True, a  with every Vice
And every Meanness foul,  damps.
Who can, unshock'd, behold the cruel Eye?
The pale inveigling Smile? The ruffian Front?
The Wretch abandon'd to relentless Self,
Equally vile if Miser or Profuse?
Powers not of GOD, assiduous to
The fell deputed Tyrant, who devours
The Poor and Weak, at Distance from Redress?
Delirious Faction bellowing loud MY Name?
The false fair-seeming Patriot's hollow Boast?
A Race resolv'd on Bondage, fierce for Chains,
MY sacred Rights a Merchandize alone
Esteeming, and to work their Feeder's Will
By Deeds, a Horror to Mankind, prepar'd,
As were the  of old?
Who  indeed can undetesting see? —
But who unpitying? To the generous Eye
is ; and, tho' Self-betray'd,
A People struggling with their Fate must rouze
The Hero's Throb. Nor can a Land, at once,
Be lost to  quite. How glorious then!
Fit Luxury for Gods! to save the Good,
Protect the Feeble, dash bold Vice aside,
Depress the Wicked, and restore the Frail.
Posterity, besides, the Young are pure,
And Sons may tinge their Father's Cheek with Shame.