Thus on a firm Foundation they had wrought
Their great Design, well built to Humane thought:
Tho' nothing that weak Mortals e'er design'd,
But Folly seems to the Eternal Mind,
Who blasting man's vain Projects, lets him know,
He sits above, sees and rules all below.
This wicked Plot, the Nations Bain and Curse,
So bad no man can represent it worse:
Want only _Amazia_ to destroy,
But that they might the Rites of _Baal_ enjoy:
For the good _Amazia_ being gone,
They had design'd a _Baalite_ for the Throne.
Of all their Hopes and Plots, here lay the Store:
For what Encouragement could they have more,
When they beheld the King's own Brother fall,
From his Religion, and to worship _Baal_?
The Priest well knew what Pow'r, and what Controul
He had usurp'd o're ev'ry _Baalite_'s Soul,
That such a Prince must their God's Cause pursue,
And do whatever they would have him do;
Else from his Throne he should be curs'd and damn'd:
For _Baal_'s High-Priest, a Right t' all Crowns had claim'd.
An Article 'tis of a _Baalite_'s Faith,
That o're Crown'd Heads a Sovereignty he hath.

Thus on a sure Foundation, as they thought,
They had their Structure to Perfection wrought
When God, who shews regard to Sacred Kings, }
The Plot and Plotters to Confusion brings, }
And in a moment down their _Babel_ flings. }