Your Counsel is agreeing with my Minde. And tho my Foes me an ill man do make, My Loyalty I never will forsake: Yet, prudent _Hushai_, do not Nature blame, } If I cannot, unmov'd, appear so tame } As not to shew Resentment at my Shame. } Oh, would to Heav'n I ne'er had been begot! Or never had been born a Royal Blot! My Father's Bloud runs thorow every Vein; } He form'd those Spirits which desire to reign, } Mount t'wards a Throne, and sordid Earth disdain. } In Glory, Fame, Crowns, Empire, they delight, And to all these they would assert my Right. And my great Thoughts do whisper there is none Can be more neer a Father, than his Son. This prompts me to oppose _Eliakim_, And never yield my Father's Crown to him. But then one groveling thought strait pulls me down, And throws me at a distance from The Crown. Oh, would to God------And here he stopt and sigh'd, Whilst _Hushai_ thus to the griev'd Prince repli'd. Indeed, great Prince, it seemeth wondrous strange To all the World, to see your Father's change; To find the happy Love he us'd to show'r, Like fruitful Rain, on you, to fall no more: To see a Son, the Father's dear Delight, His pleasing Joy, now banish'd from his sight. Nature must in the Father deeply groan, When from his Heart is rent so dear a Son. Nor can I think, tho he from you should part, A Brother e'er can lie so near his Heart. To work this Change, your Foes much Art do use, } Their venom'd Tongues your Fathers Ears abuse, } And you of an aspiring mind accuse. } Justice in _Amazia_ bears such sway, That even Nature must to it give way; H'ad rather Nature force, and part with you, Than seem to rob another of his due. He holds it just, and as a thing divine, To keep unbroken still the Royal Line. Such an Example we can hardly find, A King to's Brother so exceeding kind; When by it he doth such great hazard run, Losing at once his People and his Son. Grieve not, great Prince, at your unhappy Fate; } Let not your Birth your Vertue to abate; } It was not you that could your self create. } I should great folly shew, should I repine At what I could not help, and was no fault of mine. Tho by your Mothers side your Birth was mean, And tho your Mother no declared Queen, If Heaven and your Father please, you may By lawful Right, _Judea_'s Scepter sway, After that he is number'd with the Dead, And his great Soul to _Abraham_'s Bosom fled. Possession of a Crown clears every Stain; No blot of Birth to you can then remain. What Pow'r on Earth, by Right, dares question you? Or what your Father and _Sanhedrim_ do? Nor is your Birth to Heaven any let; God _Jepthtah_ once did o're _Judea_ set. He was a Conquerour of a mighty Name, And's Mother no ways did eclipse his Fame, Nor bar'd him from the Title of a King, Nor those who after from his Loins did spring. Nature may yet make your great Father kind; And who can tell but he may change his mind, When your Succession shall be understood