Anti-Achitophel | Page 9

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A Constitution, so Divinely mixt,
Not
Natures bounded Elements more fixt.
Thus Earths vast Frame with
firm and solid ground, }
Stands in a foaming Ocean circled round; }

Yet This not overflowing, That not drown'd. }
But to rebuild their
Altars, and enstal
Their Moulten Gods, the Sanedrin must fall;
That
Constellation of the Jewish Pow'r,
All blotted from its Orb must shine
no more;
Or stampt in _Pharoahs_ darling Mould, must quit
Their
Native Beams, for a new-model'd Light;
Like _Egypts_ Sanedrins,
their influence gone,
Flash but like empty Meteors round the Throne:

That that new Lord may _Judahs_ Scepter weild,
To whom th'old
Brickill Taskmasters must yield;
Who, to erect new Temples for his
Gods,
Shall th'enslav'd _Israel_ drive with Iron Rods;
If they want
Bricks for his new Walls t'aspire,
To their sad cost, he'll find 'em
Straw and Fire.
All this t'effect, and their new Fabrick build,
Both close Cabals and
Forreign Leagues are held:
To _Babylon_ and _Egypt_ they send o're,

And both their Conduct and their Gold implore.
By such Abettors
the sly Game was plaid;
One of their Chiefs a Jewish Renegade,

High-born in _Israel_, one _Michals_ Priest,

But now in _Babylons_
proud Scarlet drest.
'Tis to his Hands the Plotting Mandats come

Subscrib'd by the Apostate _Absolom_.
Nay, and to keep themselves
all danger-proof,
That none might track the _Belial_ by his Hoof,


Their Correspondence veil'd from prying Eyes,
In Hieroglyphick
Figures they disguise.
Husht as the Night, in which their Plots
combin'd,
And silent as the Graves they had design'd,
Their
Ripening Mischiefs to perfection sprung.
But oh! the much-loath'd
_David_ lives too long.
Their Vultures cannot mount but from his
Tomb;
And with too hungry ravenous Gorges come,
To be by airy
Expectation fed.
No Prey, no Spoil, before they see Him Dead.
Yes,
Dead; the Royal Sands too slowly pass,
And therefore they're
resolved to break the Glass:
And to ensure Times tardy dubious Call,

Decree their Daggers should his Sythe forestall.
For th'execrable
Deed a Hireling Crew
Their Hell and They pick out; whom to make
true,
An Oath of Force so exquisite they frame,
Sworn in the Blood
of _Israels_ Paschal Lamb.
If false, the Vengeance of that Sword that
slew
_Egypts_ First-born, their perjur'd Heads pursue.
Strong was
the Oath, the Imprecation dire;
And for a Viand, lest their Guilt
should tire,
With promis'd Paradice they cheer their way;
And
bold's the Souldier who has Heav'n his pay.
But the ne'r-sleeping Providence that stands
With jealous Eyes o're
Truths up-lifted Hands;
That still in its Lord _Israel_ takes delight,

Their Cloud by Day, and Guardian Fire by Night;
A Ray from out its
Fiery Pillar cast,
That overlook'd their driving _Jehu_'s hast.
All's ruin'd and betray'd: their own false
Slaves }
Detect the Plot, and dig their Masters
Graves: }
Not Oaths nor Bribes shall bind, when great _Jehovah_ saves. } The
frighted _Israelites_ take the Alarm,
Resolve the Traitors Sorceries
t'uncharm:
Till cursing, raving, mad, and drunk with Rage,
In
_Amnons_ Blood their frantick Hands engage.
Here let the Ghost of strangl'd _Amnon_ come,
A Specter that will
strike Amazement dumb;
_Amnon_ the Proto-Martyr of the Plot,

The Murder'd _Amnon_, their Eternal Blot;
Whose too bold zeal

stood like a _Pharos_ Light,
_Israel_ to warn, and track their Deeds
of Night.
Till the sly Foe his unseen Game to play,
Put out the
Beacon to secure his way.
_Baals_ Cabinet-Intrigues he open spread,

The Ravisht _Tamar_ for whose sake he bled.
T'unveil their
Temple and expose their Gods,
Deserv'd their vengeances severest
Rods:
Wrath he deserv'd, and had the Vial full,
To lay those Devils
had possest his Soul.
His silenc'd Fiends from his wrung Neck they
twist;
Whilst his kind Murd'rer's but his Exorcist.
Here draw, bold
Painter, (if thy Pencil dare
Unshaking write, what _Israel_ quak'd to
hear,)
A Royal Altar pregnant with a Load
Of Humane Bones
beneath a Breaden God.
Altars so rich not _Molocks_ Temples show;

'Twas Heaven above, and _Golgotha_ below.
Yet are not all the
Mystick Rites yet done:
Their pious Fury does not stop so soon.
But
to pursue the loud-tongu'd Wounds they gave,
Resolves to stab his
Fame beyond the Grave,
And in Eternal Infamy to brand
With
_Amnons_ Murder, _Amnons_ righteous Hand.
Here with a
Bloodless wound, by Hellish Art,
With his own Sword they goar his
Lifeless Heart.
Thus in a Ditch the butcher'd _Amnon_ lay,
A Deed
of Night enough to have kept back the Day.
Had not the Sun in
Sacred vengeance rose,
Asham'd to see, but prouder to disclose,

Warm'd with new Fires, with all his posting speed,
Brought Heav'ns
bright Lamp to shew th'Infernal Deed.
What art thou, Church! when Faith to propagate,
And crush all Bars
that stop thy growing state,
Thou break'st through Natures, Gods, and
Humane Laws,
Whilst Murder's Merit in a Churches Cause.
How
much thy Ladder _Jacobs_ does excel:
Whose Top's in Heaven like
His, but Foot in Hell;
Thy Causes bloody Champions to befriend,

For Fiends to Mount, as Angels to Descend.
This was the stroke did th'alarm'd World surprize,

And even to
infidelity lent Eyes:
Whilst sweating _Absolon_ in _Israel_ pent,

For fresher Air was to bleak _Hebron_ sent.
Cold _Hebron_ warm'd

by his approaching sight,
Flusht