Press closer year by year, our widespread plains
Are ravaged, and our bare, unpeopled fields
Breed scantier levies; while the treasury
Stands empty, and we have not means to buy
The force that might resist them. Nought but ruin,
Speedy, inevitable, can await
Our failing Bosphorus' unaided strength,
Unless some potent rich ally should join
Our weakness to her might. None other is there