So hope, so toyl, the foes of _Israels_ peace.

When lo, a long expected day appears,
Sought for above a hundred rowling years;
A day i'th' register of Doom set down,
Presents 'em with an Heir of _Israels_ Crown.
Here their vast hopes of the rich _Israels_ spoils,
Requites the pains of their long Ages Toyls.
_Baals_ Banners now i'th' face of day shall march,
With Heav'ns bright Roof for his Triumphal Arch.
His lurking Missioners shall now no more
From Forreign Schools in borrow'd shapes come o're;
Convert by Moon-light, and their Mystick Rites
Preach to poor Female half-Soul'd Proselytes.
An all-commanding Dragon now shall soar,
Where the poor Serpents onely crawl'd before.
_Baals_ Restoration, that most blest Design, }
Now the great work of Majesty, shall shine, }
Made by his consecrating hand Divine. }
He shall new plant their Groves with each blest Tree,
A graft of an Imperial Nursery.
In the kind Air of this new _Eden_ blest,
Percht on each bough, and Palaces their nest;
No more by frighting Laws forc'd t'obscure flight,
And gloomy walks, like obscene Birds of Night;
Their warbling Notes like _Philomel_ shall sing,
And like the Bird of _Paradise_ their wing.
Thus _Israels_ Heir their ravisht Souls all fired;
For all things to their ardent hopes conspired.