Labour low levels longest, loftiest, lines;
Men march midst mounds, motes, mountains, murd’rous mines.
Now noisy noxious numbers notice nought,
Of outward obstacles o’ercoming ought;
Poor patriots perish, persecutions pest!
Quite quiet Quakers, ‘quarter! quarter!’ quest.
Reason returns, religion, right redounds,
Suwarrow stop such sanguinary sounds!
Truce to thee, Turkey, terror to thy train!
Unwise, unjust, unmerciful Ukraine!