The Rescue. 1672

FOrtune, that does the World subdue,
Submits her Empire here to you.
Your smiles can fix her changing state,
And spight of her can bliss create.
Henceforth you will more courted be,
And have more Altars far than she.
You need not her Advancements mind,
No more than Light to be refin'd.
Compost is vain for your rich Soil;
Your Di'mond shines without a foil;
And you have such an awful flame,
She durst not meddle with your Name.
Which scorn'd her Laws, and would not be
Subservient to her Lottery.
She rag'd with fury at the slight,
Aping the Syrian Tyrant's spite;
That did to flames those Persons vow,
Who would not to his Idol bow.
I, like the Angel, did aspire,
Your Name to rescue from the fire.
My Zeal succeeded for your Name;
But I, alas, caught all the flame!
A meaner off'ring thus suffic'd,
And Isaac was not sacrific'd.