Literature & Theatre > Panegyrick on the author of Absolom and Achitophel

Make Treaſon Glory, Murderers Heroes live;
And even to REGICIDES canſt GOD-HEADS give.
Thus in thy Sohgs, the vet warm Bloody Dart,
Freſh reaking in a Martyr'd Monarchs Heart,
Buniiſh't by Verſe, and poliſht by thy Lines,
The Rubies in hnperial Crowns out ſhines,
Whilſt in Appiaule to that ſad days Succeſs,
So Black a Theme in ſo Divine a Dreſs;
Thy Soaring Flights Prrometheus Thefts excell;
Whil'ſt Thou Stealſt Fire from Heaven t'enlighten HELL.
But ſtay, my Muſe, here change thy gawdy ſtrain,
And ſhew a New, no leſs Prodigious Scene.
That Lawrell'd Head, whole ſweet Melodjous Tongue,
To Curſe ye Meroz IO P E A N Sung,
A Bag pipe Drone to the old Piieſtcraft Cant:
Who once did Conſecrated Daggers chant,
And Englands great Ravjlliac ſung before ;
Now Tunes his Pipe to David's Righteous Lore.
In Scavolas Stump the Convert Pen he brings,
And his Burst Hand now writes the Praiſe of Kings.
Thus Bold, thus Great, and all in the Extream,
His Panegyricks are like Daniel's Dream;
This Tribute now to Davia's Glory pay,
A Head of Gold to his old Feet of Clay.
No wonder then ſo Feelingly he tells
Of Corah, Shimeis and Aethitopbells.
Such Characters he mav well gild ſo fine,
Who 'has their Rich Ore from his own Native Mine.
How vaſt an Orb has a Poetiek Soul?
Graſps all from Eaſt to Weſt, and Pole to Pole?
Its warbling Voice, Right, Wrong, Truth, Falſhood Sings,
Tuned to all States, Religions, Gods or Kings.
Oh Wit how wide is thy Circumference ?
Where thy Attractive Center's Bread and Pence.
Pence did I ſay! oh they have champing skill,
To rowze the Gall of an Heroick Quill.
Is there not mighty found and mignty ſence,
In great J ſcariots thirty chinking Pence!
By this Lucina haſt thou born with pain,
The numerous Off-ſprings of thy teeming Brain :
More various Iſſues in Nile's ſlimy Bed,
Not thy own Patron Phabus ever bred.
Thy pregnant Heats, like Iſraels wanton Luſt,
Firſt mould thy Golden Calves,, then pound e'm into Daſt.
Write on, and more then Winds or Frenzy Range,
Keep ſtill thy old Prerogative to change.
'Tis poor Humanity that's kept in bound,
Whilſt power unlimited is God-like found :
Then thy Great ſelf, thou wondrous Poet ſhow:
Honour and Principles diſdain; for know
Thy Mercurye's too proud to fix ſo low.
All Laws and Bounds let thy wild Muſe deſpiſe,
And raign the Prince oth'Air, in which it flyes.

      London, Printed for Charles Leigh. 1681:.