Some by their friends, more by themselves thought wise,
  Opposed the power to which they could not rise. 
  Some had in courts been great, and, thrown from thence,
  Like fiends were harden’d in impenitence. 
  Some, by their monarch’s fatal mercy, grown,
  From pardon’d rebels, kinsmen to the throne,
  Were raised in power and public office high;
  Strong bands, if bands ungrateful men could tie.

    Of these, the false Achitophel was first; 150
  A name to all succeeding ages cursed: 
  For close designs, and crooked counsels fit;
  Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit;
  Restless, unfix’d in principles and place;
  In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace: 
  A fiery soul, which, working out its way,
  Fretted the pigmy body to decay,
  And o’er-inform’d the tenement of clay. 
  A daring pilot in extremity;
  Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high, 160
  He sought the storms; but for a calm unfit,
  Would steer too nigh the sands, to boast his wit. 
  Great wits are sure to madness near allied,
  And thin partitions do their bounds divide;
  Else why should he, with wealth and honour blest,
  Refuse his age the needful hours of rest? 
  Punish a body which he could not please;
  Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease? 
  And all to leave what with his toil he won,
  To that unfeather’d two-legg’d thing, a son; 170
  Got, while his soul did huddled notions try;
  And born a shapeless lump, like anarchy. 
  In friendship false, implacable in hate;
  Resolved to ruin, or to rule the state. 
  To compass this, the triple bond[69] he broke;
  The pillars of the public safety shook;
  And fitted Israel for a foreign yoke: 
  Then seized with fear, yet still affecting fame,
  Usurp’d a patriot’s all-atoning name. 
  So easy still it proves, in factious times, 180
  With public zeal to cancel private crimes! 
  How safe is treason, and how sacred ill,
  Where none can sin against the people’s will! 
  Where crowds can wink, and no offence be known,
  Since in another’s guilt they find their own! 
  Yet fame deserved no enemy can grudge;
  The statesman we abhor, but praise the judge. 
  In Israel’s courts ne’er sat an Abethdin
  With more discerning eyes, or hands more clean,
  Unbribed, unsought, the wretched to redress; 190
  Swift of despatch, and easy of access. 
  Oh! had he been content to serve the crown,
  With virtues only proper to the gown;
  Or had the rankness of the soil been freed
  From cockle, that oppress’d the noble seed;
  David for him his tuneful harp had strung,
  And Heaven had wanted one immortal song. 
  But wild ambition loves to slide, not stand,
  And fortune’s ice prefers to virtue’s