Part 3

Here, Glorious _Hushai_, let me mourn thy Fate, Thou once great Pillar of the _Hebron_ State: Yet now to Dungeons sent, and doom'd t'a Grave. But Chains are no new Sufferings to the Brave. Witness thy pains in six years Bonds endur'd, For _Israels_ Faith, and _Davids_ Cause immur'd. Death too thou oft for _Judahs_ Crown hast stood, So bravely fac'd in several Fields of Blood. But from Fames Pinnacle now headlong cast, Life, Honour, all are ruin'd at a Blast. For _Absolons_ great LAW thou durst explain; Where but to pry, bold Lord, was to prophane: A Law that did his Mystick God-head couch, Like th'Ark of God, and no less Death to touch. Forgot are now thy Honourable Scars, Thy Loyal Toyls, and Wounds in _Judahs_ Wars. Had thy pil'd Trophies _Babel_-high, reacht Heav'n, Yet by one stroke from _Absolons_ Thunder given, Thy towring Glorie's levell'd to the ground; } A stroke does all thy Tongues of Fame confound, } And, Traitor, now is all the Voice they sound. } True, thou hadst Law; that even thy Foes allow; But to thy Advocates, as damn'd as Thou, 'Twas Death to plead it. Artless _Absolon_ The Bloody Banner to display so soon: Such killing Beams from thy young Day-break shot; What will the Noon be, if the Morn's so hot? Yes, dreadful Heir, the Coward _Hebron_ awe. So the young Lion tries his tender Paw. At a poor Herd of feeble Heifers flies, Ere the rough Bear, tusk'd Boar, or spotted Leopard dies. Thus flusht, great Sir, thy strength in _Israel_ try: When their Cow'd Sanedrims shall prostrate lye, And to thy feet their slavish Necks shall yield; Then raign the Princely Savage of the Field.

Yes, _Israels_ Sanedrin, 'twas they alone That set too high a Value on a Throne; Thought they had a God was Worthy to be serv'd; A Faith maintain'd, and Liberty preserv'd. And therefore judg'd, for Safety and Renown Of _Israels_ People, Altars, Laws and Crown, Th'Anointing Drops on Royal Temples shed Too precious Showrs for an Apostates Head. Then was that great Deliberate Councel giv'n, An Act of Justice both to Man and Heav'n, _Israels_ conspiring Foes to overthrow, That _Absolon_ should th'Hopes of Crowns forego. Debarr'd Succession! oh that dismal sound! A sound, at which _Baal_ stagger'd, and Hell groan'd; A sound that with such dreadful Thunder falls, 'Twas heard even to _Semiramis_ trembling Walls.

But hold! is this the Plots last Murd'ring Blow, The dire divorce of Soul and Body? No. The mangled Snake, yet warm, to Life they'll bring, And each disjoynted Limb together cling. Then thus _Baals_ wise consulting Prophets cheer'd Their pensive Sons, and call'd the scatter'd Herd.

Are we quite ruin'd! No, mistaken Doom, Still the great Day, yes that great Day shall come, (Oh, rouse our fainting Sons, and droop no more.) A Day, whose Luster, our long Clouds blown o're, Not all the Rage of _Israel_ shall annoy, No, nor denouncing Sanedrims destroy. See yon North-Pole, and mark _Booetes Carr_: Oh! we have those Influencing Aspects there, Those Friendly pow'rs that drive in that bright _Wain_, Shall redeem All, and our lost Ground regain. Whilst to our Glory their kind Aid stands fast, But one Plot more, our Greatest and our Last.

Now for a Product of that subtle kind, As far above their former Births refin'd, As Firmamental Fires t'a Tapers ray, Or Prodigies to Natures common Clay. Empires in Blood, or Cities in a Flame, Are work for vulgar Hands, scarce worth a Name. A Cake of _Shew-bread_ from an Altar ta'ne, Mixt but with some Levitical King-bane, Has sent a Martyr'd Monarch to his Grave. Nay, a poor Mendicant Church-Rake-hell slave Has stab'd Crown'd Heads; slight Work to hands well-skill'd, Slight as the Pebble that _Goliah_ kill'd. But to make Plots no Plots, to clear all Taints, Traitors transform to Innocents, Fiends to Saints, Reason to Nonsence, Truth to Perjury; Nay, make their own attesting Records lye, And even the gaping Wounds of Murder whole: If this last Masterpiece requires a Soul. Guilt to unmake, and Plots annihilate, Is much a greater work than to create. Nay both at once to be, and not to be, Is such a Task would pose a Deity. Let _Baal_ do this, and be a God indeed: Yes, this Immortal Honour 'tis decreed, His Sanguine Robe though dipt in reeking Gore, With purity and Innocence all o're, Shall dry, and spotless from the purple hue, The Miracle of _Gideons_ Fleece outdo. Yes, they're resolv'd, in all their foes despight, To wash their more than _Ethiop_ Treason White.

But now for Heads to manage the Design, Fit Engineers to labour in this Mine. For their own hands 'twere fatal to employ: Should _Baal_ appear, it would _Baals_ Cause destroy. Alas, should onely their own Trumpets sound Their Innocence, the jealous Ears around All Infidels would the loath'd Charmer fly, And through the Angels voice the Fiend descry. No, this last game wants a new plotting Set, And _Israel_ only now can _Israel_ cheat. In this Machine their profest Foes must move, Whilst _Baal_ absconding sits in Clouds above, From whence unseen he guides their bidden way: For he may prompt, although he must not play. This to effect a sort of Tools they find, Devotion-Rovers, an Amphibious Kind, Of no Religion, yet like Walls of Steel Strong for the Altars where their Princes kneel. Imperial not Celestial is their Test, The Uppermost, indisputably Best. They always in the golden Chariot rod, Honour their Heav'n, and Interest their God.

Of these then subtil _Caleb_ none more Great, _Caleb_ who shines where his lost Father set; Got by that sire, who not content alone, } To shade the brightest Jewel in a Crown, } Preaching Ingratitude t'a Court and Throne; } But made his Politicks the baneful Root From whence the springing Woes of _Israel_ shoot, When his Great Masters fatal _Gordian_ tyed, He lai'd the barren _Michal_ by his side; That the ador'd _Absolons_ immortal Line Might on _Judeas_ Throne for ever shine. _Caleb_, who does that hardy Pilot make, } Steering in that Hereditary Track, } Blind to the Sea-Mark of a Fathers Wrack. }

Next _Jonas_ stands bull-fac'd, but chicken-soul'd, Who once the silver Sanedrin Controul'd, Their Gold-tip'd Tongue; Gold his great Councels Bawd: Till by succeeding Sanedrins outlaw'd, He was prefer'd to guard the sacred Store: There Lordly rowling in whole Mines of Oar; To Diceing Lords, a Cully-Favourite, He prostitutes whole _Cargoes_ in a Night. Here to the Top of his Ambition come, Fills all his Sayls for hopeful _Absolom._ For his Religion's as the Season calls, Gods in Possession, in Reversion _Baals._ He bears himself a Dove to Mortal Race, And though not Man, he can look Heav'n i'th' Face. Never was Compound of more different Stuff, A Heart in Lambskin, and a Conscience Buff.

Let not that Hideous Bulk of Honour scape, _Nadab_ that sets the gazing Crowd agape: That old Kirk-founder, whose course Croak could sing The Saints, the Cause, no Bishop, and no King: When Greatness clear'd his Throat, and scowr'd his Maw, Roard out Succession, and the Penal Law. Not so of old: another sound went forth, When in the Region from _Judea_ North, By the Triumphant _Saul_ he was employ'd, A huge fang Tusk to goar poor _Davids_ side. Like a Proboscis in the Tyrants Jaw, To rend and root through Government and Law. His hand that Hell-penn'd League of _Belial_ drew, } That Swore down Kings, Religion overthrew, } Great _David_ banisht, and Gods Prophets slew. } Nor does the Courts long Sun so powerful shine, T'exhale his Vapours, or his Dross refine; Nor is the Metal mended by the stamp. With his rank oyl he feeds the Royal Lamp. To Sanedrins an everlasting Foe, Resolv'd his Mighty Hunters overthrow. And true to Tyranny, as th'only Jem, That truly sparkles in a Diadem; To _Absalons_ side does his old _Covenant_ bring, With _State_ raz'd out, and interlin'd with KING. But _Nadabs_ Zeal has too severe a Doom; Whilst serving an ungrateful _Absalom_, His strength all spent his Greatness to create, He's now laid by a cast-out Drone of State. He rowz'd that Game by which he is undone, By fleeter Coursers now so far outrun, That fiercer Mightier _Nimrod_ in the Chace, Till quite thrown out, and lost he quits the Race.

Of Low-born Tools we bawling _Shimei_ saw, _Jerusalems_ late loud-tongu'd MOUTH of Law. By Blessings from Almighty Bounty given, _Shimei_ no common Favorite of Heaven. Whom, lest Posterity should loose the Breed, In five short Moons indulgent Heav'n rais'd Seed; Made happy in an Early teeming Bride, And laid a lovely Heiress by her side. Whilst the glad Father's so divinely blest, } That like the Stag proud of his Brow so drest, } He brandishes his lofty City-Crest. } 'Twas in _Jerusalem_ was _Shimei_ nurst, _Jerusalem_ by _Baals_ Prophets ever curst, The greatest Block that stops 'em in their way, For which she once in Dust and Ashes lay. Here to the Bar this whiffling Lurcher came, And barkt to rowze the nobler Hunters Game. But _Shimei's_ Lungs might well be stretcht so far; For steering by a Court-Ascendant Star, For daily Oracles he does address, To the _Egyptian_ Beauteous Sorceress. For _Pharoah_ when he wisely did essay To bear the long-sought Golden Prize away, That fair Enchantress sent, whose Magick Skill Should keep great _Israels_ sleeping Dragon still. Thus by her powerful inspirations fed, } To bite their Heels this City-Snake was bred, } Till _Absalon_ got strength to bruise their Head. } Of all the Heroes since the world began, To _Shimei Joshuah_ was the bravest Man. To Him his Tutelar Saint he prays, and oh, That great _Jerusalem_ were like _Jericoh_! Then bellowing lowd for _Joshuahs_ Spirit calls, Because his Rams-horn blew down City-Walls.

In the same Roll have we grave _Corah_ seen, _Corah_, the late chief Scarlet _Abbethdin_. _Corah_, who luckily i'th' Bench was got, To loo the Bloodhounds off to save the Plot. _Corah_, who once against _Baals_ Impious Cause, Stood strong for _Israels_ Faith and _Davids_ Laws. He poys'd his Scales, and shook his ponderous Sword, Lowd as his Fathers _Basan_-Bulls he roar'd; Till by a Dose of Forreign _Ophir_ drencht, The Feavour of his Burning Zeal was Quencht. _Ophir_, that rescu'd the Court-Drugsters Fate, Sent in the Nick to gild his Pills of State. Whilst the kind Skill of our Law-Emperick, Sublim'd his Mercury to save his Neck. In Law, they say, he had but a slender Mite, And Sense he had less: for as Historians write, The _Arabian_ Legate laid a Snare so gay, As Spirited his little Wits away. Of the Records of Law he fancied none Like the Commandment Tables graved in Stone. And wish'd the _Talmude_ such, that Soveraign sway When once displeased might th'angry _Moses_ play. Onely his Law was Brittle i'th' wrong place: For had our _Corah_ been in _Moses_ Case, The Fury of his Zeal had been employ'd To build that Calf which th'others Rage destroy'd. Thus _Corah, Baals_ true Fayry Changeling made, He Bleated onely as the _Pharisees_ pray'd, All to advance that future Tyrant pow'r, Should Widows Houses gorge, and Orphans Tears devour.

Nor are these all their Instruments; to prop Their Mighty Cause, and _Israels_ Murmurs stop; They find a sort of Academick Tools; Who by the Politick Doctrine of their Schools, Betwixt Reward, Pride, Avarice, Hope and Fear, Prizing their Heav'n too cheap, the World too dear, Stand bold and strong for _Absolons_ Defence: Interest the Thing, but Conscience the Pretence. These to ensure him for their _Sions_ King, A Right Divine quite down from _Adam_ bring, That old Levitick Engine of Renown, That makes no Taint of Souls a bar t'a Crown. 'Tis true, Religions constant Champion vow'd, Each open-mouth'd, with Pulpit-Thunder lowd, Against false Gods, and Idol Temples bawls; Yet lays the very Stones that raise their Walls. They preach up Hell to those that _Baal_ adore, Yet make't Damnation to oppose his pow'r. So far this Paradox of Conscience run, Till _Israels_ Faith pulls _Israels_ Altars down. Grant Heav'n they don't to _Baal_ so far make way, Those fatal _Wands_ before their Sheepfolds lay. Such Motley Principles amongst them thrown, Shall nurse that Py-ball'd Flock that's half his own. Nor may they say, when _Molocks_ Hands draw nigher, We built the Pile, whilst _Baal_ but gives it fire.

If Monarchy in _Adam_ first begun, When the Worlds Monarch dug, and his Queen spun, His Fig-leaves his first Coronation-Robe, His Spade his Scepter, and her Wheel his Globe; And Royal Birthright, as their Schools assert, Not Kings themselves with Conscience can divert; How came the World possest by _Adams_ Sons, Such various Principalities, Powres, Thrones? When each went out and chose what Lands he pleas'd, Whilst a new Family new Kingdoms rais'd? His Sons assuming what he could not give, } Their Soveraign Sires right Heir they did deprive; } And from Rebellion all their pow'r derive: } For were there an original Majesty } Upheld by Right Divine, the World should be } Onely one Universal Monarchy. } O cruel Right Divine, more full of Fate, Then th' Angels flaming Sword at _Edens_ Gate, Such early Treason through Mankind convey'd, And at the door of Infant-Nature layd. For Right Divine in _Esau's_ just defence, Why don't they quarrel with Omnipotence, The first-born _Esau's_ Right to _Jacob_ giv'n, And Gods gift too, Injustice charge on Heav'n. Nay, let Heav'n answer this one Fact alone, Mounting a Bastard _Jephtha_ on a Throne. If Kings and Sanedrims those Laws could make, Which from offending Heirs their Heads can take; And a First-born can forfeit Life and Throne, And all by Law: why not a Crown alone? Strange-bounded Law-makers! whose pow'r can throw The deadlier Bolt, can't give the weaker Blow. A Treasonous Act; nay, but a Treasonous Breath Against offended Majesty is Death. But, oh! the wondrous Church-distinction given Between the Majesty of Kings and Heav'n! The venial sinner here, he that intreagues With _Egypt, Babylon_; Cabals, Plots, Leagues With _Israels_ Foes her Altars to destroy, A Hair untouch'd, shall Health, Peace, Crowns enjoy.

Truths Temple thus the Exhalations bred From her own Bowels, to obscure her Head. And _Absolom_ already had subdu'd Whole Crowds of the unthinking Multitude. But through these Wiles too weak to catch the Wise, Thin as their Ephod-Lawn, a Cobweb Net for Flyes, The searching Sanedrim saw; and to dispel Th'ingendring Mists that threatned _Israel_, They still resolv'd their Plotting Foes defeat, By barring _Absolon_ th'Imperial Seat.

But here's his greatest Tug; could he but make Th'encluding Sanedrims Resolves once shake; Nay, make the smallest Breach, or clashing Jar, In their great Councel, push but home so far, And the great Point's secur'd.----And, lo! among The Princely Heads of that Illustrious Throng, He saw rich Veins with Noble Blood new fill'd; Others who Honour from Dependance held. Some with exhausted Fortunes, to support Their Greatness, propt with Crutches from a Court. These for their Countries Right their Votes still pass, Mov'd like the Water in a Weather-glass, Higher or lower, as the powerful Charm O'th' Soveraign Hand is either cool or warm. Here must th'Attacque be made: for well we know, Reason and Titles from one Fountain flow: Whilst Favour Men no less than Fortunes builds, And Honour ever Moulds as well as Guilds. Honour that still does even new Souls inspire; Honour more powerful than the Heav'n-stoln Fire. These must be wrought to _Absolons_ Defence. For though to baffle the whole Sanedrims Sence, T'attempt Impossibles would be in vain, Yet 'tis enough but to _Divide_ and _Raign_.

Here though small Force such easie Converts draws, Yet 'tis thought fit in glory to their Cause, Some learned Champion of prodigious Sense, With Mighty and long studyed Eloquence, Should with a kind of Inspiration rise, And the unguarded Sanedrim surprize, And such resistless conquering Reasons press, } To charm their vanquisht Souls, that the Success } Might look like Conscience, though 'tis nothing less. }

For this Design no Head nor Tongue so well, As that of the profound _Achitophel_. How, great _Achitophel_! his Hand, his Tongue! _Babylons_ Mortal Foe; he who so long With haughty Sullenness, and scornful Lowr, Had loath'd false Gods, and Arbitrary pow'r. 'Gainst _Baal_ no Combatant more fierce than he; For _Israels_ asserted Liberty, No Man more bold; with generous Rage enflam'd, Against the old ensnaring Test declaim'd. Beside, he bore a most peculiar Hate To sleeping Pilots, all Earth-clods of State. None more abhorr'd the Sycophant Buffoon, And Parasite, th'excrescence of a Throne; Creatures who their creating Sun disgrace, A Brood more abject than _Niles_ Slime-born Race. Such was the Brave _Achitophel_; a Mind, (If but the Heart and Face were of a kind) So far from being by one base Thought deprav'd, That sure half ten such Souls had _Sodom_ sav'd. Here _Baals_ Cabal _Achitophel_ survey'd, And dasht with wonder, half despairing said, Is this the Hand that _Absolon_ must Crown, The Founder of his Temples, Palace, Throne? This, This the mighty Convert we must make? Gods, h'has a Soul not all our Arts can shake.

At this a nicer graver Head stept out, And with this Language chid their groundless Doubt: For shame, no more; what is't that frights you thus? Is it his Hatred of our God, and us, Makes him so formidable in your Eye? Or is't his Wit, Sense, Honour, Bravery? Give him a thousand Virtues more, and plant Them round him like a Wall of Adamant, Strong as the Gates of Heaven; we'll reach his Heart: Cheer, cheer, my Friends, I've found one Mortal part. For he has _Pride_, a vast insatiate _Pride_, Kind Stark, he's vulnerable on that side. Pride that made Angels fall, and pride that hurl'd Entayl'd Destruction through a ruin'd World. _Adam_ from Pride to Disobedience ran: To be like Gods, made a lost wretched Man. There, there, my Sons, let our pour'd strength all fly: For some bold Tempter now to rap him high, From Pinnacles to Mountain Top, and show The gaudy Glories of the World below.

At which the Consult came to this Design, To work him by a kind of Touch Divine. To raise some holy Spright to do the Feat. Nothing like Dreams and Visions to the Great. Did not a little Witch of _Endor_ bring A Visionary Seer t'a cheated King? And shall their greater Magick want Success, Their more Illustrious Sorceries do less!

This final Resolution made, at last Some Mystick words, and invocations past, They call'd the Spirit of a late Court-Scribe; Once a true Servant of the Plotting Tribe: When both with Forreign and Domestick Cost, He plaid the feasted Sanedrims kind Host. H'had scribbled much, and like a Patriot bold, Bid high for _Israels_ Peace with _Egypts_ Gold. But since a Martyr. (Why! as Writers think, His Masters Hand had over-gall'd his Ink.) And by protesting _Absoloms_ wise care, Popt into Brimstone ere he was aware. Him from the Grave they rais'd, in ample kind, His sever'd Head to his seer Quarters joyn'd; Then cas'd his Chin in a false Beard so well, As made him pass for Father _Samuel_. Him thus equipt in a Religious Cloak, They thus his new-made Reverence bespoke.

Go, awful Spright, hast to _Achitophel_, Rouze his great Soul, use every Art, Charm, Spell: For _Absolom_ thy utmost Rhetorick try, Preach him Succession, roar'd Succession cry, Succession drest in all her glorious pride, Succession Worshipt, Sainted, Deify'd. Conjure him by Divine and Humane Pow'rs, Convince, Convert, Confound, make him but ours, That _Absolon_ may mount on _Judahs_ Throne, Whilst all the World before us is our own.

The forward Spright but few Instructions lackt, Strait by the Moons pale light away he packt, And in a trice, his Curtains open'd wide, He sate him by _Achitophels_ Bed-side. And in this style his artful Accents ran.

Hear _Israels_ Hope, thou more than happy Man, Beloved on high, witness this Honour done By Father _Samuel_, and believe me, Son, 'Tis by no common Mandate of a God, A Soul beatifyed, the blest Abode Thus low deserting, quits Immortal Thrones, And from his Grave resumes his sleeping Bones. But Heavn's the Guide, and wondrous is the way, Divine the Embassie: hear, and obey. How long, _Achitophel_, and how profound A Mist of Hell has thy lost Reason drown'd? Can the Apostacy from _Israels_ Faith, In _Israels_ Heir, deserve a murmuring Breath? Or to preserve Religion, Liberty, Peace, Nations, Souls, is that a Cause so high, As the Right Heir from Empire to debar? Forbid it Heav'n, and guard him every Star. Alas, what if an Heir of Royal Race, Gods Glory and his Temples will deface, And make a prey of your Estates, Lives, Laws; Nay, give your Sons to _Molocks_ burning paws; Shall you exclude him? hold that Impious Hand. As _Abraham_ gave his Son at Gods Command, Think still he does by _Divine Right_ succeed: God bids Him Reign, and you should bid Them Bleed. 'Tis true, as Heav'ns Elected Flock, you may For his Conversion, and your Safety _pray_ But Pray'rs are all. To Disinherit him, The very Thought, nay, Word it self's a Crime. For that's the MEANS of Safety: but forbear, For Means are Impious in the Sons of Pray'r. To Miracles alone your Safety owe; And _Abrahams_ Angel wait to stop the Blow. Yes, what if his polluted Throne be strowd With Sacriledge, Idolatry, and Blood; And 'tis you mount him there; you're innocent still: For he's a King, and Kings can do no ill. Oh Royal Birthright, 'tis a Sacred Name: Rowze then _Achitophel_, rowze up for shame: Let not this Lethargy thy Soul benum; But wake, and save the Godlike _Absolom_. And to reward thee for a Deed so great Glut thy Desires, thy full-crown'd wishes meet, Be with accumulated Honours blest, And grasp a STAR t'adorn thy shining Crest.

_Achitophel_ before his Eyes could ope, Dreamt of an Ephod, Mitre, and a Cope. Those visionary Robes t'his Eyes appear'd: For Priestly all was the great Sense he heard. But Priest or Prophet, Right Divine, or all Together; 'twas not at their feebler call, 'Twas at the _Star_ he wak'd; the _Star_ but nam'd, Flasht in his Eyes, and his rowz'd Soul enflam'd. A _Star_, whose Influence had more powerful Light, Then that Miraculous Wanderer of the Night, Decreed to guide the Eastern Sages way: Their's to adore a God, his to betray.

Here the new Convert more than half inspir'd, Strait to his Closet and his Books retir'd. There for all needful Arts in this extreme, For knotty Sophistry t'a limber Theme, Long brooding ere the Mass to Shape was brought, And after many a tugging heaving Thought, Together a well-orderd Speech he draws, With ponderous Sounds for his much-labour'd Cause. Then the astonisht Sanedrim he storm'd, And with such doughty strength the Tug perform'd: Fate did the Work with so much Conquest bless, Wondrous the Champion, Glorious the Success. So powerful Eloquence, so strong was Wit; And with such Force the easie Wind-falls hit.