Must give us pause; there’s the respect
That makes our slothfulness of so long life:
For who would bear to walk, with fear and care,
Adown the ruined Quay, or try to gain,
O’er heaps of broken walls, the sandy shore;
Or pick his steps in the dim-lighted streets,
Through muddy holes and ancient filthiness,
When he himself his safety might ensure
By voting for the Burgh? Who would bear
To see his native town a laughing stock;