riends he had many, but them did not know,
Or else made to believe they were not so:
For all that did ill Ministers oppose,
Were represented to him as his Foes.
Yet there were many thousands in those days,
Who _Amazia_ did both love and praise;
Who for him daily pray'd, and wish'd his good,
And for him would have spent both Coin and Bloud.
Yet these, tho the more numerous, and the best,
Were call'd but murmuring Traytors by the rest:
By such who strain'd till they had crackt the string
Of Government; lov'd Pow'r, and not the King
These daily hightned _Amazia_'s fears,
And thus they whisper'd to his Royal Ears:

Sir, it is time you now take up the Sword,
And let your Subjects know you are their Lord.
Goodness by Rebels won't be understood,
And you are much too wonderful and good.
The _Jews_, a moody, murmuring, stubborn Race,
Grow worse by Favours, and rebel with Grace.
Pamper'd they are, grown rich and fat with ease,
Whom no good Monarch long could ever please.
Freedom and Liberty pretend to want;
That's still the cry, where they're on Mischief bent.
Freedom is their Disease; and had they less,
They would not be so ready to transgress.
Give them but Liberty, let them alone,
They shall not onely you, but God dethrone.
Remember, Sir, how your good Father fell;
It was his goodness made them first rebel.
And now the very self-same tract they tread,
To reach your Crown, and then take off your head.
A senseless Plot they stumbl'd on, or made,
To make you of th'old _Canaanites_ afraid.
Still when they mean the Nation to enthral,
With heavie Clamour they cry out on _Baal_.
But these hot Zealots who _Baal_'s Idols curse,
Bow to their own more ugly far and worse.
_Baal_ would but rob some Jewels from your Crown,
But these would Monarchy itself pull down:
Both Church and State they'l not reform by Halves,
Pull down the Temple, and set up their Calves.
You, and your Priests, they would turn out to Graze,
Nor would they let you smell a Sacrifize,
Those pious Offerings which Priests lasie made,
To Rebels, should, instead of God be paid.
How to the Prey these factious _Jews_ do run!
From you by art they have debauch'd your Son;
That little subtle Instrument of Hell,
Worse than to _David_ was _Achitophel_,
The young Man tutors, sends him through the Land,
That he the peoples minds may understand;
That he, with winning Charms, might court the _Jew_,
And draw your fickle Subjects hearts from you.
Alas! already they of