They toiled not for reward nor thanks;
Their cheeks are hot with honest shame
For you, the modern mountebanks,
Who preach of justice, plead with tears
That love and mercy should abound,
While marking with complacent ears
The moaning of some tortured hound;
Who prate of wisdom—nay, forbear,
Lest Wisdom turn on you in wrath,
Trampling, with heel that will not spare,