For he's a King, and Kings can do no ill. Oh Royal Birthright, 'tis a Sacred Name: Rowze then _Achitophel_, rowze up for shame: Let not this Lethargy thy Soul benum; But wake, and save the Godlike _Absolom_. And to reward thee for a Deed so great Glut thy Desires, thy full-crown'd wishes meet, Be with accumulated Honours blest, And grasp a STAR t'adorn thy shining Crest. _Achitophel_ before his Eyes could ope, Dreamt of an Ephod, Mitre, and a Cope. Those visionary Robes t'his Eyes appear'd: For Priestly all was the great Sense he heard. But Priest or Prophet, Right Divine, or all Together; 'twas not at their feebler call, 'Twas at the _Star_ he wak'd; the _Star_ but nam'd, Flasht in his Eyes, and his rowz'd Soul enflam'd. A _Star_, whose Influence had more powerful Light, Then that Miraculous Wanderer of the Night, Decreed to guide the Eastern Sages way: Their's to adore a God, his to betray. Here the new Convert more than half inspir'd, Strait to his Closet and his Books retir'd. There for all needful Arts in this extreme, For knotty Sophistry t'a limber Theme, Long brooding ere the Mass to Shape was brought, And after many a tugging heaving Thought, Together a well-orderd Speech he draws, With ponderous Sounds for his much-labour'd Cause. Then the astonisht Sanedrim he storm'd, And with such doughty strength the Tug perform'd: Fate did the Work with so much Conquest bless, Wondrous the Champion, Glorious the Success. So powerful Eloquence, so strong was Wit; And with such Force the easie Wind-falls hit.