Part 4 (1/2)

Hear _Israels_ Hope, thou more than happy Man, Beloved on high, witness this Honour done By Father _Samuel_, and believe me, Son, 'Tis by no common Mandate of a G.o.d, A Soul beatifyed, the blest Abode Thus low deserting, quits Immortal Thrones, And from his Grave resumes his sleeping Bones.

But Heavn's the Guide, and wondrous is the way, Divine the Emba.s.sie: hear, and obey.

How long, _Achitophel_, and how profound A Mist of h.e.l.l has thy lost Reason drown'd?

Can the Apostacy from _Israels_ Faith, In _Israels_ Heir, deserve a murmuring Breath?

Or to preserve Religion, Liberty, Peace, Nations, Souls, is that a Cause so high, As the Right Heir from Empire to debar?

Forbid it Heav'n, and guard him every Star.

Alas, what if an Heir of Royal Race, G.o.ds Glory and his Temples will deface, And make a prey of your Estates, Lives, Laws; Nay, give your Sons to _Molocks_ burning paws; Shall you exclude him? hold that Impious Hand.

As _Abraham_ gave his Son at G.o.ds Command, Think still he does by _Divine Right_ succeed: G.o.d bids Him Reign, and you should bid Them Bleed.

'Tis true, as Heav'ns Elected Flock, you may For his Conversion, and your Safety _pray_ But Pray'rs are all. To Disinherit him, The very Thought, nay, Word it self's a Crime.

For that's the MEANS of Safety: but forbear, For Means are Impious in the Sons of Pray'r.

To Miracles alone your Safety owe; And _Abrahams_ Angel wait to stop the Blow.

Yes, what if his polluted Throne be strowd With Sacriledge, Idolatry, and Blood; And 'tis you mount him there; you're innocent still: For he's a King, and Kings can do no ill.

Oh Royal Birthright, 'tis a Sacred Name: Rowze then _Achitophel_, rowze up for shame: Let not this Lethargy thy Soul benum; But wake, and save the G.o.dlike _Absolom_.

And to reward thee for a Deed so great Glut thy Desires, thy full-crown'd wishes meet, Be with acc.u.mulated Honours blest, And grasp a STAR t'adorn thy s.h.i.+ning Crest.

_Achitophel_ before his Eyes could ope, Dreamt of an Ephod, Mitre, and a Cope.

Those visionary Robes t'his Eyes appear'd: For Priestly all was the great Sense he heard.

But Priest or Prophet, Right Divine, or all Together; 'twas not at their feebler call, 'Twas at the _Star_ he wak'd; the _Star_ but nam'd, Flasht in his Eyes, and his rowz'd Soul enflam'd.

A _Star_, whose Influence had more powerful Light, Then that Miraculous Wanderer of the Night, Decreed to guide the Eastern Sages way: Their's to adore a G.o.d, his to betray.

Here the new Convert more than half inspir'd, Strait to his Closet and his Books retir'd.

There for all needful Arts in this extreme, For knotty Sophistry t'a limber Theme, Long brooding ere the Ma.s.s to Shape was brought, And after many a tugging heaving Thought, Together a well-orderd Speech he draws, With ponderous Sounds for his much-labour'd Cause.

Then the astonisht Sanedrim he storm'd, And with such doughty strength the Tug perform'd: Fate did the Work with so much Conquest bless, Wondrous the Champion, Glorious the Success.

So powerful Eloquence, so strong was Wit; And with such Force the easie Wind-falls. .h.i.t.

But the entirest Hearts his Cause could steal, Were the Levitick Chiefs of _Israel_.

None with more Rage the Impious Thought run down Of barring _Absolon_, Pow'r, Wishes, Crown.

With so much vehemence, such fiery Zeal!

Oh, poor unhappy Church of _Israel!_ Thou feelst the Fate of the Arch-angels Wars, The Dragons Tayl sweeps down thy Falling Stars.

Nay, the black Vote 'gainst _Absolon_ appear'd So monstrous, that they d.a.m.n'd it ere 'twas heard.

For Prelates ne'r in Sanedrims debate, They argue in the Church, but not i'th' State; And when their Thoughts aslant towards Heav'n they turn, They weigh each Grain of Incense that they burn, But t'Heavens Vice-gerents, Soul, Sense, Reason, all, Or right or wrong, like Hecatombs must fall.

And when State-business calls their Thoughts below, Then like their own Church-Organ-Pipes they go.

Not _Davids_ Lyre could more his Touch obey: For as their Princes breathe and strike, they play.

'Gainst Royal Will they never can dispute, } But by a strange _Tarantula_ strook mute, } Dance to no other Tune but _Absolute_. } All Acts of Supreme Power they still admire: 'Tis Sacred, though to set the World on Fire, Though Church-Infallibility they explode, As making Humane knowledge equal G.o.d; Infallible in a new name goes down, Not in the Mitre lodged, but in the Crown.

'Tis true, blest _Deborahs_ Laws they could forget: (But want of Memory commends their Wit.) Where 'twas enacted Treason, not to own Hers and her Sanedrins right to place the Crown.

But her weak Heads oth' Church, mistaken fools, Wanted the Light of their sublimer Schools: For Divine Right could no such Forces bring. } But Wisdom now expands her wider Wing, } And Streams are ever deeper than the Spring. } Besides, they've sense of Honour; and who knows How far the Grat.i.tude of Priest-craft goes?

And what if now like old _Elisha_ fed, To praise the Sooty Bird that brought 'em Bread, In pure acknowledgment, though in despight Of their own sense, they paint the Raven White.

_Achitophel_ charm'd with kind Fortunes Smiles, Flusht with Success, now glows for bolder Toyls.

Great Wits perverted greatest Mischiefs hold, As poysonous Vapors spring from Mines of Gold.

And proud to see himself with Triumph blest, Thus to great _Absolom_ himself addrest.

Ill.u.s.trious Terrour of the World, all hayle: For ever like your Conquering Self prevaile.

In spight of Malice in full l.u.s.ter s.h.i.+ne; Be your each Action, Word, and Look Divine, Nay, though our Altars you've so long forborne; To your derided Foes Defeat, and Scorne, For your Renown we have those Trumpets found, Shall ev'n this Deed your highest Glory sound.

That spight of the ill-judging Worlds mistake, Your Soul still owns those Temples you forsake: Onely by all-commanding Honour driven, This self-denial you have made with Heav'n: Quitting our Altars, cause the Insolence Of prophane Sanedrims has driven you thence.

A Prince his Faith to such low Slaves reveal!

'Twas Treason though to G.o.d to bid You kneel.

And what though senseless barking Murmurers scold, } And with a Rage too blasphemously bold, } Say _Israels_ Crown's for _Esau_'s Pottage sold. } Let 'em rayl on; and to strike Envy dumb; May the Slaves live till that great Day shall come, When their husht Rage shall your keen Vengeance fly, And silenc'd with your Royal Thunder dye.

Nay, to outsoar your weak Fore-fathers Wings, And to be all that Nature first meant Kings; d.a.m.n'd be the Law that Majesty confines, But doubly d.a.m.n'd accursed Sanedrins, Invented onely to eclipse a Crown.

Oh throw that dull Mosaick Land-mark down.