But ah! Taxation to such height has got,
That I’m afraid the thing will fall still-born.
The Income Tax, that burden of the age,
Narrows the comforts of so many a home,
That people can’t afford me patronage,
And I am doomed for charity to roam,
The tiresome duties that on Knowledge bear,
Retained by Government’s unwise decree,
A farthing will not let the poor man spare
To aid all nations’ industry and me.