Classic Poem

Of these the false Achitophel was first:
A Name to all succeeding Ages curst.
For close Designs, and crooked Counsels fit;
Sagacious, Bold, and Turbulent of wit:
Restless, unfixt in Principles and Place;
In Pow'r unpleased, impatient of Disgrace.
A fiery Soul, which working out its way,
Fretted the Pigmy-Body to decay;
And o'r informed the Tenement of Clay.
A daring Pilot in extremity;
Pleas'd with the Danger, when the Waves went high
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 alli'd;
And thin Partitions do their Bounds divide;
Else, why should he, with Wealth and Honour blest,
Refuse his Age the needfull hours of Rest?
Punish a Body which he cou'd 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:
Got, while his Soul did huddl'd Notions try;
And born a shapeless Lump, like Anarchy.
In Friendship false, implacable in Hate:
Resolv'd to Ruine or to Rule the State.
To Compass this, the Triple Bond he broke;
The Pillars of the Publick Safety shook:
And fitted Israel for a Foreign Yoke.
Then, seiz'd with Fear, yet still affecting Fame,
Usurp'd a Patriot's All-atoning Name.