Joad shows him to the factious, holds him up,
As if another Moses, to the Jews,
And lying oracles support his speech."
These words did cause the blood to mount her brow:
Ne'er lucky fable had such prompt effect.
"Must I drag on in this uncertainty?
Let us escape," said she, "this restlessness.
To Josabet declare you this resolve--
'The fires are kindling, and the sword prepared,
Nothing can save your temple from destruction,
If hostage for your faith that child's not given.'"

{NABAL.}

Why for a boy of whom they're ignorant,
That chance, perhaps, has cast into their arms,
Will they behold their temple tombed in weeds?

{MATHAN.}

Ah! of all mortals known, the haughtiest!
Sooner than yield a child into our hands,
That Joad has consecrated to his God,
He would endure the most terrific death.
Besides 'tis plainly seen they love the child.
If, from the queen, I heard a true report,
Joad of his birth knows more than he imparts.
However fatal it may be for them,
I can foresee they will not give him up.
On me the rest remains; and in the end
I hope that fire and sword will free my eyes
Of that obnoxious temple!

{NABAL.}

What can inspire in you so fierce a hate?
Is it your zeal for Baal inflames you thus?
As for myself, you know of Ishmael blood,
I neither worship Baal nor Israel's God.

{MATHAN.}

Friend, canst thou think that I allow myself
To be made blind by an unworthy zeal
For a vain idol, fragile form of wood,
Which, notwithstanding my support, the worms
Upon its altar every day consume?
Born servant of the God that temple loves,
It might be Mathan would adore Him still,
If lust of greatness, thirst for dominance,
Could be accommodated to His yoke.
Nabal, what need repicture to thy mind
The noted quarrel of myself and Joad.
When I 'gainst him the censor dared dispute,
My factions, struggles, waitings, my despair?
Vanquished by him I chose a new career,
And wed my soul entirely to the court.
I by degrees approached their royal honours,
And soon my voice was made an oracle.
I probed their heart, and flattered their caprice;
Bestrewed with flowers the precipice's brink;
Serving their passions, naught to me was sacred;
Measure and