O, whoe'er has heart and headTo stay our plague of blood, our civic brawls,Would he that his name be read“Father of Rome” on lofty pedestals,Let him chain this lawless will,And be our children's hero! cursed spite!Living worth we envy still,Then seek it with strain'd eyes, when snatch'd from sight.What can sad laments availUnless sharp justice kill the taint of sin?What can laws, that needs must failShorn of the aid of manners form'd within,If the merchant turns not backFrom the fierce heats that round the tropic glow,Turns not from the regions blackWith northern winds, and hard with frozen snow;Sailors override the wave,While guilty poverty, more fear'd than vice.Bids us crime and suffering brave,And shuns the ascent of virtue's precipice?