When _Judahs_ Monarch with his Princes round, Amidst his glorious Sanedrim sate Crown'd, Beneath his Throne a Cavern low, and dark As their black Souls, for the great Work they mark. In this lone Cell their Midnight-Hands bestow'd A _Stygian_ Compound, a combustive load Of Mixture wondrous, Execution dire, Ready the Touch of their Infernal Fire. Have you not seen in yon aethereal Road, How at the Rage of th'angry driving God, Beneath the pressure of his furious wheels The Heav'ns all rattle, and the Globe all reels? So does this Thunder's Ape its lightning play, Keen as Heav'ns Fires, and scarce less swift than they. A short-liv'd glaring Murderer it flies, } In Times least pulse, a Moments wing'd surprize; } 'Tis born, looks big, talks lowd, breaths death, and dies. } This Mixture was th'Invention of a Priest; The Sulphurous Ingredients all the best Of Hells own growth: for to dire Compounds still Hell finds the Minerals, and the Priest the Skill. From this curst Mine they had that blow decreed, A Moments dismal blast, as should exceed All the Storms, Battles, Murders, Massacres, And all the strokes of Daggers, Swords, or Spears, Since first _Cain's_ hand at _Abels_ Head was lift: A Blow more swift than Pestilence, more swift Than ever a destroying Angel rod, To pour the Vial of an angry God. The Train was laid, the very Signal giv'n; But here th'all-seeing, _Israels_ Guardian, Heav'n Could hold no longer; and to stop their way, With a kind Beam from th'Empyraean Day, Disclos'd their hammering Thunder at the Forge; And made their Cyclops Cave their Bolts disgorge.