Let innocence in chains be bound,
Nor e’er come truth or virtue nigh!
Opposition’s cry prophane,
Liberty that scorns the chain,
Nor in these consecrated fields,
Let injur’d justice weep, that she to tyrants yields.
Chorus.
Nor dare bright truth, the patriot’s friend,
The minister’s high walk offend,
While stern-ey’d Fitzroy stalks around;