Through every Vein his Loyal Bloud did run,
Yet Royal too, as _Amazia_'s Son.
About his noble Heart he felt it spring;
Which let him know his Father was a King.
If that to _Azaria_ were a Blot,
His Father made it when he him begot:
But Heav'n such Virtue moulded with his Soul,
That his aspiring Lust it did controul.
Thus to wise _Hushai_ he repli'd: I finde
Your Counsel is agreeing with my Minde.
And tho my Foes me an ill man do make,
My Loyalty I never will forsake:
Yet, prudent _Hushai_, do not Nature blame, }
If I cannot, unmov'd, appear so tame }
As not to shew Resentment at my Shame. }
Oh, would to Heav'n I ne'er had been begot!
Or never had been born a Royal Blot!
My Father's Bloud runs thorow every Vein; }
He form'd those Spirits which desire to reign, }
Mount t'wards a Throne, and sordid Earth disdain. }
In Glory, Fame, Crowns, Empire, they delight,
And to all these they would assert my Right.
And my great Thoughts do whisper there is none
Can be more neer a Father, than his Son.
This prompts me to oppose _Eliakim_,
And never yield my Father's Crown to him.
But then one groveling thought strait pulls me down,
And throws me at a distance from The Crown.
Oh, would to God------And here he stopt and sigh'd,
Whilst _Hushai_ thus to the griev'd Prince repli'd.