And late augment the number of the blest, His lawful issue shall the throne ascend, Or the collateral line, where that shall end. His brother, though oppressed with vulgar spite,[250] Yet dauntless, and secure of native right, Of every royal virtue stands possest; Still dear to all the bravest and the best. His courage foes, his friends his truth proclaim; His loyalty the king, the world his fame. His mercy even the offending crowd will find; For sure he comes of a forgiving kind. Why should I then repine at heaven's decree, Which gives me no pretence to royalty? Yet oh that fate, propitiously inclined, Had raised my birth, or had debased my mind; To my large soul not all her treasure lent, And then betrayed it to a mean descent! I find, I find my mounting spirits bold, And David's part disdains my mother's mould. Why am I scanted by a niggard birth? My soul disclaims the kindred of her earth; And, made for empire, whispers me within, Desire of greatness is a god-like sin. Him staggering so, when hell's dire agent found, While fainting virtue scarce maintained her ground, He pours fresh forces in, and thus replies: The eternal God, supremely good and wise, Imparts not these prodigious gifts in vain. What wonders are reserved to bless your reign! Against your will your arguments have shown, Such virtue's only given to guide a throne. Not that your father's mildness I contemn; But manly force becomes the diadem. 'Tis true, he grants the people all they crave; And more, perhaps, than subjects ought to have; For lavish grants suppose a monarch tame, And more his goodness than his wit proclaim: But when should people strive their bonds to break, If not when kings are negligent, or weak? Let him give on till he can give no more, The thrifty sanhedrim shall keep him poor; And every shekel, which he can receive, Shall cost a limb of his prerogative. To ply him with new plots shall be my care, Or plunge him deep in some expensive war; Which when his treasure can no more supply, He must, with the remains of kingship, buy. His faithful friends, our jealousies and fears Call Jebusites, and Pharaoh's pensioners; Whom when our fury from his aid has torn, He shall be naked left to public scorn. The next successor, whom I fear and hate, My arts have made obnoxious to the state; Turned all his virtues to his overthrow, And gained our elders to pronounce a foe.[251] His right, for sums of necessary gold, Shall first be pawned, and afterwards be sold; 'Till time shall ever-wanting David draw, To pass your doubtful title into law: If not, the people have a right supreme To make their kings; for kings are made for them. All empire is no more than power in trust, Which, when resumed, can be no longer just.