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Rh But feels the Censor spirit rise
 * At folly’s idle pranks?

With voice that fills the Congress halls, “Domestic manufactures” bawls,
 * And damns the Dandies and the Banks!

Behold! where Junius town is set,
 * A Brutus is the judge;56

’Tis true he serves the Tarquin yet, Still winds his limbs in folly’s net,
 * And seems a very patient drudge.

But let the Despot fall, and bright As morning from the shades of night,
 * Forth in his pride he’ll stand,

The guard and glory of our soil, A head for thought, a hand for toil,
 * A tongue to warn, persuade, command.

Lo! Galen sends her Doctors round,
 * Proficients in their trade;

Historians are in Livy found, Ulysses, from her teeming ground
 * Pours politicians ready made;

Fresh orators in Tully rise, Nestor our counsellors supplies,
 * Wise, vigilant, and close;

Gracchus our tavern-statesmen rears, And Milton finds us pamphleteers,
 * As well as poets, by the gross.