land. 
  Achitophel, grown weary to possess 200
  A lawful fame, and lazy happiness,
  Disdain’d the golden fruit to gather free,
  And lent the crowd his arm to shake the tree. 
  Now, manifest of crimes contrived long since,
  He stood at bold defiance with his prince;
  Held up the buckler of the people’s cause
  Against the crown, and skulk’d behind the laws. 
  The wish’d occasion of the plot he takes;
  Some circumstances finds, but more he makes;
  By buzzing emissaries fills the ears 210
  Of listening crowds with jealousies and fears
  Of arbitrary counsels brought to light,
  And proves the king himself a Jebusite. 
  Weak arguments! which yet he knew full well
  Were strong with people easy to rebel. 
  For, govern’d by the moon, the giddy Jews
  Tread the same track, when she the prime renews;
  And once in twenty years, their scribes record,
  By natural instinct they change their lord. 
  Achitophel still wants a chief, and none 220
  Was found so fit as warlike Absalom. 
  Not that he wish’d his greatness to create,
  For politicians neither love nor hate: 
  But, for he knew his title not allow’d,
  Would keep him still depending on the crowd: 
  That kingly power, thus ebbing out, might be
  Drawn to the dregs of a democracy. 
  Him he attempts with studied arts to please,
  And sheds his venom in such words as these: 

    Auspicious prince! at whose nativity 230
  Some royal planet ruled the southern sky;
  Thy longing country’s darling and desire;
  Their cloudy pillar and their guardian fire: 
  Their second Moses, whose extended wand
  Divides the seas, and shows the promised land: 
  Whose dawning day, in every distant age,
  Has exercised the sacred prophet’s rage: 
  The people’s prayer, the glad diviner’s theme,
  The young men’s vision, and the old men’s dream! 
  Thee, Saviour, thee the nation’s vows confess, 240
  And, never satisfied with seeing, bless: 
  Swift, unbespoken pomps thy steps proclaim,
  And stammering babes are taught to lisp thy name. 
  How long wilt thou the general joy detain,
  Starve and defraud the people of thy reign! 
  Content ingloriously to pass thy days,
  Like one of virtue’s fools that feed on praise;
  Till thy fresh glories, which now shine so bright,
  Grow stale, and tarnish with our daily sight? 
  Believe me, royal youth, thy fruit must be 250
  Or gather’d ripe, or rot upon the tree. 
  Heaven has to all allotted, soon or late,
  Some lucky revolution of their fate: 
  Whose motions, if we watch and guide with skill,
  (For human good depends on human will,)
  Our fortune rolls as from a smooth descent,