Who with a loyalty that did excel,

Brought all the' endowments of Achitophel.
Sincere was Amri, and not only knew,

But Israel's sanctions into practice drew;
Our laws, that did a boundless ocean seem,
Were coasted all, and fathom'd all by him:
No Rabbin speaks like him their mystic sense
So just, and with such charms of eloquence;
To whom the double blessing does belong,
With Moses' inspiration, Aaron's tongue.

Than Sheva none more loyal zeal have shown, Wakeful as Judah's Lion for the crown; Who for that cause still combats in his age, For which his youth with danger did engage. In vain our factious priests the cant revive, In vain seditious scribes with libel strive To'enflame the crowd, while he, with watchful eye, Observes, and shoots their treasons as they fly; Their weekly frauds his keen replies detect; He undeceives more fast than they infect. So Moses, when the pest on legions prey'd, Advanc'd his signal, and the plague was stay'd.

Once more, my fainting Muse, thy pinions try, And strength's exhausted store let love supply. What tribute, Asaph, shall we render thee? We'll crown thee with a wreath from thy own tree! Thy laurel grove not envy's flash can blast; The song of Asaph shall for ever last.

With wonder late posterity shall dwell
On Absalom and false Achitophel;

Thy strains shall be our slumbering prophets' dream,
And when our Sion virgins sing their theme,
Our jubilees shall with thy verse be grac'd;
'The song of Asaph shall for ever last.

How fierce his satire, loos'd! restrain'd, how tame! How tender of the' offending young man's fame! How well his worth and brave adventures stil'd, Just to his virtues, to his error mild.

No page of thine that fears the strictest view,
But teems with just reproof, or praise, as due;
Not Eden could a fairer prospect yield,
All Paradise without one barren field;
Whose wit the censure of his foes has past;
The song of Asaph shall for ever last.

What praise for such rich strains shall we allow ?
What just rewards the grateful Crown bestow?
While bees in flowers rejoice, and flowers in dew,
While stars and fountains to their course are true;
While Judah's throne and Sion's rock stand fast,
The song of Asaph, and the fame, shall last.
Still Hebron's honour'd, happy soil, retains
Our Royal hero's beauteous dear remains,
Who now sails off with winds nor wishes slack,
To bring his sufferings' bright companion back;
But ere such transport can our sense employ,
A bitter grief must poison half our joy;
Nor can our coasts restor'd those blessings see,
Without a bribe to envious Destiny!

Curs'd Sodom's doom for ever fix the tide
Where, by inglorious Chance, the valiant died.
Give not insulting Askalon to know,

Nor let Gath's daughters triumph in our woe!
No sailor with the news swell Egypt's pride,
By what inglorious fate our valiant died!
Weep, Arnon! Jordan, weep thy fountains dry,
While Zion's rock dissolves for a supply.

Calm were the' elements, Night's silence deep, The waves scarce murmuring, and the winds asleep;

Yet Fate for ruin takes so still an hour,

And treacherous sands the princely bark devour;
Then Death, unworthy, seiz'd a generous race,
To virtue's scandal, and the stars' disgrace!
Oh! had the' indulgent powers vouchsaf'd to yield,
Instead of faithless shelves, a listed field,
A listed field of Heaven's and David's foes,
Fierce as the troops that did his youth oppose,
Each life had on his slaughter'd heap retir'd,
Not tamely, and unconquering, thus espir'd;
But Destiny is now their only foe,

And dying, e'en o'er that they triumph too;
With loud last breaths their master's 'scape applaud,
Of whom kind Force could scarce the Fates defraud;
Who for such followers lost, O matchless mind!
At his own safety now almost repin'd!
Say, Royal Sir, by all your fame in arms,
Your praise in peace, and by Urania's charms,
If all your sufferings past so nearly prest,
Or pierc'd with half so painful grief your breast?
Thus some diviner Muse her hero forms,
Not sooth'd with soft delights, but toss'd in storms;
Nor stretch'd on roses in the myrtle grove,
Nor crowns his days with mirth, his nights with love;
But far remov'd in thundering camps is found,
His slumbers short, his bed the herbless ground;
In tasks of danger always seen the first,
Feeds from the hedge, and slakes with ice his thirst:
Long must his patience strive with Fortune's rage,
And long opposing gods themselves engage,
Must see his country flame, his friends destroy'd,
Before the promis'd empire be enjoy'd:
Such toil of fate must build a man of fame,

And such to Israel's crown the godlike David came.

What sudden beams dispel the clouds so fast, Whose drenching rains laid all our vineyards waste? The Spring, so far behind her course delay'd, On the' instant is in all her bloom array'd; The winds breathe low, the element serene, Yet mark what motion in the waves is seen! Thronging and busy as Hyblæan swarms, Or straggled soldiers summon'd to their arms, See where the princely bark in loosest pride, With all her guardian fleet, adorns the tide : High on her deck the Royal lovers stand, Our crimes to pardon e'er they touch'd our land. Welcome to Israel and to David's breast! Here all your toils, here all your sufferings, rest. This year did Ziloah rule Jerusalem, And boldly all Sedition's syrtes stem, Howe'er incumber'd with a viler pair Than Ziph or Shimei to assist the chair: Yet Ziloah's loyal labours so prevail'd That Faction at the next election fail'd, When e'en the common cry did Justice sound, And Merit by the multitude was crown'd: With David then was Israel's peace restor'd, Crowds mourn'd their crror, and obey'd their lord.

THE MEDAL.

A SATIRE AGAINST SEDITION.

1681.

EPISTLE TO THE WHIGS:

FOR to whom can I dedicate this Poem with so much justice as to you? It is the representation of your own hero; it is the picture drawn at length, which you admire and prize so much in little '. None of your ornaments are wanting; neither the landscape of the Tower, nor the Rising Sun; nor the anno domini of your new sovereign's coronation. This must needs be a grateful undertaking to your whole party, especially to those who have not been so happy as to purchase the original. I hear the graver has made a good market of it: all his kings are bought up already; or the value of the remainder so enhanced, that many a poor Polauder 2, who would be glad to worship the

1 On the Jury's refusing to find a bill against Lord Shaftesbury for high-treason in Nov. 1681, a medal was struck to commemorate the event, which gave occasion to Dryden's satire.

2 Shaftesbury was said to entertain hopes that he should be elected King of Poland.