And now the very self-same tract they tread,
To reach your Crown, and then take off your head.
A senseless Plot they stumbl'd on, or made,
To make you of th'old _Canaanites_ afraid.
Still when they mean the Nation to enthral,
With heavie Clamour they cry out on _Baal_.
But these hot Zealots who _Baal_'s Idols curse,
Bow to their own more ugly far and worse.
_Baal_ would but rob some Jewels from your Crown,
But these would Monarchy itself pull down:
Both Church and State they'l not reform by Halves,
Pull down the Temple, and set up their Calves.
You, and your Priests, they would turn out to Graze,
Nor would they let you smell a Sacrifize,
Those pious Offerings which Priests lasie made,
To Rebels, should, instead of God be paid.
How to the Prey these factious _Jews_ do run!
From you by art they have debauch'd your Son;
That little subtle Instrument of Hell,
Worse than to _David_ was _Achitophel_,
The young Man tutors, sends him through the Land,
That he the peoples minds may understand;
That he, with winning Charms, might court the _Jew_,
And draw your fickle Subjects hearts from you.
Alas! already they of you Complain.
And are grown sick of your too peaceful Reign,
Their Lusts grown high, they are debauch'd with Grace,
And like unfrozen Snakes fly in your Face.
These men who now pretend to give you Law,
Stood of the Tyrant _Zabed_'s power in awe;