Ah, tell them they are men!

Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.

Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.

The applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes.

Daughter of Jove, relentless power, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour The bad affright, afflict the best!