Forbad with libels to insult the throne,
And vilify the noblest of mankind.
The struggling pangs of conscious guilt to hide,
To bid defiance to all sense of shame;
Their bleeding Country’s sorrow to deride,
And heap fresh fuel on Sedition’s flame;
To such high crimes, such prodigies of vice,
Their vulgar wishes ne’er presum’d to soar;
Content at wheel-barrows to cogg the dice,
Or pick a pocket at a Play-house door.