Davideis :: :: University of Virginia Library

While Saul among the seers enraptur'd lay,
Depriv'd of pow'r to move a foot away,
Good David, who with rev'rence much admir'd
This gracious act of Providence, retir'd,
Lest when the fit was over, angry Saul
Should in displeasure on the prophets fall.

From Najoth therefore, having first advis'd
With rev'rend Sam'el, whom he highly priz'd,
He, undiscern'd, withdrew, and strait did bend
His course to Jonathan, his faithful friend,
Into whose bosom he could freely vent
His sorrows, and his hapless state lament.
What sin of mine has rais'd this cruel strife,
That I, said he, am hunted for my life?

The gentle prince, whose truly noble breast,
Was with a generous compassion blest,
His friend's complaint, his dangers and his fears,
With close but sorrowful attention hears,
And quick returns this short, but kind reply,
Almighty God forbid! “Thou shalt not die:”
And straight endeavours, whatsoe'er he may,
His fears with strong assurance to allay;
He thought his Father nothing would essay,
Without consulting him about the way,
And thereby hop'd it in his pow'r would be,
In case of an attack, his friend to free.

But David, whom experience now had taught,
That both by force and fraud his life was sought,
Judg'd it not safe his person to expose
On such uncertain ticklish grounds as those:
He told his Jonathan, 'twas not unknown,
How firm a friendship was between them grown,
'Twas therefore reasonable to believe
His father hid from him what would him grieve,
Or might perhaps, designedly conceal
His mind from him, lest he should it reveal;
Yet know, said he, as sure as thou hast breath,
There's but a single step 'twixt me and death.

That word, with such an accent David spake,
Impressions deep it could not fail to make
Upon his tender friend; his quick'ned sense,
Like a strong spring new vigour took from thence;
Starting, he said, “From evil may'st thou be,
“My dearest David, and from danger free!

“Which that thou may'st, I'm ready here to do
“Whate'er thou judgest may conduce thereto.”

Then sitting down, they mutual counsel take,
And this conclusion prudently they make,
That Jonathan, his father's mind once more,
At his return from Najoth should explore,
And should accordingly let David know,
If Saul his death designed yet or no.
David, mean-while, did by agreement stay
At Ezel-stone, (a mark that shew'd the way)
Near which, in bushy covert, he might lie
Safe from the view of any passing by.

And now, before their parting leave they took,
A sacred covenant afresh they strook,
A during tye, confirm'd by solemn oath,
A bond inviolable on them both,
Which to their latest offspring should extend,
On either side, and never have an end:
By which a stipulation they did bind
Themselves to be unto each other kind;
That Jonathan should faithfully report
To David how he found affairs at court,
And should his utmost pow'r employ to free
His friend from danger, if he any see.
On t'other hand, That David, when the throne
Of Israel should come to be his own,
Should Jonathan, and all that from him spring,
Secure from danger while himself is king;

For Jonathan, whose deeply piercing eye,
On David's brow did marks of empire spy,
Was wont, with confidence, his friend to tell,
That he should be the king of Israel.

By this time Saul from Najoth was return'd,
With smoother brow; but in his breast still burn'd
Malignant hate, nor did he yet despair
To compass David's death at unaware.

The new-moon now approach'd, and therewithal
Reviv'd the wicked hopes of cruel Saul,
He made no doubt, but at the sacred feast,
He should have zealous David for his guest;
For then it pleas'd him always to admit
David at table with himself to sit,
And then might hope, with more success, to cast
His fatal spear than when he threw it last.

The new-moon being come, and David's seat
Left empty, when the king sate down to meat,
Two days together; Saul began to doubt
It was design'd; and with an angry pout,
“Why cometh not,” said he, “old Jesse's son
“To meat, as he in former times hath done?”

Thus Saul to Jonathan: who, having ey'd
His father's angry countenance, reply'd,
“Since thou art pleas'd the reason to demand
“Of David's absence, please to understand,
“That David unto Beth-lehem is gone,
“On urgent bus'ness (to return anon)

“A yearly sacrifice his brethren hold
“At this time there, as he himself me told,
“To which the family do all repair,
“And David too was summon'd to be there;
“He therefore earnestly of me did crave
“My leave to go, which readily I gave.”

As from the prince's lips these words did fall
A fire of rage enkindled was in Saul
Against his son, which forth in choler brake,
And with a furious accent thus he spake:

“Thou son of the perverse rebellious woman,
“Whose headstrong folly will be rul'd by no man,
“Too well I know that Jesse's son and thee,
“To thy confusion but too well agree;
“Yet thou, 'till he's securely in his grave,
“No kingdom, no establishment can have;
“Send therefore, fetch him, e'er he further fly,
“Make no delay, for he shall surely die.”
These words in such a thund'ring tone he spake,
As seem'd to make the hall he sate in shake.

Griev'd was the princely Jonathan to hear
A sentence so unjust and so severe;
Small hopes he had, yet could not choose but try
His father's stormy mind to pacify,
And to that purpose, in an humble tone,
Ask'd “Why shall David die?—What hath he done?”

As suppl'ing oil, on flaming fire cast,
Instead of quenching, doth augment the blast;

So Jonathan's soft words enkindled more
His wrathful father than he was before;
He nothing said, too full he was to speak,
His stifling choler could not silence break;
But snatching up, with furious haste, his spear,
Which at his hand designedly stood near,
With such a force at Jonathan he threw,
As more than words, his bloody mind did shew.

Altho' the prince the stroke did nimbly shun,
Yet was he greatly mov'd at what was done;
Such gross indignity would stir a man
Of meaner spirits than was Jonathan;
Consid'ring that it was a public shame,
And more, because it from a father came;
The harder too it was for him to bear,
Who was his father's and the kingdom's heir,
Himself long since adult; and which was more,
Had been his father's vice-roy just before;
All which together working in his breast,
Made this abuse uneasy to digest.

From table, therefore, he in heat arose,
And breathing forth displeasure, out he goes,
Then to his own apartment doth retire,
To give free vent to this new kindled fire,
Where falling on his couch, he doth bemoan
Much more his friend's condition than his own.
Respecting what concern'd his late disgrace,
He doubted not, consid'ring men would place
All to his father's passion; and that he
Himself, his passion o'er, would troubled be:

But, ah! his friend, his friend! poor David's case
Did more affect him than his own disgrace.
No longer now doth any thought remain
In Jonathan, that David's fears were vain;
No clearer evidence he now doth need,
That David's death was by the king decreed;
This act of violence, for David's sake,
Both clear'd his doubt, and made his heart to ake.

The tedious night in restless tossings spent,
Betwixt uneasy grief and discontent,
As soon as e'er Aurora did disclose
The springing day, the faithful prince arose;
Both honour and affection did him spur,
And, e'er the lark was stirring, made him stir.
Honour reminds him, that his word he gave
To David; Love said, “Thou must David save;”
Which that he might, he to the field doth go,
(His page his quiver bearing and his bow,
Not knowing why) no otherwise he went,
Than if to recreate himself he meant.

When near the place, where Jesse's son did wait,
The doubtful issue of his doleful fate,
His curved bow with sinew'd arm he drew,
And over David's head the arrows flew;
One flying shaft a private token bore,
Agreed upon between themselves before,
By which poor David understood too well,
What Jonathan unwilling was to tell.

The thoughtless page, who nothing did suspect,
With nimble speed the arrows did collect,
And to his master bring, who did deliver
Unto the lad his unstrung bow and quiver
To carry home; himself remain'd behind,
As if to walk alone he were inclin'd.

The youth now gone, and Jonathan alone,
Strait David issu'd forth by Ezel-stone,
And, falling to the ground, with triple bend
Of body did salute his noble friend;
Then casting arms about each other's neck,
Their pearly tears each other's breast bedeck,
They wept and kiss'd, they kiss'd and wept again;
Nor could they soon those crystal floods restrain,
Each kiss a fresh supply of tears did breed
In both their eyes, till David did exceed;
At length, their covenant renew'd, they part,
Each kindly bearing back the other's heart;
They part, and each doth his own path pursue,
With eyes reflex, while either was in view.