Well may she trust her beauties on a flood, Where thy triumphant fleets so oft have rode! Safe on thy breast reclined, her rest be deep, Rocked, like a Nereid, by the waves asleep; While happiest dreams her fancy entertain, And to Elysian fields convert the main! Go, injured hero! while the shores of Tyre At thy approach so silent shall admire, Who on thy thunder still their thoughts employ, And greet thy landing with a trembling joy. On heroes thus the prophet's fate is thrown, Admired by every nation but their own; Yet while our factious Jews his worth deny, Their aching conscience gives their tongue the lie. Even in the worst of men the noblest parts Confess him, and he triumphs in their hearts; Whom to his king the best respects commend, Of subject, soldier, kinsman, prince and friend; All sacred names of most divine esteem, And to perfection all sustained by him; Wise, just, and constant, courtly without art, Swift to discern and to reward desert; No hour of his in fruitless ease destroyed, But on the noblest subjects still employed; Whose steady soul ne'er learnt to separate Between his monarch's interest and the state, But heaps those blessings on the royal head, Which he well knows must be on subjects shed. On what pretence could then the vulgar rage Against his worth, and native rights engage? Religious fears their argument are made, Religious fears his sacred rights invade! Of future superstition they complain, And Jebusitic worship in his reign; With such alarms his foes the crowd deceive, With dangers fright, which not themselves believe. Since nothing can our sacred rites remove, Whate'er the faith of the successor prove; Our Jews their ark shall undisturbed retain, At least while their religion is their gain, Who know by old experience Baal's commands Not only claimed their conscience but their lands. They grudge God's tythes; how therefore shall they yield An idol full possession of the field? Grant such a prince enthroned, we must confess The people's sufferings than that monarch's less, Who must to hard conditions still be bound, And for his quiet with the crowd compound; Or should his thoughts to tyranny incline, Where are the means to compass the design? Our crown's revenues are too short a store, And jealous sanhedrims would give no more. As vain our fears of Egypt's potent aid; Not so has Pharaoh learnt ambition's trade, Nor ever with such measures can comply, As shock the common rules of policy. None dread like him the growth of Israel's king; And he alone sufficient aids can bring, Who knows that prince to Egypt can give law, That on our stubborn tribes his yoke could draw; At such profound expence he has not stood, Nor dyed for this his hands so deep in blood;