Th' infernal traffic's plann'd. Now busy care
Furrows each face, and clamours rend the air.
The sounding anvil shakes the distant main,
Forging with pond'rous strokes th' accursed chain.
The' attractive Outfit claims each bustling hand:
Confusion works, and uproar gives command.
Th' undaunted souls, whose manly bosoms dare
The tempest's fury, or the nation's war,
Whose unsuspecting hearts no dangers scan,
Fall the first victims of th' enormous plan.