Jephtha, Pt. 1 - No. 8, Ill Doth My Native Land Such Grace Deserve

"Jephtha

Ill doth my native Land such Grace deserve;

Nor well beseems it you, her Sons, to ask,

Or us to grant. Did ye not cast me out

An Exile, tho’ a Brother? Did you not

With hostile Treatment chase me from those Seats,

Those pleasing, native Seats, to seek new Brethren,

New Friends, new Lands, new Dwellings to inherit?

And come you now, cover’d with Guilt and Shame,

With Fears dispirited, to ask my Aid

’Gainst Ammonitish arms? Necessity,

It seems, hath taught you Justice.

Second Elder

Thou’rt our Hope,

Be thou our Head and Leader."