We may have virtue of our own,
Ah! why should we undo it?
The treasured faith of days long past
We still would prize o’er any,
And grieve to hear the ribald jeer
Of scamps like Don Giovanni.
“When Whigs with freezing rule shall come
And piety seems folly,
When Cam and Isis, curbed by Brougham,
Shall wander melancholy;