Book II, 27: On Davids hoise

Famine? the Sword? the Pestlence? which is least,
When all are great? which worst, when bad's the best?
It is a point of Mercy, yet, to give
A choise of death to such, as must not live:
But was the choise so hard? It seemes to me,
There was a worse, and better of the three,
Though all extreame: Me thinks, the helpe of hands
Might swage the first; The bread of forraine lands
Might patch their lives, & make some slender shift
To save a while, with necessary thrift:
Me thinks, the second should be lesse extreame
Then that; Alas! poore Israel could not dreame
Of too much peace, that had so oft division
Among themselves, and forrain opposition:
Besides, their King was martiall; his acts glorious;
His heart was valiant, and his hand victorious;
Me thinks a Conquerour; a Man oth' sword
Should nere be puzzeld a so poore a word:
In both, however, David, at the worst,
Might well presume he should not die the first
But oh, the Plague's impartiall, It respects
No quality of Person, Age, nor Sex:
The Royall brest's as open to her hand
As is the loosest Pesant in the land:
Famin? the Sword? the Pest'lence? David free,
To take his choice? and pick the worst of three?
He that gave David power to reuse,
Instructed David, in the Art to chuse;
He knew no forrain Kingdōe could afford
Supply, where God makes Dearth: He knew the Sword
Would want an arm; the arm would want her skill;
And skill, successe, where heav'n prepares to kill:
He knew there was no trust, no safe recourse
To Martiall man, or to his warlike horse;
But it is Thou, Great God the only close
Of his best thoughts, and the secure repose
Of all his trust; He yields to kisse thy Rod;
Israel was thine, and thou art Israels God:
He knw thy gratious wont, thy wonted Grace;
He knew, thy Mercy tooke the upper place
Of all thy Attributes; 'Twas no adventure
To cast himselfe on Thee, the only Center
Of all his hopes; Thy David knw the danger
To fall to th'hands of man; or frend, or stranger:
Thus Davids filiall hopes, being anchor'd fast
On Gods knowne Mercy, wisely hose the last:
If thou wilt give me Davids heart: Ile voyce,
Great God, with David; and make Davids choyce:
But stay; deare Lord, my tongue's too bold, too free,
To speake of choyce, that merits all the Three.