But thou, base mercenary, canst thou dare
The glorious name of valour to usurp,
Who know'st no publick cause, no sense of right,
Nor pity, nor affection, nor remorse?
Who under any chief, in any quarrel,
Canst stain with gore thy prostituted arms?
Call it not love of glory; that is built
On acts for the deliv'rance of mankind;
On gen'rous principles, and noble scorn
Of sordid int'rest: call it cruel pride,
And savageness of nature, that delights
To conquer, and oppress, afflict, insult;
Or call it love of plunder, that can draw
Unauthoris'd, uninjur'd, unprovok'd,
The sword of war; that bravo-like can lift
For hire the venal hand to perpetrate
Assassinations, murders, massacres.