raise  
Ours, and their own eternal Master's Praise,  
To Balaam's Words they'd tune their heavenly Airs,  
Thy Songs, thy Language, Balaam, should be theirs.  
Why wouldst thou Israel curse, ah Balaam! why,  
Nor with the Righteous live as well as die?  
Why with thy soft bewitching Arts betray  
To Midianitish Gods and Wives a Prey?  
From Hill to Hill why didst with Balaak go  
To enchant and curse when Heaven commanded No.  
Ah! hadst thou Israel's God indeed adored,  
Hadst thou in earnest feared th' eternal Lord,  
Thy Songs so sweet, thy Numbers so divine,  
Scarce Moses Song had won more Fame than thine:  
But now thy Glory sleeps in Shades profound,  
Fie Fate and gloomy Death encompassed round.   

Now, Muse, the smother Arts of Praising try,  
Tho our hard Fortunes there Success deny:  
Sour all our Soul, hardly one Stroke that's fair,  
One single Line or Feature pleasing there.  
This sure will happier Images create,  
And force one short-lived Joy in spite of Fate.  
Together summon all that's sweet and fine,  
Let the bright Field with such calm Glories shine,  
As Fancy prints around a Form divine.  
That rosy smile which decks a much loved Face,  
That Beauty ineffable, that more than humane Grace,  
Tho all together mixed exactly be,  
Yet, Godlike Phinehas, all come short of Thee.  
Thy Mien does Awe and Admiration move  
With such a purple Blush the Angel's love:  
Just such a radiant Gloom his Face adorns  
As paints the East in Summer rising Morn's;  
His Soul is in his Body well designed,  
His Face the lively Image of his Mind:  
Of honourable Stock and ancient House;  
His Youthful Laurels shade his Manly Brows:  
No tame Passivity did him disgrace,  
Nor did his Doctrine e'er belie his Face.  
God made him Man, nor would he himself debase  
And enter of the brutish bearing Race:  
With Hand, as well as Tongue, he'd the Gainsayers strike,  
He drew both Swords, and used them both alike.  
His Zeal to God did rather much improve  
Than check or stifle his dear Country's Love.  
When both at once engaged, he livelier grew,  
And double Strength from the fair Quarrel drew.  
See where God's Champion does undaunted stand,  
A shining Javelin in his mighty hand,  
Stopped heavens high Arm, when it did just engage,  
And stayed the Plague, as it began to rage.  
Eternal Praises are to Phinehas due,  
His Name shall live, if Truth itself be true.  
O may that God of Hosts, who oft did bless  
His rightful Arms with their deserved Success,  
A double Portion of his Spirit bestow  
On every meaner Priest that serves below;  
With such a noble warmth their Minds inflame,  
And grant their Courage as their Cause the same.   

Fain would I all the other Heroes trace,  
The Glory and the Pride of Iacob's Race,  
Who stilled those Murm'rers which refused to fight  
Against the faint devoted Canaanite;  
Caleb and joshua, and a numerous Train,  
Who never counselled, never fought in vain.  
But hasty Fate allows no longer stay,  
It stops my Pen, and pulls my Hand away.   
FINIS.