Short is the date of all immoderate fame.
It looks as heaven our ruin had design'd,
And durst not trust thy fortune and thy mind.
Now free, from earth thy disencumber'd soul [pole.
Mounts up, and leaves behind the clouds and starry
From thence thy kindred legions mayst thou bring,
To aid the guardian angel of thy king.

Here stop, my Muse, here cease thy painful flight:
No pinions can pursue immortal height:
Tell good Berzillai thou canst sing no more,
And tell thy soul she should have fled before:
Or fled she with his life, and left this verse
To hang on her departed patron's hearse?
Now take thy steepy flight from heaven, and see
If thou canst find on earth another he:
Another he would be too hard to find;
See then whom thou canst see not far behind.
Zadoc the priest, whom, shunning power and place,
His lowly mind advanc'd to David's grace.
With him the Sagan of Jerusalem,
Of hospitable soul, and noble stem;

Him of the western dome, whose weighty sense
Flows in fit words and heavenly eloquence.
The prophet's sons, by such example led,
To learning and to loyalty were bred:
For colleges on bounteous kings depend,
And never rebel was to arts a friend.
To these succeed the pillars of the laws;
Who best can plead, and best can judge a cause.
Next them a train of loyal peers ascend;
Sharp-judging Adriel, the Muses' friend,
Himself a Muse: in sanhedrims debate
True to his prince, but not a slave of state;
Whom David's love with honours did adorn,
That from his disobedient son were torn.
Jotham of piercing wit and pregnant thought;
Endued by nature, and by learning taught,
To move assemblies; who but only try'd
The worse awhile, then chose the better side:
Nor chose alone, but turn'd the balance too;
So much the weight of one brave man can do.
Hushai, the friend of David in distress;
In public storms of manly stedfastness:
By foreign treaties he inform'd his youth,
And join'd experience to his native truth.
His frugal care supply'd the wanting throne;
Frugal for that, but bounteous of his own:
'Tis easy conduct when exchequers flow;
But hard the task to manage well the low:
For sovereign power is too depress'd or high,
When kings are forc'd to sell, or crowds to buy.
Indulge one labour more, my weary Muse,
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 sanhedrim long time as chief he rul'd:
Their reason guided, and their passion cool'd:
So dextrous was he in the crown's defence,
So form'd to speak a loyal nation's sense,
That, as their band was Israel's tribes in small,
So fit was he to represent them all.
Now rasher charioteers the seat ascend,

Whose loose careers his steady skill commend: They, like th' unequal ruler of the day, Misguide the seasons, and mistake the way; While he withdrawn, at their mad labours smiles, And safe enjoys the sabbath of his toils.

These were the chief, a small but faithful band
Of worthies, in the breach who dar'd to stand,
And tempt th' united fury of the land.
With grief they view'd such powerful engines bent
To batter down the lawful government.
A numerous faction, with pretended frights,
In sanhedrims to plume the regal rights;
The true successor from the court remov'd;
The plot, by hireling witnesses, improv'd.
These ills they saw, and, as their duty bound,
They shew'd the king the danger of the wound;
That no concessions from the throne would please,
But lenitives fomented the disease:

That Absalom, ambitious of the crown,
Was made the lure to draw the people down:
That false 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 opprest,
And long revolving in his careful breast
Th' event of things, at last his patience tir'd,
Thus, from his royal throne, by Heaven inspir'd,
The god-like David spoke; with awful fear
His train their Maker in their master hear.

Thus long have I, by native mercy sway'd, My wrongs dissembled, my revenge delay'd: So willing to forgive th' offending age; So much the father did the king assuage. But now so far my clemency they slight, 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, since they will divert my native course, "Tis time to shew I am not good by force. Those heap'd affronts that haughty subjects bring, Are burdens for a camel, not a king. Kings are the public pillars of the state, Born to sustain and prop the nation's weight: If my young Samson will pretend a call To shake the column, let him share the fall: But oh, that yet he would repent and live! How easy '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 could bear! Had God ordain'd his fate for empire born, He would have given his soul another turn: Gull'd with a patriot's name, whose modern sense Is one that would by law supplant his prince, The people's brave, the politician's tool; Never was patriot yet, but was a fool. Whence comes it, that religion and the laws Should more be Absalom's than David's cause?

His old instructor, ere he lost his place,

Was never thought indu'd with so much grace.
Good heav'ns, how faction can a patriot paint!
My rebel ever proves my people's saint:
Would they impose an heir upon the throne?
Let sanhedrims be taught to give their own.
A king's at least a part of government;
And mine as requisite as their consent:
Without my leave a future king to choose,
Infers a right the present to depose:

True, they petition me t' approve their choice:
But Esau's hands suit ill with Jacob's voice.
My pious subjects for my safety pray,
Which to secure, they take my pow'r away.

From plots and treasons Heav'n preserve my years,
But save me most from my petitioners.
Unsatiate as the barren womb or grave;
God cannot grant so much as they can crave.
What then is left, but with a jealous eye
To guard the small remains of royalty?
The law shall still direct my peaceful sway,
And the same law teach rebels to obey:
Votes shall no more establish'd pow'r controul,
Such votes as make a part exceed the whole:
No groundless clamours shall my friends remove,
Nor crowds have pow'r to punish ere they prove:
For Gods and god-like kings their care express,
Still to defend their servants in distress.
Oh, that my pow'r to saving were confin'd!
Why am I forc'd, like Heav'n, against my mind,
To make examples of another kind?
Must I at length the sword of justice draw?

Oh, curs'd effects of necessary law!
How ill my fear they by my mercy scan!
Beware the fury of a patient man.

Law they require, let law then shew her face;
They could not be content to look on grace
Her hinder parts, but with a daring eye
To tempt the terror of her front, and die.
By their own arts, 'tis righteously decreed,
Those dire artificers of death shall bleed.
Against themselves their witnesses will swear,
Till, viper-like, their mother-plot they tear:
And suck for nutriment that bloody gore
Which was their principle of life before.
Their Belial with their Beelzebub will fight;
Thus on my foes my foes shall do me right:
Nor doubt th' event: for factious crowds engage,
In their first onset, all their brutal rage.
Then let 'em take an unresisted course:
Retire and traverse, and delude their force:
But when they stand all breathless, urge the fight,
And rise upon 'em with redoubled might:
For lawful pow'r is still superior found;
When long driv'n back, at length it stands the
ground.

He said, th' Almighty nodding gave consent;
And peals of thunder shook the firmament.
Henceforth a series of new time began,
The mighty years in long procession ran:
Once more the god-like David was restor❜d,
And willing nations knew their lawful lord.

KEY TO ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL.

Sagan of Jerusalem, Dr. Crampton, Bishop of London. Sanhedrim, Parliament.

Saul, Oliver Cromwell.

Shimei, Sheriff Bethel.

Solymean Rout, London Rebels.

Tyre, Holland.

Zadoc, Sancroft, Archbishop of Canterbury,

Zimri, Villiers, Duke of Buckingham.

RELIGIO LAICI.

AN EPISTLE.

Dim as the borrow'd beams of moon and stars
To lonely, weary, wandering travellers,
Is reason to the soul: and as on high,
Those rolling fires discover but the sky,
Not light us here; so reason's glimmering ray
Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way,
But guide us upward to a better day.
And as those nightly tapers disappear,

When day's bright lord ascends our hemisphere;
So pale grows reason at religion's sight;
So dies, and so dissolves in supernatural light.
Some few, whose lamp shone brighter, have been led
From cause to cause, to nature's secret head;
And found that one first principle must be:
But what, or who, that universal He;
Whether some soul incompassing this ball,
Unmade, unmov'd; yet making, moving all;
Or various atoms' interfering dance,
Leap'd into form, the noble work of chance;
Or this great all was from eternity;
Not ev❜n the Stagirite himself could see ;
And Epicurus guess'd as well as he;
As blindly grop'd they for a future state;
As rashly judg'd of providence and fate:

R

But least of all could their endeavours find
What most concern'd the good of human kind:
For happiness was never to be found;
But vanish'd from them like enchanted ground.
One thought content the good to be enjoy'd:
This every little accident destroy'd:
The wiser madmen did for virtue toil:
A thorny, or at best a barren soil:

In pleasure some their glutton souls would steep;
But found their line too short, the well too deep;
And leaky vessels which no bliss could keep.
Thus anxious thoughts in endless circles roll,
Without a centre where to fix the soul:

In this wild maze their vain endeavours end:
How can the less the greater comprehend?
Or finite reason reach Infinity?

For what could fathom God were more than He.
The Deist thinks he stands on firmer ground;
Cries supnxa, the mighty secret's found:
God is that spring of good; supreme, and best;
We made to serve, and in that service blest.
If so, some rules of worship must be given,
Distributed alike to all by heaven:
Else God were partial, and to some deny'd
The means his justice should for all provide.
This general worship is to praise and pray:
One part to borrow blessings, one to pay:
And when frail nature slides into offence,
The sacrifice for crimes is penitence.
Yet, since the effects of providence, we find,
Are variously dispens'd to human kind;
That vice triumphs, and virtue suffers here,
A brand that sovereign justice cannot bear;
Our reason prompts us to a future state:
The last appeal from fortune and from fate :
Where God's all-righteous ways will be declar'd;
The bad meet punishment, the good reward.

Thus man by his own strength to Heaven would
And would not be oblig'd to God for more. [soar:
Vain wretched creature, how art thou misled
To think thy wit these god-like notions bred!
These truths are not the product of thy mind,
But dropt from Heaven, and of a nobler kind.
Reveal'd religion first inform'd thy sight,
And reason saw not till faith sprung the light.
Hence all thy natural worship takes the source:
"Tis revelation what thou think'st discourse.
Else how com'st thou to see these truths so clear,
Which so obscure to heathens did appear?
Not Plato these, nor Aristotle found:
Nor he whose wisdom oracles renown'd.
Hast thou a wit so deep, or so sublime,
Or canst thou lower dive, or higher climb?
Canst thou by reason more of godhead know
Than Plutarch, Seneca, or Cicero ?
Those giant wits in happier ages born,

When arms and arts did Greece and Rome adorn, Knew no such system: no such piles could raise Of natural worship, built on prayer and praise

To one sole God.

Nor did remorse to expiate sin prescribe: But slew their fellow-creatures for a bribe:

The guiltless victim groan'd for their offence;
And cruelty and blood was penitence.

If sheep and oxen could atone for men,
Ah! at how cheap a rate the rich might sin!
And great oppressors might Heaven's wrath beguile,
By offering his own creatures for a spoil!

Dar'st thou, poor worm, offend Infinity?
And must the terms of peace be given by thee?
Then thou art Justice in the last appeal;
Thy easy God instructs thee to rebel:
And, like a king remote and weak, must take
What satisfaction thou art pleas'd to make.

But if there be a power too just and strong,
To wink at crimes, and bear unpunish'd wrong;
Look humbly upward, see his will disclose
The forfeit first, and then the fine impose:
A mulct thy poverty could never pay,

Had not eternal wisdom found the way:
And with celestial wealth supply'd thy store:

His justice makes the fine, his mercy quits the score.
See God descending in thy human frame;
Th' offended suffering in th' offender's name :
All thy misdeeds to him imputed see,
And all his righteousness devolv'd on thee.

For, granting we have sinn'd, and that th' offence
Of man is made against Omnipotence,
Some price that bears proportion must be paid;
And infinite with infinite be weigh'd.
See then the Deist lost: remorse for vice
Not paid; or, paid, inadequate in price:
What farther means can reason now direct,
Or what relief from human wit expect?
That shews us sick; and sadly are we sure
Still to be sick, till Heaven reveal the cure:
If then Heaven's will must needs be understood,
Which must, if we want cure, and Heaven be good,
Let all records of will reveal'd be shown;
With scripture all in equal balance thrown;
And our one sacred book will be that one.

Proof needs not here, for whether we compare
That impious, idle, superstitious ware
Of rites, lustrations, offerings, which before,
In various ages, various countries bore,
With Christian faith and virtues, we shall find
None answering the great ends of human kind
But this one rule of life, that shews us best
How God may be appeas'd, and mortals blest.
Whether from length of time its worth we draw,
The word is scarce more ancient than the law:
Heaven's early care prescrib'd for every age;
First, in the soul, and after, in the page.
Or, whether more abstractedly we look,
Or on the writers, or the written book,
Whence, but from Heaven, could men unskill'd in
arts,

In several ages born, in several parts,
Weave such agreeing truths? or how, or why,
Should all conspire to cheat us with a lye?
Unask'd their pains, ungrateful their advice,
Starving their gain, and martyrdom their price.
If on the book itself we cast our view,
Concurrent heathens prove the story true:

The doctrine, miracles; which must convince,
For Heaven in them appeals to human sense:
And though they prove not, they confirm the cause,
When what is taught agrees with nature's laws.

Then for the stile, majestic and divine,
It speaks no less than God in every line:
Commanding words; whose force is still the same
As the first fiat that produc'd our frame.
All faiths beside, or did by arms ascend;
Or sense indulg'd has made mankind their friend:
This only doctrine does our lusts oppose:
Unfed by nature's soil, in which it grows;
Cross to our interests, curbing sense and sin;
Oppress'd without, and undermin'd within,

It thrives through pain; it's own tormentors tires;
And with a stubborn patience still aspires.
To what can reason such effects assign
Transcending nature, but to laws divine;
Which in that sacred volume are contain'd;
Sufficient, clear, and for that use ordain'd?

But stay: the Deist here will urge anew,
No supernatural worship can be true;
Because a general law is that alone

[brac'd,

Which must to all, and every where, be known:
A stile so large as not this book can claim,
Nor aught that bears reveal'd religion's name.
'Tis said the sound of a Messiah's birth
Is gone through all the habitable earth:
But still that text must be confin'd alone
To what was then inhabited and known:
And what provision could from thence accrue
To Indian souls, and worlds discover'd new?
In other parts it helps, that ages past,
The scriptures there were known, and were em-
Till sin spread once again the shades of night:
What's that to these, who never saw the light?
Of all objections this indeed is chief
To startle reason, stagger frail belief:
We grant, 'tis true, that Heaven from human sense
Has hid the secret paths of providence:
But boundless wisdom, boundless mercy, may
Find ev'n for those bewilder'd souls a way:
If from his nature foes may pity claim,
Much more may strangers who ne'er heard his name.
And though no name be for salvation known,
But that of his eternal Son's alone;
Who knows how far transcending goodness can
Extend the merits of that Son to man?
Who knows what reasons may his mercy lead;
Or ignorance invincible may plead ?
Not only charity bids hope the best,
But more the great apostle has exprest:
"That if the Gentiles, whom no law inspir'd;
By nature did what was by law requir'd;
They, who the written rule had never known,
Were to themselves both rule and law alone:
To nature's plain indictment they shall plead ;
And by their conscience be condemn'd or freed."
Most righteous doom! because a rule reveal'd
Is none to those from whom it was conceal'd,
Then those who follow'd reason's dictates right;
Liv'd up, and lifted high their natural light;

With Socrates may see their Maker's face,
While thousand rubric martyrs want a place.
Nor does it baulk my charity, to find
Th' Egyptian bishop of another mind;
For though his creed eternal truth contains,
"Tis hard for man to doom to endless pains
All who believ'd not all his zeal requir'd;
Unless he first could prove he was inspir'd.
Then let us either think he meant to say
This faith, where publish'd, was the only way;
Or else conclude that, Arius to confute,
The good old man, too eager in dispute,
Flew high; and as his christian fury rose,
Damn'd all for heretics who durst oppose.

Thus far my charity this path has try'd;

A much unskilful, but well-meaning guide: [bred
Yet what they are, ev'n these crude thoughts were
By reading that which better thou hast read:
Thy matchless author's work; which thou, my
By well translating better dost commend: [friend,
Those youthful hours which, of thy equals most
In toys have squander'd, or in vice have lost,
Those hours hast thou to nobler use employ'd;
And the severe delights of truth enjoy'd.
Witness this weighty book, in which appears
The crabbed toil of many thoughtful years,
Spent by my author, in the sifting care
Of rabbins' old sophisticated ware

From gold divine; which he who well can sort,
May afterwards make algebra a sport:

A treasure, which if country curates buy,
They Junius and Tremellius may defy:
Save pains in various readings, and translations;
And without Hebrew make most learn'd quotations:
A work so full with various learning fraught,
So nicely ponder'd, yet so strongly wrought,
As nature's height and art's last hand requir'd;
As much as man could compass, uninspir'd.
Where we may see what errors have been made
Both in the copyers and translators trade:
How Jewish, Popish, interests have prevail'd,
And where infallibility has fail'd.

For some, who have his secret meaning guess'd,
Have found our author not too much a priest:
For fashion-sake he seems to have recourse
To pope, and councils, and tradition's force:
But he that old traditions could subdue,
Could not but find the weakness of the new:
If scripture, though deriv'd from heavenly birth,
Has been but carelessly preserv'd on earth;
If God's own people, who of God before
Knew what we know, and had been promis'd more,
In fuller terms, of Heaven's assisting care,
And who did neither time nor study spare
To keep this book untainted, unperplext,
Let in gross errors to corrupt the text,
Omitted paragraphs, embroil'd the sense,
With vain traditions stopt the gaping fence,
Which every common hand pull'd up with ease:
What safety from such brushwood-helps as these?
If written words from time are not secur'd,
How can we think have oral sounds endur'd?

Which thus transmitted, if one mouth has fail'd,
Immortal lies on ages are intail'd:

And that some such have been, is prov'd too plain;
If we consider interest, church, and gain.

O but, says one, tradition set aside,
Where can we hope for an unerring guide?
For since th' original scripture has been lost,
All copies disagreeing, maim'd the most,
Or Christian faith can have no certain ground,
Or truth in church-tradition must be found.

Such an omniscient church we wish indeed;
"Twere worth both Testaments; cast in the creed:
But if this mother be a guide so sure,
As can all doubts resolve, all truth secure,
Then her infallibility, as well

Where copies are corrupt or lame, can tell ;
Restore lost canon with as little pains,
As truly explicate what still remains:
Which yet no council dare pretend to do;
Unless like Esdras they could write it new:
Strange confidence still to interpret true,
Yet not be sure that all they have explain'd
Is in the blest original contain'd.

More safe, and much more modest 'tis, to say
God would not leave mankind without a way:
And that the scriptures, though not every where
Free from corruption, or intire, or clear,
Are uncorrupt, sufficient, clear, intire,

In all things which our needful faith require.
If others in the same glass better see,
'Tis for themselves they look, but not for me:
For my salvation must its doom receive,
Not from what others, but what I believe.
Must all tradition then be set aside?
This to affirm, were ignorance or pride.
Are there not many points, some needful sure
To saving faith, that scripture leaves obscure?
Which every sect will wrest a several way,
For what one sect interprets, all sects may:
We hold, and say we prove from scripture plain,
That Christ is God: the bold Socinian
From the same scripture urges he's but man.
Now what appeal can end th' important suit?
Both parts talk loudly, but the rule is mute.
Shall I speak plain, and in a nation free
Assume an honest layman's liberty?
I think, according to my little skill,
To my own mother-church submitting still,
That many have been sav'd, and many may,
Who never heard this question brought in play.
Th' unletter'd Christian, who believes in gross,
Plods on to Heaven; and ne'er is at a loss:
For the straight-gate would be made straighter yet,
Were none admitted there but men of wit.
The few by nature form'd, with learning fraught,
Born to instruct, as others to be taught,
Must study well the sacred page;
and see
Which doctrine, this, or that, does best agree
With the whole tenor of the work divine:
And plainliest points to Heaven's reveal'd design:
Which exposition flows from genuine sense,
And which is forc'd by wit and eloquence.

Not that tradition's parts are useless here:
When general, old, disinterested, clear:
That ancient Fathers thus expound the page,
Gives truth the reverend majesty of age:
Confirms its force by biding every test;
For best authorities, next rules, are best.
And still the nearer to the spring we go,
More limpid, more unsoil'd, the waters flow.
Thus first traditions were a proof alone;
Could we be certain such they were, so known:
But since some flaws in long descent may be,
They make not truth, but probability.
Ev'n Arius and Pelagius durst provoke
To what the centuries preceding spoke.
Such difference is there in an oft-told tale:
But truth by its own sinews will prevail.
Tradition written therefore more commends
Authority, than what from voice descends:
And this, as perfect as its kind can be,
Rolls down to us the sacred history:
Which, from the universal church receiv'd,
Is try'd, and after, for itself believ'd.

The partial Papists would infer from hence
Their church, in last resort, should judge the sense.
But first they would assume with wondrous art,
Themselves to be the whole, who are but part
Of that vast frame the church; yet grant they were
The handers-down, can they from thence infer
A right t' interpret? or would they alone,
Who brought the present, claim it for their own?
The book's a common largess to mankind;
Not more for them than every man design'd:
The welcome news is in the letter found;
The carrier's not commission'd to expound.
It speaks itself, and what it does contain,
In all things needful to be known is plain.

In times o'ergrown with rust and ignorance, A gainful trade their clergy did advance : When want of learning kept the laymen low, And none but priests were authoriz'd to know: When what small knowledge was, in them did And he a God who could but read and spell; [dwell; Then mother-church did mightily prevail : She parcell'd out the Bible by retail: But still expounded what she sold or gave; To keep it in her power to damn and save: Scripture was scarce, and, as the market went, Poor laymen took salvation on content; As needy men take money good or bad: God's word they had not, but the priest's they had, Yet whate'er false conveyances they made, The lawyer still was certain to be paid. In those dark times they learn'd their knack so well, That by long use they grew infallible: At last a knowing age began t' inquire If they the book, or that did them inspire: [late, And making narrower search they found, though That what they thought the priest's, was their estate: Taught by the will produc'd, the written word, How long they had been cheated on record. Then every man who saw the title fair, Claim'd a child's part, and put in for a share: