A slave of slaves, the lowest of the low;

His pliant soul gave way to all things base,

He knew no shame, he dreaded no disgrace.

It seem’d, so well his passions he suppress’d,

No feeling stirr’d his ever-torpid breast;

Him might the meanest pauper bruise and cheat,

He was a footstool for the beggar’s feet;

His were the legs that ran at all commands;

They used on all occasions Richard’s hands:

His very soul was not his own; he stole