Who lend the foe, not yet in arms, their aid,
}
And sap the city-walls before the siege be laid?
Oh! rather skulking in the by-ways steal,
And rob the poorest traveller of his meal;
Burst through the humblest trader's bolted door;
180
Bear from the widow's hut her winter-store;
With stolen steed on highways take your stand,
Your lips with curses arm'd, with death your hand;—