And these young ruffians in the soul will sow
Seeds of all vices that on weakness grow.
Hark! at his word the trembling younglings flee;
Where he is walking none must walk but he;
See! from the winter-fire the weak retreat;
His the warm corner, his the favourite seat,
Save when he yields it to some slave to keep
Awhile, then back, at his return, to creep.
310
At his command his poor dependents fly,