Streams from Helicon Or, Poems On Various Subjects. In Three Parts. By Alexander Pennecuik ... The Second Edition. Enter'd in Stationer's Hall |
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Jotham's Parable:
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Jotham's Parable:
OR, THE Parliament of Trees.
ARGUMENT.
The
Trees went forth on a Time to anoint a King over
them, and they said unto the Olive-tree, reign thou
over us. But the Olive-tree said unto them, Should I leave
my Fatness, wherewith by me they honour God and Man, and go
to be promoted over the Trees? and the Trees said to the Fig-tree,
Come thou and reign over us. But the Fig-tree said unto
them, Should I forsake my Sweetness and my good Fruit, and
to to be promoted over the Trees? Then said the Trees unto the
Vine, Come thou and reign over us. And the Vine said unto
them, Should I leave my Wine, which cheareth God and Man,
And go to be promoted over the Trees? Then said all the Trees
unto the Bramble, Come thou, and reign over us. And the
Bramble said unto the Trees, If in Truth ye anoint me over
you, then come, and put your Trust in my Shadow: And if not,
let Fire come out of the Bramble, and devour the Cedars of
Lebanon.
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Washing with Amber Streams the shaggy Sides
Of seven proud Mountains, whose aspiring Heads,
Frown with Disdain upon the lowly Meads.
In Days of Yore, as ancient Bards do sing,
Trees met in Parliament to chuse a King,
Hereditary Right they quite forgot,
It seems, of Lethes Streams they drunk a Pot:
'Tis true, the Torry Trees gave no Consent,
But damn'd them for a Whiggish Parliament.
The Peerage of the Wood do first conveen,
The Oak, the Poplar, and the lofty Pine;
The Ash, the Elm, the Beech, and Fir, are sent,
To represent the Shires in Parliament.
The Hazel, Willow, and the Bramble Brood,
Compear as honest Burghers of the Wood;
Some lusty Cedars came from Sol'mon's Porch,
In pious Zeal to represent the Church,
But were return'd unto the Lord of Hosts,
(The Clergy most not grasp at civil Posts.)
Th'States conveen'd, did with one Voice declare,
That Prelates should attend their past'ral Care,
And fit young Levites for the House of Prayer.
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Else we'll turn deaf with Aaron's jangling Bells:
They ought to mind the Flock, and not the Fleece,
Live like the Chaplains of the PRINCE of PEACE.
Spending their Days in Penitence and Prayer,
Still in their Eye the penitential Tear.
A Palm which long grew on Parnassus Hill,
(Made by Apollo Master of the Quill)
Was chosen Speaker for his matchless Skill.
They authoriz'd a Laurel to be Scribe,
Who was descended from a learned Tribe:
A lowly Cyprus, known to be a Saint,
Was th'Elect Chaplain to the Parliament.
Prayers said, Rolls call'd, a venerable Beech,
In Judgment strong, and eloquent in Speech,
Mov'd that four Members might not have a Vote,
The first was Knave, the second was a Sot;
The third a Rebell, and the fourth was worse,
An Atheist, who had never got Remorse:
The Facts were proven, they with Shame sent Home,
Four honest Trees elected in their Room.
To keep, said he, from a Tyranick Throne,
Let's first declare ours an elective Crown,
Let us be in a magna Charta fix'd,
No Safety where the Governments not mix'd:
The King's Prerogative must not devour
The Subjects Properties, but these secure;
Nor must we streach our Arms to grasp the Regal Power.
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Slavery and Chains becomes the Subjects Fate.
You know we had a Monarch while he stood,
Wrote all our Laws in Characters of Blood:
Then chuse a Tree well vers'd in Forrest Laws,
Hath Strength and Courage to support our Cause;
Who knows the Institutions of the Wood,
Better indeed he be of Royal Blood:
Who'll keep the Coronation Oath he takes,
Boldly defend us from th'invading Ax.
The Legislative Power in Senate met,
After long Sitting, and a cool Debate,
Preferr'd an Olive-tree to rule the State,
Who flourish'd in the fertile Plains of Goshon;
An Ew is sent to tell him his Promotion,
Who went with Swiftness to the Olive-tree,
With courtly Air, thus told the grand Decree.
“Most noble Olive of illustrious Race,
“The Marks of sov'reign Power shine in thy Face,
“The high Convention of Estates this Day,
“Make you an Offer of imperial Sway:
“Know great State Pilot, I the Tidings bring,
“The Parliament hath chosen you their King.
“Our ancient Records being search'd, 'twas found,
“Their was a Time when all the World was drown'd,
“The Trees were all destroyed by a Flood,
“Only a single Ship of Gophar Wood
“Danc'd on the Waves, and plow'd the liquid Deep,
“Who's Bosom did some living Creatures keep;
“Heav'n's Fountains gushing down, did swell the Seas,
“'Bove the Top Branches of the tallest Trees.
“Invelopt in a dreary Gloom the Sun,
“With Eyes agast, his daily Circuit run;
“Cynthia seem'd from her pale Dominion torn,
“No more the Woods beheld her crescent Horn.
“Bow'd down with Torrents, Trees fell in the Ditch,
“Destruction run swift as a Lapland Witch;
“Loud as the Winds, the weary Sailers rore,
“Hopeless to find an hospitable Shore:
“For th'Earth was sunk with the excessive Potion,
“And all the Trees lay bury'd in the Ocean.
“The poor belated founder'd Skiffs sent Post,
“The Dove to see, if all the Earth was lost,
“If they should always sail, and never find a Coast.
“A tedious Centry, and an Half of Days,
“The Flood prevail'd, so our great Prophet says,
“When Heav'n caus'd it to aswage again,
“And with his Finger, bottled up the Rain:
“Clos'd all th'o'erflowing Cellars of the Deep,
“Order'd the Sea her former Bounds to keep.
“Again, the toiling Seamen send a Spy,
“The faithful Dove, who to the Woods did fly;
“Return'd with Tidings that the Earth was dry.
“That Trees lift up their Heads with vernal Green,
“Lo, in his Mouth an Olive Branch was seen.
“Their was a Time when all the World was drown'd,
“The Trees were all destroyed by a Flood,
“Only a single Ship of Gophar Wood
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“Who's Bosom did some living Creatures keep;
“Heav'n's Fountains gushing down, did swell the Seas,
“'Bove the Top Branches of the tallest Trees.
“Invelopt in a dreary Gloom the Sun,
“With Eyes agast, his daily Circuit run;
“Cynthia seem'd from her pale Dominion torn,
“No more the Woods beheld her crescent Horn.
“Bow'd down with Torrents, Trees fell in the Ditch,
“Destruction run swift as a Lapland Witch;
“Loud as the Winds, the weary Sailers rore,
“Hopeless to find an hospitable Shore:
“For th'Earth was sunk with the excessive Potion,
“And all the Trees lay bury'd in the Ocean.
“The poor belated founder'd Skiffs sent Post,
“The Dove to see, if all the Earth was lost,
“If they should always sail, and never find a Coast.
“A tedious Centry, and an Half of Days,
“The Flood prevail'd, so our great Prophet says,
“When Heav'n caus'd it to aswage again,
“And with his Finger, bottled up the Rain:
“Clos'd all th'o'erflowing Cellars of the Deep,
“Order'd the Sea her former Bounds to keep.
“Again, the toiling Seamen send a Spy,
“The faithful Dove, who to the Woods did fly;
“Return'd with Tidings that the Earth was dry.
“That Trees lift up their Heads with vernal Green,
“Lo, in his Mouth an Olive Branch was seen.
“An aged Oak, who reads the Book of Fate,
“Did the strange Story to the States relate,
“From which they did infer you should be King,
“And we should yet enjoy an Olive Reign.
“O then, sweet Olive, quit thy rural Mound,
“Did the strange Story to the States relate,
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“And we should yet enjoy an Olive Reign.
“Ascend with princely Steps a higher Ground,
“And be the Monarch o'er the Forrest crown'd!
To him, with frowning Looks, the Olive spoke,
“Go, Myrmidon, to some aspiring Oak,
“Bred in the Knacks of King-Craft from his Youth,
“Who's Sinewy Arms protects the under Growth:
“Strong Bon'd, and fit for toilsom War is he,
“But, what am I, a simple puny Tree.
“In my paternal Acres safe I dwell,
“I laugh at Courts, I hate them worse than Hell,
“I never saw a Court, nor never shall.
“Here I am pamper'd in my native Soil,
“And trade to foreign Climates with my Oil;
“I've all that Heart can wish I flourish without Toil
“The middle State is surely best,
“This Truth, the Trees who're wise, do all attest.
“Tempestuous Winds the lofty Cedars crush,
“Ev'ry rude Foot treads down the Bramble Bush:
“But I'm above Contempt, below Envy;
“In this sweet State I've liv'd, in this I'll dy.
“Then tempt me not to leave this happy Land,
“For Crowns and Scepters, and a wide Command,
“My Father told me, who was wise and good,
“'Tis dang'rous to be born of Royal Blood,
“Moe Thorns are in the Crown, than in the Wood.
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“A Parasite, a young pregmatick Knave;
“Tell them their Choice is wrong, they're crasy grown,
“I wou'd not give a Shilling for their Crown.
“God's pity him ordain'd to reign by Fate,
“He rules a giddy and a factious State;
“Poor, tho' he's Rich; and Wretched, tho' he's Great.
Th'Ambassador reply'd, “O Country Clown,
“Do you despise the Glories of a Crown,
“Unthinking Wretch, you're a wild Olive sure;
“Base born, of Bastard Kind, unfit for Power:
“May Lightnings blast thee, on thy barren Ground,
“Henceforth may never Fruit on thee be found.
“May Canker-Worms suck and corrupt thy Blood,
“And thou unfed thy self, be Vermin's Food:
“May Fairies hold their Synods round thy Trunk,
“And Night Hags ride upon thee when they're drunk.
“O may the Heav'n's Plague you till ye dy,
“With raging North Winds, and a lowring Sky;
“Witches with grisley Cheeks, and rueful old,
“Within thy hollow Trunk, their dark Cabals shall hold.
He to the Senate went, and told the News,
The Olive did the Government refuse.
Th'Estates demurr'd a while, at last they chose
A Fig, which with perpetual Flagrance grows
In Ramah's Vale, and fair as Sharon's Rose.
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To bear the Tidings from the Parliament;
The Apricock obeys the high Command,
And takes his Journey to a foreign Land:
There he arriv'd, and did the Fig approach,
And thus harrangu'd him on his grassie Couch.
“Illustrious Fig, who's verdant Boughs did hide
“The new made Adam, and his charming Bride,
“Declining from their Pomp, and in their Ebb of Pride.
“They with thy salutif'rous Leaves were dress'd,
“Fair Robe, and next to Innocence the best;
“On thy sweet Fruit still roll'd their feasted Eyes,
“They call'd the best of unprohibit Trees:
“On thy green Boughs there's a perpetual Spring,
“There, sings the warbling Quires of ev'ry Wing,
“Who, with their joyful Notes, proclaim thee King.
“Woods, Rocks, and Mountains, with thy Praises ring,
“And Trees in Senate met have chos'n you King:
“Know, I one of the loyal British Trees,
“Am hither sent to spread the glad'ning News.
“Of Solitude are you not weary grown,
“O taste the Pleasures of a Court and Throne:
“I'll wait upon your Levee o'er the Seas,
“See you anointed King, to rule the Trees.
“Let grovling Shrubs stick in their native Mire,
“Rot on the moary Dale, and ne'er look higher;
“A nobler Spirit doth your Breast inspire.
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“And this high Honour you can call your own.
The Fig repli'd, “I know not State Affairs;
“(Sound sleeps the Tree that's void of humane Cares,)
“Shall I forsake my happy tranquil Life,
“To be a Father to the Sons of Strife?
“Venture upon the boist'rous faithless Seas,
“To be anointed King, and rule the Trees?
“No, no, I'll keep within my native Bounds,
“I would not give a Fig for forty Crowns.
“Go to the sacred Nursery, Apricock;
“There get a Twig, sprung from an ancient Stock,
“Transplant the Royal Plant beyond the Seas,
“You may ingraft upon it what you please,
“But lest he languish with the change of Air,
“(For I have hear'd of some bad Gard'ners there,)
“Don't prune too soon, nor pluck the ripening Fruit;
“Or if you lop the Branches, spare the Root.
“So, farewell Sir, I give your Senate Thanks,
“Perpetual flagrance dwell upon their Banks;
“Wise be their Choice, assist them mighty Jove,
“To choose a Tree may bless the Woods and Grove.
“My Hopes, the Envoy said, were swelling big,
“Was e'er such Honour offer'd to a Fig?
“He star'd and storm'd, and spoke with boiling Passion,
“Where will we find a Monarch to our Nation?
“I almost think that Kings are out of fashion.
He to the Senate went, and told the Story:
The Fig won't have your Diadem and Glory.
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“He's nobly born, said he, of Blood divine;
“'Twill well become him on the Throne to shine.
This Overture did all the Senate please,
By Law a Vine's declar'd King o're the Trees.
A Pear is sent to tell him he'll be crown'd,
And to invite him from his lower Ground:
Proud of his Post, the Pear address'd the Vine,
(His Arguments were strong, his language Fine:)
“From the sweet Tree cœlestial Liquor flows,
“The pond'rous Grapes bend low thy laughing Boughs;
“Each Pore of you pours out a purple Flood
“Of dear Refreshments, and immortal Food,
“Which spreads new Life through every dying Heart,
“Vigour and Joy, thy precious Juice impart.
“Thou art a healing Tree, of sovereign Power,
“All Nations, all Religions thee adore:
“Thy Blood's a sovereign Balsom when we're Sick,
“Gives Life new Strings, and makes the Weels run quick;
“Makes dying Pulses beat with lambent Flame,
“It wanders thro' the Veins to bless the vital Stream.
“Embrace imperial Robes, ascend a Throne,
“The Parliament on you have fix'd the Crown,
“Reign o'er the Trees, and scatter Blessings down.
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“When Bacchus, noble Bacchus, steers the Helm;
“Triumphant Joy will reign through all the Plains,
“And chearful Blood will circ'late thro' our Veins;
“Poets will write thy Life in Dythriambick Strains:
“'Twill be a joyful Reign as e'er was seen,
“Trees will be ever glad, and ever green.
“Come then blyth Bacchus, be anointed King,
“Rule o'er the Trees, and happy be thy Reign.
“The Vine made answer, with an awful Frown,
“Know, I despise your poor precarious Crown;
“Shall I forsake my Luxury and Ease,
“My Trade by Land, my Traffick on the Seas,
“And go and be promoted o'er the Trees?
“When I'm grown Rich, and Indolent, and Old,
“Barter my luscious Ease for Crown of Gold;
“Wou'd not my Happiness be very cheaply sold?
“Lay all your rich Regalia at my Root,
“Pale will they look beside my smiling Fruit:
“Shall I my sweet Estate exchange for woe?
“I'm King of Comrads let me still be so.
“O State Tree! leave me to my native Ease,
“Present my humble Service to the Trees:
“Tell them I'm Loyal to the Common-wealth,
“In generous Wine I daily drink their Health.
“Let them elect a Prince that's Great and Good,
“(O may he be a Blessing to the Wood;)
“I'll love him while I live, and serve him with my Blood.
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“I'll cause arraign you for a horrid Crime,
“You've made a thousand Rebells in your Time:
“'Twas you, and only you, Curse on you for't,
“Who kill'd our King, and banisht all his Court.
“Your cursed Grapes destroy'd the Nations Health,
“And introduc'd a hellish Common-wealth;
“O drunken Rebell! thy seditious Pate,
“Plots all the Factions, which imbroil the State.
He to the Senate went, and told the Thing:
“The saucy Vine refuses to be King.
Surpriz'd was ev'ry Member of the States;
After some warm and passionate Debates,
An Indian Citron, Glory of the Grove,
Spoke Words which shew'd he was inspir'd by Jove.
“Hear me, ye worthy Patriots of the Trees,
“Our Country may be happy if we please:
“We look too high to find a Royal Line,
“I have a Claim by Birth-Right, says the Vine,
“You can't elect me I'm of Race divine.
“The Fig and Olive are so Potent grown,
“They think by Conquest to ascend the Throne:
“Let's chuse a Bramble, in plain Dealing bred,
“He'll be a Foe to Pride; a Friend to Trade.
“The Heralds of the Wood do all declare;
“The Shrub's as ancient as the Cedars are,
“No Matter if a King be short or long,
“It's Law that makes him terrible and strong.
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The Bramble, the brave Bramble shall be King.
To this new King a Pom'granate is sent,
To tell the Statute of the Parliament:
He went, and as he went was heard to say,
“I hate the Office, yet I must obey:
“But if the Bramble should refuse to Reign,
“I don't know how the D---l will be King.
He kneel'd before the Beamble when he spoke,
(He bore his high Commission in his Look.)
“The Ashes of our King are now interr'd.
“And you, to the high Office are preferr'd:
“For to be bury'd, Curse (the Bramble says)
“On such damn'd Laws, to cut a Subjects Days.
“No, no, replies the honest Pom'granate,
“You're call'd to wear the Crown, to rule the State,
“The Little Bramble shall be very great.
“That's Right, quoth the Bramble, I'm to hold the Reins,
“The Giants with long Arms did fright the Plains;
They'll all be safe when the Dwarff Bramble's King,
“Bless'd be the Tree that doth the Tidings bring.
“I need an Assessor, know Pom'granate,
“That you shall be my Secretar of State;
“O 'twill be humbling to the Cedar Tree,
“It will disjoint his Back to bow to me.
“O what a Weight is on my Shoulders laid,
“What Honours to the Bramble will be paid,
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“Both Poles shall hear the Bramble rules the Trees
“The Royal Oak my Edicts will fulfill,
“I'll order all the Wood by my own sov'reign Will;
“Exalted on the Throne I'll proudly sit,
“Trampling upon the Cedars with my Feet.
“I know the Rebells of the Woods will hope,
“The Government will sink with such a Prop;
“No, my devouring Sword shall make them bleed,
“My Fury stamp them down, my Wrath shall strike them dead.
“Go Pom'granate, swift as the Lightning move;
“Acquaint each Hill and Plain, and Wood and Grove,
“That I'm the kingly Regent on the Throne,
“And these who do th'Authority disown,
“My Arms shall shake, until they totter down.
“My Wrath inflam'd, shall plague the scoffing Crew,
“The disobedient Trees shall either burn or bow.
Thro' thorny Roads with Spirits tir'd and faint,
The Pom'granate back to the Senate went;
Who told the august Court what he had done,
“My Lords, the Bramble doth embrace the Throne,
“His Government already is begun.
“Nay, I'm convinc'd, before the setting Sun,
“(For Magazines of Plagues are in his Blood,)
“His raging Fire will burn half the Wood.
“Wild and unwholsome as the Root, will all high Branches be,
“How can we hope for living Fruit from such deadly Tree.
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They order'd that his Power should be controul'd,
Wise Limitations crush'd his proud Intent,
(For all our Safety's in a Parliament,)
An Oak brought in an Overture for Cess,
Which pass'd, and they prorogu'd to—Nevermass.
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