Nor shall these angry tumults here subside Nor murder cease, through all these provinces, Till foreign crowns have vanished from our view And dazzle here no more--no more presume 375 To awe the spirit of fair Liberty;-- Vengeance must cut the thread,--and Britain, sure Will curse her fatal obstinacy for it! Bent on the ruin of this injured country, She will not listen to our humble prayers. 380 Though offered with submission: Like vagabonds and objects of destruction, Like those whom all mankind are sworn to hate, She casts us off from her protection, And will invite the nations round about, 385 Russians and Germans, slaves and savages, To come and have a share in our perdition.-- O cruel race, O unrelenting Britain, Who bloody beasts will hire to cut our throats, Who war will wage with prattling innocence, 390 And basely murder unoffending women!-- Will stab their prisoners when they cry for quarter, Will burn our towns, and from his lodging turn The poor inhabitant to sleep in tempests!-- These will be wrongs, indeed, and all sufficient 395 To kindle up our souls to deeds of horror, And give to every arm the nerves of Samson-- These are the men that fill the world with ruin, And every region mourns their greedy sway,-- Not only for ambition---- 400 But what are this world's goods, that they for them Should exercise perpetual butchery? What are these mighty riches we possess, That they should send so far to plunder them?-- Already have we felt their potent arm-- 405 And ever since that inauspicious day, When first Sir Francis Bernard His ruffians planted at the council door, And made the assembly room a home for vagrants, And soldiers, rank and file--e'er since that day 410 This wretched land, that drinks its children's gore, Has been a scene of tumult and confusion!-- Are there not evils in the world enough? Are we so happy that they envy us? Have we not toiled to satisfy their harpies, 415 Kings' deputies, that are insatiable; Whose practice is to incense the royal mind And make us despicable in his view?-- Have we not all the evils to contend with That, in this life, mankind are subject to, 420 Pain, sickness, poverty, and natural death-- But into every wound that nature gave They will a dagger plunge, and make them mortal! _Leander_