When Naboth’s vineyard look’d so fine,
The king cried out, ‘Would this were mine!’
And yet no reason could prevail
To bring the owner to a sale.
Jezebel saw, with haughty pride,
How Ahab grieved to be denied;
And thus accosted him with scorn:
‘Shall Naboth make a monarch mourn?
A king, and weep! The ground’s your own;
I’ll vest the garden in the crown.’
With that she hatch’d a plot, and made
Poor Naboth answer with his head;
And when his harmless blood was spilt,
The ground became his forfeit guilt.
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