And look more brazen than before!
Friends, while poor nameless wretches pine
In dungeon, or in dungeon-mine,
Whom cold and hunger led astray,
To filch a loaf upon their way;
Friends, freemen, tell me, is it right,
That those foul fiends who love the night;
Whose grov’ling souls for mammon made
Incessant ply them thieving trade,
And on a large scale rob the State,