The gospel-sound, diffused from pole to pole,
Where winds can carry, and where waves can roll,
The self-same doctrine of the sacred page
Conveyed to every clime, in every age.
Here let my sorrow give my satire place,
To raise new blushes on my British race.
}
Our sailing ships like common-sewers we use, }
And through our distant colonies diffuse }
The draught of dungeons, and the stench of stews; }