And tho your Mother no declared Queen,
If Heaven and your Father please, you may
By lawful Right, _Judea_'s Scepter sway,
After that he is number'd with the Dead,
And his great Soul to _Abraham_'s Bosom fled.
Possession of a Crown clears every Stain;
No blot of Birth to you can then remain.
What Pow'r on Earth, by Right, dares question you?
Or what your Father and _Sanhedrim_ do?
Nor is your Birth to Heaven any let;
God _Jepthtah_ once did o're _Judea_ set.
He was a Conquerour of a mighty Name,
And's Mother no ways did eclipse his Fame,
Nor bar'd him from the Title of a King,
Nor those who after from his Loins did spring.
Nature may yet make your great Father kind;
And who can tell but he may change his mind,
When your Succession shall be understood
To be the Peoples Choice, and for the Nations Good?
But let us leave what is to come, to Fate;
Yours Father's pleasure and God's will await.
Long may it be ere the King's life doth end;
On it our Peace and Happiness depend.
Like Wheat full ripe, with many years bow'd down,
Let him leave this for an immortal Crown.
And who can tell Heav'n's will? it may be too,
_Eliakim_ may die before the King or you.
Think of no Titles while your Father lives;
Take not what an unjust Occasion gives.
For to take Arms you can have no pretence,