A joyless meal the surly mates prepare.
Marshal'd around th' unwish'd for mess they lie,
And the strange nutriments discons'late eye.
Sunk with dejection, some the viands spare,
Some with keen scorn reject the profer'd fare,
Keep the superior pride, that nerves the brave,
Nor, free-born, taste the portion of a slave.
Then flies the scourge, sparing nor sex her age,
Stripe follows stripe, in boundless, brutal rage.
Then the vile engines in the hateful cause