With my well-known talent? Who would office bear,
To toil and legislate for thankless men,
But that the fear of Tories gaining pow’r,
Those owl-tongued peace-disturbers from whose tongues
No sound but hate can come, puzzles the will
And makes us bear content the ills we have
Than risk the presence of a Jingo curse?
Thus consequence makes cowards of us all;
And thus my native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,