"Pride!"
If thus into their hearts thou hast been prying,
Thy version of the matter prithee paint;
Tell us, I pray, on what are they relying?
"Lying!"
I thought their honour was without a taint—
"Taint!"
Have they forgotten all their former glories?
Their virtue—what hath chanced its growth to stunt?
Oh! wherefore should they change their ancient mores?