Clap-trap clamour that ’tis poor of you to swell.
Leave carrion to the crows, Sir, and putrescence to the flies,
Our goal is one—what need to rage and yell?
9.
Old men eloquent may err, and are poets safe from error?
All hearts recoil from blood, and fraud, and crime;
But to say that we to traitors mean to truckle, and from terror,
Is plain falsehood, whether put in prose or rhyme.
10.
When tyranny makes traitors then the tyrant’s plea is “treason!”