For Conscience, roused, sat boldly on her throne,
Watch’d every thought, attack’d the foe alone,
And with envenom’d sting drew forth the inward groan:
Expedients fail’d that brought relief before,
In vain his alms gave comfort to the poor,
Give what he would, to him the comfort came no more:
Not prayer avail’d, and when (his crimes confess’d)
He felt some ease, she said, “Are they redress’d?
You still retain the profit, and be sure,
Long as it lasts, this anguish shall endure.”