Forbid to question thy ambiguous sex.
To thee, proud Barras bows;—thy charms control
Rewbell’s brute rage, and Merlin’s subtle soul;
Rais’d by thy hands, and fashion’d to thy will,
Thy power, thy guiding influence, governs still,
Where at the blood-stain’d board expert he plies,
The lame artificer of fraud and lies;
He with the mitred head and cloven heel;—
Doom’d the coarse edge of Rewbell’s jests to feel;[[324]]
To stand the playful buffet, and to hear