Ah Happy _Israel_! had there never come Into his Councils crafty Knaves at home, In combination with a Foreign Brood, Sworn Foes to _Israel_'s Rights and _Israel_'s Good; Who impiously foment Intestine Jars, Exhaust our Treasure, and prolong our Wars; Make _Israel_'s People to themselves a prey, Mislead their King, and steal his Heart away: United Intrests thus they do divide, The State declines by Avarice and Pride; Like Beasts of Prey they ravage all the Land, Acquire Preferments, and usurp Command: The Foreign Inmates the Housekeepers spoil, And drain the Moisture of our fruitful Soil. If to our Monarch there are Honours due, Yet what with _Gibeonites_ have we to do? When Foreign States employ 'em for their Food, To draw their Water, and to hew their Wood. What Mushroom Honours dos our Soil afford! One day a Begger, and the next a Lord. What dastard Souls do _Jewish_ Nobles wear! The Commons such Affronts would never bear. Let no Historian the sad Stories tell Of thy base Sons, Oh servile _Israel_! But thou, my Muse, more generous and brave, Shalt their black Crimes from dark oblivion save; To future Ages shalt their Sins disclose, And brand with Infamy thy Nation's Foes. A Country lies, due East from _Judah_'s Shoar, Where stormy Winds and noisy Billows roar; A Land much differing from all other Soils, Forc'd from the Sea, and buttress'd up with Piles. No marble Quarrys bind the spungy Ground, But Loads of Sand and Cockle-shells are found: Its Natives void of Honesty and Grace, A Boorish, rude, and an inhumane Race; From Nature's Excrement their Life is drawn, Are born in Bogs, and nourish'd up from Spawn. Their hard-smoak'd Beef is their continual Meat, Which they with Rusk, their luscious Manna, eat; Such Food with their chill stomachs best agrees, They sing _Hosannah_ to a Mare's-milk Cheese. To supplicate no God, their Lips will move, Who speaks in Thunder like Almighty _Jove_, But watry Deities they do invoke, Who from the Marshes most Divinely croak. Their Land, as if asham'd their Crimes to see, Dives down beneath the surface of the Sea. _Neptune_, the God who do's the Seas command, Ne'er stands on Tip-toe to descry their Land; But seated on a Billow of the Sea, With Ease their humble Marshes do's survey. These are the Vermin do our State molest; Eclipse our Glory, and disturb our Rest.