For by the witchcraft of rebellion
Transform’d t’ a feeble state-camelion, 370
By giving aim from side to side,
He never fail’d to save his tide,
But got the start of ev’ry state,
And at a change ne’er came too late;
Cou’d turn his word, and oath, and faith, 375
As many ways as in a lath;
By turning, wriggle, like a screw,
Int’ highest trust, and out, for new. 
For when h’ had happily incurr’d,
Instead of hemp, to be preferr’d, 380
And pass’d upon a government,
He pay’d his trick, and out he went
But, being out, and out of hopes
To mount his ladder (more) of ropes,
Wou’d strive to raise himself upon 385
The publick ruin, and his own;
So little did he understand
The desp’rate feats he took in hand. 
For when h’ had got himself a name
For fraud and tricks, he spoil’d his game; 390
Had forc’d his neck into a noose,
To shew his play at fast and loose;
And when he chanc’d t’ escape, mistook
For art and subtlety, his luck. 
So right his judgment was cut fit, 395
And made a tally to his wit,
And both together most profound
At deeds of darkness under-ground;
As th’ earth is easiest undermin’d
By vermin impotent and blind. 400

By all these arts, and many more,
H’ had practis’d long and much before,
Our state artificer foresaw
Which way the world began to draw. 
For as old sinners have all points 405
O’ th’ compass in their bones and joints,
Can by their pangs and aches find
All turns and changes of the wind,
And better than by NAPIER’s bones
Feel in their own the age of moons; 410
So guilty sinners in a state
Can by their crimes prognosticate,
And in their consciences feel pain
Some days before a show’r of rain. 
He therefore wisely cast about, 415
All ways he cou’d, t’ ensure his throat;
And hither came, t’ observe and smoke
What courses other riskers took
And to the utmost do his best
To save himself, and hang the rest. 420
To match this Saint, there was another
As busy and perverse a Brother,
An haberdasher of small wares
In politicks and state affairs;
More Jew than Rabbi Achitophel, 425
And better gifted to rebel: 
For when h’ had taught his tribe to ’spouse
The Cause, aloft, upon one house,
He scorn’d to set his own in order,
But try’d another, and went further; 430
So suddenly addicted still
To’s only principle, his will,
That whatsoe’er it chanc’d to prove,
Nor force of argument cou’d move;
Nor law, nor cavalcade of Holborn,