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Thus Earths vast Frame with firm and solid ground, Stands in a foaming Ocean circled round; Yet This not overflowing, That not drown’d. | } |
But to rebuild their Altars, and enstal
Their Moulten Gods, the Sanedrin must fall;
25 That Constellation of the Jewish Pow’r,
All blotted from its Orb must shine no more;
Or stampt in Pharoahs darling Mould, must quit
Their Native Beams, for a new-model’d Light;
Like Egypts Sanedrins, their influence gone,
Flash but like empty Meteors round the Throne:
That that new Lord may Judahs Scepter weild,
To whom th’old Brickill Taskmasters must yield;
Who, to erect new Temples for his Gods,
Shall th’enslav’d Israel drive with Iron Rods;
If they want Bricks for his new Walls t’aspire,
To their sad cost, he’ll find ’em Straw and Fire.
All this t’effect, and their new Fabrick build,
Both close Cabals and Forreign Leagues are held:
To Babylon and Egypt they send o’re,
And both their Conduct and their Gold implore.
By such Abettors the sly Game was plaid;
One of their Chiefs a Jewish Renegade,
High-born in Israel, one Michals Priest,
But now in Babylons proud Scarlet drest.
’Tis to his Hands the Plotting Mandats come
Subscrib’d by the Apostate Absolom.
Nay, and to keep themselves all danger-proof,
That none might track the Belial by his Hoof,
Their Correspondence veil’d from prying Eyes,
In Hieroglyphick Figures they disguise.
Husht as the Night, in which their Plots combin’d,
And silent as the Graves they had design’d,
Their Ripening Mischiefs to perfection sprung.
But oh! the much-loath’d David lives too long.
Their Vultures cannot mount but from his Tomb;
And with too hungry ravenous Gorges come,
To be by airy Expectation fed.
No Prey, no Spoil, before they see Him Dead.
Yes, Dead; the Royal Sands too slowly pass,
And therefore they’re resolved to break the Glass:
And to ensure Times tardy dubious Call,
Decree their Daggers should his Sythe forestall.
For th’execrable Deed a Hireling Crew
Their Hell and They pick out; whom to make true,
26 An Oath of Force so exquisite they frame,
Sworn in the Blood of Israels Paschal Lamb.
If false, the Vengeance of that Sword that slew
Egypts First-born, their perjur’d Heads pursue.
Strong was the Oath, the Imprecation dire;
And for a Viand, lest their Guilt should tire,
With promis’d Paradice they cheer their way;
And bold’s the Souldier who has Heav’n his pay.
But the ne’r-sleeping Providence that stands
With jealous Eyes o’re Truths up-lifted Hands;
That still in its Lord Israel takes delight,
Their Cloud by Day, and Guardian Fire by Night;
A Ray from out its Fiery Pillar cast,
That overlook’d their driving Jehu’s hast.
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All’s ruin’d and betray’d: their own false Slaves Detect the Plot, and dig their Masters Graves: Not Oaths nor Bribes shall bind, when great Jehovah saves. | } |
The frighted Israelites take the Alarm,
Resolve the Traitors Sorceries t’uncharm:
Till cursing, raving, mad, and drunk with Rage,
In Amnons Blood their frantick Hands engage.
Here let the Ghost of strangl’d Amnon come,
A Specter that will strike Amazement dumb;
Amnon the Proto-Martyr of the Plot,
The Murder’d Amnon, their Eternal Blot;
Whose too bold zeal stood like a Pharos Light,
Israel to warn, and track their Deeds of Night.
Till the sly Foe his unseen Game to play,
Put out the Beacon to secure his way.
Baals Cabinet-Intrigues he open spread,
The Ravisht Tamar for whose sake he bled.
T’unveil their Temple and expose their Gods,
Deserv’d their vengeances severest Rods:
Wrath he deserv’d, and had the Vial full,
To lay those Devils had possest his Soul.
His silenc’d Fiends from his wrung Neck they twist;
Whilst his kind Murd’rer’s but his Exorcist.
Here draw, bold Painter, (if thy Pencil dare
Unshaking write, what Israel quak’d to hear,)
27 A Royal Altar pregnant with a Load
Of Humane Bones beneath a Breaden God.
Altars so rich not Molocks Temples show;
’Twas Heaven above, and Golgotha below.
Yet are not all the Mystick Rites yet done:
Their pious Fury does not stop so soon.
But to pursue the loud-tongu’d Wounds they gave,
Resolves to stab his Fame beyond the Grave,
And in Eternal Infamy to brand
With Amnons Murder, Amnons righteous Hand.
Here with a Bloodless wound, by Hellish Art,
With his own Sword they goar his Lifeless Heart.
Thus in a Ditch the butcher’d Amnon lay,
A Deed of Night enough to have kept back the Day.
Had not the Sun in Sacred vengeance rose,
Asham’d to see, but prouder to disclose,
Warm’d with new Fires, with all his posting speed,
Brought Heav’ns bright Lamp to shew th’Infernal Deed.
What art thou, Church! when Faith to propagate,
And crush all Bars that stop thy growing state,
Thou break’st through Natures, Gods, and Humane Laws,
Whilst Murder’s Merit in a Churches Cause.
How much thy Ladder Jacobs does excel:
Whose Top’s in Heaven like His, but Foot in Hell;
Thy Causes bloody Champions to befriend,
For Fiends to Mount, as Angels to Descend.
This was the stroke did th’alarm’d World surprize,
And even to infidelity lent Eyes:
Whilst sweating Absolon in Israel pent,
For fresher Air was to bleak Hebron sent.
Cold Hebron warm’d by his approaching sight,
Flusht with his Gold, and glow’d with new delight.
Till Sacred all-converting Interest
To Loyalty, their almost unknown Guest,
Oped a broad Gate, from whence forth-issuing come,
Decrees, Tests, Oaths, for well-sooth’d Absolom.
Spight of that Guilt that made even Angels fall,
An unbarr’d Heir shall Reign: In spight of all
Apostacy from Heav’n, or Natures tyes,
Though for his Throne a Cain-built Palace rise.
28 No wonder Hebron such Devotion bears
T’Imperial Dignity, and Royal Heirs;
For they, whom Chronicle so high renowns
For selling Kings, should know the price of Crowns.
Here, Glorious Hushai, let me mourn thy Fate,
Thou once great Pillar of the Hebron State:
Yet now to Dungeons sent, and doom’d t’a Grave.
But Chains are no new Sufferings to the Brave.
Witness thy pains in six years Bonds endur’d,
For Israels Faith, and Davids Cause immur’d.
Death too thou oft for Judahs Crown hast stood,
So bravely fac’d in several Fields of Blood.
But from Fames Pinnacle now headlong cast,
Life, Honour, all are ruin’d at a Blast.
For Absolons great LAW thou durst explain;
Where but to pry, bold Lord, was to prophane:
A Law that did his Mystick God-head couch,
Like th’Ark of God, and no less Death to touch.
Forgot are now thy Honourable Scars,
Thy Loyal Toyls, and Wounds in Judahs Wars.
Had thy pil’d Trophies Babel-high, reacht Heav’n,
Yet by one stroke from Absolons Thunder given,