the Imprecation dire;
And for a Viand, lest their Guilt should tire,
With promis'd Paradice they cheer their way;
And bold's the Souldier who has Heav'n his pay.

But the ne'r-sleeping Providence that stands
With jealous Eyes o're Truths up-lifted Hands;
That still in its Lord _Israel_ takes delight,
Their Cloud by Day, and Guardian Fire by Night;
A Ray from out its Fiery Pillar cast,
That overlook'd their driving _Jehu_'s hast.
All's ruin'd and betray'd: their own false Slaves }
Detect the Plot, and dig their Masters Graves: }
Not Oaths nor Bribes shall bind, when great _Jehovah_ saves. }
The frighted _Israelites_ take the Alarm,
Resolve the Traitors Sorceries t'uncharm:
Till cursing, raving, mad, and drunk with Rage,
In _Amnons_ Blood their frantick Hands engage.

Here let the Ghost of strangl'd _Amnon_ come,
A Specter that will strike Amazement dumb;
_Amnon_ the Proto-Martyr of the Plot,
The Murder'd _Amnon_, their Eternal Blot;
Whose too bold zeal stood like a _Pharos_ Light,
_Israel_ to warn, and track their Deeds of Night.
Till the sly Foe his unseen Game to play,
Put out the Beacon to secure his way.
_Baals_ Cabinet-Intrigues he open spread,
The Ravisht _Tamar_ for whose sake he bled.
T'unveil their Temple and expose their Gods,
Deserv'd their vengeances severest Rods:
Wrath he deserv'd, and had the Vial full,
To lay those Devils had possest his Soul.
His silenc'd Fiends from his wrung Neck they twist;
Whilst his kind Murd'rer's but his Exorcist.
Here draw, bold Painter, (if thy Pencil dare
Unshaking write, what _Israel_ quak'd to hear,)
A Royal Altar pregnant with a Load
Of Humane Bones beneath a Breaden God.
Altars so rich not _Molocks_ Temples show;
'Twas Heaven above, and _Golgotha_ below.
Yet are not all the Mystick Rites yet done:
Their pious Fury does not stop so soon.
But to pursue the loud-tongu'd Wounds they gave,
Resolves to stab his Fame beyond the Grave,
And in Eternal Infamy to brand
With _Amnons_ Murder, _Amnons_ righteous Hand.
Here with a Bloodless wound, by Hellish Art,
With his own Sword they goar his Lifeless Heart.
Thus in a Ditch the butcher'd _Amnon_ lay,
A Deed of Night enough to have kept back the Day.
Had not the Sun in Sacred vengeance rose,
Asham'd to see, but prouder to disclose,
Warm'd with new Fires, with all his posting speed,
Brought Heav'ns bright Lamp to shew th'Infernal Deed.

What art thou, Church! when Faith to propagate,
An