Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror,
Of an arrest? Why shrinks the conscious soul
Back on herself, and startles at a Bailiff?
The Justice of a cause prevails within us;
’Tis Honesty that points out better days,
And intimates even Money to a Bard!
Money, thou pleasing, anxious, dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untry’d life,
Through what new scenes and changes must we pass?
The wide, th’ unbounded prospect lies before me;