Judith. Poem by Daniel Baker

I.
Speak, Muse, whom wilt thou sing?
What mighty Man, what King,
Upon the Stage what Hero wilt thou bring,
To act his Part o'er once again,
In such impetuous Numbers, as shall make
His hearers (as his En'mies did) to quake?
No, no; my Muse will not this Subject take.
She'll meddle not with men
Too long already they have been
The flatter'd Theme of the Pindarique Pen.
The fair and gentle Sex
With barb'rous Spight to vex
Their spleenful Tongues while others bend,
My grateful and more gen'rous Muse
(Like virtuous Knights of old) a nobler Task will chuse,
Wrong'd and abus'd Ladies to defend.
A Woman she will sing, whose matchless worth
The best of Men must gladly Copy forth,
If ever they expect to have their Name
Recorded in the Rolls of never--dying Fame.


II.
Begin, begin, and strike the Lyre
Teach all the World great Judith to admire,
Judith who in that Hand a Fauchi'n bore
Which a Distaff held before;
Who bought the Safety of her native Town,
With the Danger of her own;
Whose conq'ring Eyes th' Assyrian Tyram spoil'd
Of his proud Hopes, and all his shining Glories soyl'd.
The fairest, and the chastest of her kind,
(Two Epithets, that are but seldom joyn'd,
Unless for some great Work by Heav'n design'd)
And with these Female Gifts, Courage and Wit combin'd,
Which we Male--Virtues call'd till then,
And thought them proper to us Men.
Judith all these together brought,
And self--conceited Men a better Judgment taught,
More fair and good than ev'ry she,
More bold and wise than ev'ry he:
A Miracle she was, greater than that she wrought.


III.
Her mourning Habit laid aside,
Which ne'er was done 'till now, since good Manasses dy'd,
She drest her self in all her Gaity and Pride,
Not like a drooping Widow, but a sprightful Bride.
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And to her nat'ral Beauty did impart
Some little needless help of Art.
Her Skin she washes, and she curls her Hair,
Her Head a Bonnet set with sparkling Gems doth bear,
Upon her Arms, her Fingers, and her Ears
She Bracelets, Rings, and Jewels wears,
And Silver Slippers on her feet.
Arm'd weakly (one would think) a mighty Host to meet:
But naked Beauty has a stronger Force
Than armed Bands of Foot, and Troops of Horse.
Thus arm'd, the Gen'rals Heart she'll captive lead;
His Heart she first will take, and then his Head.


IV.
Thus drest, tow'rds the proud Gen'rals Tent,
The Widow and her Maid with dil'gent Footsteps went:
Bethulia' Elders wonder'd she would go
So late, so drest, attended so:
They wonder'd, but they fear'd no ill intent;
Hee well--known Piety and Innocence
Against Suspicion were a strong Defence.
But on secure th' Heroic Lady goes,
Nor fears she ought amidst the armed Foes;
So bold is Beauty, when her Strength she knows.
And now the Guards upon her Seize,
And to the Gen'ral carry their fair Prize:
The Sight his want on Fancy much doth please;
He makes his Soul a Slave to her imperious Eyes.
And swears, if with her Love she him will crown,
He'll think't a nobler Triumph than the vanquish'd Town.
The Souldiers round his Tent do Crowd
Their Wonder makes them insolent and rude,
And thus they boldly cry aloud,
Happy Hebrews! happy they
Who 'mbrace such Beauties ev'ry day!
Come on, brave Hearts, let's make the Town submit
That ev'ry one of us may such a Mistress get.
Fond Fools, rejoyce not that to you she's fled.
Your Fathers were of old by an Angel visited
But 'twas to kill: expect the like Fate you,
For this is a destroying Angel too.


V.
Tell me what made thee leave this Town,
Said Holophernes 'twixt a Smile and Frown
(The Smile to her, to th' Town the Frown he gave)
This Town that dares me to out--brave,
And 'gainst my Two great Gods so vainly boast,
Th' Assyrian Monarch, and this num'rous Host?
She softly answer'd with a virtuous Lie,
That Isr'el's God his People would forsake,
Because by strong necessity compell'd,
His rev'rend Laws they had agreed to break,
And eat such things as were by strict Command withheld.
That she their Sin and Punishment to slie,
Had sled for Safety to his Princely Aid:
Nor should the noble Favour be unpaid,
For she would undertake to shew
The Season when and Manner how
These desp'rate Hebrews he might best subdue.


VI.
She spake, and by their Looks perceiv'd
Her Tale was readily believ'd,
Which made her bold thus to proceed and say,
Wherefore, great Prince, I beg that with your leave I may
Each Night go forth without the Camp to pray;
For then my God to whom
Fervent Devotions I do daily pay,
Will tell me when Bethulia's Day is come.
Then I, dread Sir, your valiant Troops will head
And through the Heart of Palestina lead,
And none shall dare to draw a Sword at them,
Until all Labours over past,
This Hand your peaceful Throne have plac'd
Within the Walls of sack'd Jerusalem.
While thus she pleads, he gazes on her Face,
Admires her Wit, and Beauty, and the Grace
Of her enchanting Words, and drinks down Love apace.
His Heart is wounded, inwardly he burns,
And for her sake a Party--Convert turns,
If this be true (said he)
And if thy God and thou perform all this for me,
He shall my God, and thou my Goddess be.
No other Deity I'll serve, but thine, and thee.


VII.
For Joy he makes a royal Feast,
And beauteous Judith is his Guest.
The golden Cups are crown'd,
And Judith's Health goes round.
With Flames of Wine he nourisheth Love's Fire:
Drunkenness doubles his Desire.
At last the Company retire,
Leaving their envi'd Gen'ral to his Rest,
And (as they thought) to a more delicious Feast,
For Love, (that wanton Epicure) by luscious Beauty drest.
He trebly drunk, with Joy, and Wine and Love
Does from the Table to the Bed remove:
The Bed, the Table, and the Tent turn round,
With misty Fumes his Brain is drown'd,
And his weak Sight
Doubles the Light;
Their Watch his Senses cannot keep
(Such Dangers ever do attend
The Man whom drunken Guards defend)
Their Master is by them betray'd t'a deadly Sleep.


VIII.
Sleep Holophernes, sleep thy last:
For when this Slumber once is past,
Over thy Head his downy Wing shall never more be cast.
The Bed, whereon thou next shalt lie,
Will be a Bed of Flames, that never can expire,
Of Flames more hot & smoaky than thy lustful Fire,
And Death will then appear a welcome Remedy;
But thou (alas!) must never die.
The Devils roaring, and the Groans
Of damned Souls, and thine own Pains and Moans,
The Clank of Chains, the Whips unpleasant Noise,
The laughing Fury's dismal Voice
All hope of Slumber from thine Eyes will take,
And ever, ever keep thy weary Soul awake,


IX.
Thus while in Sleep the Gen'ral buri'd lies
The valiant Dame comes softly to the Bed,
And takes the Fauchi'n from her Lover's Head,
And, lifting up to Heav'n her faithful Eyes,
Now help me, O my God (said she) and now
Thy promis'd Mercy to thy People show.
Then up she lifts her Arm, and strikes a Blow
Upon his Neck with all her might,
(An unseen Angel guides the Blow aright)
Out Blood, and Wine, and Life, together mingled slow.
A second Time she lifts her mighty Hands
(The Angel ready by her stands)
And with that Stroak his Soul is severed
From's Body, and his Body from his Head.
This done, the subtle Conqueror goes apace
Through all the Guards upon Pretence
Of Prayer, and unsuspected carries thence
Their Master's Head, the Hebrew Tow'rs to grace.
What Tongue can tell th' excess of Joy, which then
Oe'rflow'd the Hearts of sav'd Bethulia's Men?
The Mouths which heretofore with Thirst were dri'd,
Found Moisture now their inward Joy to vent
And Eyes, which all their Stock had spent,
While they the publick Danger did lament,
Pump'd up fresh Tears of Gladness, when they 'spi'd
In Judith's Hand, the Tyrant's Head,
Who all their Sorrows, and their Fears had bred.
Nor was their Joy secure, and unemploy'd,
But all quick Preparation make,
As soon as e'er the early Morn should 'wake,
Their well--appointed Arms to take,
And sally out upon the careless Foe,
Whilst yet the last Nights Fate he did not know,


X.
The Morning come, the Souldiers throng
About the Gen'rals Tent, and think he sleeps too long;
With waiting tir'd, at last they ope the Door;
And lo! their Duke lies Headless on the Floor,
His Corps all wallowed in Dirt and Gore
And lo! an hideous Crie through all the Army flies,
Fear, and Despair, and Horror fill the Place:
Nothing appears in ev'ry Face,
But Wonder, Paleness, and Surprize.
Such, I believe, but more amazing far
Will the Face of things appear,
Such Trembling and Astonishment will come
On sinful Wretches at the Day of Doom,
When Earth shall from the Center start, and all
The blasted Stars like unripe Figs shall fall.
Torn from the Sphere, as Fruit by Tempest from the Tree
When the Sun's Lamp obscure and black shall grow
And thrust his Head into eternal Night,
And the Appearance of a greater Light,
And from the Moon (robb'd of her Brothers Sight)
All Beauty shall depart, and Tears of Blood shall flow.
When all the Orbs of Heaven untun'd shall be,
And like a Parchment Scroll
Which Men together roll,
Crackle, and shrink on heaps amidst the Fire,
Wherein the aged World's proud Fabrick must expire,
And when the Sea shall boyl, and from her Bosom throw
The Islands she embraces now.
When Nature's self shall feel Death's inward Pain,
And Rocks and Mountains shall be implor'd in vain
To shelter guilty Souls from that devouring Flame,
Which burns before the Presence of the now despised Lamb.


XI.
Hold, hold, audacious Muse, forbear to wrong,
This mighty Day with thy bold Tongue.
Whither Iris this great Hint transported thee?
Call in thy 'nruly Heat, which hath digress'd so long;
And let this dreadful Judgment be
The daily Bus'ness of my Thoughts, more than my Song.
Return we to th' Assyrian Camp, and view
The sad Effects that Wine and Lust ensue.
While thus amaz'd they stand, and no man knew
Or, what to say, or what to do,
In, like fierce lightning, Lo! the Hebrews flew.
The Torrent of whose direful Rage
Nor struggling can repel, nor yielding can asswage.
For like a mighty Wind,
Which scatters, or o'erthrows with violent Force
Whatever stops the Passage of his haughty Course.
With no less fury they
Whoe'er they find without Distinction slay.
Revenge, as well as Love is blind,
It sees no Cause of Rev'rence, nor of being kind:
Princes and common Souldiers heap'd together lay.
In vain some for their Lives do fight,
Others as vainly flie:
Death overtakes these in their Flight,
And th' others stay to die.
They flie; their furnish'd Tents behind them stay,
To th' Isra'lites a joyful Prey,
Who in Assyrian Blood dy'd Red their Holy--day.


XII.
Return my Muse, leave now the bloody Field,
And let thy tuneful Strings a softer Musick yield,
Return to Israel's joyful Sons, and sing
How to the Temple they their vowed Off'rings bring,
The Altar with bright Flames is beautifi'd,
Whole Hecatombs of chosen Bullocks fri'd,
And Clouds of Incence to the Skies
Perfum'd with grateful Praises rise.
And now where's beaut'ous Judith, where
To take her due and mighty Share
In this great solemn Feast of Victory
Wrought by her conqu'ring Hand, and more prevailing Eye?
Look there, and you a charming Troop shall 'spie,
Such as no show that e'er you saw can vie,
Of beaut'ous Maids and Matrons a bright Galaxie.
See, see how Judith's Star above the rest aspires!
She shines like Cynthia 'mongst the lesser Fires.
Lo! in what decent Pride the now glad Widow stands!
A Crown of Olive on her Head she wears,
And the glad Name of Isr'el's Saviour hears.
The Women round her dance with Branches in their Hands,
And a triumphant Song they sing,
As once they did to Isr'el's destin'd King;
For she to her ten Thousands may be said,
T'have slain in cutting off the Army's Head.
Behind the Men of Isr'el joyful go,
All armed, not for Battel, but for show,
And as they march along thus to her Praise
Their cheerful Voices raise.


XIII.
Hail, guardian Angel of old Isr'el's Seed,
The Stock of faithful Abraham,
To whom the Promise of Salvation came,
Which now our joyful Eyes have seen fulfil'd indeed
Much we have seen: but yet our Sons shall see
Much more than we:
For greater Things are breeding in the Womb
Of Time to come.
Hail Judith, t'whom, next to kind Heav'n we owe
That thus triumphantly we go,
Nor fear th' Insultings of a conqu'ring Foe.
Such Fruit thy Beauty's born, as never grew
Upon that Stock, 'till now.
Beauty's destroy'd Towns oft, and may do more:
Never did Beauty save a Town before.
'Tis thou that hast improv'd its Fruit
By grafting it on Virtue's noble Root.
Ah! how unlike to thine, how far less fair
Is that which other Ladies bear!
Thou Freedom giv'st to all: they Fools enslave,
Their Beauty boasts to kill, but thine to save.
Their Eyes to Comets may be liken'd well,
Whose direful Beams approaching Plagues foretel:
Thine, like the gracious Sun, dispence
Health and Beauty, Life and Sense,
And chear the World by their kind Influence.
Shine Beaut'ous Judith; for no Light
Like thine, will ever glad our sight,
Until the Sun of Righteousness arise,
The true and living Light, to bless our Heart and Eyes.