But tho' heaven made him poor, with rev'rence fpeaking,
He never was a poet of God's making;

The midwife laid her hand on his thick skull,
With this prophetic bleffing-be thou dull;
Drink, fwear and roar, forbear no lewd delight
Fit for thy bulk, do any thing but write:
Thou art of lafting make, like thoughtless men,
A ftrong nativity-but for the pen;

Eat opium, mingle arfenick in thy drink,
Still thou may'ft live, avoiding pen and ink.
I fee, I fee, 'tis counfel given in vain,
For treafon botcht in rhime will be thy bane,
Rhime is the rock on which thou art to wreck,
'Tis fatal to thy fame and to thy neck:
Why should thy metre good king David blaft?
A pfalm of his will furely be thy laft.

Dar'ft thou prefume in verfe to meet thy foes,
Thou whom the penny pamphlet foil'à in profe?
Doeg, whom God for mankind's mirth has made,
O'er-tops thy talent in thy very trade;

Deeg to thee, thy paintings are so coarse,
A poet is, tho' he's the poet's horse.
A double noofe thou on thy neck doft pull
For writing treason, and for writing dull;
To die for faction is a common evil,

But to be hang'd for nonsense is the devil:
Hadft thou the glories of thy king expreft,
Thy praises had been fatire at the beft;
But thou in clumfy verse, unlickt, unpointed,
Haft fhamefully defy'd the Lord's anointed:
I will not rake the dunghill of thy crimes,
For who would read thy life that reads thy rhymes? ·
But of king David's foes, be this the doom,
May all be like the young man Absalom;
And for my foes may this their bleffing be,
To talk like Doeg, and to write like thee.'
VOL. I.

M

Achitophel

Achitophel each rank, degree, and age,
For various ends neglects not to engage;

The wife and rich for purfe and counfel brought,
The fools and beggars for their number fought:
Who yet not only on the town depends,

For even in court the faction had its friends;
These thought the places they poffeft too small,
And in their hearts wiht court and king to fall:
Whose names the muse disdaining, holds i' th' dark,
Thruft in the villain herd without a mark;
With parafites and libel-fpawning imps,
Intriguing fops, dull jefters, and worse pimps.
Difdain the rafcal rabble to purfue,

Their fet cabals are yet a viler crew;

See where involv'd in common fmoak they fit;
Some for our mirth, fome for our fatire fit:
These gloomy, thoughtful, and on mischief bent,
While thofe for mere good fellowship frequent
Th' appointed club, can let fedition pass,
Senfe, nonfenfe, any thing to employ the glass;
And who believe in their dull honeft hearts,
The reft talk treafon but to fhew their parts;
Who ne'er had wit or will for mischief yet,
But pleas'd to be reputed of a fet.

But in the facred annals of our plot,
Industrious AROD never be forgot:
The labours of this midnight-magiftrate,
May vie with Corah's to preferve the state.
In fearch of arms he fail'd not to lay hold
On war's most powerful dang'rous weapon, gold.
And laft, to take from Jebufites all odds,
Their altars pillag'd, ftole their very gods;
Oft would he cry, when treasure he surpriz❜d,
'Tis Baalifh gold in David's coin disguis'd.
Which to his house with richer reliques came,
While lumber idols only fed the flame:

For

For our wife rabble ne'er took pains t'enquire,
What 'twas he burnt, fo't made a roufing fire.
With which our elder was enricht no more
Than falfe Gehazi with the Syrian's ftore;
So poor, that when our chufing-tribes were met,
Ev'n for his stinking votes he ran in debt;
For meat the wicked, and as authors think,
The faints he chous'd for his electing drink;
Thus ev'ry shift and subtle method past,
And all to be no Zaken at the laft.

Now, rais'd on Tyre's fad ruins, Pharaoh's pride
Soar'd high, his legions threatning far and wide;
As when a batt'ring ftorm ingendred high,
By winds upheld, hangs hov'ring in the sky,
Is gaz'd upon by ev'ry trembling fwain,
This for his vineyard fears, and that his grain;
For blooming plants, and flow'rs new opening, thefe
For lambs yean'd lately, and far-lab'ring bees:
To guard his stock each to the gods does call,
Uncertain where the fire-charg'd clouds will fall:
Ev'n fo the doubtful nations watch his arms,
With terror each expecting his alarms.

Where, Judah, where was now thy lyon's roar?
Thou only couldft the captive lands reftore;
But thou, with inbred broils and faction preft,
From Egypt need'ft a guardian with the reft.
Thy prince from fanhedrims no truft allow'd,
Too much the reprefenters of the croud,
Who for their own defence give no fupply,
But what the crown's prerogatives must buy:
As if their monarch's rights to violate
More needful, were, than to preferve the state!
From prefent dangers they divert their care,
And all their fears are of the royal heir;
Whom now the reigning malice of his foes,
Unjudg'd would fentence, and e'er crown'd depofe.

M 2

Religion

Religion the pretence, but their decree
To bar his reign, whate'er his faith fhall be!
By fanhedrims and clam'rous crouds thus preft,
What paffions rent the righteous David's breast?
Who knows not how t' oppofe or to comply,
Unjuft to grant and dangerous to deny !
How near in this dark juncture Ifrael's fate,
Whose peace one fole expedient could create,
Which yet the extreameft virtue did require,
Even of that prince whofe downfal they confpire!
His abfence David does with tears advife
To appease their rage. Undaunted he complies;
Thus he who prodigal of blood and ease,
A royal life expos'd to winds and feas,
At once contending with the waves and fire,
And heading danger in the wars of Tyre,
Inglorious now forfakes his native fand,
And like an exile quits the promis'd land!
Our monarch scarce from preffing tears refrains,
And painfully his royal ftate maintains,
Who now embracing on the extreamest shore
Almoft revokes what he injoin'd before:
Concludes at last more truft to be allow'd
To ftorms and feas than to the raging croud!
Forbear, rafh mufe, the parting scene to draw,
With filence charm'd as deep as their's that faw!
Not only our attending nobles weep,

But hardy failors fwell with tears the deep!
The tide reftrain'd her courfe, and more amaz'd,
The twin-ftars on the royal brothers gaz'd:

While this fole fear

Does trouble to our suffering hero bring,

Left next the popular rage oppress the king!
Thus parting, each for the other's danger griev'd,
The shore the king, and feas the prince receiv'd.
Go, injur'd hero, while propitious gales,
Soft as thy confort's breath, infpire thy fails;

Well may fhe truft her beauties on a flood,
Where thy triumphant fleets so oft have rode!
Safe on thy breaft reclin'd her rest be deep,
Rock'd like a Nereid by the waves afleep;
While happiest dreams her fancy entertain,
And to Elysian fields convert the main!
Go, injur❜d hero, while the fhores of Tyre
At thy approach fo filent fhall admire,

Who on thy thunder ftill their thoughts employ,
And greet thy landing with a trembling joy.
On heroes thus the prophet's fate is thrown,
Admir'd by every nation but their own;
Yet while our factious Jews his worth deny,
Their aking confcience gives their tongue the lie.
Even in the worst of men the nobleft parts
Confefs him, and he triumphs in their hearts,
Whom to his king the best respects commend
Of fubject, foldier, kinfman, prince and friend;
All facred names of most divine esteem,
And to perfection all sustain'd by him,

Wife, juft, and conftant, courtly without art,

Swift to difcern and to reward defert;

But on the nobleft fubjects ftill employ'd:
Whose steddy foul ne'er learnt to feparate

Between his monarch's intereft and the ftate,
But heaps thofe bleffings on the royal head,
Which he well knows must be on fubjects fhed.
On what pretence could then the vulgar rage
Againft his worth, and native rights engage?
Religious fears their argument are made,
Religious fears his facred rights invade!
Of future fuperftition they complain,
And jebufitic worship in his reign:

With fuch alarms his foes the croud deceive,
With dangers fright which not themfelves believe.