To wade into perdition, through contempt,
Not of poor bigots only, but thy own?
For I have peep’d into thy cover’d heart,
And seen it blush beneath a boastful brow;
For, by strong guilt’s most violent assault,
Conscience is but disabled, not destroy’d.
O thou most awful being, and most vain!
Thy will, how frail! how glorious is thy power! 2078
Though dread eternity has sown her seeds
Of bliss, and woe, in thy despotic breast;