The Historie of Ester: Section 7

The line of Haman, and his race;
His fortunes in the Princes grace:
His rage to Mordecai exprest,
Not bowing to him, as the rest.

VPon a time, to Persias Royall Court,
A forraigne Stranger used to resort,
He was the issue of a royall breed,
The off-cast off-spring of the cursed seed
Of Amelck, from him descended right,
That sold his birth-right for his Appetite;
his name; His fortunes did improve,
Increast by favour of the Princes love:
Full great he grew, preferd to high command,
And plac'd before the Princes of the Land:
And since that honour, and due reverence
Belong where Princes give preeminence;
The King commands the servants of his State,
To suit respect to Hamans high estate,
And doe him honour, fitting his degree,
With vailed bonnet; and low bended knee:
They all observ'd; but aged Mordecai
(Whose stubborne joynts neglected to obey
The seed which Heaven with infamy had branded)
Stoutly refused what the King commanded;
Which when the servants of the King had seene,
Their fell disdaine mixtwith an envious spleene,
Inflam'd; They question'd how he durst withstand
The just performance of the Kings Command:
Daily they checkt him for his high disdaine,
And hee their checks did daily entertaine
With silent slight behaviour, which did prove
As full of care, as their rebukes of love.

Since then their hearts (not able to abide
A longer sufferance of his peevish pride)
(Whose scorching fires, passion did augment,)
Must either breake, or finde a speedy vnt:
To Haman they th'unwelcome newes related,
And what they said, their malice aggravated.
Envie did ope her Snake-devouring Iawes,
Foam'd frothy blood, and bent her unked Pawes
Her hollow eyes did cast out sudden flame,
And pale as ashes look't this angry Dame,
And thus bespake! Art thou that man of might,
That Impe of Glory? Times great Favorite?
Hath thy deserved worth restor'd againe
The blemisht honour of thy Princely straine?
Art thou that Wonder, which the Persian State
Stands gazing at so much, and poynting at?
Filling all wodring eyes with Admiration,
And every loyall heart with Adoration?
Art thou that mighty He? How haps it then
That wretched Mordecai, the worst of men,
A captive slave, a superstitious Iew,
Slights thee, and robs thee of thy righfull due?
Nor was his fault disguis'd with Ignce,
(The unfee'd Advocate of sinne) or Chance,
But backt with Arrogance and fole Despite:
Rise up, and doe thy suffring honour right.
Vp (like his deepe Revenge) rose Haman then,
And like a sleeping Lion from his Den,
Rouz'd his relentlesse Rage; But when his eye
Confirm'd the newes Report did testifie,
His Reason straight was heav'd from off his henge,
And Fury rounded in his eare, Revenge,
And (like a rash Adviser) thus began:
There's nothing (Haman) is more deare to man,
Ad cooles his oyling veines with sweeter pleasure,
Than quicke revenge; for to revenge by leisure,
Is but like feeding, when the stomacke's past,
Pleasing nor eager appetite, nor taste:
et when delay returnes Revenge the greater,
Like poynant sace, it makes the meate the sweeter:
It fis not th'honour of thy personage,
Nor stands it with thy Greatnesse, to ingage
Thy noble thoughts, to make Revenge so poore,
To e reveng'd on one alone: thy sore
Needs many plaisters: make thy honour good,
Not with a drop, but with a world of blood:
Borrow the Sye of Time, and let thy Passion
Mowe downe thy Iewish Foe, with all his Nation.