University of Virginia Library

Oh ye great pow'rs, who passports basely crave
From Afric's lords, to sail the midland wave—
Great fallen pow'rs, whose gems and golden bribes
Buy paltry passports from these savage tribes!
Ye, whose fine purples, silks, and stuffs of gold,
(An annual tribute) their dark limbs infold—
Ye, whose mean policy for them equips,
To plague mankind, the predatory ships—
Why will ye buy your infamy so dear?
Is it self-int'rest, or a dastard fear?
Is it because you meanly think to gain
A richer commerce on the th' infested main?
Is it because you meanly wish to see
Your rivals chain'd, yourselves ignobly free?
Who gave commission to these monsters fierce
To hold in chains the humbled universe?
Would God, would nature, would their conqu'ring swords,
Without your meanness, make them ocean's lords?
What! do ye fear? nor dare their pow'r provoke?
Would not that bubble burst beneath your stroke?
And shall the weak remains of barb'rous rage,
Insulting, triumph o'er th' enlighten'd age?
Do ye not feel confusion, horror, shame,
To bear a hateful, tributary name?

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Will ye not aid to wipe the foul disgrace,
And break the fetters from the human race?