And they rejoyc'd, who lately murmuring mourn'd:
With Loyalty he did their Breasts inflame,
And they with shouts blest _Azaria_'s name.
The joyful Cry th'row all the City flew,
God save the King, and _Azaria_ too.
To him the Princes, his best Friends resort,
Resolv'd as Suppliants, to repair to Court;
In humble wise, to shew the King their Grief,
And on their bended Knees to seek Relief.
They 'approach'd the Throne, to it their homage paid,
Then to the King, the Loyal _Nashon_ said.
Great Sir, whom all good Subjects truly Love,
Tho all things that you do they can't approve,
We, whom the Throne has with high Honours blest,
Present you here the prayers of the rest;
Our bended Knees, as low as Earth we bow,
And humbly prostrate supplicate you now:
The blessing of your Love to us restore,
And raise us to your Favour, Sir, once more.
Where is the Joy, the Peace, and Quiet flown,
All had, when first you did ascend the Throne;
Now murmuring discontents assault our Ears,
And loud Complaints of jealousies, and fears:
Bad instruments help to blow up this Fire,
And with ill minds, their own worse Arts admire,
Whilst, by their means, you think your Friends your Foes,
For your best friends, your Enemies suppose;
Suspect your Loyal Subjects, and believe
The _Sanhedrim_ would you of Rights bereive.
Your people, who do love your gentle Sway,