'Disloyal wretch! thy gentle mother's shame! Whose cold, pale ghost even blushes at thy name! Who fears lest her chaste bed should doubted be, And her white fame stained by black deeds of thee! Canst thou be mine? A crown sometimes does hire Even sons against their parents to conspire; But ne'er did story yet, or fable, tell Of one so wild who, merely to rebel, Quitted the unquestioned birthright of a throne, And bought his father's ruin with his own. Thou need'st not plead the ambitious youth's defence; Thy crime clears his, and makes that innocence: Nor can his foul ingratitude appear, Whilst thy unnatural guilt is placed so near. Is this that noble friendship you pretend? Mine, thine own foe, and thy worst enemy's friend? If thy low spirit can thy great birthright quit, The thing's but just, so ill deserv'st thou it. I, and thy brethren here, have no such mind, Nor such prodigious worth in David find, That we to him should our just rights resign, Or think God's choice not made so well as thine. Shame of thy house and tribe! hence from mine eye; To thy false friend and servile master fly; He's ere this time in arms expecting thee; Haste, for those arms are raised to ruin me. Thy sin that way will nobler much appear, Than to remain his spy and agent here. When I think this, Nature, by thee forsook, Forsakes me too.' With that his spear he took To strike at him: the mirth and music cease; The guests all rise this sudden storm t' appease. The prince his danger and his duty knew, And low he bowed, and silently withdrew.