Pitt
- 1Not always should the Tear's ambrosial dew
- 2Roll its soft anguish down thy furrow'd cheek!
- 3Not always heaven-breath'd tones of Suppliance meek
- 4Beseem thee, Mercy! Yon dark Scowler view,
- 5Who with proud words of dear-lov'd Freedom came--
- 6More blasting than the mildew from the South!
- 7And kiss'd his country with Iscariot mouth
- 8(Ah! foul apostate from his Father's fame!)
- 9Then fix'd her on the Cross of deep distress,
- 10And at safe distance marks the thirsty Lance
- 11Pierce her big side! But O! if some strange trance
- 12The eye-lids of thy stern-brow'd Sister press,
- 13Seize, Mercy! thou more terrible the brand,
- 14And hurl her thunderbolts with fiercer hand!