or high,
  When kings are forced to sell, or crowds to buy. 
  Indulge one labour more, my weary muse,
  For Amiel:  who can Amiel’s praise refuse? 
  Of ancient race by birth, but nobler yet 900
  In his own worth, and without title great: 
  The Sanhedrim long time as chief he ruled,
  Their reason guided, and their passion cool’d: 
  So dexterous was he in the crown’s defence,
  So form’d to speak a loyal nation’s sense,
  That, as their band was Israel’s tribes in small,
  So fit was he to represent them all. 
  Now rasher charioteers the seat ascend,
  Whose loose careers his steady skill commend: 
  They, like the unequal ruler of the day,[72] 910
  Misguide the seasons, and mistake the way;
  While he withdrawn, at their mad labours smiles,
  And safe enjoys the sabbath of his toils.

   These were the chief, a small but faithful band
  Of worthies, in the breach who dared to stand,
  And tempt the united fury of the land: 
  With grief they view’d such powerful engines bent,
  To batter down the lawful government. 
  A numerous faction, with pretended frights,
  In Sanhedrims to plume the regal rights; 920
  The true successor from the court removed;
  The plot, by hireling witnesses, improved. 
  These ills they saw, and, as their duty bound,
  They show’d the King the danger of the wound;
  That no concessions from the throne would please,
  But lenitives fomented the disease: 
  That Absalom, ambitious of the crown,
  Was made the lure to draw the people down: 
  That false Achitophel’s pernicious hate
  Had turn’d the Plot to ruin church and state:  930
  The council violent, the rabble worse: 
  That Shimei taught Jerusalem to curse.

   With all these loads of injuries oppress’d,
  And long revolving in his careful breast
  The event of things, at last his patience tired,
  Thus, from his royal throne, by Heaven inspired,
  The god-like David spoke; with awful fear,
  His train their Maker in their master hear.

   Thus long have I, by native mercy sway’d,
  My wrongs dissembled, my revenge delay’d:  940
  So willing to forgive the offending age;
  So much the father did the king assuage. 
  But now so far my clemency they slight,
  The offenders question my forgiving right: 
  That one was made for many, they contend;
  But ’tis to rule; for that’s a monarch’s end. 
  They call my tenderness of blood, my fear: 
  Though manly tempers can the longest bear. 
  Yet, since they will divert my native course,
  ’Tis time to show I am not good by force. 950
  Those heap’d affronts that haughty subjects bring,
  Are burdens for a camel, not a king. 
  Kings are the public pillars of the state,