A shadowy figure, wanting bulk and life,
Who, having nothing solid in himself,
Wraps his thin form in Virtue’s plundered robe,
And steals her title. Honor! ’tis the fiend
Who feeds on orphans’ tears and widows’ groans,
And slakes his impious thirst in brothers’ blood.
Honor! why, ’tis the primal law of hell!
The grand device to people the dark realms
With noble spirits, who, but for this cursed honor,
Had been at peace on earth, or blessed in heaven.