Us of the just reward of all our toil.
XXVI.
“Oh fool, to think I have no power nor will
To make thy bondage bitter unto thee—
That I with gall and wormwood cannot fill
Brimming the cup of thy captivity!
Thou art my slave—a slave’s lot thine shall be,
Labour and pains—and harder to be borne,
Insult and ignominy, stripes and scorn.