In times when princes cancelled nature's law, And declarations which themselves did draw; When children used their parents to dethrone, And gnaw their way, like vipers, to the crown; Tarquin, a savage, proud, ambitious prince, Prompt to expel, yet thoughtless of defence, The envied sceptre did from Tullius snatch, The Roman king, and father by the match. To form his party, histories report, } A sanctuary was opened in his court, } Where glad offenders safely might resort. } Great was the crowd, and wonderous the success, For those were fruitful times of wickedness; And all that lived obnoxious to the laws, Flocked to prince Tarquin, and embraced his cause. 'Mongst these a pagan priest for refuge fled; A prophet deep in godly faction read;[80] A sycophant, that knew the modish way To cant and plot, to flatter and betray, To whine and sin, to scribble and recant, A shameless author, and a lustful saint. To serve all times he could distinctions coin, And with great ease flat contradictions join: A traitor now, once loyal in extreme, And then obedience was his only theme: He sung in temples the most passive lays, And wearied monarchs with repeated praise; But managed awkwardly that lawful part, } To vent foul lies and treason was his art, } And pointed libels at crowned heads to dart. } This priest, and others, learned to defame, First murder injured Tullius in his name; With blackest calumnies their sovereign load, A poisoned brother, and dark league abroad; A son unjustly top'd upon the throne,[81] Which yet was proved undoubtedly his own; Though, as the law was then, 'twas his behoof, Who dispossessed the heir, to bring the proof. This hellish charge they backed with dismal frights, The loss of property, and sacred rights, And freedom; words which all false patriots use As surest names the Romans to abuse; Jealous of kings, and always malcontent, Forward in change, yet certain to repent. Whilst thus the plotters needful fears create, Tarquin with open force invades the state. Lewd nobles join him with their feeble might, And atheist fools for dear religion fight. The priests their boasted principles disown, And level their harangues against the throne. Vain promises the people's minds allure: Slight were these ills, but desperate the cure. 'Tis hard for kings to steer an equal course, And they who banish one oft gain a worse. Those heavenly bodies we admire above, Do every day irregularly move; Yet Tullius, 'tis decreed, must lose the crown, For faults that were his council's, not his own. He now in vain commands even those he payed, } By darling troops deserted and betrayed, } By creatures which his generous warmth had made. }