Protect the Fair, and foster Infancy.
By strenuous enterprize, and arduous toils,
Is public safety purchas'd and secur'd.
Negative merit, "I have done no harm,"
Is an inglorious boast: shall he who sits
Secure, enjoying Plenty in the lap
Of Ease, vaunt his recumbent Virtues? ... He
Brand with harsh epithets the Warrior's toils?
While 'tis to them he owes sincerest thanks
For Peace and Safety, that are earn'd in War....
As well might he who eats the flesh of Lambs,
And smacks the ichor in a savoury dish,
Boast his humanity, and say "My hand
Ne'er slew a Lamb;" and censure as a crime,
The Butcher's cruel, necessary trade.
In Battle, the chance-medley game of Death,
Where every one still hopes 'till he expires,
Less horror shocks the mind contemplative,
Than where, in slow procession's solemn pace,
Doom'd wretches meet their destin'd fate in bonds,
Who know the moment to expect the blow,
And count the moments 'till that moment comes:
Or where Oppression wages War, in Peace,
On the defenceless: on the hapless man
Who holds his breath but by another's will:
Whose Life is only one long cruel Death! ...
Hardly he fares, and hopelessly he toils;
And when his driver's anger, or caprice,
Or wanton cruelty, inflicts a blow,
Not daring to look angry at the whip,