Anti-Achitophel | Page 5

of This, I
having only taken the Measure of My Weapon, from the Length of his;
which by the Rules of Honour ought not to offend you; especially,
since the boldness of that Ingenious Piece, was wholly taken from the
Encouragement you gave the Author; and 'tis from that Boldness only

that this POEM takes its Birth: for had not his daring Pen brought that
Piece into the World, I had been so far from troubling my self in any
Subject on this kind, that I may justly say in one sence, the Writer of
that _Absolom_, is the Author of this. This favour, as in Justice due,
obtain'd from you, I shall not trouble you with a long Preface, like a
tedious Compliment at the Door, but desire you to look in for your
Entertainment. Onely I cannot forbear telling you, that one thing I am a
little concern'd for you, _Tories_, that your _Absoloms_ and
_Achitophels_, and the rest of your Grinning Satyres against the
_Whiggs_, have this one unpardonable Fault, That the Lash is more
against a _David_, than an _Achitophel_; whilst the running down of
the PLOT at so extravagant a rate, savours of very little less (pardon the
Expression) than ridiculing of Majesty it self, and turning all those
several Royal Speeches to the Parliament on that Subject, onely into
those double-tongu'd Oracles that sounded one thing, and meant
another. Besides, after this unmannerly Boldness, of not onely branding
the publick Justice of the Nation, but affronting even the Throne it self,
to push the humour a little farther, you run into ten times a greater Vice,
(and in the same strain too) than what you so severely inveigh against:
and whilst a POPISH PLOT through want of sufficient Circumstances,
and credible Witnesses, miscarries with you, a PROTESTANT PLOT
without either Witness or Circumstance at all, goes currant. Nay you
are so far now from your former niceties and scruples, and disparing
about raising of Armies, and not one Commission found, that you can
swallow the raising of a whole Protestant ARMY, without either
Commission, or Commission-Officer; Nay, the very When, Where, and
How, are no part of your Consideration. 'Tis true, the great Cry
amongst you, is, The Nations Eyes are open'd; but I am afraid, in most
of you, 'tis onely to look where you like best: and to help your lewd
Eye-sight, you have got a damnable trick of turning the Perspective
upon occasion, and magnifying or diminishing at pleasure. But alas, all
talking to you is but impertinent, and fending and proving signifie just
nothing; for after all Arguments, both Parties are so irreconcileable,
that as the Author of _Absolom_ wisely observed, they'll be Fools or
Knaves to each other to the end of the Chapter. And therefore I am so
reasonable in this point, that should be very glad to divide 'em between
'em, and give the Fool to the _Tory_, and the Knave to the _Whigg_.

For the _Tories_ that will believe no POPISH PLOT, may as justly
come under that denomination, as They, that _David_ tells us, _said in
their Hearts there was no God_. And then let the _Whiggs_ that do
believe a _Popish Plot_ be the Knaves, for daring to endeavour to
hinder the Effects of a _Popish Plot_, when the _Tories_ are resolved
to the contrary. But to draw near a conclusion, I have one favour more
to beg of you, that you'll give me the freedom of clapping but about a
score of years extraordinary on the back of my _Absolom_. Neither is it
altogether so unpardonable a Poetical License, since we find as great
slips from the Author of your own _Absolom_, where we see him bring
in a _Zimri_ into the Court of _David_, who in the Scripture-story dyed
by the Hand of _Phineas_ in the days of _Moses_. Nay, in the other
extream, we find him in another place talking of the Martyrdome of
_Stephen_, so many Ages after. And if so famous an Author can forget
his own Rules of Unity, Time, and Place, I hope you'll give a Minor
Poet some grains of Allowance, and he shall ever acknowledge himself
Your Humble Servant.
Absalom Senior:
or,
ACHITOPHEL TRANSPROS'D.
In Gloomy Times, when Priestcraft bore the sway,
And made Heav'ns
Gate a Lock to their own Key:
When ignorant Devotes did blindly
bow,
And groaping to be sav'd they knew not now:
Whilst this
_Egyptian_ darkness did orewhelm,
The Priest sate Pilot even at
Empires Helm.
Then Royal Necks were yok'd, and Monarchs still

Hold but their Crowns at his Almighty Will.
And to defend this high
Prerogative,
Falsely from Heaven he did that powr derive:
By a
Commission forg'd i'th' hand of God,
Turn'd _Aarons_ blooming
wand, to _Moses_ snaky Rod.
Whilst Princes little Scepters
overpowr'd,
Made but that prey his wider Gorge devour'd.
Now