But, ever, Envy views, with murderous eye,
Those souls who strive to make their station high.
When France was weak, her sister realms were kind—
When France grew strong, in hellish league combined,
They sought to crush her to the sordid earth—
Lest she should grow—and they should pine in dearth.
Go beat the spaniel, if he rouse thine ire,
His servile nature may no more aspire—
But leave the lion in his lordly lair,
Or he thine entrails in his rage will tear.