If they may give and take whene'er they please, Not kings alone, the Godhead's images, But government itself, at length must fall To nature's state, where all have right to all. Yet, grant our lords, the people, kings can make, What prudent men a settled throne would shake? For whatsoe'er their sufferings were before, That change they covet makes them suffer more. All other errors but disturb a state; But innovation is the blow of fate. If ancient fabrics nod, and threat to fall, To patch their flaws, and buttress up the wall, Thus far 'tis duty: but here fix the mark; For all beyond it is to touch the ark. To change foundations, cast the frame anew, Is work for rebels, who base ends pursue; At once divine and human laws controul, And mend the parts by ruin of the whole. The tampering world is subject to this curse, To physic their disease into a worse. Now what relief can righteous David bring? How fatal 'tis to be too good a king! Friends he has few, so high the madness grows; Who dare be such must be the people's foes. Yet some there were, even in the worst of days; Some let me name, and naming is to praise. In this short file Barzillai[276] first appears; Barzillai, crowned with honour and with years. Long since, the rising rebels he withstood In regions waste beyond the Jordan's flood:[277] Unfortunately brave to buoy the state; But sinking underneath his master's fate: In exile with his godlike prince he mourned; For him he suffered, and with him returned. The court he practised, not the courtier's art: Large was his wealth, but larger was his heart, Which well the noblest objects knew to choose, The fighting warrior, and recording muse. His bed could once a fruitful issue boast; Now more than half a father's name is lost. His eldest hope, with every grace adorned, By me, so heaven will have it, always mourned, And always honoured, snatched in manhood's prime By unequal fates, and providence's crime:[278] Yet not before the goal of honour won, } All parts fulfilled of subject and of son: } Swift was the race, but short the time to run. } Oh narrow circle, but of power divine, Scanted in space, and perfect in thy line! By sea, by land, thy matchless worth was known, Arms thy delight, and war was all thy own: Thy force infused the fainting Tyrians[279] prop'd, And haughty Pharaoh found his fortune stop'd. Oh ancient honour! Oh unconquered hand, Whom foes unpunished never could withstand! But Israel was unworthy of his name:[280] Short is the date of all immoderate fame.[281] It looks as heaven our ruin had designed, And durst not trust thy fortune and thy mind. Now, free from earth, thy disencumbered soul Mounts up, and leaves behind the clouds and starry pole: