—"No, my darling, these are slaves!"
On we walk'd—a garden shade
Show'd us matron, man, and maid,
Laughing, talking, all coquetting,
"Here," said Jane, "I see no fretting:
Mammon makes but fools or knaves."
—"No, my darling, these are slaves!"
On we walk'd—we saw a dome,
Fill'd with furious dupes of Rome,
Ranting of the sword and chain.