Near this hall's end a shittim table stood, Yet well-wrought plate strove to conceal the wood; For from the foot a golden vine did sprout, And cast his fruitful riches all about. Well might that beauteous ore the grape express, Which does weak man intoxicate no less. Of the same wood the gilded beds were made, And on them large embroidered carpets laid, From Egypt, the rich shop of follies, brought; But arts of pride all nations soon are taught. Behold seven comely blooming youths appear, And in their hands seven silver washpots bear, Curled, and gay clad, the choicest sons that be Of Gibeon's race, and slaves of high degree. Seven beauteous maids marched softly in behind, Bright scarves their clothes, their hair fresh garlands bind, And whilst the princes wash, they on them shed Rich ointments, which their costly odours spread O'er the whole room; from their small prisons free, With such glad haste through the wide air they flee. The King was placed alone, and o'er his head A well-wrought heaven of silk and gold was spread, Azure the ground, the sun in gold shone bright, But pierced the wandering clouds with silver light. The right-hand bed the King's three sons did grace, The third was Abner's, Adriel's, David's place: And twelve large tables more were filled below, With the prime men Saul's court and camp could show. The palace did with mirth and music sound, And the crowned goblets nimbly moved around: But though bright joy in every guest did shine, The plenty, state, music, and sprightful wine, Were lost on Saul: an angry care did dwell In his dark breast, and all gay forms expel. David's unusual absence from the feast, To his sick sp'rit did jealous thoughts suggest: Long lay he still, nor drank, nor ate, nor spoke, And thus at last his troubled silence broke. 'Where can he be?' said he. 'It must be so.' With that he paused awhile. 'Too well we know His boundless pride: he grieves, and hates to see The solemn triumphs of my court and me. Believe me, friends! and trust what I can show From thousand proofs; the ambitious David now Does those vast things in his proud soul design, That too much business give for mirth or wine. He's kindling now, perhaps, rebellious fire Among the tribes, and does even now conspire Against my crown, and all our lives, whilst we Are loth even to suspect what we might see. By the Great Name 'tis true.' With that he strook the board, and no man there, But Jonathan, durst undertake to clear The blameless prince: and scarce ten words he spoke, When thus his speech the enraged tyrant broke: