Then Kings are flaves to those whom they command,
And Tenants to their Peoples pleasure stand.
Add, that the Pow'r for Property allow'd,
Is mischievously feated in the Croud:
For who can be fecure of private Right,
If Sovereign Sway may be diffolv'd by Might?
Nor is the Peoples Judgment always true:
The Moft may err, as grofly as the Few.
And faultlefs Kings run down, by Common Cry,
For Vice, Oppreffion, and for Tyranny.
What Standard is there in a fickle Rout,
Which flowing to the Mark, runs fafter out?
Nor only Crouds, but Sanhedrins may be
Infected with this Publick Lunacy :

And Share the madness of Rebellious Times,
To Murther Monarchs for Imagin'd Crimes.
If they may give and take whene'er they please,
Not Kings alone, (the God-head's Images,)
But Government it self 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 fetled Throne wou'd shake?
For whatfoe'er their Sufferings were before,
That Change they Covet makes them fuffer more.
All other Errors but difturb a State;

But Innovation is the Blow of Fate.

If ancient Fabricks nod, and threat to fall,
To Parch the Flaws, and Buttress up the Wall,
Thus far 'tis Duty; but here fix the Mark;
For all beyond it is to touch the Ark.
To change Foundations, caft the Frame anew,
Is work for Rebels who bafe Ends pursue:
At once Divine and Human Laws controul;
And mend the Parts by ruin of the Whole.
The tamp'ring World is fubject to this Curfe,
To Phyfick 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, fo high the madness grows;
Who dare be fuch, must be the Peoples Foes:
Yet fome there were, ev'n in the worst of days;
Some let me Name, and Naming is to Praise.
In this fhort File Barzillai firft appears;
Barzillai crown'd with Honour and with Years;
Long fince, the rifing Rebels he withstood
In regions Wafte beyond the Jordan's Flood:
Unfortunately Brave to buoy the State;
But finking underneath his Master's Fate:
In Exile with his Godlike Prince he mourn'd:
For him he Suffer'd, and with him Return'd.
The Court he practis'd, not the Courtier's Art:
Large was his Wealth, but larger was his Heart:
Which well the Nobleft Objects knew to chufe,
The Fighting Warriour, and Recording Muse.
His Bed cou'd once a fruitful Iffue boast;
Now more than half a Father's Name is loft.
His Eldeft Hope, with every Grace adorn'd,
By me (fo Heav'n will have it) always Mourn'd,
And always honour'd, fnatch'd in Manhoods prime
B'unequal Fates, and Providence's Crime:

Yet not before the Goal of Honour won,
All Parts fulfill'd of Subject and of Son;
Swift was the Race, but short the Time to run.
Oh Narrow Circle, but of Pow'r 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 infus'd, the fainting Tyrians prop'd;
And haughty Pharaoh found his Fortune stop'd.
Oh Ancient Honour, Oh unconquer'd Hand,
Whom Foes unpunish'd never cou'd withstand!
But Ifrael was unworthy of his Name:
Short is the date of all Immoderate Fame.
It looks as Heav'n our Ruine had defign'd,
And durft not truft thy Fortune and thy Mind.
Now free from Earth, thy difencumber'd Soul [Pole:
Mounts up, and leaves behind the Clouds and Starry

From thence thy kindred Legions mayft thou bring,
To aid the Guardian Angel of thy King.

Here ftop, my Mufe, here ceafe thy painful flight :
No pinions can purfue Immortal height:
Tell good Barzillai thou canst fing no more,
And tell thy Soul fhe should have fled before;
Or fled fle with his life, and left this Verfe
To hang on her departed Patron's Hearse?
Now take thy fleepy flight from Heav'n, and fee
If thou canft find on Earth another He:
Another He would be too hard to find,

See then whom thou canft fee not far behind:
Zadoc the Prieft, whom, fhunning Pow'r and Place,
His lowly mind advanc'd to David's Grace:
With him the Sagan of Jerufalem,

Of hofpitable Soul, and noble Stem;

Him of the Western Dome, whose weighty Sense
Flows in fit words and heavenly eloquence.
The Prophets Sons by fuch Example led;
To Learning and to Loyalty were bred:
For Colleges on bounteous Kings depend,
And never Rebel was to Arts, a Friend.
To thefe fucceed the Pillars of the Laws;
Who beft can plead, and beft can judge a: Caufe.
Next them a train of Loyal Peers afcend,
Sharp judging Adriel, the Mufes Friend,
Himself a Mufe:----In Sanhedrins debate
True to his Prince; but not a Slave of State.
Whom David's Love with Honours did adorn,
That from his difobedient Son were torn.
Jotham of piercing Wit, and pregnant Thought:
Endu'd by Nature, and by Learning taught
To move Affemblies, who but only try'd
The worse a-while, then chofe the better fide:
Nor chofe alone, but turn'd the Balance too;
So much the weight of one Brave man can do.
Hufhai the Friend of David in diftrefs,
In publick forms of manly stedfastness;

By Foreign Treaties he inform'd his Youth;
And join'd Experience to his Native Truth,
His frugal care fupply'd the wanting Throne;
Frugal for that, but bounteous of his own:
Tis eafie Conduct when Exchequers flow;
But hard the task to manage well the low:
For Soveraign Pow'r is too depreft or high,
When Kings are forc'd to fell, or Crouds to buy.
Indulge one labour more, my weary Mufe,
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 rul'd,
Their Reafon guided, and their Paffion cool'd
So dextrous was he in the Crown's defence,
So form'd to speak a Loyal Nation's Senfe,
That as their Band was Ifrael's Tribes in fmall,
So fit was he to reprefent them all.

Now rafher Charioteers the Seat afcend,
Whofe loose Careers his steady Skill commend
They; like th' unequal Ruler of the Day,
Mifguide the Seafons, and miftake the Way;
While he withdrawn at their mad Labour fmiles,
And fafe enjoys the Sabbath of his Toils.

These were the Chief; a small but faithful Band Of Worthies, in the Breach who dar'd to ftand And tempt th' united Fury of the Land.

With grief they view'd fuch powerful Engines bent,
To batter down the Lawful Government.
A numerous Faction with pretended Frights,
In Sanhedrins to plume the Regal Rights.
The true Succeffor from the Court remov'd:
The Plot, by hireling Witneffes, improv'd.
Thefe Ills they faw, and as their Duty bound,
They fhew'd the King the danger of the Wound;
That no Conceffions from the Throne wou'd pleafe;
But Lenitives fomented the Disease:

That Abfalom, ambitious of the Crown,

Was made the Lure to draw the People down:

That falfe Achitophel's pernicious Hate,

Had turn'd 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 oppreft,
And long revolving in his careful Breaft
Th' event of things; at last, his Patience tir'd,
Thus, from his Royal Throne, by Heav'n inspir'd,
The God-like David spoke; with awful fear
His Train their Maker in their Mafter hear.
Thus long have 1, by Native Mercy sway'd,
My Wrongs diffembl'd, my Revenge delay'd:
So willing to forgive th' Offending Age;
So much the Father did the King affwage.
But now fo far my Clemency they flight,
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, fince they will divert my Native courfe,
'Tis time to fhew I am not good by force.
Thofe heap'd Affronts that haughty Subjects bring
Are Burthens for a Camel, not a King:
Kings are the publick Pillars of the State,
Born to fuftain and prop the Nation's weight:-
If my young Sampfon will pretend a Call
To shake the Column, let him fhare the Fall:
But, oh, that yet he would repent and live!
How cafie '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,
Rais'd up to all the height his Frame cou'd bear:
Had God ordain'd his Fate for Empire Born,
He wou'd have given his Soul another turn:
Gull'd with a Patriot's name, whofe Modern sense
Is one that wou'd by Law fupplant his Trince :