Ruined his fortunes to erect my own. So vipers in the bosom bred, begin To hiss at that hand first which took them in. With eager treachery I his fall pursued, And my first trophies were Ingratitude. Ingratitude, the worst of human wit, The basest action mankind can commit; Which, like the sin against the Holy Ghost, Has least of honour, and of guilt the most; Distinguished from all other crimes by this, That ’tis a crime which no man will confess. That sin alone, which should not be forgiven On earth, although perhaps it may in Heaven. Thus my first benefactor I o’erthrew; And how should I be to a second true? The public trusts came next into my care, And I to use them scurvily prepare. My needy sovereign lord I played upon, And lent him many a thousand of his own; For which great interests I took care to charge, And so my ill-got wealth became so large. My predecessor, Judas, was a fool, Fitter to have been whipped and sent to school Than sell a Saviour. Had I been at hand, His Master had not been so cheap trepanned; I would have made the eager Jews have found, For forty pieces, thirty thousand pound. My cousin, Ziba, of immortal fame (Ziba and I shall never want a name), First-born of treason, nobly did advance His master’s fall for his inheritance, By whose keen arts old David first began To break his sacred oath with Jonathan: The good old king, ’tis thought, was very loth To break his word, and therefore broke his oath. Ziba’s a traitor of some quality, Yet Ziba might have been informed by me: Had I been there, he ne’er had been content With half the estate, nor have the government. In our late revolution ’twas thought strange That I, of all mankind, should like the change; But they who wondered at it never knew That in it I did my old game pursue; Nor had they heard of twenty thousand pound, Which never yet was lost, nor ne’er was found. Thus all things in their turn to sale I bring, God and my master first, and then the King; Till, by successful villanies made bold, I thought to turn the nation into gold; And so to forgery my hand I bent, Not doubting I could gull the Government; But there was ruffled by the Parliament. And if I ’scaped the unhappy tree to climb, ’Twas want of law, and not for want of crime. But my old friend,[22] who printed in my face A needful competence of English brass, Having more business yet for me to do, And loth to lose his trusty servant so, Managed the matter with such art and skill As saved his hero and threw down the bill. And now I’m graced with unexpected honours, For which I’ll certainly abuse the donors. Knighted, and made a tribune of the people, Whose laws and properties I’m like to keep well; The _custos rotulorum_ of the City, And captain of the guards of their banditti. Surrounded by my catchpoles, I declare Against the needy debtor open war; I hang poor thieves for stealing of your pelf, And suffer none to rob you but myself. The King commanded me to help reform ye,