Anti-Achitophel | Page 7

my Soul, th'hast trod,
Trod down their
strengths. So fall the Foes of God.
But they who in his Sacred Laws
delight,
Be as the Sun when he sets out in might._
Thus sung, they conquer'd _Deborah_; thus fell
Hers, and Heav'ns
Foes. But no Defeat tames Hell.
By Conquest overthrown, but not
dismay'd,
'Gainst _Israel_ still their private Engines play'd.

And
their dire Machinations to fulfil,
Their stings torn out, they kept their

poyson still.
And now too weak in open force to joyn,
In close
Cabals they hatcht a damn'd Design,
To light that Mine as should the
world amaze,
And set the ruin'd _Israel_ in a blaze.
When _Judahs_ Monarch with his Princes round,
Amidst his glorious
Sanedrim sate Crown'd,
Beneath his Throne a Cavern low, and dark

As their black Souls, for the great Work they mark.
In this lone
Cell their Midnight-Hands bestow'd
A _Stygian_ Compound, a
combustive load
Of Mixture wondrous, Execution dire,
Ready the
Touch of their Infernal Fire.
Have you not seen in yon æthereal Road,

How at the Rage of th'angry driving God,
Beneath the pressure of
his furious wheels
The Heav'ns all rattle, and the Globe all reels?

So does this Thunder's Ape its lightning play,
Keen as Heav'ns Fires,
and scarce less swift than they.
A short-liv'd glaring Murderer it
flies, } In Times least pulse, a Moments wing'd surprize; } 'Tis born,
looks big, talks lowd, breaths death, and dies. } This Mixture was
th'Invention of a Priest;
The Sulphurous Ingredients all the best
Of
Hells own growth: for to dire Compounds still
Hell finds the Minerals,
and the Priest the Skill.
From this curst Mine they had that blow decreed,
A Moments dismal
blast, as should exceed
All the Storms, Battles, Murders, Massacres,

And all the strokes of Daggers, Swords, or Spears,
Since first
_Cain's_ hand at _Abels_ Head was lift:
A Blow more swift than
Pestilence, more swift
Than ever a destroying Angel rod,
To pour
the Vial of an angry God.
The Train was laid, the very Signal giv'n;
But here th'all-seeing,
_Israels_ Guardian, Heav'n
Could hold no longer; and to stop their
way,
With a kind Beam from th'Empyræan Day,
Disclos'd their
hammering Thunder at the Forge;
And made their Cyclops Cave their
Bolts disgorge.
Discover'd thus, thus lost, betray'd, undone,
Yet still untir'd, the

Restless Cause goes on;
And to retrieve a yet auspicious day,
A
glowing spark even in their Ashes lay,
Which thus burst out in flames.
In _Geshur_ Land,
The utmost Bound of _Israels_ Command,

Where _Judah's_ planted Faith but slowly grew,
A Brutal Race that
_Israels_ God n'er knew:
A Nation by the Conquerors Mercy grac'd,

Their Gods preserv'd, and Temples undefac'd;
Yet not content with
all the Sweets of Peace,
Free their Estates, and free their Consciences;

'Gainst _Israel_ those confederate Swords they drew,
Which with
that vast Assassination flew
Two hundred thousand Butcher'd
Victims shar'd
One common doom: No Sex nor Age was spar'd:

Not kneeling Beauties Tears, not Virgins Cries,
Nor Infants Smiles:
No prey so small but dies.
Alas, the hard-mouth'd Blood-hound, Zeal,
bites through;
Religion hunts, and hungry Jaws pursue.
To what
strange Rage is Superstition driven,
That Man can outdo Hell to fight
for Heav'n!
So Rebel _Geshur_ fought: so drown'd in gore,
Even
Mother Earth blusht at the Sons she bore;
And still asham'd of her old
staining Brand,
Her Head shrinks down and Quagmires half their
Land.
Yet not this blow _Baals_ Empire could enlarge
For _Israel_
still was Heav'ns peculiar charge:
Unshaken still in all this Scene of
Blood,
Truths Temple firm on Golden Columns stood.
Whilst
_Sauls_ Revenging Arm proud _Geshur_ scourg'd,
From their rank
soyl their _Hydra's_ poyson purg'd.
Yet does not here their vanquish'd spleen give o're,
But as untir'd, and
restless as before,
Still through whole waiting Ages they outdo
At
once the Chimists pains and patience too.
Who though he sees his
bursting Limbecks crack,
And at one blast, one fatal Minutes wrack,

The forward Hopes of sweating years expire;
With sad, yet painful
hand new lights his Fire:
Pale, lean, and wan, does Health, Wealth, all
consume;

Yet for the great Elixir still to come,
Toyls and hopes on.
No less their Plottings cease;
So hope, so toyl, the foes of _Israels_
peace.

When lo, a long expected day appears,
Sought for above a hundred
rowling years;
A day i'th' register of Doom set down,
Presents 'em
with an Heir of _Israels_ Crown.
Here their vast hopes of the rich
_Israels_ spoils,
Requites the pains of their long Ages Toyls.

_Baals_ Banners now i'th' face of day shall march,
With Heav'ns
bright Roof for his Triumphal Arch.
His lurking Missioners shall now
no more
From Forreign Schools in borrow'd shapes come o're;

Convert by Moon-light, and their Mystick Rites
Preach to poor
Female half-Soul'd Proselytes.
An all-commanding Dragon now shall
soar,
Where the poor Serpents onely crawl'd before.
_Baals_
Restoration, that most blest Design, }
Now the great work of Majesty,
shall shine, }
Made by his consecrating hand Divine. }
He shall
new plant their Groves with each blest Tree,
A graft of an Imperial
Nursery.
In the kind Air of this new _Eden_ blest,
Percht on each
bough, and Palaces their nest;
No more by frighting Laws forc'd
t'obscure flight,
And gloomy walks, like obscene Birds of Night;

Their warbling Notes like _Philomel_ shall sing,
And like the Bird of
_Paradise_ their