Whate’er the hand in desperate faction bold,
By native hate inspired, or foreign gold;
Traitors absolved, and libellers released,
The recreant Peer, or renegado Priest;[[119]]
The Sovereign-people’s cringing, crafty slave,
The dashing fool, and instigating knave,
Each claims thy care; nor think the labour vain—
Vermin have sunk the Ship that ruled the Main.
’Tis THINE, with Truth’s fair shield to ward the blow,
And turn the weapon back upon the foe: