 | Churchill defended, a poem |  |
Let me be just, however, to our Fame,
Recite our Glory, if I tell our Shame.
Thanks be to God, our Hearts, at least, are good,
Beat English Sentiments, and English Blood;
To Virtue's Claims if e'er we were not true,
Still on her Charms a longing Look we threw:
We never justify our own Misdeeds,
We'd halve a Shilling with a Friend that needs;
Each of us, though not worth a single Groat,
Would scorn on S---h to confer his Vote;
And each would rather far be poor, and brave,
Than wear a Mitre, and commence a Slave.
Recite our Glory, if I tell our Shame.
6
Beat English Sentiments, and English Blood;
To Virtue's Claims if e'er we were not true,
Still on her Charms a longing Look we threw:
We never justify our own Misdeeds,
We'd halve a Shilling with a Friend that needs;
Each of us, though not worth a single Groat,
Would scorn on S---h to confer his Vote;
And each would rather far be poor, and brave,
Than wear a Mitre, and commence a Slave.
| Churchill defended, a poem | |