Of all the much-wrong'd Worthies of the Land Whom this Contagious Infamy profan'd, In the first Rank the youthful _Ithream_ stood, His Princely Veins fill'd with great _Davids_ Blood. With so much Manly Beauty in his Face, Scarce his High Birth could lend a Nobler Grace. And for a Mind fit for this shrine of Gold Heaven cast his Soul in the same Beauteous Mould; With all the sweets of Prideless Greatness blest, As Affable as _Abrahams_ Angel-Guest. But when in Wars his glittering Steel he drew, No Chief more Bold with fiercer Lightning flew: Witness his tryal of an Arm Divine, Passing the Ordeal of a _Burning Mine_: Such forward Courage did his Bosome fill, Starting from nothing, but from doing ill. Still with such Heat in Honours Race he run, } Such Wonders by his early Valour done, } Enough to charm a second _Joshua's_ Sun. } But he has Foes; his fatal Enemies } To a strange Monster his Fair Truth disguise; } And shew the Gorgon even to Royal Eyes. } To their false perspectives his Fate he owes, The spots i'th' Glass, not in the Star it shows. Yet when by the Imperial Sentence doom'd, The Royal Hand the Princely Youth unplum'd, He his hard Fate without a Murmur took, And stood with that Calm, Duteous, Humble look. Of all his shining Honours unarray'd, Like _Isaac's_ Head on _Abrahams_ Altar lay'd. Yes, _Absolom_, thou hast him in the Toyl, Rifled, and lost; now Triumph in the Spoyl. His Zeal too high for _Israels_ Temples soar'd, His God-like Youth by prostrate Hearts ador'd, Till thy Revenge from Spight and Fear began, And too near Heaven took Care to make him Man. Though _Israels_ King, God, Laws, share all his Soul, Adorn'd with all that Heroes can enrol, Yet Vow'd Successions cruel Sacrifice, Great _Judah_'s Son like _Jeptha_'s Daughter dies. Yes, like a Monument of Wrath he stands; Such Ruine _Absolons_ Revenge demands; His Curiosity his Doom assign'd: For 'twas a Crime of as destructive Kind, To pry how _Babylons_ Burning Zeal aspires, As to look back on Sodoms blazing Fires. But spoyl'd, and rob'd, his drossier Glories gone, His Virtue and his Truth are still his own. No rifling Hands can that bright Treasure take, Nor all his Foes that Royal Charter shake.